Noreen update

Many of you new to my blog may not have seen my post about Noreen, an amnesiac, rather clueless customer service rep that I must deal with frequently. I am happy to report that these days we enjoy a great relationship. She is now quick to go the extra mile, while before she was obstinate and unhelpful, sometimes downright rude, but mostly clueless. Noreen still has trouble following instructions, but she actually did a huge favor for me this morning, so things continue to improve. Graciousness goes a very long way in business and in your personal life. This little exercise completely changed my attitude not just toward Noreen, but others as well, and I have Noreen to thank! And to think at one point I wanted to throttle her with my bare hands. God is working in my life, for sure! Here is the repost from 12/23/2009:

I have a thorn in my side at work and her name is Noreen (not her real name). She is my main contact at one of our major suppliers, so when I am sending custom orders, she needs just enough acumen to read the instructions on my purchase orders and get the parts into production. You'd think this was a pretty simple task, but for Noreen, I might as well be asking her to map the human genome or balance the federal budget.

I don't want to come across as cruel, but facts are facts: Noreen is about as alert and intelligent as a box of rusty nails. When her stupidity surfaced during our first point of contact, I tried to be nice about it and not make her feel inferior by pointing out the obvious answers to her questions, typed neatly on our faxed purchase order. Right there in black and white.

Then there was a fleeting thought that I must not be communicating properly. Maybe it's me. But not having this problem with other suppliers, I quickly came to the conclusion that it's not me, IT'S HER. And that sort of realization wore my nerves down to a frazzled mass of tangled vessels, ready to explode at any given moment.

After months of dealing with Noreen I was through with being nice. I got to a point where I wanted her to feel my pain. I wanted to shove her idiocy right back down her own throat with force. My frustration levels were off the chart. In 21 years I have never encountered such daftness. So I stopped being nice and said things like:

"Just get it done, Noreen."

"I don't have time to explain every little detail to you, Noreen."

"Read the purchase order, Noreen."

"Look at the previous order, Noreen."

"It's right there on the order. Why are you asking me?" (after which I would read the answer to her inane question aloud from the PO)

"Whatever, Noreen. I'm tired of explaining this to you. We just talked about this yesterday. Do you not remember our conversation?" (she never remembered our previous conversations)

"Figure it out, Noreen."

These things were all said in very clipped, abrupt tones. Oh, and the curse words I wanted to spew were pushed way down into the depths of my belly. I'd pray they would stay buried there and not surface like projectile vomit or a sudden case of Turette's. I'd be damned if Noreen was going to do me in after 21 years in this job, using her mind-numbing ignorance like a machete, chopping feverishly on my frayed nerves.

One day something came over me. Perhaps it was the realization that being blunt and to the point wasn't getting through, or maybe the vein that was throbbing in the side of my neck started to become worrisome, ready to burst through and cause a fatal heart attack. No way was Noreen getting the best of me, nor would she claim responsibility for putting me in the grave. Dear God, no, don't let it be Noreen.

So I changed tactics. I decided to be exceptionally nice. Not fake nice, but out of a place of true compassion. Perhaps with genuine patience and understanding I could make the situation better. For both of us. I would no longer point out obvious inconsistencies in her statements or thrash her for overlooking crucial details. It was difficult beyond belief and my tongue was sore from biting it. I patiently walked her through orders, politely answering her questions. And I'm proud to say it wasn't in a condescending way.

Niceness toward Noreen felt foreign and forced at first, but over the weeks, surprisingly, it came more naturally. In turn she also became nicer and more accommodating. She actually did me a favor today, which saved my company $150. Score! I win!

Did my diplomacy make Noreen any smarter? No. Did it make her remember things she had just told me the day before, but can't remember today? No. Did she suddenly figure out how to read our orders and process them without incident? No. Did my nicety make that vein stop throbbing in my neck? It's easing. Baby steps.

I think I'm on to something here. Never give up on someone. Remember that everyone is not at the same place in life — intellectually, emotionally, physically — that you are. What I learned is that even when you don't feel like being gracious, if you try your best to put it into practice anyway, it makes life exceedingly more pleasant.

After 2 years of dealing with Noreen, it's doubtful that I will ever write her a recommendation letter or suggest to her superior that she receive a promotion, but I have created a little bubble of peace around us, fragile though it may be, and that's enough. I hope to carry this lesson into other areas of my life.

Peace and love,

Louisiana Belle

Choosing to be Cheerful

Today I am counting my blessings. These photos help me do that.

6 week old Liam. Finally met him yesterday and decided that he is too precious for words. What is it about the way a baby smells? Can't get enough of that.

Yes, we were in a traffic jam on Monday night, but we were on our way to have dinner with our dearest friends. They are moving to Austin, TX, so YAY! Another place to visit!

Camryn is an 8 year old dynamo with gorgeous red locks. She has a bright, sunny disposition just like her mother. She's so fun! She looks so serious here, but she was actually excited to be there even though they were losing. Badly.

Our little Hannah graduated kindergarten last week! We were all so proud of her when she received awards for reading 100 books and 'most improved'. Hannah's the pretty one, top right.

All boy, this is Seth landing safely on first base last Saturday. He can make some funny faces for the camera and he was doing so on the field, too. Little stinker. Sometimes he made faces at his coach; other times at the opposing team. As much as I love the faces, I just wanted an action shot, which was not hard to get.

I've discovered a field of wildflowers in my neighborhood. Anybody have a clue what this is? I loved the way the light was hitting it.

Even though there are some stressors in my life right now, I try to remember what Mama used to say: "There's always someone worse off than you." Then I start thinking of the person who is paralyzed or someone without arms, and I immediately chastise myself for even thinking of throwing a pity party.

I hope everyone has a great Memorial holiday, remembering the sacrifices made for us. I am very grateful for those who fought for our freedoms. Rock on with your bad selves and be safe!

My Mom and the Wii

This was my mother around 1959 - the same year she married my father. Isn't she a beauty? When she married she had a 19" waist. There was no way I was wearing that dress for my wedding in 1980. Even if I wasn't 4 months "along", it wouldn't have happened. I was small-boned and petite, but not that petite.

Fast forward to 2010. After 20+ years of living with Parkinson's Disease (PD), my mother had pretty much given up hope on any kind of medication helping her. The first prescription they gave her, called Requip, made her hallucinate terribly and do some crazy things. Each day she imagined certain relatives and friends sitting in her living room. She'd ask them questions, but they wouldn't respond — just sit there like zombies. She'd call and ask me why my cousin was in her living room refusing to speak to her. The answer was, my cousin wasn't there. Although she was aware of the possible side effects, it was still unnerving.

Requip also caused her to microwave a couple of TV remote controls. Another day she spread peanut butter on all the burners of her stove and turned on the heat. The burning smell of peanut butter snapped her back to reality. Then late one night she found herself wandering outside her apartment complex. She realized something had to be done. All these scary scenarios were worse than the PD.

Her doctor then prescribed Stalevo. It doesn't cause hallucinations, but it does make her nauseous. Not every day, but most days.

A couple of years ago we were hopeful when her neurology specialist convinced her to try a patch which would deliver the medication slowly, over the course of the day. She tolerated the patches very well, but after several months they were recalled by the manufacturer and she was forced to go back to Stalevo. Since she can't take a strong dosage, her mobility wasn't that great. She still stumbled and had trouble performing the simplest of tasks, like bathing and brushing her teeth. And then there were the bouts of nausea that would set her back for days at a time.

So when my mother saw a news piece on CNN about Parkinson's patients having more mobility after using the Wii, she told me about it. She sounded excited and hopeful. I hadn't heard that kind of excitement in her voice in a long time. It was right before Christmas and I had been agonizing over what to get her. I researched it online and found that studies did indeed suggest that the Wii could be extremely helpful for these patients. I was on board immediately. The Wii came just in time for Christmas, but there wasn't anyone available to help her set it up.

Finally, her sister, J, came over to set up her "Mii" last Sunday and show her how to use it. J called me that night and said how quickly my mom caught on to the game. She said my mom's face lit up and she looked like an 18 year old swinging the remote. Her favorite is the bowling game, and after only 6 days she is playing up to an hour at a time. She's been getting strikes and spares! She is moving around much better, getting compliments from people who haven't seen her in a while. They are astounded at the improvement in her gait and the lack of shaking in her hands.

I must give thanks to God for answered prayer. Many prayers have been lifted on her behalf and I'm convinced that His answer is the Wii. I would never have dreamed that my mother, at 71 years old, with PD, would be into video games. And that the games could help her. That is a true miracle.

Ten Sleep

This afternoon I plunked down in my home office recliner, finally ready to read the book my daughter got me for Christmas: The Daily Coyote by Shreve Stockton. It was going to happen — I was determined not to put it off another day.

I had spent the previous hour cleaning, and organizing the wires and cables behind the desk in my office. The tangled mass had been shouting at me for quite some time to unravel them and make them neat again. The sight of those wires paralleled my state of mind. Maybe if I could straighten them out, my nerves would follow suit.

With my chore completed it took some time and effort to relax. I kept fidgeting and shaking my foot as though impatient about something. I even made a couple of phone calls in an effort to delay reading. With no one else to call, I kept peering over the top of the book seeing objects that looked askew, and getting up from my chair to fix them. Why that was so important I'll never know. Sometimes my own mind doesn't explain itself to me.

Sparky nestled into my lap, helping to ease my restlessness. Who needs a valium when you've got this?

Once I finally settled down and began reading I soon drifted off to another world — a place completely different from the hustle and bustle of working 40 hours a week, cursing at rush hour traffic, and muttering obscenities under my breath to mean people. I was quickly transported to a place where folks in the community take time for one another, help each other. Where there's space to move around, and land that is breathtaking to behold. I didn't think a place like that existed in the United States, and neither did Shreve Stockton, until she stumbled on it while taking a very brave and exciting cross country journey on her Vespa.

About 10 pages in, I was ready to sell the house and all our belongings, and move to Ten Sleep, Wyoming. Shreve brilliantly weaves a story of a slower paced life with a real connection to the land and animals. Although I don't know if I could rough it the way she has, in a 12' x 12' cabin with few amenities, I'd like to try. Any price seems worth it to have some scenery for my eyes to fall on and a variety of animals around me. City life with all its chaos is sucking out my soul, leaving me dry, parched, and desolate.

Look at this photo of Ten Sleep. It refreshes my spirit.

I was looking down at my sweater tonight with two buttons struggling to hang on and thought, 'You know, you should mend this.' But knowing me, I'll wear it until the buttons eventually fall off, where it will then go neglected in a closet for several seasons before I finally throw it out or donate it.

Where has all my self-sufficiency gone? The bigger question: Did I ever have any? My grandfather built his own house with his bare hands. My grandmother made meals from scratch. They worked the fields, slaughtered cows, wrung the necks of chickens for dinner, and hung clothes out to dry. They patched, repaired, and reused things. In those days there was no running out to buy something on a whim.

Shreve wove her own rugs by cutting strips from wool coats purchased at a second hand store. She carved her own curtain rods out of tree branches. She got a cat to take care of her mice problem. A wood stove was her only source of heat in winter. Could I do that? Do I even have the capacity to think these kinds of things? Knowing me, I'd get to Wyoming and freeze to death. I'd be bitten in the night by rabid rats. I might starve.

Reading about the new life she has made for herself has obviously got me thinking about a different kind of life. I've grown extremely weary of our "shop 'til you drop" mentality. Lord knows, I have more stuff than I know what to do with. Maybe I should start by seeing if I can mend my own sweater. :/

Noreen

I have a thorn in my side at work and her name is Noreen (not her real name). She is my main contact at one of our major suppliers, so when I am sending custom orders, she needs just enough acumen to read the instructions on my purchase orders and get the parts into production. You'd think this was a pretty simple task, but for Noreen, I might as well be asking her to map the human genome or balance the federal budget.

I don't want to come across as cruel, but facts are facts: Noreen is about as alert and intelligent as a box of rusty nails. When her stupidity surfaced during our first point of contact, I tried to be nice about it and not make her feel inferior by pointing out the obvious answers to her questions, typed neatly on our faxed purchase order. Right there in black and white.

Then there was a fleeting thought that I must not be communicating properly. Maybe it's me. But not having this problem with other suppliers, I quickly came to the conclusion that it's not me, IT'S HER. And that sort of realization wore my nerves down to a frazzled mass of tangled vessels, ready to explode at any given moment.

After months of dealing with Noreen I was through with being nice. I got to a point where I wanted her to feel my pain. I wanted to shove her idiocy right back down her own throat with force. My frustration levels were off the chart. In 21 years I have never encountered such daftness. So I stopped being nice and said things like:

"Just get it done, Noreen."

"I don't have time to explain every little detail to you, Noreen."

"Read the purchase order, Noreen."

"Look at the previous order, Noreen."

"It's right there on the order. Why are you asking me?" (after which I would read the answer to her inane question aloud from the PO)

"Whatever, Noreen. I'm tired of explaining this to you. We just talked about this yesterday. Do you not remember our conversation?" (she never remembered our previous conversations)

"Figure it out, Noreen."

These things were all said in very clipped, abrupt tones. Oh, and the curse words I wanted to spew were pushed way down into the depths of my belly. I'd pray they would stay buried there and not surface like projectile vomiting or a sudden case of Turette's. I'd be damned if Noreen was going to do me in after 21 years in this job, using her mind-numbing ignorance like a machete, chopping feverishly on my frayed nerves.

One day something came over me. Perhaps it was the realization that being blunt and to the point wasn't getting through, or maybe the vein that was throbbing in the side of my neck started to become worrisome, ready to burst through and cause a fatal heart attack. No way was Noreen getting the best of me, nor would she claim responsibility for putting me in the grave. Dear God, no, don't let it be Noreen.

So I changed tactics. I decided to be exceptionally nice. Not fake nice, but out of a place of true compassion. Perhaps with genuine patience and understanding I could make the situation better. For both of us. I would no longer point out obvious inconsistencies in her statements or thrash her for overlooking crucial details. It was difficult beyond belief and my tongue was sore from biting it. I patiently walked her through orders, politely answering her questions. And I'm proud to say it wasn't in a condescending way.

Niceness toward Noreen felt foreign and forced at first, but over the weeks, surprisingly, it came more naturally. In turn she also became nicer and more accommodating. She actually did me a favor today, which saved my company $150. Score! I win!

Did my diplomacy make Noreen any smarter? No. Did it make her remember things she had just told me the day before, but can't remember today? No. Did she suddenly figure out how to read our orders and process them without incident? No. Did my nicety make that vein stop throbbing in my neck? It's easing. Baby steps.

I think I'm on to something here. Never give up on someone. Remember that everyone is not at the same place in life — intellectually, emotionally, and physically — that you are. What I learned is that even when you don't feel like being gracious, if you try your best to put it into practice anyway, it makes life exceedingly more pleasant.

After 2 years of dealing with Noreen, it's doubtful that I will ever write her a recommendation letter or suggest to her superior that she receive a promotion, but I have created a little bubble of peace around us, fragile though it may be, and that's enough. I hope to carry this lesson into other areas of my life.

Peace and love,
Louisiana Belle

Quote

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these.

~George Washington Carver (January 1864 – January 5, 1943)

On his grave was written, He could have added fortune to fame, but caring for neither, he found happiness and honor in being helpful to the world.

I Dreamed a Dream

As most of the world has seen by now, Susan Boyle walked on stage at Britain's Got Talent and proceeded to shatter an entertainment stereotype. Maybe our culture has finally (and rightly) grown tired of plastic, perfect entertainers parading on our screens. She truly opened the collective mind, allowing everyone who watched her to throw out their expectations of what a singer should look like. She is more beautiful than one hundred of the current pool of entertainers. What a gift she has!

I wish someone had warned me how moved I would be to witness the performance of this unassuming, humble soul. For the last several days I've been seeing links about her and avoiding them. I don't believe in cruelly poking fun at someone for their efforts simply because they look different from others. But because I was bored and had to watch something, I clicked on one of the YouTube links, fearing another William Hung performance. Initially, I felt sorry for this woman who was obviously being laughed at in such a public way. However, my pity soon turned to awe as she opened her mouth and let go that first note. When the crowd rose to their feet in applause and I saw the looks on the judges' faces, I became filled with emotion.

Look her up and be inspired. (I would include a video here, but embedding has been disabled on YouTube.) The lyrics to the song make this even more profound.

I Dreamed a Dream from Les Miserables

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving

Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame

He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came

And still I dream he'll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed

Inspiration - Finally!

The last couple of months I have been completely blocked mentally. It's all I can do to get up and get dressed for work every day. Perhaps it's the winter doldrums, the craptastic economy, worry over my job, worry over Double D's job, my kids, my weight, Bernard Madoff, and Barney Frank. Bernie and Barney make my blood boil, by the way. Adding to the misery, our Golden Retriever was euthanized in October, and baby Izzy had to be hospitalized after Christmas.

I just realized my life sounds like a country/western song!

This youtube about a special bond between a dog and an elephant made me want to post something again, even though writing an actual post is still a challenge as you can tell. Thanks, daughter. Warning: you might need a tissue.

Love of Dogs Explained

After being expelled from the garden, they missed God's constant company. So the Lord of compassion created an unconditionally loving companion for them. God said, 'because it mirrors my love for you, let's call it Dog'. ~ author unknown

Suffrage

Sometimes I take my right to vote for granted. Many times I feel the choices before me are so poor that it would make no difference if I voted or not.

Recently, I received an email reminding me of the crimes against the Women’s Suffrage movement which was not all that long ago. To put it in perspective for me, this was taking place when my grandmother was just a young girl. Let’s take a look at what happened during the Night of Terror, November 15, 1917, when thirty-three women picketed the White House and were arrested for “Obstructing Sidewalk Traffic”:

Dora Lewis (b 1862)
Dora was one of the more outspoken suffragists and therefore, received the most brutal treatment. She was hurled bodily into her cell, knocked unconscious and feared dead when she collided headfirst against the iron bed frame. Her cell mate, Alice Cosu, thought Dora was dead and suffered a heart attack.

Lucy Burns (July 28, 1879 – Dec 22, 1966)
Lucy’s hands were chained to the cell bars above her head and she was left hanging for the night, bleeding and gasping for air.

Alice Paul (Jan 11, 1885 – July 9, 1977)
As one of the leaders, Alice went on a hunger strike. This led to her being placed in a psychiatric ward where she was tied to a chair, a tube forced down her throat and raw eggs poured into her. She, along with several others, received torture for weeks until word was smuggled out to the press.

It’s hard to imagine in this day and age that anyone would be forced to endure such horrific treatment for carrying a picket sign in front of the White House. I am humbled and deeply thankful for the bravery of these women; otherwise, we might still be under complete male domination today.

Reading these accounts, I have to ask myself: if I had been born during that time, would I have joined this movement and rebelled against the system, even if it meant being beaten, jailed, chained, kicked, choked, and worse? Would I starve myself for the cause? Although I am normally questioning and rebellious by nature, would I go that far? I don’t know.

Inez Milholland, who was a lawyer, World War 1 correspondent, suffragist and public speaker, was known as the martyr of the Women’s Suffrage movement. She died in 1916 at the age of 30 before realizing victory. Her last public words were, "Mr. President, how long must women wait for liberty?"

Women were finally granted that liberty in 1920 as set forth in the 19^th Amendment to the Constitution. Let’s honor the memory of those women who paved the way for us by casting our vote in this upcoming historical election.

Skidboot & Faith

As far back as I can remember, I have been drawn to dogs. They are the epitome of forgiveness, devotion, and patience. I adore these creatures with an endless reservoir of love and affection.

Ben Williams said "There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face." That is so true! Though I could probably use some time on a psychiatrist's couch, I prefer the simple, uncomplicated company of my dogs.

Skidboot and Faith have the most amazing stories. What a blessing they are to all of those lucky enough to have been touched by them and to anyone willing to learn from them. Grab your tissues!

Skidboot 1992 - 2007

Faith the Two-Legged Dog