[Matt Landau]

Challenge: Creativity is like a muscle. The more you exercise it, the more it strengthens your story and your vision for the future. I'd like to challenge members to share one short story that moved them emotionally (reference the feelings wheel for inspiration) in the last few weeks. It can be short. Or long. Great or lame. The mere act of sharing your quick story is the creative act in and of itself.

I Am Stone Cold​

By Matt Landau

This morning it's still dark out and I’m walking to swim when I see a guy who looks like he had a rough night from across the street. Rough night in the sense that he'd taken the wrong drugs.

He’s got no shirt on — only jeans — and is aggressively walking and making weird noises that sound like exaggerated sneezes.

And since we’re walking in the same direction I keep my distance and my eye on him.

Until I lose him for 10 seconds only to turn a corner and have him pop out from the darkness and aggressively say and I quote:

“How’s about $50 to get punched in the face this morning?”

At first I am trying to understand the question: “how’s about $50 to get punched in the face this morning?” is sooooo confusing (especially at 6AM).

I'm embarrassed to admit I thought maybe this guy's asking for $50 and in exchange I get to punch him in the face?

But I replied with what I think most of you would say: “No, thank you.”

And he responds angrily: “don’t say thank you to me. Ya see, that’s what I hate about people like you.”

And which point I could tell he's on something because HE FAKE LUNGES AT ME (from like 10 feet away) the way an animal in the wild would charge to establish territory.

And I don’t know if it’s the meditation/yoga I’ve been doing, 10 years working with street gangs in Central America, or just the fact that I hadn’t had my coffee yet but I DID NOT FLINCH!

And I guess it worked because he goes scrambling off behind me rambling about how much he hates people like me...he was definitely looking to pick a fight.

And despite my keeping cool in the moment it felt scary and thrilling and as I was walking away (I almost just got punched!) and an older gentlemen on the corner who saw the whole thing smiles at me and says:

"You sir, are stone cold."

 

[RuthM]

My Proudest Moment
By Ruth Manfredi

It’s already dark as the train rolls into the La Spezia train station. I jump off the car with a surprisingly large number of winter tourists making their way home too.

“What a day! Why am I always volunteering to fight these battles?”, I think to myself about the meeting I participated in all afternoon.

With friends and colleagues from the newly-formed Committee of Cinque Terre Tourism Associations and the Director of the Cinque Terre National Park, we met to discuss impending train ticket increases and other tourism management proposals that we oppose from the President of the Region of Liguria (like the Governor of a US state).

It is an uphill battle to fight top-down political proposals. However, people in the Cinque Terre are resilient and determined, just like their ancestors who spent hundreds of years carving the rocky hillsides rising out of the Mediterranean Sea into terraced vineyards to grow grapes for the famous Cinque Terre wines, olive trees, lemons, and food to feed their families.

As I offer to give a ride to the woman from Monterosso who I met at the meeting, we bump into Massimo, a man I know from Vernazza, one of the Cinque Terre villages where we own and operate our two vacation rentals.

“Ciao Massimo! Come va? (Hi. What’s going on)?”

“Ruth, I need to talk to you. I respect your opinion, but I just cannot vote for your friend Carol (who is running for Mayor in the upcoming election) and let me tell you why.”

Before he can continue, I introduce the woman I am with to try to lighten the mood.

Massimo says, “Piacere (a pleasure to meet you)” and the woman responds, “So you know Ruth from Vernazza?”

What Massimo says next, makes my heart skip a beat.

“Of course I know Ruth, she and I worked together with our non-profits after the Vernazza flood to rebuild Vernazza AND she is my friend AND, most of all, we have adopted her as a fellow Vernazzan.”

I am proud of many things, including being a mother, a successful business owner, and a Wharton MBA graduate, among other things, but I think hearing someone from Vernazza consider me not only a friend but an adopted member of the community in Vernazza may be the most amazing feeling of acceptance I have ever experienced.

Being accepted by my chosen community as an “honorary member of the tribe” makes me feel valued and fills me with joy. Not bad for a random Thursday evening in February.

 

[RuthM]

Matt, you are such a GREAT storyteller. It's an art. I am not there...but creativity is often about getting OUT of one's comfort zone and just doing. This "improv" challenge (quick: think of one thing this week that stands out) made me think, made me write, made me reflect.

Just the act of writing is a creative act and practice makes perfect. Storytelling is an important part of marketing AND also one of the things that makes us human. Thanks for this fun challenge!

 

[Matt Landau]

My Proudest Moment
By Ruth Manfredi

It’s already dark as the train rolls into the La Spezia train station. I jump off the car with a surprisingly large number of winter tourists making their way home too.

“What a day! Why am I always volunteering to fight these battles?”, I think to myself about the meeting I participated in all afternoon.

With friends and colleagues from the newly-formed Committee of Cinque Terre Tourism Associations and the Director of the Cinque Terre National Park, we met to discuss impending train ticket increases and other tourism management proposals that we oppose from the President of the Region of Liguria (like the Governor of a US state).

It is an uphill battle to fight top-down political proposals. However, people in the Cinque Terre are resilient and determined, just like their ancestors who spent hundreds of years carving the rocky hillsides rising out of the Mediterranean Sea into terraced vineyards to grow grapes for the famous Cinque Terre wines, olive trees, lemons, and food to feed their families.

As I offer to give a ride to the woman from Monterosso who I met at the meeting, we bump into Massimo, a man I know from Vernazza, one of the Cinque Terre villages where we own and operate our two vacation rentals.

“Ciao Massimo! Come va? (Hi. What’s going on)?”

“Ruth, I need to talk to you. I respect your opinion, but I just cannot vote for your friend Carol (who is running for Mayor in the upcoming election) and let me tell you why.”

Before he can continue, I introduce the woman I am with to try to lighten the mood.

Massimo says, “Piacere (a pleasure to meet you)” and the woman responds, “So you know Ruth from Vernazza?”

What Massimo says next, makes my heart skip a beat.

“Of course I know Ruth, she and I worked together with our non-profits after the Vernazza flood to rebuild Vernazza AND she is my friend AND, most of all, we have adopted her as a fellow Vernazzan.”

I am proud of many things, including being a mother, a successful business owner, and a Wharton MBA graduate, among other things, but I think hearing someone from Vernazza consider me not only a friend but an adopted member of the community in Vernazza may be the most amazing feeling of acceptance I have ever experienced.

Being accepted by my chosen community as an “honorary member of the tribe” makes me feel valued and fills me with joy. Not bad for a random Thursday evening in February.

Beautiful story, Ruth! Even the subtlest, most 'everyday' moments can be evocative stories when we pair them with context. This is what people on stage (I'm thinking about comedians) are so good at. Just takes practice! And I'm here for it!

 

[RuthM]

Beautiful story, Ruth! Even the subtlest, most 'everyday' moments can be evocative stories when we pair them with context. This is what people on stage (I'm thinking about comedians) are so good at. Just takes practice! And I'm here for it!

Obviously, I need practice !! But I love 2 ideas for creativity :
1) Start where you are and observe what’s happening around you
2) Practice! Writers write, Instagrammers post, photographs make photographs…

When you see successful creatives, you DON’T see all the effort, practice, and inspiration it took to get there.

Let’s go VRMBers! Create!

 

[MarkD]

Ok... so we've all had those owners that we know "ARE NOT A GOOD FIT" but we take them on anyway... maybe because we think we need to for scale, or maybe just because the property is amazing, or maybe it's the location or neighborhood we are going after. Well, that's exactly what we did last year based on one of those 3 criteria. I won't say which... and OH BOY, it was clear right away that we made a terrible decision. Every time a staff member (cleaner, maint tech, etc) would visit the home the owner would show up and follow them around pointing out each and every crumb, loose screw, and burnt out light bulb. The team hated it and drew straws on who would visit next. Over time (...like a year) the owner slowly but surely backed off...either out of lack of time, pure physical exhaustion, or (and this is my preferred thought), she began to simply trust in US and our TEAM.

Well, last week we were all completely shocked when she gave us a small off handed compliment out of nowhere... and I'm paraphrasing..."You know, you guys still have quite a bit to learn, but all in all you do a pretty good job... and I'm glad I no longer have to follow you around".... and SO ARE WE!! Hey, I'll take it!

 

[DMartinez]

Timely-- I started a draft of thoughts for a potential blog based on a cheeky post I recently wrote in a support group for post-operation Total Knee Replacement group.
Looking at your circle of emotion... my frustration falls within the angry arc...yet also crosses over into happy/playful. I'm sure it also includes other aspects, especially as I work through the process.

The blog post inspiration- still a work in progress - comes from my growing collection of pillows here at home and at our rental, and how despite the variation, guests are observed to still bring their own.

Will include listing brands of pillows we plan to update (debating it will be Marlow by Brookline)

And ironically I mention our new Lazyboy recliner purchased at the same time I received a review that extolled the fact our rental had NO overstuffed cheesy recliners 🤪.
Here's the inspiration post I shared with my TKR friends-- and no--while we are considered a Luxe place there will not be any Hästens pillows (or Lazyboys) included in our amenities list.
#####
I am now 5 wks PO for my second Total Knee Replacement. It was with my first knee surgery I discovered that for 71 years as a side sleeper I was doing it all wrong (and thus may have been a factor in my knee's deterioration🤦‍♀️.

Who knew I needed to put pillows between my knees 🤷‍♀️.

So not only did I need a Lazyboy lounger chair to sleep in so my husband could enjoy his needed beauty sleep, I went on a shopping spree to find the perfect pillow(s) that would save my new knees for the duration of my /their life, and be able to have a good night's sleep.

We joke now -as all the pillows pile up on the bed - that nighttime in bed has become a never ending pillow fight - as I try to decide which pillow I'll use this time for my head and for the new knees -swapping it out in the middle of the night - as I pop a pain pill with a prayer "oh gawd let this work and let me sleep!"

My collection so far includes:
-My old TempurPedic cooling pillow
- Cube knee pillow
-Elviros Cervical Memory Foam Pillow both firm & soft- cuz not sure which would work with hopes the husband could use the one not picked.
-Brooklinen's Marlow Pillow -that "pairs fully adjustable firmness with cooling-infused memory foam to provide the perfect balance of comfort and support and help deliver your best rest."
-Meiz's Pregnancy U-shaped pillow - that " is quite suitable for side sleeper" along with a multitude of ailments.

BUT then today I learned on the Jimmy Kimmel Show there's one more pillow I must add to the collection-- a Hästens 😱!
However--Hubby insisted I would need to return all of my current collection first🤣

Cillian Murphy reveals bizarre ‘Oppenheimer' incident that led to injury: Watch

Cillian Murphy suffered an injury while working on Christopher Nolan's ‘Oppenheimer’

www.geo.tv

 

[Sallie]

When we started living in our vacation house in Mexico for six months a year, I never suspected our dog would open the door to our becoming a part of our village. This is one of many of his stories.

Brando’s dense, fluffy blond coat and “I love you!” brown eyes made him look like a 75-pound stuffed animal. His show-dog looks, wagging tail, and propensity to lean against people while gazing up at them in adoration transformed strangers into friends within seconds.

San Pancho’s dogs are small- to medium-size, short-haired mixed breeds, and they’re welcome everywhere. Owners let them out in the morning to find their canine pals. They run into the waves, roll in the sand, slurp water from bowls placed in front of shops and restaurants, nap in the shade, and eventually return home. They’re happily scruffy.

In contrast, our large, well-groomed golden retriever with a wardrobe of bandanas stood out. Wherever we took him, Mexicans and gringos stopped, and even crossed the street, to meet him.

“What’s his name? How old is he?” they asked in Spanish and English as they petted him and he leaned against them, licked their hands, and wagged his tail. Mothers holding barefooted babies on their hip asked to greet him, and he’d gently lick their babies’ toes. Shop owners and vendors at the weekly farmers market greeted him with a cheery “¡Hola Brando!”

It was like walking around with a dog version of Brad Pitt.

One afternoon, Brando and I were waiting to check out at the sidewalk produce stand. As I held one of the flat-bottomed, red plastic shopping bowls I’d filled with Valencia oranges, a papaya, avocados and limes, he stood next me as he watched people pass on the sidewalk.

A señora balancing a wooden crate of pineapples on top of her head stopped. She looked at Brando, then smiled at me.

At the same time, a Mexican gentleman with his bowl of produce stood beside us. Brando looked up at him, wagging his tail. The gentleman smiled at me, then looked at Brando.

“Sietate,” he said.

Brando sat. The gentleman smiled.

“Abajo,” he said.

Brando stretched his front legs forward and slid into a down.

The gentleman beamed. The pineapple señora beamed. The cashier beamed. And I realized Brando had learned Spanish.

 

[StacyW]

This morning, my seven year old son came into our bedroom and said next time we clean we need to use the magic scarf.

Greg and I were at a loss about what in the world he was talking about. Mind you he is going to be an epic writer, story teller etc. He already tells some doozy's, for now we overlook the fact, that they aren't always factual! But his detail for a 7 year old is astounding!

I asked Hawk (yes cool name from Hawkeye(Mash) and love of Seahawks) what is the magic scarf and he goes when we clean the house next you will wave this magical scarf that way then that way and we will clean it with the magic scarf.

Alrighty then, tomorrows family cleaning sesh will have some amazing new magic to make the cleaning more enjoyable.

However, the biggest take away is kids are creative!!!! We need to lean in deep inside ourselves and find that kid inside of us that has all those creative juices inside and start creating. One I have had recently is should we change all of our communication to guests for the year, as if they were on the Oregon Trail (yes that new game many of you have seen, or for us oldies from Oregon, the game you played at school and always died of dysentery). We have a space in Sunriver that actually shows where the trail was, and I think it would be a fun way to spice up our emails and texts to guests. I figure we could come up with a theme every other year! Maybe if they are funny they will read them more? Will we do it? Not 100% sure yet, will know more soon, but it is things like this that are creative fun and bring zest back to this business!

 

[RuthM]

Ok... so we've all had those owners that we know "ARE NOT A GOOD FIT" but we take them on anyway... maybe because we think we need to for scale, or maybe just because the property is amazing, or maybe it's the location or neighborhood we are going after. Well, that's exactly what we did last year based on one of those 3 criteria. I won't say which... and OH BOY, it was clear right away that we made a terrible decision. Every time a staff member (cleaner, maint tech, etc) would visit the home the owner would show up and follow them around pointing out each and every crumb, loose screw, and burnt out light bulb. The team hated it and drew straws on who would visit next. Over time (...like a year) the owner slowly but surely backed off...either out of lack of time, pure physical exhaustion, or (and this is my preferred thought), she began to simply trust in US and our TEAM.

Well, last week we were all completely shocked when she gave us a small off handed compliment out of nowhere... and I'm paraphrasing..."You know, you guys still have quite a bit to learn, but all in all you do a pretty good job... and I'm glad I no longer have to follow you around".... and SO ARE WE!! Hey, I'll take it!

TAKE THE WIN! I love this! Great story.

 

[RuthM]

When we started living in our vacation house in Mexico for six months a year, I never suspected our dog would open the door to becoming a part of our village. This is one of many of his stories.

Brando’s dense, fluffy blond coat and “I love you!” brown eyes made him look like a 75-pound stuffed animal. His show-dog looks, wagging tail, and propensity to lean against people while gazing up at them in adoration transformed strangers into friends within seconds.

San Pancho’s dogs are small- to medium-size, short-haired mixed breeds, and they’re welcome everywhere. Owners let them out in the morning to find their canine pals. They run into the waves, roll in the sand, slurp water from bowls placed in front of shops and restaurants, nap in the shade, and eventually return home. They’re happily scruffy.

In contrast, our large, well-groomed golden retriever with a wardrobe of bandanas stood out. Wherever we took him, Mexicans and gringos stopped, and even crossed the street, to meet him.

“What’s his name? How old is he?” they asked in Spanish and English as they petted him and he leaned against them, licked their hands, and wagged his tail. Mothers holding barefooted babies on their hip asked to greet him, and he’d gently lick their babies’ toes. Shop owners and vendors at the weekly farmers market greeted him with a cheery “¡Hola Brando!”

It was like walking around with a dog version of Brad Pitt.

One afternoon, Brando and I were waiting to check out at the sidewalk produce stand. As I held one of the flat-bottomed, red plastic shopping bowls I’d filled with Valencia oranges, a papaya, avocados and limes, he stood next me as he watched people pass on the sidewalk.

A señora balancing a wooden crate of pineapples on top of her head stopped. She looked at Brando, then smiled at me.

At the same time, a Mexican gentleman with his bowl of produce stood beside us. Brando looked up at him, wagging his tail. The gentleman smiled at me, then looked at Brando.

“Sietate,” he said.

Brando sat. The gentleman smiled.

“Abajo,” he said.

Brando stretched his front legs forward and slid into a down.

The gentleman beamed. The pineapple señora beamed. The cashier beamed. And I realized Brando had learned Spanish.

If you've got more of these stories, you've got a BOOK that I would LOVE to read. Fantastic.

And, bravo to Brando ! My Hallie is also bilingual

 

[RuthM]

This morning, my seven year old son came into our bedroom and said next time we clean we need to use the magic scarf.

Greg and I were at a loss about what in the world he was talking about. Mind you he is going to be an epic writer, story teller etc. He already tells some doozy's, for now we overlook the fact, that they aren't always factual! But his detail for a 7 year old is astounding!

I asked Hawk (yes cool name from Hawkeye(Mash) and love of Seahawks) what is the magic scarf and he goes when we clean the house next you will wave this magical scarf that way then that way and we will clean it with the magic scarf.

Alrighty then, tomorrows family cleaning sesh will have some amazing new magic to make the cleaning more enjoyable.

However, the biggest take away is kids are creative!!!! We need to lean in deep inside ourselves and find that kid inside of us that has all those creative juices inside and start creating. One I have had recently is should we change all of our communication to guests for the year, as if they were on the Oregon Trail (yes that new game many of you have seen, or for us oldies from Oregon, the game you played at school and always died of dysentery). We have a space in Sunriver that actually shows where the trail was, and I think it would be a fun way to spice up our emails and texts to guests. I figure we could come up with a theme every other year! Maybe if they are funny they will read them more? Will we do it? Not 100% sure yet, will know more soon, but it is things like this that are creative fun and bring zest back to this business!

I need a magic scarf!!

 

[Sallie]

If you've got more of these stories, you've got a BOOK that I would LOVE to read. Fantastic.

And, bravo to Brando ! My Hallie is also bilingual

Ruth, I am writing a book

 

[ToonTownRob]

My apologies for the length of this. I have struggled for a few days with Matt's challenge. I can't think of anything else to write. My mother passed away with me alone at her side a year ago today. Two years and six days ago, I underwent major surgery for a stage four heart problem. Both of these anniversaries have been heavy on my mind, but this is what came out of my fingers.

Let me tell you about my friend Mike.

Back in high school, Mike was the exact opposite of me. One year older than I, with Brad Pitt good looks and eternally cool, Mike had it all… charm, girls, a car, friends and charisma in spades.

In contrast, I was the geeky nerd; already grown up and responsible at thirteen due to a broken home, younger siblings to take care of, brains beyond my years, and a mature outlook that robbed me of a childhood.

What brought Mike and I together was a rock band.

Back then, live music was common at high school and small town hall dances, and in dive bars. We played them all. Looking back it was insane – at sixteen years of age I was an A student in high school, spending my evenings rehearsing or working at McDonalds to pay for equipment, and on the weekends; travelling up to 250 miles in a 54 passenger modified school bus (that we owned) to play dances somewhere, often twice in a weekend on both Friday and Saturday nights. We had union cards, a booking agent, and ran a real rock’n’roll show earning between $400 and $600 per evening.

I played drums, Mike played rhythm and lead guitar (often badly), and Brian and Rick (two neighbourhood friends from a different school) played bass guitar and keyboards respectively. Brian sang lead, Mike and Rick pitched in with backup vocals and wisely I didn’t have a vocal microphone.

People loved us. We would roll into town, with a couple of ‘roadies’ along (guys to help setup and tear down, and run sound and lights during the show), play a four hour dance with four sets of cover tunes (mostly pop and rock staples of the day) close out the night as gods to our audience and get invited to local parties afterwards to meet girls, drink and (for some) do light drugs.

As the serious ‘adult’ in the group, I was never interested in the extra curricular activities, except the odd cute female who happened to look my way. I was there for the music, which I absolutely loved, and do to this day. I also was the percussion section leader in our school band, played in a marching and drill band (in my spare time, hah!) and taught drumming to young kids at a local studio. Music, and our rock band, was my life.

Mike’s friends, a completely different social group than mine, would often bug him about me. “How can you hang out with that guy? He’s such a dork! What a loser!” they would tell him. And Mike would respond to them “No! Rob’s okay. You don’t know him like I do.” While we had different personalities, were from different schools and social groups, the four of us band members shared a camaraderie – our shared experiences growing up together on the road on weekends, and our love of music. The things that tied us together became more important than the petty things that often drive teenagers apart.

What Mike lacked in musical skill, he made up in stage presence. He knew how to charm an audience, or make an instant friend one on one. Everywhere we went, everyone looked up to him. He was the kid that had it all. It really was remarkable watching how people gravitated towards him, and life just seemed to open up to him as he went along. Everyone likely knew of someone like that in high school. Mike was THAT guy!

A couple of years into our rock’n’roll journey, Mike started making unusual mistakes while playing. At first, they were rare and we were likely the only ones noticing, but as the dances and road trips wore on, Mike’s troubles became more and more pronounced. He couldn’t play like he used to. Eventually he told us that he had a pinched nerve in his arm, which wasn’t healing, and he would have to stop playing with us. Our agent found us a replacement guitarist, but being much older than us and in a different place in his life, the new guy just didn’t work out. The magic that the original four of us created together was gone.

After the converted bus blew up on the highway and needed repairs we couldn’t afford, we knew we had to pack it in, and we did. My rock’n’roll dreams dashed, I turned my attention to high school, and finished my graduation year with top marks, and awards for band leadership and acting, coveted prizes in a school with top level performing arts programs.

As I went off to university and we all began pursuing our careers, I lost touch with Mike. After my wedding, I didn’t see him again until about twenty years later. Somehow it was decided that we should all get together and have lunch one summer when Rick was back in town, to enjoy each other’s company and reminisce about old times. The lunch was a great get together.

But when I saw Mike I was shocked.

By that time, he was in an assisted living residence, unable to take care of himself. His wife had left him, taking their two kids with her. She just wasn’t prepared to stand by him as his progressing Multiple Sclerosis ate him from the inside out, destroying her hopes for their life together. Mike lived alone, a shadow of his former guy-who-had-everything persona.

Our annual summer lunches continued from there, and have for the last twenty years! We get together and update each other on our families, careers and our lives, and laugh about old memories and great times.

I eventually learned that when Mike had to quit the band, it wasn’t due to a pinched nerve. Mike had severe MS in his family, and he knew, as a kid at eighteen, what his future entailed, and that his fumbling on his guitar was the small start of what would be a long and painful journey through life. I can’t imagine what that realization must have been like for him, and what it would have been like to hide it from everyone who cared about him. He had to keep it hidden, as he chose a career out of school that he knew would provide a disability pension for him, so long as his affliction wasn’t present or known when he started working.

So Mike hid his struggle, got on with his career, life and family, and then watched it all slowly, painfully unravel.

Mike eventually moved into a top level assisted living facility, where he was confined to his bed or a wheelchair, needed a catheter bag, and assistance with everything, including eating at times. His speech became quite limited, but he still expressed himself well and forcefully, with a big smile and bright dancing eyes.

As I watched Mike deteriorate further over the years, I couldn’t help but wonder about the contrast between the cool kid… king of the high school, and the withered man in front of me. Back then, so many things were important to us as teenagers, with adult bodies and childish brains, and now none of them really mattered. Mike, the kid that had it all, ended up losing more than most people can imagine.

What a study in contrast. What an example of how often what seems important really isn’t, and that often things are not really what they seem. Those that have everything may have nothing, and the best thing we can do for ourselves is be grateful, and live our lives like we truly appreciate the blessings we have.

Despite his affliction, Mike was always joyful. How many of us can honestly say that?

We moved the location for our annual lunches to Mike’s facility, held in a room down the hall from the single bedroom where he has spent the last seventeen years. At our lunch last summer, we gave Mike some cookies, which he really enjoyed, and helped him eat them, until one of his nurses came in and admonished us for doing so. He wasn’t allowed such sweets.

Later, we said goodbye to Mike and headed on our way for another year. As I rode down the elevator and walked out the front door, I noted to myself that Mike seemed especially sad to say goodbye. I wondered about his future, scared because I’ve learned to pay attention to my own intuition.

Last week, we attended Mike’s funeral. I don’t know how or why he passed away specifically…it doesn’t matter… the MS got him as it always was going to.

It is often remarkable how things turn out in our human experience. Mike’s life was a school of lessons for the rest of us. He and I really shouldn’t have even known each other.

But as things turned out… Mike was my friend.

 

[ElaineS]

Matt, absolutely awesome - and I felt like I was right there with you, LOL!! Thinking about a story, hmmm.....

 

[RuthM]

My apologies for the length of this. I have struggled for a few days with Matt's challenge. I can't think of anything else to write. My mother passed away with me alone at her side a year ago today. Two years and six days ago, I underwent major surgery for a stage four heart problem. Both of these anniversaries have been heavy on my mind, but this is what came out of my fingers.

Let me tell you about my friend Mike.

Back in high school, Mike was the exact opposite of me. One year older than I, with Brad Pitt good looks and eternally cool, Mike had it all… charm, girls, a car, friends and charisma in spades.

In contrast, I was the geeky nerd; already grown up and responsible at thirteen due to a broken home, younger siblings to take care of, brains beyond my years, and a mature outlook that robbed me of a childhood.

What brought Mike and I together was a rock band.

Back then, live music was common at high school and small town hall dances, and in dive bars. We played them all. Looking back it was insane – at sixteen years of age I was an A student in high school, spending my evenings rehearsing or working at McDonalds to pay for equipment, and on the weekends; travelling up to 250 miles in a 54 passenger modified school bus (that we owned) to play dances somewhere, often twice in a weekend on both Friday and Saturday nights. We had union cards, a booking agent, and ran a real rock’n’roll show earning between $400 and $600 per evening.

I played drums, Mike played rhythm and lead guitar (often badly), and Brian and Rick (two neighbourhood friends from a different school) played bass guitar and keyboards respectively. Brian sang lead, Mike and Rick pitched in with backup vocals and wisely I didn’t have a vocal microphone.

People loved us. We would roll into town, with a couple of ‘roadies’ along (guys to help setup and tear down, and run sound and lights during the show), play a four hour dance with four sets of cover tunes (mostly pop and rock staples of the day) close out the night as gods to our audience and get invited to local parties afterwards to meet girls, drink and (for some) do light drugs.

As the serious ‘adult’ in the group, I was never interested in the extra curricular activities, except the odd cute female who happened to look my way. I was there for the music, which I absolutely loved, and do to this day. I also was the percussion section leader in our school band, played in a marching and drill band (in my spare time, hah!) and taught drumming to young kids at a local studio. Music, and our rock band, was my life.

Mike’s friends, a completely different social group than mine, would often bug him about me. “How can you hang out with that guy? He’s such a dork! What a loser!” they would tell him. And Mike would respond to them “No! Rob’s okay. You don’t know him like I do.” While we had different personalities, were from different schools and social groups, the four of us band members shared a camaraderie – our shared experiences growing up together on the road on weekends, and our love of music. The things that tied us together became more important than the petty things that often drive teenagers apart.

What Mike lacked in musical skill, he made up in stage presence. He knew how to charm an audience, or make an instant friend one on one. Everywhere we went, everyone looked up to him. He was the kid that had it all. It really was remarkable watching how people gravitated towards him, and life just seemed to open up to him as he went along. Everyone likely knew of someone like that in high school. Mike was THAT guy!

A couple of years into our rock’n’roll journey, Mike started making unusual mistakes while playing. At first, they were rare and we were likely the only ones noticing, but as the dances and road trips wore on, Mike’s troubles became more and more pronounced. He couldn’t play like he used to. Eventually he told us that he had a pinched nerve in his arm, which wasn’t healing, and he would have to stop playing with us. Our agent found us a replacement guitarist, but being much older than us and in a different place in his life, the new guy just didn’t work out. The magic that the original four of us created together was gone.

After the converted bus blew up on the highway and needed repairs we couldn’t afford, we knew we had to pack it in, and we did. My rock’n’roll dreams dashed, I turned my attention to high school, and finished my graduation year with top marks, and awards for band leadership and acting, coveted prizes in a school with top level performing arts programs.

As I went off to university and we all began pursuing our careers, I lost touch with Mike. After my wedding, I didn’t see him again until about twenty years later. Somehow it was decided that we should all get together and have lunch one summer when Rick was back in town, to enjoy each other’s company and reminisce about old times. The lunch was a great get together.

But when I saw Mike I was shocked.

By that time, he was in an assisted living residence, unable to take care of himself. His wife had left him, taking their two kids with her. She just wasn’t prepared to stand by him as his progressing Multiple Sclerosis ate him from the inside out, destroying her hopes for their life together. Mike lived alone, a shadow of his former guy-who-had-everything persona.

Our annual summer lunches continued from there, and have for the last twenty years! We get together and update each other on our families, careers and our lives, and laugh about old memories and great times.

I eventually learned that when Mike had to quit the band, it wasn’t due to a pinched nerve. Mike had severe MS in his family, and he knew, as a kid at eighteen, what his future entailed, and that his fumbling on his guitar was the small start of what would be a long and painful journey through life. I can’t imagine what that realization must have been like for him, and what it would have been like to hide it from everyone who cared about him. He had to keep it hidden, as he chose a career out of school that he knew would provide a disability pension for him, so long as his affliction wasn’t present or known when he started working.

So Mike hid his struggle, got on with his career, life and family, and then watched it all slowly, painfully unravel.

Mike eventually moved into a top level assisted living facility, where he was confined to his bed or a wheelchair, needed a catheter bag, and assistance with everything, including eating at times. His speech became quite limited, but he still expressed himself well and forcefully, with a big smile and bright dancing eyes.

As I watched Mike deteriorate further over the years, I couldn’t help but wonder about the contrast between the cool kid… king of the high school, and the withered man in front of me. Back then, so many things were important to us as teenagers, with adult bodies and childish brains, and now none of them really mattered. Mike, the kid that had it all, ended up losing more than most people can imagine.

What a study in contrast. What an example of how often what seems important really isn’t, and that often things are not really what they seem. Those that have everything may have nothing, and the best thing we can do for ourselves is be grateful, and live our lives like we truly appreciate the blessings we have.

Despite his affliction, Mike was always joyful. How many of us can honestly say that?

We moved the location for our annual lunches to Mike’s facility, held in a room down the hall from the single bedroom where he has spent the last seventeen years. At our lunch last summer, we gave Mike some cookies, which he really enjoyed, and helped him eat them, until one of his nurses came in and admonished us for doing so. He wasn’t allowed such sweets.

Later, we said goodbye to Mike and headed on our way for another year. As I rode down the elevator and walked out the front door, I noted to myself that Mike seemed especially sad to say goodbye. I wondered about his future, scared because I’ve learned to pay attention to my own intuition.

Last week, we attended Mike’s funeral. I don’t know how or why he passed away specifically…it doesn’t matter… the MS got him as it always was going to.

It is often remarkable how things turn out in our human experience. Mike’s life was a school of lessons for the rest of us. He and I really shouldn’t have even known each other.

But as things turned out… Mike was my friend.

I just read your story and it was incredibly moving. I am sitting at my computer shedding a tear and thinking about all the blessings I have that I take completely for granted. Thank you for the reminder and for sharing this beautiful story of friendship.

 

[Matt Landau]

One I have had recently is should we change all of our communication to guests for the year, as if they were on the Oregon Trail (yes that new game many of you have seen, or for us oldies from Oregon, the game you played at school and always died of dysentery). We have a space in Sunriver that actually shows where the trail was, and I think it would be a fun way to spice up our emails and texts to guests. I figure we could come up with a theme every other year! Maybe if they are funny they will read them more? Will we do it? Not 100% sure yet, will know more soon, but it is things like this that are creative fun and bring zest back to this business!

Absolutely love this concept!

 

[Will Franco]

This brings to mind the Atlas of Emotions, a collaborative project between the Dalai Lama and Paul Ekman, an emotion scientist. The Feelings Flywheel and the Atlas of Emotions complement each other. The Feelings Flywheel starts from the edge and narrows down to the primary emotion, which can then be further explored using the Atlas of Emotions.

The 'single story' that moved me is Caroline Polachek: Tiny Desk Concert (by NPR, where real artists come to play, live, without the special effects). Delving deeper and reading more into her story, you find that she's driven by principles. For example, "I wouldn't be the artist I am without my autonomy - I've never had a suggestion box, and I never will." Combined with a cleverly crafted brand and image to back that up, she presents an authentic character of her own design that she steps into when she's in public and performing. For example, in the Tiny Desk Concert blurb you will find the seed she planted for copywriter, “Any good singer…hydration is crucial…stops for a water break in the middle of her Tiny Desk Concert, she doesn't pull out some crappy plastic bottle. No, *she drinks from a chalice [literally]*.”

Caroline Polachek's music brings the room alive and her story is inspirational because she's found a way to make authenticity an intentionally and cleverly crafted style.

 

[SScurlock]

When we started living in our vacation house in Mexico for six months a year, I never suspected our dog would open the door to our becoming a part of our village. This is one of many of his stories.

Brando’s dense, fluffy blond coat and “I love you!” brown eyes made him look like a 75-pound stuffed animal. His show-dog looks, wagging tail, and propensity to lean against people while gazing up at them in adoration transformed strangers into friends within seconds.

San Pancho’s dogs are small- to medium-size, short-haired mixed breeds, and they’re welcome everywhere. Owners let them out in the morning to find their canine pals. They run into the waves, roll in the sand, slurp water from bowls placed in front of shops and restaurants, nap in the shade, and eventually return home. They’re happily scruffy.

In contrast, our large, well-groomed golden retriever with a wardrobe of bandanas stood out. Wherever we took him, Mexicans and gringos stopped, and even crossed the street, to meet him.

“What’s his name? How old is he?” they asked in Spanish and English as they petted him and he leaned against them, licked their hands, and wagged his tail. Mothers holding barefooted babies on their hip asked to greet him, and he’d gently lick their babies’ toes. Shop owners and vendors at the weekly farmers market greeted him with a cheery “¡Hola Brando!”

It was like walking around with a dog version of Brad Pitt.

One afternoon, Brando and I were waiting to check out at the sidewalk produce stand. As I held one of the flat-bottomed, red plastic shopping bowls I’d filled with Valencia oranges, a papaya, avocados and limes, he stood next me as he watched people pass on the sidewalk.

A señora balancing a wooden crate of pineapples on top of her head stopped. She looked at Brando, then smiled at me.

At the same time, a Mexican gentleman with his bowl of produce stood beside us. Brando looked up at him, wagging his tail. The gentleman smiled at me, then looked at Brando.

“Sietate,” he said.

Brando sat. The gentleman smiled.

“Abajo,” he said.

Brando stretched his front legs forward and slid into a down.

The gentleman beamed. The pineapple señora beamed. The cashier beamed. And I realized Brando had learned Spanish.

Love this. Just reading about Brando made me smile!