The Importance of Saying Thank You

I saw something happen the other day that made me realize that we don't say thank you nearly enough. Or to put it the another way, many of us are not very good at acknowledging what others do for us.

We were finishing lunch at an outdoor restaurant on Hyannis Harbor the other week when a woman came into the table area and said that her husband was having trouble paying to park their car at the adjacent public lot. The booth, she said, was empty, and they didn't know what to do.

When it was explained to her that the structure she was referring to was simply an information booth and that the computerized kiosk next to it was where you pay, she sat down and said "Well, he'll never figure that out. He's 85 and refuses to learn how to use a computer."

That could have been the end of it. But, instead, a young woman, who had been our server, went out into the lot, found the man and explained how the process works. She even took his credit card, went to the kiosk and helped him pay for his parking.

I left the restaurant thinking that I hope someone tells the manager about what she did. Upon reflection, I realize I shouldn't have left the task to "someone." I should have done it myself.

Ralph Marston, who is the author behind The Daily Motivator website, says that we should "make it a habit to tell people thank you. To express your appreciation, sincerely and without the expectation of anything in return. Truly appreciate those around you, and you'll soon find many others around you. Truly appreciate life and you'll find that you have more of it."

The basic idea of appreciating life brings back memories of wife's late Uncle Joe, who told me years ago that he got up every morning, put his feet on the floor, and simply said "thank you."  That's a good habit that I try to follow, but don't always. I'm somehow too busy at 6:00am making coffee and watching ESPN.

This summer is the first in the nearly 25 years that we've lived on Cape Cod that I've had the opportunity to really appreciate the place. For pretty much the whole time we've been here, I've been driving over one of the bridges chasing a paycheck somewhere in Southeastern Massachusetts, Providence, RI, and even Andover, MA -- which is just a few miles from the New Hampshire border.

But due to an unplanned career change two years ago, I'm getting to spend more time on Cape helping my wife with her successful real estate practice and taking a short ride over the bridge to teach at our local state university.  I finally feel like I live here. I even play golf once a week, something I never had time for.

So, I guess I should be 'thankful" that the Board of Directors of the non-profit where I was working hamhandedly reorganized me out of my job in September 2017 without warning and while I was on vacation. I was stunned at the time, but for me personally, it was one of the best things that ever happened.

Let's be honest. Some of us don't think that it's necessary to thank people for doing their jobs. Servers in restaurants and sales clerks in stores are paid to respond to our whims. So, why say thanks?

At the same time, it's also hard for some people to accept what we used to call "attaboys" for performing tasks in their job descriptions.

But, giving and accepting praise is an important part of our psychological well-being, as Dr. Laura Trice explains in the video linked here.

Please take a moment in watch.

Thank you....

Being Random

We spent a day last week at Disneyland in California with people of all shapes and sizes; ethnicities, countries and religions. Some people spoke English, while others didn't.

It was hot and crowded. We stood in lines. A perfect formula for tempers to flare or at least for folks to get a little testy.

But I didn't hear anyone shouting "send them back" or "go home."

Just sayin...

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David Ortiz is out of the hospital and still there is no "real" story about what happened.

While many in the media and elsewhere threw water on the explanation from Dominican authorities that Ortiz was shot my mistake, no one has yet to offer solid proof that the story was all a cover-up to protect the retired Red Sox star.

Even the reports that have been written that claim to tell the true story -- like a recent piece in Sports Illustrated -- fail to reveal anything new.

You have to admit that it stretches the imagination that a country like the Dominican could engineer a false story of this magnitude and keep the lid on it.

It's entirely possible that the shooter was just incompetent. He wouldn't be the first hit man to swing and miss.

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I've crossed one item off the Bucket List that I wrote about a few weeks ago. After 20 years of waiting, I finally have an outdoor shower.  It's probably not that big a deal to most of you, but as a city boy it's one of those things that says Cape Cod to me.

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Does it seem strange to you that there are so many unusual happenings with the weather these days? Tornadoes on Cape Cod? Really? Is this the sudden culmination of climate change or something that years from now people will look back on and declare that 2019 was just a weird year?

As Mark Twain said, "Climate is what we can expect. Weather is what we get."

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Somehow this doesn't seem right. The number one song in 1969 was "Sugar, Sugar" by the Archies. "Honky Tonk Women" by the Stones was number 4.  The Doors' "Touch Me" was number 49.

"Sweet Caroline" finished at 22 for the year.

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Given the traffic, I was kind of surprised to read that vacation rentals on Cape Cod are down this year  because people are afraid of potential shark attacks. I've also seen that the backyard pool business has seen an uptick for the same reason.

My friend environmental writer Todd McLeish recently explained on his blog that not too long ago there was concern that the shark population was dwindling. You can his post here.

"See You in Church"

When we go out to eat, we often sit at the bar. The service can be more more personable and the conversation engaging depending on who you're sitting next to.

I'm not sure how it happened, but we got into a discussion a few weeks ago with someone about Irish Catholic guilt.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the malady, Irish Catholic guilt is the fear of eternal damnation, or even worse, disappointing your Mother, if you fail to behave the way you're supposed to.

The symptoms are various, but one cause of Irish Catholic guilt is not going to church every weekend and having your Mother find out. As a result, those afflicted will sometimes drag themselves to Mass years after they've left home, just in case this could be the week Mom will ask how church was. And you don't want to lie.

For those of us old enough, not eating fish every Friday or not fasting during Lent -- or at least giving up candy -- can still occasionally bring on the guilts, even though the rules are nowhere near as strict as they used to be.

It can also be as simple as not doing "the right thing." However you happen to define it --  in your Irish guilt way of looking at the world.

As actor Edward Burns describes it: "I suffer from Irish-Catholic guilt. Guilt is a good reality check. It keeps that 'do what makes you happy thing' in check."

In the interest of full disclosure, I'm a fairly regular church goer. (Even though officially I'm not exactly made to feel welcome. But, that's a story for another day.) Part of the reason I still attend is that I've been fortunate over the years to be a part of some wonderful parishes staffed by priests, who I connected with. In some cases, we became friendly. Plus there's that thing about not wanting to disappoint my Mother. Even though she's been gone for more than a year, she'll still know!

We raised our daughter Catholic and now our granddaughter is coming to Mass with me and will be making her First Communion next year.

Looking back, the biggest thing I realize about growing up Catholic in the Brighton section of Boston was how segregated we were. Our lives and that of our parents revolved around the church. We belonged to Our Lady of the Presentation Parish in Brighton. The next parish, St. Columbkille's, was about a mile away. But, it was practically sacrilege to go to Mass at St. Col's.

We went to Our Lady of the Presentation Grammar School and attended the 9:00am Children's Mass on Sunday morning, while our parents worshiped in the basement church. We sat with our classes and the nuns who taught us. If we weren't there, our parents were pretty much required to send a note on Monday morning explaining where we were.

Upon grammar school graduation, most of the girls continued on to Presentation Academy, while the boys went off to BC High, Catholic Memorial, and other exam schools. Very few attended the much closer Brighton High School or the co-ed St. Columbkille's High. I honestly think attending St. Col's would have been seen as very disloyal.

For our parents, the church was their "country club," in the words of our bar mate.

There was The Mothers Guild,  Sodality, Catholic Daughters, the men's bowling league, and the Knight of Columbus with their weekly meetings and monthly socials.  Even Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts were an extension of the church.

When I was young I don't think I had a friend, who attended public school.  From who I remember, most of my parents' friends were also connected to our church or at least Catholic. They had some non-Catholic friends, too, particularly people my Dad met at work.

It was a different time. It was safe and secure. We all pretty much believed the same things and participated in the same activities. All the cliches about getting on your bike on a summer morning and not coming home until the street lights came on are true. Generally speaking, everybody's Mom was home, so you could always get lunch and supper somewhere. Parents kept tabs on each others kids and if you misbehaved during the day, your folks knew about it before you got home.

What our culture is missing today is that sense of community church provided for so many people. Our isolation from those"different" from us was a product of the times. Fortunately, most of us moved beyond our limited view of the world as we got summer jobs, went to college and met people with different backgrounds and experiences.

We find community today in smaller groups that sometimes can be just as isolated like Pop Warner football, Saturday morning soccer, youth hockey; after-school programs, and golf leagues. We work too much and when home, stick to ourselves. I think it's safe to say that many people don't know most of their neighbors, even if they have lived near or even next to them for years. When I was growing up, you would at least see them in church. People went to Mass at the same time and usually sat in the same pews.

Today, the church is not the all  encompassing and uniting force that it once was. In the case of my faith, the sex abuse crisis and the exclusionary or archaic attitudes towards women and the LBGQT community have become stumbling blocks for participation.

Sadly, the words "see you in church," just don't mean what they used to.

Friends and Family

Maybe it's me. Or maybe it's a guy thing. But, I'm not very good at keeping in touch with friends.

On the other hand, my wife has more friends than Jay Zee has benjamins, although her definition of friend is very broad.

It's important in her business to be as friendly as possible with as many people as possible. That's one of the keys to her 20 years of success in the real estate profession. Buyers and sellers want to associate with people they like and trust. The days of the slick real estate or used car sales associate are fading as more emphasis is placed on the importance of creating and maintaining relationships.

So, it's not surprising that it seems more women than men work in the real estate profession. It's the same in Public Relations. I'm also seeing more women in car showrooms, too.  I know it's a cliche, but women are often seen as more nurturing; more in tune with people's feelings and emotions. Even more trustworthy.

Completing the transaction used to be king. Now maintaining the connection is just as important. Information about customers that was once kept on a spread sheet for possible future reference is now housed in elaborate Customer Relationship Management (CRM) systems.

Did you get a card from your realtor congratulating you on the first anniversary of your home purchase? That's no coincidence. It's part of an ongoing effort to maintain a relationship with you in the hopes that you'll also buy your next home from that person or recommend him/her to a friend.

There are few things that can be caught up in more emotion than buying a home. It's a big decision to commit yourself to borrowing and then paying back hundreds of thousand of dollars. When buying their first home, it's not unusual for young people to have well meaning relatives, family, and friends whispering in their ears that they're not ready; that they should save more money.

There have already been a few times in my short career in real estate that I've seen parents -- usually Dad -- sabotage the purchase of a home that a young couple loves because the roof or furnace needs to be replaced and "they don't have the money."

I'll never forget one Dad who got out of his car, looked at the roof, and declared that a new one was needed. He got back in the car and never saw the rest of the house, which his daughter and son in law fell in love with. They never came back to see it again or make an offer.

When the house was sold just a few days later to another young couple, the home inspector said that the roof was good for at least another 10 years. When I told him about the Dad, who declared that it needed to be replaced, he smiled and said "He was probably an accountant, who just didn't want them to buy a house. Obviously, he didn't know a thing about roofs."

If we're honest with ourselves, there's never a "good" time to make a major purchase like buying a home or our first new -- not previously owned -- car.

Interestingly, the reasons for purchasing homes are changing.  The chart below shows an increasing number of people buying to accommodate several generations.

Of those buyers, 26% indicated they will be taking care of an aging parent, and 14% said that they wanted to spend time with an aging parent. These numbers do not come as a surprise. According to the Pew Research Center, 64 million Americans (that's 20% of the population) lived in a multi-generational household in 2016.

So, it's too bad Dad sabotaged that sale. He really would have liked living in the house...

Random Again

I know Internet security is very important. But, do we have to jump through what seems like an endless series of hoops to change a password? How many verification codes are really necessary? It took me what seemed like forever to change the password on one of my personal accounts, which are mostly filled with junk mail. But I can't bring myself to dump any of them, because I'm not sure on what important documents they may be listed.

Drivers of pick up trucks seem to be some of the slowest on the road. Particularly in the morning when they're heading to the job. Coincidence? Maybe not...

For those of you who have issues with social media and Twitter in particular, check out this conversation with Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey: How Twitter Needs to Change

He agrees with you.

Several years ago my mother-in-law gave my wife the following advice: "The older they get, the more they become like little boys."

While doing yard work last fall, I tripped and slightly fractured my ankle requiring a brace for a 10 days. I also sprained my wrist and broke my thumb at the same time putting me in a cast for six weeks.  A few weeks ago while emptying the dishwasher on a Sunday morning following a Saturday night cookout (where the gas for the grille ran out before the food was cooked), I sliced my finger on a serrated knife and needed five stitches.

In between those incidents, I have clumsily fallen up flights of stairs requiring me to re-engage the ankle brace. I've had a tooth ache that I moaned about for days before going to the dentist. I've also suffered through several bouts of flu like symptoms. I see my chiropractor on a regular basis and if I don't start the day on the floor for 10 minutes with a tightly rolled up towel at the small of my back, I'm creaky (cranky?) all day. My allergies also bother me.

I think Janet might be onto something.

...and about the grille running out of gas. In my defense, I cleaned and started the grille the day before and everything seemed fine. And no one had to remind me to do it!

It's interesting how many want to blame Alex Cora for the Red Sox woes. He can

only manage the players he has and if they're not doing the job, it's not his fault.

As Rick Pitino famously said "All the negativity that's in this town just sucks."

Thoughts on Sox

Even though several days have passed since we first heard the news, it's still difficult to process the words "David Ortiz" and "shot" in the same sentence.

No matter the reason -- not that there could ever be a good one -- you have to hope that something greater will come from this. That's the only way to make any sense of what happened.

This incident showed once again the limits of social media. I talk to my students all the time about understanding the sources of the information that they read on Twitter and elsewhere.  It's a lesson that some adults could learn as well. Be sure that your sources are reputable and not ones that engage in rumors and half truths. Some of the information about the Ortiz shooting that has been repeated and retweeted as fact is at this point gossip and speculation from questionable outlets.

Another lesson for my students when I see them again is that as a story initially unfolds you should also be cautious about early reporting from legitimate media outlets.  In the race to be first, incorrect information or impressions are sometimes reported.

For example, the Dial Bar and Lounge, where Ortiz was shot, was initially described as a bar and/or nightclub, leading to social media comments questioning why he was at a place like that and asking where was his family. Reports now describe the establishment as a "fashionable open air cafe," where he was sitting with a Dominican television producer,  a totally different image than the one first presented.

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Great reporting on the Ortiz shooting from WBZ-TV's Anaridis Rodriguez, who was born and raised in the Dominican. She obviously had sources in the country that made her reporting some of the most accurate among Boston media.

A few weeks ago, she shared via social media some of the racial insults she receives on a regular basis because of her heritage. For example, one comment to her began by calling her a "spic."

And that's one of many things that's wrong with social media.

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As someone who has worked in the media business for more years than I care to count, I knoicw the importance of being sensitive to the sentiments and opinions of your publics. So, Major League Baseball's decision to change the designation "Disabled List  to "Injured List" was certainly long overdue.

But, this one I don't get. Apparently there's been some talk in NBA circles about the term "owner" being inappropriate. I fully understand the possible sensitivity to the word in a league where most of the owners are white, while the majority of players are minority.  But, what word or phrase could be substituted for "owner" without turning the language on its head and creating a term that's just plain silly and pandering?

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My daughter recently took me to a Red Sox game for my birthday. Great seats in right field. The Sox lost, but a fun night with Megs!

I'm always amazed at ticketed events how people can't seem to find their seats. There was all kinds of shifting around in the first few innings as people sat in the wrong rows or just plunked themselves down in vacant chairs only to be forced to move when ticket holders arrived. I'm not singling out a couple of guys with a beer in each hand, who just decide to sit somewhere. I'm talking about families -- Dad, Mom and three kids -- just randomly finding five seats and hunkering down. How hard can it be to read the row and seat number and find the correct spot?  Apparently quite difficult for some people...
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I'm  a firm believer in the cliche that the best hockey is play off hockey. That being said, I regret not watching the Bruins more during the regular season. I didn't realize they had the potential to reach Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals.

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When he was managing the Red Sox, Jimy Williams somewhat famously said that the season was a "marathon, not a sprint." So there's no reason to give up yet. Right??

Fathers, Sons, and Golf

I first became aware of the game of golf as a kid when I saw my Dad leave the house at 7:00am on Saturday mornings with his golf bag over his shoulder. I can still picture his orange ball cap, but I don't remember the course name and can't see the logo in my memory.

Dad was an avid golfer when he was younger. He bought both my brother, Jeff, and I our own set of clubs that we proudly took to the driving range with him.  Unfortunately, they were stolen from his car while parked at a downtown Boston garage near where he worked. I never owned another full set until about 15 years ago, when we began playing with friends.

I don't remember when my Dad stopped playing golf on a regular basis. I suspect it had something to do with his perpetually bad back and/or being too busy with life as his first two sons grew and a third somewhat unexpectedly arrived.

My Father still played every now and then. When friends would visit from Indiana they would always spend a weekend at what was then the Sheraton Hyannis near the Melody Tent. The boys would play golf at the hotel course, Twin Brooks, while the girls would cruise the Cape Cod Mall and have a leisurely lunch.

My Dad's been gone almost 11 years, but I just recently went through all the pockets in his golf bag and found several pencils from Twin Brooks.

He also would play on occasion when he and my Mother would visit us on the Cape. Nine holes at our home course, Holly Ridge in Sandwich, with Mom riding shotgun in the cart, followed by lunch in the Clubhouse. He also played when we vacationed for a few summers at the Jack-o-Lantern resort in New Hampshire. Ironically, my parents took us there when we were kids, but I don't remember him packing his golf bag.

Dad would be rusty when he teed it up, but you could see that he probably had a very respectable handicap in his younger days. I'm sure he played at other times, too, probably with my youngest brother, Eric. But, he never got back to anything consistent.

He still passionately followed the game and would attend pro tournaments when they came to the area. My daughter has fond memories of going to the Senior Open in Salem, MA. with her Grandfather, Uncle Eric, and Dad. We got there in time to see the pairing of Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus tee off and sat in the stands with David Duval, who was there watching his Dad play.

My Father was the best at getting autographs and my brother has several hole flags and program books filled with signatures from everyone from Donald Trump to Greg Norman.

He was excited for a number of reasons when my folks finally left the Brighton section of Boston and moved to the suburbs in Natick, where Eric and his wife live. One was that the driving range where he took Jeff and I when we were kids was just minutes away. He talked of practicing there and hopefully playing again at a nearby course.

Unfortunately, shortly after moving Dad learned that the pain he was experiencing wasn't his back acting up again, but cancer. He passed a little more than a year later having never got to the range.

Mariana with Holly Ridge teaching pro Darren Falk

I know he'd be pleased that his seven year old great granddaughter is taking lessons at Holly Ridge; can drive the ball 100 yards; has good club speed, and is an excellent putter.

Since it's summer and golf season, my reading list has featured several books about the game. It seems that more than a few have been written about sons, their Dads and golf.

One particularly touching book is Final Rounds written by golf writer and biographer James Dodson. It's mostly the story of a trip the author took with his ailing Dad to golf courses in Scotland and England, some of which Dodson's Father played as soldier during World Way II.  But it's also about Dodson's memories of his Dad, golfing buddies and final days. If you've lost your Father, the closing chapters might be a little gut wrenching. They were for me.

If nothing else, Dodson's experience made me promise myself that I will take the time to play with my granddaughter. Weather permitting that's what I hope to be doing Fathers Day, nine holes with Mariana and Mari, then lunch at the Holly Ridge Clubhouse.

I'm hoping that someday I can finally visualize that logo on my Dad's hat and take Mariana to where her great grandfather played.  Lasting memories are made on the golf course and that's one I don't want to miss.