HARD CELL

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”

Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

We were in Paris last month. We’ve been going pretty much yearly for the last 25 years. Hemingway’s words ring so true. Though I might add that if you are lucky enough to have eaten a croissant in Paris, then that, too, will stay with you, for croissants remain in your teeth.

I have such a clear visual of our first trip to Paris. Cory was spending his junior semester abroad in Edinburgh. We wanted to visit him during his spring break. But Scotland in March didn’t appeal to us weather-wise. So we decided that we’d meet in Paris. Howard, Tracy and I arrived before Cory. We took a walk, wandering aimlessly. I remember the early morning sun making the streets of Paris glisten, wet from early morning cleaning. How civilized and beautiful! Unexpectedly, we found ourselves in front of Notre Dame. The Hunchback of Notre Dame is one of my favorite books/movies. I could visualize Quasimodo rescuing Esmerelda, shouting “Sanctuary!” It was so real in my head that it made me teary. When Cory finally arrived, we had lunch in a little bistro. I was so tired from the long flight and being on hyper-alert for Cory’s arrival that I thanked the server when he brought our food. “Gracias”, I said. And I don’t even speak Spanish.

During that first visit, we were awestruck by the city’s beauty and the special ambience that makes it so perfect. The gorgeous 1893 glass dome at Galeries Lafayette, the magical department store where Picasso first caught sight of his lifelong muse, Marie-Therese Walter. The Marais—the Jewish quarter, with the best potato pancakes I've ever eaten. Walking the streets of Montmartre, where we could amble through that magical place where artists at the turn of the 20th century worked and played. And there, we could look out over the rooftops to see the glory that is the city of Paris. 

Tracy also spent her junior semester abroad in Paris. She was excited, but worried—would her French family beat her? Too much Les Miz. But she was so lucky to have been placed with a French family who was just perfect. We visited her during her spring break and took her to the Eiffel Tower for lunch on her 21st birthday. We were seated by the window, looking out over the expanse that is Paris. Tracy's French began to sound native. She rescued me when I was trying to buy cosmetics and the rude salesperson kept saying “Quoi?” (“What?”) My French isn’t great, but it’s passable, and at that moment, the woman was just being nasty. That’s really not typical—usually if you’re making an effort, the French will work with you and appreciate that effort. I was so impressed when Tracy jumped in and seamlessly got the deal done. Under my breath, I said “vache” (cow). I would have preferred to say it out loud, but I was trying to honor the French code of “La Politesse”, a kind of formal and formatted approach to good manners. Which brings me to today’s issue.

Cell phones. They’re certainly not specific to French culture, but on our last visit, they definitely took over the streets. Streets that had so much charm turned into obstacle courses. As we walked, people walked towards us, staring at the cell phones in their hands and not caring if they walked right into us. This rude and annoying habit struck me more during this last trip than it had before. Part of this problem in Paris that makes the experience more notable than in other cities is that many of the streets in Paris are very narrow, so it’s difficult to traverse the city without having someone bang into you. But more importantly, it was constant—really constant. There wasn’t a street where we didn’t have to dodge people who were cellphone obsessed.

I do know that I’m a dinosaur and prefer the old times to these tech obsessed times. And I know that I’m pretty much alone in that feeling, although Howard does agree. Sometimes I think that it’s just because I’m sort of an old lady. Okay—maybe I’m really an old lady. But regardless, I’d rather see what’s around me than make love to a phone. But it astonishes me that no one says “Pardonne-moi”or "Excusez moi". No, they just keep walking. Maybe they look up and give you a look that says “what’s the problem”. Or, more often, they just look confused or apathetic when they bump into you or when I say “Excusez moi” in a tone that means “EXCUSEZ VOUS!” But I don’t think that I’ve managed to teach anyone new age tech manners. I’m sad to say that I’m just pretty much in the minority.

There really isn’t anything that I can think of that will change this new world mindset obsession with tech, especially cell phones. And I know that I have to live in this new world. But to me, it’s sad that the focus on cell phones can blur what is special in the surroundings. And certainly that focus also diminishes civility. Eyes on phone, missing the charms of Paris and neglecting consideration for other people. Nonetheless, isn’t there a compromise? I don’t know. I just know that our technology is outstripping our humanity. 

HEY! LOOK UP FROM YOUR CELL PHONE! THERE ARE PEOPLE AND PLACES TO SEE! AND IF YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT THOSE PEOPLE AND PLACES, JUST AT LEAST MIND YOUR MANNERS!

AFTERMATH

May and June are my favorite months of the year. May holds the promise of summer, though we’re usually not quite there yet. June starts off the summer, and I know that there’s still plenty of time ahead to enjoy warm weather and sunshine. We usually go to Europe, most often France, in May. Our usual routine is to leave on May 2, since May 1 is Labor Day in France, and almost everything is closed. Two weeks in France in May is lovelier than I can express. This year, Howard had his 50th medical school reunion in early May. Yes, 50th! He was sort of Doogie Howser, walking into med school at 19. But 50 years is a long time, regardless of any extenuating circumstances that might mitigate that huge number.

With the reunion delaying our usual France trip, we decided to go to London for a week. We found a hotel in Mayfair, a lovely area in London. There’s a song, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, which was written just before WWII, but was kind of an emblematic song during the war. Our hotel was very close to Berkeley Square. Walking through the park, the song in our heads, made for magical evenings.

“There were angels dining at the Ritz

And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square”

https://www.google.com/search?q=a+nightingale+sang+in+berkeley+square+YOUTUBE&rlz=1C5CHFA_enUS833US833&oq=a+nigh&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUqDggAEEUYJxg7GIAEGIoFMg4IABBFGCcYOxiABBiKBTIOCAEQRRgnGDsYgAQYigUyBggCEEUYQDIGCAMQRRg5MhAIBBAuGIMBGLEDGIAEGIoFMgoIBRAuGNQCGIAEMgoIBhAuGNQCGIAEMgoIBxAuGLEDGIAE0gEJMzc4MWowajE1qAIIsAIB&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:ed326494,vid:wGekPuOIuZg,st:0

The hotel was charming, too. Just one problem—when we arrived, we got royally screwed on the room and pricing.

We had made a reservation for a room with a sitting area, including a sofa. It’s so relaxing to spend the day touring, have dinner in a special restaurant, then sit in the room reading. When we got to the hotel, they showed us to a room with a very large bed, a desk and two chairs, and no room to move—no sofa, no separate sitting area.

We went back to the lobby and explained what we’d booked and how this room wasn’t it. The desk associate was very polite, but gave us some bull about rooms all being different, etc. She then showed us to a very nice room, more in sync with what we’d booked, with a sitting area and sofa. But there would be a daily 200 pound surcharge (about $250 per day). This room was fine; the pricing wasn’t. We’d had similar situations in the past here and there at other hotels but never incurred an additional charge. What did we do? Of course I asked for the manager.

A manager met us in the lobby. After we’d explained the problem, she said that she’d reduce the surcharge to 160 pounds per night.  That’s roughly $200 a night! But, being tired from the plane ride and the longish drive to the hotel through the rain, we were too exhausted to spend the rest of the day arguing. I figured that I would take care of this later.  We had a great trip and came home rested, with an end of May sun welcoming us on our return.

In the aftermath, I got to work. I located the email with the details of our reservation. Right there, in black and white, “sofa” loomed large on the room description. I wrote to the hotel, asking that the manager review and adjust our surcharge. I had suspected that the manager in the hotel was a lower level manager—she was youngish and her approach telegraphed newbie.

I received a polite reply from a “Duty Manager”, whatever that was. She agreed to reduce the surcharge to 100 pounds daily (about $125). But, not satisfied. I wrote back, thanked her and asked for the General Manager. I received a timely email in return. The GM apologized profusely for the mess and agreed to refund the full daily surcharge. So the total refund was 1200 pounds—about $1600! Well worth my effort!

And remember the invitation to make a future reservation through the GM. If we return, that would be a good idea. I would forward the GM’s last email in order to facilitate recall of the situation. That can go a long way towards booking a nice room at an appropriate (perhaps better than standard) rate.

What’s my point here? As always, if something’s wrong, get to the right person to fix it. And $1600, the total surcharge for our stay, is a lot of wrong! Most hotels, and many other businesses, have several levels of managers. And not all of them have the ability to resolve problem situations as they should be resolved. It’s important to get to the higher level manager if the less senior ones aren’t giving you the right answer. I had the documentation of our reservation, along with the experience of never having been surcharged when a hotel had made an error. So, I knew that I was on the right path. With all of the chips on my side, I got to the right person and fixed it. 

USUALLY FIXING PROBLEMS HAS A TIME SENSITIVE COMPONENT. BUT IF YOU CAN’T FIX THE PROBLEM WITHIN THE “BEFORE” TIMEFRAME, DON’T STOP—FIX IT IN THE AFTERMATH

HAVING THE DOCUMENTATION AND GETTING TO THE RIGHT PERSON WORKS ON THE BACK END AS WELL AS IT WOULD ON THE FRONT END

A LITTLE KINDNESS GOES A LONG WAY

 I love donuts. Apparently I’m not alone—National Donut Day was June 7. But I celebrate most days, since a donut is my favorite breakfast. 

Donut worship goes way back in my family. When I was a child, I remember my mother periodically coming home with a dozen donuts. But that never made sense to me, since my mother had a set of rules to go with the donuts. For my sister, she shouldn’t eat them because her face might break out from the sugar. (Is that a real thing?) Same for my brother. For my father and me, we didn’t need the extra calories. And my mother didn’t eat them often. So, why did she buy them? My father was a physician, and his office was attached to the house through the garage. We had a freezer in the garage, and on donut day, my mother would ask my father to put the donuts in the freezer when he went through the garage to the office. One day, my father got disgusted, so instead of putting the donuts in the freezer, he put them in the trash can. But my mother continued to buy donuts anyway, and I continue to love them.

Our local supermarket just finished a year long renovation. It was rather chaotic, and one of the victims of the restructure was my beloved vanilla frosted raised donut. For a few weeks, when I’d go to the market, they didn’t have my donuts. I waited patiently for about 2 weeks, thinking that it was just a fluke. But I finally had to take action. I had the contact information for the assistant to the president of the supermarket chain and wrote to her. Remember, I don’t use my contacts frivolously, but hey, this is about donuts, not to mention the other missing or misplaced items. She forwarded my email to a store manager. While my expectations were low, I’m fed up enough with the post-COVID supply changes, and this donut insult sent me over the edge. I wrote to the store manager about my donuts, the fact that I couldn’t find cole slaw, and other problems. Much to my surprise, I received a very timely and heartfelt apology, with some real plans to rectify the situation. The manager said that there was no reason that they couldn’t make an extra tray of my favorite donuts. And the next week, there they were— my beloved donuts. He also sent a photo of the new location for cole slaw and researched the other missing items. I was very impressed—no excuses, no wiggling out of a difficult situation—just a sincere and honest attempt to make a customer happy. As always when escalated contacts are excellent, I thanked him profusely. 

A few weeks after the donut crisis, I needed horseradish. I’m picky about brands, especially horseradish. I couldn’t find it in any of the usual places. There was a store associate stocking dairy items, and I asked him where the horseradish was, noting that I don’t want Gold’s; I only use Kelchner’s. He stopped what he was doing, took me all around the dairy area and could only come up with Gold’s. But he really took me seriously and took the time to try to help. I thanked him, but said that I can only use Kelchner’s, though he was so kind to take the time with me. My plan was to go to another store to find Kelchner’s, and Howard and I went to check out. All of a sudden, I saw my new friend coming towards us, a bottle in hand. He’d found the Kelchner’s in the kosher section. Not only did he survey the whole store to make a customer happy, he tracked me down to make sure that I had what I needed. If that’s not “above and beyond”, I don’t know what is. I thanked him and told him that he was terrific. 

But thanking my new-found friend wasn’t enough. I wrote to the manger, told him the whole story, and asked that the store find a way to recognize such superior service. The manager wrote back quickly, delighted to hear my story, and promising to seek out my new friend and find a way to reward him—take him out to lunch—something. I felt so good to know that there are still people who care about others and there is management that really appreciates hard working staff!

Although I generally thank people who are helpful, I started to think that perhaps more recognition could spread and make a dent in our oh-so-imperfect society. So I started to actively look for excellence. Like when we were in the food court in the mall. The food court looked cleaner and neater than it’s been. As I mulled that over, I noticed a lone employee, wiping each table and seat. I got up from where I was sitting and went over to her. “Excuse me”, I said. “I just have to thank you for being so diligent about cleaning. The food court looks so much more inviting because of you." Her smile was my gift of the day.

I suppose that you know that I’ll never stop battling when necessary. And I have always tried to acknowledge good service. But I’m now making a more focused and consistent attempt to do that. While I’ll never be goody-two-shoes, we live in a world that’s getting scarily nastier by the day. If we can remember to take the time to do little things to acknowledge the good, maybe those good vibes will spread.

It’s important to rectify problem consumer situations. But it’s equally as important to recognize those who make the world a better place, no matter how large or small the issue.

SHOPPING--DREAMING OF THE PAST AND LIVING IN THE PRESENT

Shopping used to be more fun and predictable. It was an outing; an adventure. People would stroll and browse, often stumbling over unanticipated finds and usually finding the items that were the original shopping goal. Now, too many things are only available online. Prices are going up frequently so that there isn’t an easy way to predict the ideal time to buy. And it’s not fun to shop on line—it hurts my shoulder and pisses me off.

But, in a land long ago and far away, there were so many wonderful department stores. Several were founded in the 1800s—Strawbridge and Clothier, John Wanamaker, Gimbels. When I was young, my mother used to take me and my siblings to shop at those stores, often in the grand Center City Philadelphia branches. They were real events—special outings. I remember going to Wanamaker’s before school started. One year, my mother bought me penny loafers. I wanted to hide my feet, feeling like I looked like I should be going to work at the stock exchange rather than being the junior high student that I was at the time.

Until I was almost 5, we lived in South Philadelphia. My mother would take me on the trolley, dressed up, including white gloves (“A lady always wears gloves.”) to get my curly hair cut at Gimbels. Frequently, after we’d moved to Levittown, we’d go into Center City to shop in Wanamaker’s, stopping first at Chock Full o' Nuts for lunch. My mother would order a nutted cream cheese sandwich, and I would have a hot dog. I loved to watch the servers take a paper doily and scoop mustard into it with a wooden spoon. 

As I grew up, the experience expanded. When I was about 13, my friends and I would get on a train for a downtown adventure. We’d shop and go to the movies. On one trip, my mother entrusted me with her Wanamaker’s credit card. I bought a ski jacket. It was a beautiful blue/black pattern. Unisex and warm. When I outgrew it, Robbie, across the street, wore it. After he outgrew it, it came back to us so that my sister could wear it. Then back across the street for Cindy. Home to us again for my brother. And finally, across the street one last time for Terry. I don’t know what happened to it after Terry had it, but things were made so well back then that they lasted.

As I got older, not only did I have the shopping experience, but I also had summer jobs working at department stores. First Wanamaker’s. My parents had a friend who rode the train into town with Wanamaker’s HR director. He got me a summer job there just before college. When I went for my interview, the first thing that Mrs. HR asked was whether I’d gone to my prom. I hadn’t. She smiled and said that it was okay—she hadn’t gone either. What a lovely intro to working retail. That summer was full of little adventures. I was a “contingent”, meaning that they put me in different departments depending on need. Candy—that was great. They let the candy counter staff eat all that they wanted. A voracious candy eater, I didn’t eat any—after about an hour, the sweet chocolate smell made me nauseous. Hardware. I wasn’t so good at that. But there were other staff in the department, so I wasn’t alone. Though one day at lunchtime, I was alone. A man approached me and asked for something—I don’t remember what. I tried to help, but couldn’t figure it out. He smiled at me and said “You don’t know what you’re doing, but you look awfully cute doing it.” People were generally nicer then.

After all of those years shopping and working retail, I went full circle from childhood haircut to marriage. My mother and I went back to Gimbels again, but this time, no haircut. Instead, we bought my wedding dress.

When Howard and I were dating, we were still in graduate school. On Fridays at lunchtime, I’d take the bus from Temple to Hahnemann, and we’d get sandwiches and Vonnebrook Cookes. We called them that because Howard had eaten the same cookies in Professor Vonnebrook’s class when he was in college. We’d go to Love Park near City Hall, eat lunch, and stroll over to Wanamaker’s. One day, there was a crowd in the main atrium. Hushed, everyone was listening to an elderly lady speaking elegantly. During one of those awful moments of silence when all should have been quiet, Howard forgot himself and said “Who’s the old lady?” We tried to become invisible as we realized that his voice stood out. And the “old lady” was Lillian Gish, there to promote a book about the evolution of her acting career. 

Years later, after we were married, one night when Howard had work to do, I wanted to go shopping for the holidays. Although it was safer then than now, Howard didn’t like me going alone So he enlisted our neighbor, Bob, to be my protector. Bob was even more of a shopper than I was. There was less focus on shopping and more focus on Bob’s pointing out all of the items he saw that he already owned. It was exhausting. Years later, when Cory and Tracy came along, I took them to Wanamaker’s for their birthdays. The store gave kids a half pound of birthday jelly beans. A kinder and sweeter era.

Over time, I was pretty much destined to live equidistant between Strawbridge’s and Wanamaker’s. First in Levittown when the Neshaminy and Oxford Valley malls were built. Wanamaker’s in Oxford Valley; Strawbridge’s in Neshaminy. After I got married, we lived at 9th and Locust—midway between Strawbridge’s in The Gallery and Wanamaker’s at 13th and Market. We moved to Wynnewood, again with Wanamaker’s to the east of us and Strawbridge’s to the west. Until it all fell apart when the stores were taken over by other companies and gradually disappeared totally. How much I miss those old days!

Fast forward to today. Last week my friend left me what sounded like an urgent message. “Call me back as soon as you can. I have a Bloomingdale’s question.” That piqued my interest. What kind of retail problem could be so pressing? The problem—she had bought a pair of earrings a few days earlier, and she just saw that they are now marked down by $200. She had ordered them on line and logically tried calling the online number to ask for a price adjustment. She reached an agent who said that she couldn’t do it. When my friend asked for a supervisor, the representative told her that there was only one supervisor and it could take 15 minutes to reach her. Since the representative didn’t sound too swift, and the possibility of reaching the supervisor was questionable, my friend hung up. 

There are several ways to obtain the price adjustment:

1) I have a separate “Loyalist” number, different from the regular Customer Service number, for people who are part of the store’s Loyalist shopper program. The likelihood was that she would get better service through that line.

2) My friend could simply have called back to the regular Customer Service number where there was a high probability that she would reach a better representative who would understand the logic of making the adjustment.

3) Since the special pricing ended that day, in order not to lose the $200, she could re-order the earrings and return the original ones. I had bought a pair of earrings a few months earlier, and checked my receipt, which cited a 90 day return policy. But beware—return policies can change. At one point, Bloomingdale’s had a 1 year return policy. And I’ve seen changes in return time frame for many retailers. 

I would have either chosen to call back to Customer Service and tried to reach a better rep, or would have called the Loyalist number. My friend chose to re-order and return. Either way, the $200 was better in her pocket.

A few years ago, I had bought a necklace from Bloomingdale’s that had dropped in price significantly about 8 months later. I often stumble on price changes from the gazillions of emails that I receive from innumerable retailers. At the time, I fell under the 1 year return policy. But many retailers note a short time frame for price adjustments. Since I was so far down the pike, but the return policy was in my favor, I was going to return the necklace and re-buy it. But I hesitated and searched for an easier resolution. I have many escalated contacts in many companies. My Bloomingdale’s contact is the best. He understood that I was on solid ground and simply did a price adjustment rather than make me trot back to the store for a return/re-purchase. Same outcome; easier path.

Since the retailers flood me with so many emails advertising special offers, I usually feel that I’m on solid ground with price adjustments. If they’re throwing price changes at me, I might as well catch ithem. Recently, I bought a dress, then received an email with a better promotion the day after the dress arrived in the mail. Sheepishly, I have to admit that the differential was only $4.97. But hey—they courted me. And $5 here and $8 there add up. I called and got my adjustment with no push back. It took me 3 minutes. I do have a "5 minute rule” for small adjustments—if it takes more than 5 minutes, don’t bother.

If I wanted to take the time to add it all up—which I don’t—I know that I’d see very significant savings just by being attentive to the pricing information that comes my way. If it’s out there for all to see, we have every right to act on it.

 PRICING IS A MYSTERY TO ME. BUT KEEPING ON TOP OF PRICE CHANGES CAN LEAD TO MORE MONEY IN YOUR POCKET. AND IT’S OFTEN A BENEFIT TO THE SELLER, SINCE YOU’LL HAVE MORE MONEY TO SPEND ON THEIR PRODUCTS.

BUT DAMN! IT WOULD ALL HAVE BEEN SO MUCH EASIER AND MORE FUN LONG AGO!

HAWAII OR BUST!

The sun did not shine

It was too wet to play,

So we sat in the house

All that cold, cold wet day.

I sat there with Sally.

We sat there, we two.

And I said “How I wish

We had something to do!.”    (Dr. Seuss, The Cat In The Hat )

On a cold weekend in February, Howard and I were babysitting for Avery and Emilia. Not wet, as it was for Sally and “I", but very cold. The kind of cold that keeps everyone in the house—even Avery, who says that because she was born in the winter, she can handle the cold. But also unlike the narrator and Sally, Avery and Emilia always had “something to do” ideas and didn’t need a Cat in the Hat to play them out. So on this frigid day, the girls decided that they’d plan a trip to Hawaii. I have no idea why they thought of Hawaii or what they knew about Hawaii, but we decided to help them to plan their trip. 

What’s first? Packing, of course! Emilia had turned three in November, and Avery had just turned eight the week before. But age aside, they were pretty expert packers. They hauled their suitcases out of the closet and started, as Howard and I supervised. I was amazed at how efficient they were. They pulled summer clothes out of their closets. I watched as Avery demonstrated how to pack dresses. Just fold and roll them up neatly. It’s amazing how many dresses could fit in a smallish suitcase. Emilia followed suit, though she was more the “throw it in the suitcase” type of packer. And she did remember to pack her sleep sack. Howard and I watched and helped them to figure out which clothes would work best in Hawaii.

When they finished packing, they wanted to take the suitcases downstairs. That seemed a bit much. We certainly didn’t want them to carry those stuffed suitcases. We were surprised at how heavy they were, so we didn’t want to lug them downstairs, either. Quickly, I found a resolution. “The plane’s delayed,” I told them. “When we know when the plane’s taking off, we can take the bags down.” That satisfied the girls. I then realized that in their zeal to get the clothes together, they’d forgotten underwear, toothbrushes and hairbrushes. Actually that's okay. Imaginary underwear, toothbrush and hairbrush should suffice on an imaginary trip. 

Money—Avery and Emilia knew that vacations cost money. They brought their piggybanks down to the living room and emptied them on the coffee table. That was a lot of change and small bills! Emilia didn’t have much. Mostly quarters. She likes quarters because they can get her a ride on the play horse at the toy store. Though of course, when we’re at the toy store, we fund the horse. Hence the plethora of quarters. So the real financial planning fell to Avery and us. The girls had consulted on this and decided that Mommy and Daddy would pay for the airfare and most of the hotel. Realistically, Avery figured that she could handle paying for one day if she found the right hotel. Avery and Howard counted the money. They came up with about $128 and change. That could possibly cover one night. 

All of this packing and planning was wearing Emilia out. We put her down for her nap. Then the real planning began. Howard and Avery went on YouTube TV to look at hotels and prices. Surprisingly, there were a few hotels in Avery’s price range. Methodically, they looked at all of them. Some looked a little too funky. But some actually looked like they could be okay. Of course, it would have been easy for a hotel to manipulate a few shots to make the place look better than one would expect for $128. Avery diligently wrote down the names of possible candidates and included the prices. A nice little ledger for an eight year old. Looking at the ledger, then taking a second look at the viable options, she narrowed the list down to a few that could work. By the time Emilia woke up, Avery and Howard had the plans in place. 

Howard and I were impressed with Avery’s organizational skills and with Emilia’s ability to participate, too. At about five years apart, they could play on the same level, with Avery making sure to take care of Emilia, but Emilia also being able to keep up. 

We sat together and talked about what they’d do in Hawaii. Of course, there were good beaches. And walks to see the sights. No extra money for souvenirs, but Grandpa and Nana were willing to pitch in on that. It’s funny, but it seemed so real. To the point that we were all still thinking and talking about the trip the next day. And Tracy just told us that they continue to talk about it now.

We did have a glitch—Avery went off the deep end about something—can’t remember what. “I’m not going to Hawaii!” she said. Emilia frowned, on the verge of tears, and said “But I’ll be all alone.” I explained to Emilia that Avery didn’t mean it—she was just in a bad mood for some reason, but would come back to her cheery Hawaii-bound self soon. Emilia understood, having been through this before. Avery ran upstairs. Howard followed and panicked because he couldn’t find her. I knew Avery’s pissed off routine. I climbed the stairs to help Howard. I wasn’t sure whether I needed to take care of Grandpa or Avery first. I showed Grandpa that, in her bed, cluttered with stuffed animals (whoops—did the girls remember to take a stuffy?), hidden under the quilt, Avery would be cozily buried as she brooded. And so she was—hidden and still pissy. So I told her that we understand, and she should take her time, and when she finishes feeling mad, she could come down and join us for more planning. And Grandpa and I left the room. Within ten minutes, Avery was back downstairs, her usual self. We continued to fantasize about this magical trip to Hawaii.

How much fun we had on that cold, cold day! How the day flew by! I don’t like cold. But even trapped by the weather, two magical granddaughters made it feel like the sun was shining—as it probably was in Hawaii!!

EVEN IF THE TRIP IS AN IMAGINARY ONE, PLANNING AND RESEARCHING ARE ESSENTIAL TO MAKE THE EXPERIENCE COMPLETE

THE EXISTENTIAL LIFE OF A 5 YEAR OLD

As I sit here on a cold January morning, my mind wanders back to warmer days. I do that too often—a bad habit of trying to live in more satisfying times (spring and summer) when I’m stuck with something I don’t want (cold winter). Living in the present could be a New Year’s resolution. But I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions. Mine are broken before I can even start. Like eating less candy and salt (not together). That never lasts more than a day. Being less cranky. That one never gets off the ground, since making New Year's resolutions makes me crabby from the get-go

So I continue on my backward path, back to a warm summer evening with Avery. A couple of years ago, Tracy and Jonah were visiting. Avery must have been 4 or 5. As always, I hate to see them leave, so I slid into the seat beside her for just another precious moment before they pulled away. As I looked at that beautiful face, I said “When Grandpa and I found that you were our granddaughter, we knew that we were the luckiest people in the world because you are a special gift.” Avery looked at me for a moment and came out with one of her most mystifying comments. “I’m just a random person in a random place.”, she said. Before I could ask her to elaborate, Howard got me out of the car and the kids drove away. 

I told Howard about Avery’s comment. He also thought that it was extraordinary. I know that I sound like a bragging Nana, and perhaps I am. But a comment like that from a child that age is rather stunning. Periodically over the last few years, I’ve mulled that little scenario over in my head. Did she hear those words somewhere? Even if she did, the use of the words was contextually appropriate. But what was she thinking?

Finally, a few months later, I reminded her of that moment and asked what she meant. She remembered, but had trouble articulating the meaning behind the words. She made some hand gestures, facial gestures, but verbally, all I got was “You know——random”. The body language told me that she knew what she meant, but she couldn’t express it in words.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Avery’s now 7, almost 8. I’ve been stewing over her answer for a few years now. I still needed to know what she meant. She has a good self image, so I didn’t think that she was undermining herself. But what was in her head? (Maybe losing some of my tenacity should be a New Year’s resolution—if I believed in them.)  

On ta Saturday a few weeks ago, Howard and I took Avery to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. How different now from a few years ago. Back then, I would have to play a game to coax her to eat. I’d cock my head to the side towards her plate and say “Do you hear that?” She’d look at me intently as I went on to tell her that something coming from her plate was saying “Eat me” in a high soft voice. After all, food shouldn’t sound like people—or more specifically, like Nana. She’d ask me which piece was asking to be eaten. I’d tell her, and she’d eat it. And so it went until she finished. Back to the present. Not only didn’t she need coaxing, Howard and I let her take the lead and order for all of us. She did a great job. Best scallion pancakes we’d ever had. As we talked about school and activities and life in general, I went back to that summer, which now seemed so long ago. She remembered that moment now, when I asked “What did you mean when you said ‘I’m just a random person in a random place’?” 

All of these years, I had been looking for some intricate, mysterious meaning. I was wrong. Avery explained it very simply. She said “Everyone is special in their own way”. And she went on to explain that although there were things that made her special, if she weren’t our granddaughter, we would have another granddaughter who would have been special in her own way. I love the thinking. I love the simplicity. And more than anything, I love her. I could go on to analyze her answer. But that would ruin it. It reminded me of an American Literature class when I was in college. I was writing a paper on Little Women, one of my favorite books. I reached a point where I had nothing more to say, so I ended by saying “To over analyze it would be to kill it.” My professor loved that. And there are times when that position is just right. Our moment with Avery was one of those time. So, my sweetie may have a complex inner life, but the outer manifestation can be just simple beauty.

WHAT MAY SEEM LIKE A COMPLEX OUTLOOK ON LIFE MAY BE SIMPLER THAN IT LOOKS. JUST TAKE IT FOR WHAT IT IS, ENJOY IT AND LIVE IT.

AND THE BOTTOM LINE IS THAT LISTENING TO AND LOVING THOSE WHO MEAN THE MOST TO US BRINGS THE GREATEST JOY.

FOLLOW THE YELLOW BRICK WALL

When you need to deal with Customer Service, in many companies, the brick wall response is too often the norm. While I’ve almost always managed to get where I need to be within a company to resolve a problem, it’s getting more difficult. There are more barriers to resolution than in the past. But, walls can be penetrated if you use the right approach.

Howard uses Open Table to make restaurant reservations. We’ve now accumulated over 20,000 points from our reservations. We should be able to use those points to obtain restaurant gift cards. In the past, it was easy. There was an online or customer service path to simply obtain a general gift card to use at any restaurant in the program. No more—now, you have to specify a restaurant and the company doesn’t make the redemption process easy. Last week, Howard decided to redeem points. He went on the Open Table website and couldn’t find any way to do that. He called Customer Service. The number rang with no ability to connect to an agent. 

What can you do when you hit a brick wall? You can go rogue and work the internet to find a way in. I started by looking for information about the company. I found that Open Table is owned by Booking Holdings. So now I could Google to locate executive headquarters for Open Table or for Booking Holdings. I also Googled executive staff for both companies to find specific executive names. Searching a little more, I found email addresses for executives at Open Table. Because it’s difficult to know who ultimately has responsibility for dealing with customer problems such as ours, and it’s sometimes unclear whether the executives listed are still with the company, I used the shotgun approach and sent an email to several executives at Open Table. I thought that with multiple names, I had a higher likelihood of reaching someone who would respond. In my email, I briefly explained the issue. I asked that someone pass the information on to a staff person who could address the problem. Within 10 minutes, Howard received a call from a knowledgeable agent who resolved the issue. Great! A hole in the brick wall!

I’m not sure why customer service seems to be getting worse. Part of it may be COVID related—people have gotten used to virtual connections and working from home, so that real customers and real service become more remote. Staffing patterns have changed, as has staff training. Finding ways to increase company revenue often means decrease in customer service. And civility is often out the window. Whatever the reason, while it may be more difficult than in the past, there are usually ways to penetrate the brick wall and resolve service problems.

FOLLOW THE YELLOW BRICK WALL—THEN BREAK THROUGH IT

OR BETTER YET:

MR. CORPORATE—TEAR DOWN THIS WALL!

IT NEVER HURTS TO ASK

It started with a giant burst of thunder. Immediately, our power went out. So much for watching an old NCIS. (Sidebar—an advantage of getting older is that you can watch a TV show that you’ve seen before and not remember the story. The old becomes new again. It’s not a fair tradeoff for the advantages of being younger, but it’s something.) Back to the power outage. Howard went downstairs for a flashlight, only to find that the battery backup to our sump pump was beeping. Meaning that if we had much more rain and needed drainage backup, the battery wouldn’t work and we could be wading through a flood. That didn’t happen. But we realized that although we thought that the battery backup had been installed only a few years ago, the reality was that it was installed over 15 years ago. Time flies. Our first thought was to move quickly on a replacement.

Our master waterproofer had retired and had given us the name of another company. Several years ago, we had used them for another basement problem. They had been responsive, had done good work, and the charge was fair. I called them and they came out the next day. An hour and a half and the battery and sump pump had been replaced. We were happy with the work. Until we saw the bill—$1960. That seemed high. Howard did an online search and found that the highest costs were around $1600. 

Where did we go wrong? Because we had an excellent experience with this company in the past at a reasonable charge, we assumed that the charge would be within range. An important rule—even in the best of circumstances, never assume. We didn’t check pricing before the service. It’s always more difficult to address the issue after the fact. But I did it anyway.

What did I do? I called the company and mentioned that we had been referred by our former waterproofer and that we had been happy with service from this new company in the past, with excellent results and a fair price. But because we were surprised by the bill, we did some checking and found that it was a bit high. I asked for a discount—even though it was after the work had been done. The staff got to the owner, who authorized a reimbursement of 10%. Howard and I were satisfied. 

The logic of the argument—mentioning the former waterproofer had some impact, because in the past, the owner of the business had expressed great admiration for him and for his work. The fact that we were repeat and satisfied customers helped. If we’d worked with them before and were happy, it was a good idea to keep us happy so that we would think of them if we needed future service. And I didn’t ask for anything extraordinary. 10% still put us a little above range. But it was something. So, we were being reasonable. 

I’ve found that asking for reasonable discounts or accommodations has worked in so many instances. Examples:

* We have internet, phone and TV service with Verizon and have been long term customers. We’ve also had a few snafus along the way. I’ve kept the contact information for the escalation area and every year, I negotiate a price so that we’re in a more reasonable range than the standard. They generally won’t do more than a year. But I hate the process, and this year, asked if we can do a 2 year deal. The answer—we don’t usually do that, but we’ll do it this time. So, by asking for what I needed, I accomplished discounts and time frame.

* CVS—Insurance was about to stop covering COVID tests, so we decided to obtain the last allotment just in case. When we got home from the store, we saw that the expiration date was within a month of the purchase. We should have checked the date while we were in the store. But we didn’t. And we doubted that we’d use the tests by the expiration date. We returned to the pharmacy, but they wouldn’t exchange the very obviously unopened tests. When one associate says no, what do you do? Try another associate—the store manager quickly accommodated our request and exchanged the tests.

* Jonah called Howard one morning, not pleased that Tracy needed 2 tires, and the auto repair department advised that an alignment and balancing would be needed as well, bringing the price way up. His question—was this all necessary? Howard’s the technical expert in our family, and explained why the work needed to be done. I could hear Tracy freaking out in the background. As Jonah and Howard were talking, I was screaming in the background——“Ask for a discount”. That worked—the dealership gave them a discount.

* One of our go-to restaurants has suddenly turned up the music volume. We often go to this restaurant with friends because it’s comfortable and easy to talk. I know that I sound old but the new wave of having to scream over restaurant noise just doesn’t do it for me. I went to the manager on duty and asked for a decrease in volume. Her reply—“Corporate has told us that we have to turn up the music as loud as possible”. Oh, no—a resource lost. Not without a fight. Actually, I didn’t have to fight. I called back the next day and spoke with a senior manager. He said that Corporate was asking for a lively vibe. But he agreed that blasted music seemed a little much. He referred me to the regional manager, who was not pleased with that first “as loud as possible” response. He told me that he would go to the restaurant that night and check it out. The result—the next time we were there, the music was on, but at a level where we could talk and hear each other. Without that call, we would have crossed the restaurant off of our go-to list. So, a win-win for them and for us. And when I sent an email to the regional manager, this was the response that I received after he held a staff meeting:

"Thank you for reaching back out. We discussed how anything that we do that can alienate one person is ultimately alienating a group of people. We also discussed how we convey messages to our guests so that we don’t project the incorrect image. Our IT team, myself and our general managers are working on a system where volume and lighting settings are standardized and not up to the team working that day so that we can better control these items. This was a result of your feedback. For that I thank you again for letting us know about your experience.”

That was a gratifying response. And I’ve heard similar before.

Speaking up often creates impact and change. Finding the right person and posing the issue in the right way invariably works.  And it can start at an early age. All of these issues brought up the memory of a 3 year old Avery in the car with Jonah a few years ago. Jonah pressed the garage door opener and nothing happened. He did it a few times. Suddenly, from the back of the car, a little voice rang out. “Call Grandpa”. He did, and Grandpa came through, as always. Things work when you pose a question to the right person.

I’VE SAID IT BEFORE AND IT’S WORTH SAYING AGAIN—IT NEVER HURTS TO ASK. FIND THE RIGHT CONTACT, ASK THE RIGHT QUESTIONS, USE THE RIGHT RATIONALE, AND IT’S USUALLY A WIN

TRUST THE CHILDREN--THEY HAVE THE ANSWERS

I know that I’m stating the obvious when I say that we’re living in complicated times. Actually, I can take that a step further—we’re living in impossible times. Over the last six or seven years, we’ve experienced a world that I never would have imagined outside of a futuristic movie. And not in a good way. Conflict is everywhere. Use of language has changed, with many prohibited words and phrases. Our society is divisive and polarized. When questions are posed, answers are scrutinized. There really is no neutral. How do we find ways of conducting our lives in a way that make sense? I’ve often felt that there is no answer to that question. Then I think about children. Often, they have innocent viewpoints that make more sense than what we find in this strange new world. 

Thinking back many years, I remember times when Howard and I fell into complicated situations, and Cory and Tracy were able to come up with simple solutions. Like the time when we took them to buy Tracy’s first bed. She was three; Cory was six. We were on the lower level of John Wanamaker’s, the local department store. After we bought the bed, we started to go up on the escalator. Cory and Howard went first. I held Tracy’s hand to go next. Before I knew it, I was on the escalator step, and Tracy had pulled her hand away and stood there, still at basement level, watching as the rest of us ascended. I can still remember my thinking. Mainly—“Oh, no, what can I do?!” I tried to be calm. I called down to her not to move, thinking that Howard and Cory could talk to her as they went up on the escalator, while I would run up those steps, dart around to the other side, descend and pull her to safety. Before I could implement any plan, Cory, without hesitation, simply ran down the UP escalator, grabbed Tracy and pulled her safely onto it. Howard and I, the adults here, couldn’t think fast enough. My plan was too complicated. But our six year old quickly found a simple solution.

Tracy had the same quick and simple logic as her brother. When the kids were growing up, Howard’s parents lived in San Diego. We’d go to see them, trying to combine family time and vacation time. One morning, we went out to breakfast and then to my in-laws’ house. Howard’s mother felt an intense need to feed us. And so the argument. Howard’s mother, up in arms, upset that we went out to breakfast. Howard and I taking our position that we needed a little space. Lots of agita. In a momentary lull in the din, Tracy looked up and made a short and quiet observation. “It’s silly to fight about breakfast.” The uproar stopped. 

Avery is seven and Emilia is two and a half. Their problem solving is just as good as Cory’s and Tracy’s had been. I’ve written about the special Avery/Nana bedtime. Often, it does get a bit long. That’s okay with Avery and me, but Tracy is downstairs, stewing and worried that if we take too long, Avery will lose sleep time and be cranky the next day. So she sends Howard upstairs to get me. One night, I realized that we were even a bit more overtime than usual. I said “We’d better wrap up or Mommy’s going to go bonkers and send Grandpa to get me.” Very quickly, Avery shot me a look and said “You’re her mommy; you can give her a time out.” Potential problem; simple solution.

Making sure that feelings aren’t hurt is an Avery specialty. She’s attuned and quick. One day, she was showing me something she’d learned from a book. The book had said that if you pinch young skin, it bounces back; older skin doesn’t bounce back in the same way. She showed me. She pinched her hand and of course, the skin bounced right back. She pinched my hand. Uh Oh! The skin took it’s good old time to crawl back. (Needless to say, it didn’t bounce.) Avery decided to double check. “Let me see your hair.” She took a long look, playing with the hair, down to the roots. “No, you don’t have grey hair.” (I don’t—it’s genetic.) She concluded that without grey hair, obviously I couldn’t be too old. Her quick answer to the skin test—“Maybe the book’s wrong.” Don’t blindly follow; make your own assessment.

Even little Emilia can think beyond her needs. Howard and I were playing with her on the sofa one morning. Emilia knows that my back often hurts. There was a massage belt on the other side of the room. Before we started our Lego time, Emilia ran across the room and dragged the belt over to the sofa. Little girl; large belt. She looked at me and said “Just in case.” Always be prepared and be kind—simple solution from the perspective of a two year old.

In a world that’s lost connection to the world of yesterday, I worry about how bad things will get as time goes by. The last time Avery visited, Howard and I were talking about what will survive. I said something about the concern that the good and special things that exist in our current generation will be lost. Avery chimed in. Her response—things change from generation to generation, but they will still continue. She went on to explain that there will be small changes in the next generation, and more small changes with each generation after, down the line of generations. But even with small changes, things can and will survive. I have no idea what created that level of understanding, but her words are worth taking seriously. Maybe her generation will take what’s good, discard what isn’t good, and ensure the existence of a world that will survive with civility.

WHEN THE WORLD SEEMS TO BE FALLING APART, LOOK TOWARDS THE CHILDREN. IN THEIR INNOCENCE, THEY HAVE AN ACUITY THAT CAN GUIDE US TO THE BETTER SOLUTIONS

DOWN BUT NOT OUT

I sit at the desk, the sun gliding through the blinds, light flooding the room. It’s a little chilly, but we’re hitting the 70s later today. Spring is here! I love spring!

I’m also aware of the very few things that I don’t like about spring. That damn invisible, giant pooping bird is back. And I have to slog through my closet, putting winter clothes away and bringing out lighter ones. Every year, I can’t bring myself to get rid of the excess older clothes that I don’t wear so much. Who knows—next year, I may want that brown skirt that doesn’t quite fit. Or maybe the outdated dress that sits in the back of the closet may become stylish again. And so it goes. Aside from dealing with the pieces that I wear, there’s the ritual of transferring too many unworn clothes back and forth—just in case.

I have a friend who had a bigger seasonal transition issue. Every morning, I look out the window to see what the dog walkers are wearing. And there’s my friend, Stefanie, often so bundled that if I didn’t know that she was the person enveloped in the scarves and heavy coat, I’d think that Nanook of the North had moved into the neighborhood. One of her warmest outfits includes a well made down coat. Very attractive, perfect for a Pennsylvania winter. A couple of months ago, she noticed small imperfections that hadn’t been there before. She’s careful, but even with such a well made coat, the company could have missed the mark of perfection. Stefanie’s had the coat for a few years and hadn’t had a problem before now. Luckily the coat is warranted for life. Unluckily, she ran into a problem dealing with the warranty.

Stefanie had found that the coat had to be cleaned, then mailed to the company in Montreal. Logically, she went back to Nordstrom, where she had purchased the coat, and asked them to deal with the problem. She spoke to a store associate, who told her that with the warranty, Stefanie would be responsible for dealing with the manufacturer. Stefanie is less of a rabble rouser than I am. She was going to incur the cost for cleaning ($35), the nuisance of figuring out how to package the coat (it’s big and bulky), and what would probably be a hefty cost for shipping. With all of this, she found that the manufacturer would examine the coat, and may or may not decide that it fell within warranty. So, “warranty” probably meant about $75, not to mention the time and energy that it would take to figure out how to pack the coat and have it transported. And with all of that, there was no guarantee that they would find that it fell within warranty.

Stefanie and I were talking and she happened to mention the coat situation, preparing to clean and ship. Whoa! My thinking—she bought the coat from Nordstrom, not directly from the manufacturer. Nordstrom made a profit as the middleman. And Nordstrom is known for their commitment to customer service. Nordstrom should take care of the problem.

Stefanie had run into the wrong associate. I suggested that she speak with the department manager or the store manager and was pretty sure that Nordstrom would handle the issue. She called the store and asked for a manager. Within an hour, the Manager of the Day called back and told Stefanie that she should bring the coat in. Nordstrom would take care of everything that needed to be done to get the coat to the manufacturer. 

These days, line staff is not always as helpful as they should be. It’s probably a function of staff shortages, less time for staff training, less immersion in customer service. But that doesn’t mean that lack of service should be acceptable. Even in this day and age, I usually find that if you have a reasonable request, managers will make things right. And this little adventure proved that point.

Nordstrom did their part. And Stefanie just heard that the manufacturer will repair the coat and send it back to her. Problem solved.

IF YOU’RE NOT GETTING APPROPRIATE CUSTOMER SERVICE, GO THE MANAGEMENT ROUTE. INVARIABLY, IT WORKS.

THE POWER OF WORDS--A FAMILY STORY

I love words. That love came to me from watching my parents and listening to them make things happen—things that I had viewed as impossible until my parents did their magic with only the spoken word. The choice of words, the tone, the demeanor. They all went into the mix to create strength and effectiveness. 

My father was a man of few words. But when he spoke, he achieved the unachievable. I always did well at school, never got in trouble. Until geometry class. I just wasn’t good at dealing with geometric concepts, and the teacher brushed off my questions. My father wasn’t going to stand for that. He set up a meeting with my teacher. Later that day, I asked him what he'd said. He wouldn’t tell me. But his words must have been powerful because after that meeting, the teacher was so attentive to my needs, and geometry became a very different affair for me.

My mother was a bit unusual for her era. Born in 1915, she was the daughter of Russian immigrants and the sister of 3 boys and 3 girls. She was always an active and take-charge woman. She was fastidious about how she looked and stood tall and purposeful. After her brothers joined the army during WW II, my mother decided to emulate them, and she enlisted too. She achieved the rank of lieutenant, a high rank at that time for a woman. I asked her how her parents felt about it. She told me that her father was pleased that she was one of the few Jewish women officers in the army. Her mother—she was displeased that my mother was one of the few Jewish women in the army. So I guess that my grandfather encouraged my mother’s independence and fortitude, and my grandmother would have preferred a more traditional role. From my vantage point, it seemed that my mother took her cues from her father. 

As my mother aged, she held onto that fortitude until she could no longer maintain it. She was herself until she was about 82. But I watched helplessly as her last 2 years of life were filled with decline. The mother I always knew and loved morphed into an old woman, whom I still loved. The worst part of her decline was that she was becoming demented, but with enough awareness to know how bad things were getting. We tried to keep her in her own home with help, but that didn’t work. Eventually, we had to go the assisted care route. Understandably, that was hard for her—and for us. But one day, my formerly fearless mother told me that she was afraid that the facility was going to force her to leave. She couldn’t articulate why she felt that way. I had to find a way to make her feel some level of security and power. How could I do that? I did what I had been taught—I used my words. I looked at my mother with my most compassionate, yet strong gaze and said emphatically, “TO GET TO YOU, THEY’LL HAVE TO GO THROUGH ME. AND THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN.” I watched as her face relaxed, and I never heard or saw that fear again. Words—powerful words.

Flash forward 20 years. Our Avery just turned 7. From the time she was born, she’s been something of a take charge little imp. My parents would be so proud. One of our favorite Nana/Avery times is when I put her to bed. We talk, and I tell her stories about Helen, Ellen and Mellen, 3 imaginary sisters that I created for Tracy when she was little. We’ve developed a routine. Bedtime usually starts with my having to cajole, beg, command her to stop going through her room to find something that needs attention—like putting stickers on the bed, making a braid out of wire—all of the little necessities of a child who wants to stay up a little longer. 

When I finally get her into bed, I have to climb over the stuffed animals to cuddle her. She’s very sweet to put one of the puffier animals behind my back so that my back won’t hurt. Finally, I start the story. I often get only a sentence started, when Avery decides to direct the action. Like the time that I started with Helen, Ellen and Mellen getting ready for a party. No, that wasn’t on Avery’s agenda. That night, the storyline should be that they’re moving. Okay, I can adapt. The daddy was transferred from his job in Pennsylvania. Stop—no good—“Tennessee”, said Avery. Okay, they’re moving from Tennessee to California. “No”, said Avery—“Las Vegas”. And so it goes. 

She usually asks for another story or two. How can I say no? I can’t. Sometimes I tell her family stories. But now, in the back of my head, and moving forward fast, I’m worried that she’ll outgrow our special time together. Recently, I heard Puff the Magic Dragon. It made me cry. “A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys”. And I’m not ready to "slip into my cave". So, what’s the best way to deal with my fear? Words. One night a few weeks ago, I told Avery that I worry that she’s getting older, and that the day will come when she won’t want to spend these precious end of day moments with me. She looked at me with great seriousness and immediately said “THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN”. My heart stood still as my fears dissipated.

THE SAME WORDS ACROSS GENERATIONS AND YEARS APART. STRONG WORDS FROM A STRONG HEART MAKE EVERYTHING ALRIGHT

CREATIVE THINKING GETS IT DONE

2023—We’re into a new year, and I’m still on two feet. As the years pass, I’m always a little skittish about whether another year will take its toll as I get older. 50 seemed like a real milestone. Now I realize that 50 was perfect—still youngish but with experience. Now, with each year, I look at the changes that have occurred and want to turn back the clock. 

So many things are more difficult now. Eyes—although I am not as sharp as I was in the past, I rarely use reading glasses. Although 6 and 8 look alike, I can still usually manage to read newspapers, product labels. Howard, on the other hand, needs reading glasses more than I do. Or, he uses me as his human near vision corrector. But his distance vision is great—20/20 in one eye; 20/25 in the other. Apparently I’m married to Superman. Though his knees aren’t what they used to be, so he can’t leap tall buildings in a single bound. Hearing—as we watch TV, Howard and I look at each other and get crabby because the actors mumble and the sound engineers haven’t done the greatest job. Or, is it us? Memory—we watch Jeopardy to keep sharp. I don’t know if it really works, but we can answer many of the questions. Though in other situations—Howard tends to open a kitchen cabinet and forgets to close it. When I take a shower, I can never remember whether I washed my feet or not. I probably did, but I do it again anyway. So, as I age, I do have the cleanest feet around. And when I look in the mirror, I see Einstein. Just the hair. If his hair were darker and he didn’t have a mustache, you’d think that we were related.

But the worst part of aging is my back. I’ve had back problems since I was 14. Now, it’s so much worse. There’s no good fix, so I cobble together a range of ways to manage. One option is the prescription level lidocaine patch. Not a cure all, but it helps. The brand formula is good, but extraordinarily expensive. When I was covered by employer sponsored insurance, the carrier actually paid for brand name. In a moment of lucidity, I think that an insurance medical director realized that expensive as they are, they’re less expensive than a more invasive intervention. But now, I’m on Medicare, and they don’t cover the patches, other than for treatment of shingles. So, I’ve gone with generics. (Quick tip—still expensive, but with Good Rx, the price isn’t that bad. And Good Rx can be used for covered drugs. Sometimes Good Rx is less than the insurance copay.) 

After some experimentation, I finally found a generic that was as good as the brand name. When I tried to reorder last month, the pharmacy said that they could no longer get the specific generic brand that I needed. I tried another pharmacy—same answer. Couldn’t the pharmacist try a little harder? Apparently not. What to do? What I always do—find a way.

I googled the company that made my generic brand. The phone number that I found just rang and rang. No email addresses—nothing. So I googled a bit deeper. I found that the manufacturer of this generic had been bought by the manufacturer of the brand name. I guessed that someone at the parent company should be able to get me to someone at a higher level within the generic company. I reviewed all of the titles of the executives listed for the brand company and emailed an Operations executive and 2 other executives, thinking and hoping that one would get back to me. In my email, I explained my dilemma and asked if one of them could direct my inquiry to whomever would be able to look at the problem and work with me to solve it.

I received a call from the Operations executive within an hour of sending the email. He explained that he didn’t have any ability to find my patches, but could get me to someone who could. He gave me that person’s name and copied him on the email. The brand executive also invited me to contact him if I didn’t hear from his contact within 24 hours. Sometimes, Corporate America employs Good Guys. Within 24 hours, I heard from the generic brand contact person. He explained that there was more demand for the product and they were having difficulty keeping up with production. But, he also gave me the name of three wholesalers who had first dibs on supply. We agreed that I needed to have a pharmacist call one of those wholesalers.

I called the pharmacy and gave the pharmacist the information. However, he said that they get patches from a different wholesaler. Dead end? Of course not! I walked him through a solution. Thinking broadly, I asked him if he used any of the prime wholesalers for other drugs. He admitted that he did use one of them for a couple of other drugs. I suggested (instructed) him to call that wholesaler and see if he could obtain the patches from them. He didn’t sound enthusiastic or optimistic, but of course, I pushed. I was waiting for some type of stonewall and planning to go to the Executive office for that pharmacy chain. But I didn’t need to do that. I was surprised with a call from the pharmacist a couple of hours later. The wholesaler had the patches and they’d be at the pharmacy later the next day. 

Problem solved! This old lady still has the creative juices to solve a problem and the gravitas, fortitude and persistence to get it done. Maybe being older has some value in situations like this——Nah, I would have solved this problem the same way when I was younger. Whatever—it worked.

IF THE FRONT DOOR IS CLOSED, TRY THE SIDE DOOR. DON’T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER WHEN YOU CAN FIND CREATIVE WAYS TO FIND A YES.

QUICK TIP--MORE MONEY SAVING STRATEGIES

In this frustrating era of super-inflation, it seems that there’s no way to keep up with price increases. I’d love to see inflation fly away—as would everyone. But in the meanwhile, I’ve found a few ways to save a few dollars here and there.

LOOK AT RECEIPTS

I’ve said it before, but it’s worth saying again—Look at your receipt when you make a purchase, preferably before you leave the store. While mistakes can occur in any store, I’ve found that errors are especially prevalent in drugstores and supermarkets. Just within the last few weeks, I’ve saved a little over $30 by checking my receipts.

I had a 30% coupon at CVS. When the cashier rang up my purchase, I saw the 30% float across the screen. OK—discount applied. But the total sale seemed a little higher than what it should have been. I looked at the receipt. The 30% had not been applied. I have no idea how it disappeared, but I marched back to the cashier, showed her the receipt and had her calculate the lost savings. She then rebated about $30 that would have wound up in CVS’s pocket instead of in mine.

A few days later, I was grocery shopping at Giant. When I looked at the receipt, I saw that a coupon that I had give to the cashier hadn’t taken the appropriate discount. And the raisins that were marked $4.99 rang up at $5.49. With the two errors, I was overcharged by $1.37. I went to Customer Service and obtained a refund. While the $1.37 won’t make or break me, it’s still a problem. If there had been a long delay at Customer Service, I probably would have let it go. Later that week, I did ignore the fact that Trader Joe’s charged 99 cents for a cucumber that was priced at 89 cents. But on the whole, a few cents here and a few dollars there do add up.

ASK ABOUT PRICE MATCHING

Walking through Bloomingdale’s this summer, I saw a very pretty wallet on sale. I bought it. When I got home, remembering that Nordstrom was having their annual sale. I went online and checked to see if they carried the same wallet. They did carry it. And it was $20 less than I’d paid at Bloomingdale’s. Nordstrom will almost always match competitor prices. I’d never tried it at Bloomingdale’s. I emailed the Bloomingdale’s store manager to see if he would match the price. He was quick to say that they expect to price match during the Nordstrom sale and quickly credited the difference. Many businesses will price match. It never hurts to ask.

DEFECTIVE PRODUCT REPLACEMENT

I was using ground black pepper in a recipe a while ago. As I went to open the shaker part of a new McCormick can of pepper, I could feel the whole top start to separate. Fortunately, most of the excess pepper went into the sink. I thought that I’d just keep the pepper and be careful when I used it. But after a few attempts, and too much pepper cleanup, I decided to call McCormick. Before I called, I realized that my McCormick fennel didn’t have much fragrance. I might as well kill two spices with one call. Most food manufacturers have Customer Service phone numbers noted somewhere on the container. I called McCormick and explained the problem. The representative agreed to send me two $5 coupons to replace the pepper and the fennel. A quick call to a food manufacturer about a problem usually results in a replacement coupon. Why should you have to pay the price for the company’s error?

YOU CAN’T CONTROL INFLATION. BUT THERE ARE WAYS TO SAVE MONEY IF YOU TAKE THE TIME TO CHECK TRANSACTIONS AND SPEAK UP

QUICK TIP--AND THE PRICE IS...

Last week, I ventured into Gap and walked out with purchases totaling $119.83. The store had a Buy One/Get One 50% Off of Regular Price sale with another 20% Birthday discount. While in the store, I tried to see if the online pricing was better. The items that I was buying were discounted online but without the store promotion. Some items may have been priced a little less online but other items weren’t. The store would have price matched the online pricing. But, in the end, it was unclear whether having the store do that would have saved money, and there would be too much wasted time to figure it out. And so I completed my shopping with the store promotion.

A few days later, Gap changed their promotion. Now, it was Friends and Family, with 40% off of Regular Price and an extra 20% off. Would my purchases be priced better than when I had bought them? Howard and I were at the farmer’s market next to Gap. I still had the Gap receipt in my wallet. As we walked by Gap, I saw that there were no customers at the register. So I told Howard that I’d only be a minute, and ran in to see if there would be a price adjustment. Most stores have price adjustment policies. Generally, that policy is printed on the back of the receipt. Usually, if there is a price reduction within a week, the store will honor the lower price and issue a credit. This time, I thought that maybe I’d save $10 or $20 with the new promotion. The associate at the register scanned my receipt. Wide eyed, she told me that I’d be getting a credit of $71.31. $71.31 savings! I was happy. The associate was happy. I’ve found that most store associates actually like to see the customers save money. And Gap is particularly good with that.

Now, a look at grocery store prices. With kids coming to visit, I needed Cracker Barrel cheese. I look at supermarket circulars to get an idea of price. The week before I went to the store, the price was $3. But I didn’t get to the store that week. The next week, when I did get to the supermarket, the price was $4.29. After I bought at that price, the price went to $2.50 the next week. I got screwed. The supermarket doesn’t have price adjustment. Or maybe they do, but I just can’t keep up to play that game. However, it’s a good idea to look at supermarket circulars to stock up on sale items when you can. And there usually is a pattern to discounts. For example, Giant frequently has discounts on crackers, Cracker Barrel, many other items. Acme has periodic “Buck a Bag” pricing for some fruits and vegetables. (Or now, maybe it’s “Buck and a Quarter”.)

In these inflationary times—-or any time—it helps to have a sense of the lay of the land in terms of best pricing and to shop accordingly when you can.
I’m still doing the best price juggling act, but I also can’t keep up with all of the vagaries of pricing in every store. So, I just do the best that I can—which is often pretty good. But with all of the price juggling, I’m not so sure that I’m the Queen of Bargains that I’ve always been. Life’s just too complicated.

KEEP RECEIPTS AND CHECK PRICES FOR ADJUSTMENTS. TAKE A LOOK AT PRICING TRENDS IN THE STORES WHERE YOU SHOP MOST. YOU CAN SAVE MONEY WHEN YOU KEEP AWARE OF THOSE PRICING TRENDS.

CVS CONFUSION--CORPORATE COUPON HIJINKS

I’ve written about CVS in the past and swore that I wouldn’t write about them again. But a friend brought an issue to my attention and I just couldn’t help myself. On the one hand, I was appalled by the CVS response to her issue. On the other hand, I was falling off of my chair, laughing at their Corporate Speak.

Like many retail businesses, CVS has a loyalty program where the customer can send coupons to a loyalty card for discounts on a variety of products. They call it “Extra Care”. Tired of clicking on an infinite number of offers, I sometimes call it “I Don’t Care”. But especially in this inflationary era, I feel that I have to care or I’ll be spending more than I need to spend. The coupons probably come from the Department of Redundancy Department or the Head Up The Ass Department. The last time I clicked coupons onto my card, I counted 186 coupons. Yes, 186!!! That included several different Colgate offers, several Gillette, etc. Sometimes there are even two identical coupon offers. Even if I weren’t losing my mind as I age, I couldn’t remember the details of every coupon I’d sent to my card. Not to mention that I have better things to think about. I try to remember the essence of the ones that apply to products that I buy. That’s the best that I can do. But too frequently, either the CVS system screws up or I screw up because the coupon policies aren’t transparent or obvious.

Back to my friend’s problem. She and I both receive periodic mailed and emailed general coupons—32% off of a purchase, $5 off of a $30 purchase, etc. I haven’t received any coupons in the mail recently, but didn’t think about it, assuming that CVS finally decided to save trees. But my friend fell off of CVS’s radar totally—no mail, no email. She contacted Customer Service and received an “in their own heads” email that was actually pretty amusing. The essence of the CVS response was that my friend was selected to be part of a random group of customers who would no longer receive these extra coupons. Most of the time, random selection includes a special offer. Here, CVS pretty much sent her to the guillotine. There was no explanation of why this was the case—demonic experiments to make their customers crazy? But they went on to say that they were going to restore her mailed and emailed coupons. The kicker was that they said that they personalize coupons for each shopper. Really? If this is the case, don’t they know that I’m too old to need tampons? And, week after week, I receive diaper coupons, CVS brand toothpaste coupons—products that I don’t use. While coupons can encourage people to try products, you’d think that they’d get the message if there is really an algorithm for personalization. Though on second thought, maybe I should use the Pepto Bismol Nausea Relief coupon. It could help when I have to deal with CVS and their 186 personalized offers.

And there’s my in-store experience. There have been too many times when coupons that I thought should apply didn’t apply. I wrote to the Executive Office, and this is just part of the response that I received :

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“ Because CVS reserves the right to process coupons in any order, all coupons are applied as follows:

• Manufacturer's coupons are applied first (paper then digital).

• Next, $ off coupons are applied next (i.e. $1 off specific product) will apply first followed by any store $ off coupons (i.e. $3 ExtraBucks).

• Lastly, % off coupons (i.e. 25% OFF specific product or purchase amount) first followed by % off total order (i.e. 25% OFF entire purchase).”

*******************************************************************************************************

As I say to Avery when she says something wild—-Seriously??!!

I do actually manage to save money at CVS if the stars and the coupons align. I’ve even received wide eyed looks from store associates when they see how much I save. Like the hair product that started off at $26.49, with a final price of $8.15. That was nice, but shopping at CVS is work. CVS should get out of their Corporate Think mentality and think from the customer point of view. But that’s not happening so fast. Their current focus is more on the Corporate end. I can visualize the internal email to staff:

* Employees must get their TPS reports completed.

* The company only issues black staplers to employees, and any red staplers will be confiscated.

* And, lastly, employees need to show their enthusiasm by wearing as much flare as possible.

COUPONS CAN SAVE MONEY OR MAKE YOU CRAZY—OR BOTH

GROWING OLD

"The moon has a few new wrinkles.

It shines a bit more silver now than gold.

I’m staying young! I’m staying young!

But ev’ryone around me’s growin’ old."

These words were sung in the 1959 musical Take Me Along, based on Ah Wilderness, the only comedy written by Eugene O’Neill. Words I’d like to live by.

But the song changes later in the play:

"everybody else is growing old –(PAUSE)

Like me."

Words I have to live by.

*******************************************************************************************************

I finally must admit that I’m getting old. No surprise—everyone does. The signs have crept up on me. All of a sudden, I look in the mirror and see a wrinkle. All right, maybe three. A couple of grey hairs, too—but only a few. The coup de grace came from Avery. The last time we arrived to visit, Avery immediately wanted to work on a special project together. “Give me just one minute to pee,” I told her. Within a few seconds, I heard banging on the bathroom door. “Nana, you pee too slow.” I guess that clinched it.

I have a friend who says that getting old isn’t for the faint of heart. He’s right. On the other hand, my mother always said that it beats the alternative. She was right, too. And so, we trudge on, Howard and I. Some things can’t change, but we can try to fix others. Like Howard’s knees. They’re creaky and tired. Though less so when he puts his feet up. He used to prop them up on the coffee table. In an effort to rejuvenate the living room, we ditched that coffee table and bought another. The new one had a narrower edge, so Howard’s feet wouldn’t fit. The answer—buy an ottoman.

Finding the right furniture has always been a challenge. We don’t generally use a decorator. If we make choices that don’t work out, it’s our bad. But when we nail it, it’s our accomplishment. The only time that we had a decorator was when we bought living room furniture from Rubin’s, a terrific furniture store that went out of business years ago. They had the distinction of having a table in the elevator, though a good friend swears that she remembers a furniture store with a table in the elevator, but also insists that it wasn’t Rubin’s. Either way, we liked that quirkiness. Working with the configuration of our living room was difficult. Before we knew it, Yetta was on the case. She was the store’s resident “decorator”. After too much back and forth, the end of the story is that she measured one side of the room too short, and we had a long blank space on one wall. Our solution—we bought a long glass table, which led us to buy knick knacks to display. And so we took credit for designing the living room, thanking Yetta for her help, but leaving her in the dust.

In this era, anyone who’s had a shopping agenda lately knows that it’s not so easy to simply walk into a store and find what they want. That was the case with us for a while. We found cheaply made ottomans in home goods stores. And round ones online. The round ones would have worked for the space, but looked too commercial-- like we should be selling shoes in our living room. Finally, after making the rounds of the local department stores, we found the perfect ottoman—well made, nice looking, right size.

One minor problem. It was only in stock at the warehouse. Okay, we’d have it shipped to the store and pick it up. It was smallish, weighed about 15 pounds, and pickup would avoid the delivery charge. The salesman explained that it could only be shipped to an outside address, not to the store. Why? Because. Not my favorite reason. And, the delivery charge was $150. For a small ottoman??!! Seriously??!! We’d used the store’s delivery service for a mattress set, for the new coffee table—large bulky items that required more involved delivery and set up. For the small ottoman, there was no need for delivery and setup. But in this instance, protocol trumped logic.

I had what I thought were viable solutions. Let me escalate and try once more to have the ottoman delivered to the store for us to pick up. Or, the store could do their standard delivery and waive the charge, since it would take about 5 minutes for set up. I asked to speak with the Furniture Department manager. I offered these two reasonable options. The manager was all sweetness and light, but clueless. The gist of her response — in the words of Avery’s 18 month old sister, Emilia -- “No way”. Obviously, that didn’t work for me.

It wouldn’t be prudent to shoot myself in the foot (or, in this case, shoot Howard in the knee) by cancelling the ottoman. Better to go up the ladder on my shaky foot and his shaky knee. I already had a wonderful Executive level contact with this store. When I told him the story, he was incredulous. HIs solution—proceed with the standard delivery, and he’d credit the delivery charge on the back end. Problem solved!

GETTING OLD HAPPENS. BUT YOU CAN OFTEN MITIGATE THE PROBLEMS WITH A SIMPLE FIX. AND WHEN YOU RUN INTO A SNAFU WITH THE FIX, AS ALWAYS, GO UP THE LADDER AND SPEAK UP

IN MEMORIAM

Howard and I stand together as we light a candle. A Yarzeit, a glass of wax, a Jewish tradition, lit on the anniversary of the death of a loved one so that we remember their lives. The first Yarzeit is lit on the evening before Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement. This candle is for all who passed. Howard and I remember our parents and Howard’s sister, Bonnie. And my beloved Aunt Julie and Uncle Sam, dear family friends who were closer than some family. They had no children, so I make sure that they are remembered. And others dear to us are reflected in the candle’s flame. A time to think and to remember.

In the early Fall, I buy six Yarzeits—one for Yom Kippur and five for our parents and Bonnie. One by one, they are lit, until the anniversaries end in February. Although this is hallowed territory, being the wise shopper that I am, I purchase all six in the Fall, when they’re on sale for the Jewish High Holidays. Lately, only Yehuda brand has been on sale. That’s been fine until this year. The candle is supposed to burn for 25 hours. Usually it burns a little longer. When we light one, I speak silently to those who passed——I talk of news of the family, remind our parents that they have great grandchildren and recount the things that would make them proud. I tell them that they are loved and missed. Do they hear me? I think so. Usually the candles last more than 25 hours. Not this year. After about eight hours, the flame died, and the wick sat, dark in a hollowed out cavern of white wax. For the first memorial, my mother’s, I wondered if she was annoyed at something. But after each one burned out, I decided that our parents and Bonnie couldn’t all be annoyed. There’s nothing that I could think of that would irritate them that much. They must have been defective candles.

What does a good consumer do about defective memorial candles? She calls the manufacturer to let them know what happened so that they can fix the problem going forward. What did I do? Nothing. I checked with friends who used Yehuda candles. They didn’t have the same experience. Maybe our family is sending an otherworldly message, protesting the pandemic, the war in Ukraine, the state of the universe. Maybe not. Probably I just bought a defective batch. Calling the company would take more effort than it was worth. It’s unlikely that they’d examine every batch, and ours could have been a fluke. I guess that I could do what my mother used to do. She had a lamp base with a penis-shaped bulb which she would plug in for each memorial. Serviceable, but not pretty. I just can’t get myself to do that. Next year, Manischewitz. Our loved ones are worth the extra 75 cents.

It’s so important to remember those who have been a major part of our lives and to ensure that they live on in memory. Whenever a relevant memory arises, I try to remember to recount it aloud to family. I remind my children of their heritage. When I buy marshmallows, I recall my mother’s candy drawer in her dining room, the first place my kids would run to when they visited her. A drawer full of bags of colored marshmallows and pastel mints. Cory and Tracy never forgot. Avery knows that I keep marshmallows and knows the history. And she carries on in her own way. Although she just turned six, for the last few years, every Halloween, she makes sure to examine her stash and take out the candies that Howard and I love, and saves them for our visits.

I tell Avery stories about family. Like the frog story. When my brother was young, he came home one day with a frog that he found at camp. My father put it in a paper cup with a lid. He felt sorry for the frog and let it go. My brother wanted another one. My father told him that he could have one “some rainy day when the sun shines”. Meaning never. But my father forgot that periodically, rain falls while the sun peeks out. Every time that happens, Avery says “It’s a frog day. Your daddy owes Uncle Scott a frog.”

One morning when she was about 3 or 4, I was telling a story about my father. Avery asked me where my father is now. Uh oh! I hadn’t thought about how to explain death. But I did a quick save and told her that sometimes, when people get very old, they float up into the sky. Avery liked that. “Where do they sleep?” “In the clouds”, I replied. That satisfied her and gave her a great visual. I told her that sometimes, when there’s an especially pretty sky, we can look up and see our family watching over us and smiling.

NEVER FORGET THOSE WHO HAVE GONE BEFORE. THOUGH THEY MAY NOT BE A PHYSICAL PRESENCE, THEIR MEMORY REMAINS AND ENRICHES OUR LIVES

HAIR TODAY/GONE TOMORROW

My hair is a mess. While this is nothing new, it’s more frustrating during COVID-World. Will I be able to sit safely at the hair salon in a couple of weeks for a much needed haircut? Or, will I need to try some type of stop-gap solution until it's safe again?

There’s an old song, “Wild Thing”. That’s me. But I don’t quite fit the lyrics. I don't “make everything groovy”. I just look messy.

During last winter’s hair debacle, Avery looked at me and said “I cut my hair and it was a success. Do you want me to do yours?” Adorable. Such sweet compassion. She was almost 5 at the time, and had snuck in her own slight trim. Truthfully, it looked good. But I hesitated, and instead, Howard and I did what we could. Maybe this year, at almost 6, I should take Avery up on last year’s offer.

First, I should look at whether hair products will suffice to tame my untamed locks. I’m not sure why I still think that way. Going back to childhood and all of the efforts to un-wild my hair, I recall a litany of hopeful solutions. When I was little, my mother would stand me in front of her every morning, and slather Alberto VO5 on my hair, trying to subdue the frizz. Do they still make VO5? I hope not—it didn’t work, and I just felt a little greasy. I had my hair straightened when I was about 13. I can remember bouncing up and down in front of a mirror, just to see my hair jump with me as it had never done pre-straightening. But, the straightening only went so far. Soon after a treatment, I’d be back to unruly. So, I tried creams, gels, sprays, mousses, curlers. I even bought a Dyson hairdryer. Very expensive. But, as a good consumer, I somehow found the right timing to get a rarely offered discount, combined with store rewards and a store gift card, taking the price to less than half.

I could go on and on. The bottom line is that I just don’t have the talent or the patience to control my hair—it controls me. After a haircut, I receive compliments. While the compliments are sincere, to my mind, they’re a little depressing. I always feel that well intentioned compliments have a larger meaning— My hair only looks good when styled by a professional, less so when I’m on my own. Yet still I try.

For a while lately, I’d been using a product that seemed to help. So I bought an extra. The first can lasted forever, but half-way through, it didn’t seem so great. I decided to return the unopened second can. As a general precaution, I usually leave the receipt under an unopened product just in case I need to return it. I’ve now found that this isn’t always helpful since many products have a limited return timeframe. Before I went to Sephora, I scrutinized the receipt. There was nothing on it that specified a return timeframe. I walked into Sephora and handed the clerk the product and the receipt. I told her that the can was unopened, but I’m using the same product now and don’t like it anymore. The Sweet Young Thing took a glance and told me that Sephora has a 60 day return policy. I pointed to the receipt and showed her that there wasn’t a return window noted on it. She dimwittedly pointed to the counter. There, I saw a notice glued to the counter. She told me that I could find the return policy there. I looked at that vacant face and pointed out that customers don’t usually stand there, reading the on-counter notice, nor would they consult it prior to making a return, especially when with a receipt that didn’t specify a return timeframe. That dimwitted look again, as she told me that I could find the policy online. While I am not so old that I’d go looking for information on a stone tablet, it didn’t cross my mind that I’d have to go online when I had a receipt in hand. I was getting nowhere. What to do when you’re getting nowhere? Don’t waste your time—ask for a manager.

The manager came over. Her name was Morona. (It’s amazing how many Moronas there are out there. Trendy name.) Morona parroted Sweet Young Thing. The right answer would have been to say “Our return policy is 60 days. I’ll take the return now, but want to let you know for future.” No, she wasn’t smart enough or customer service oriented enough to do that. Rigidity and apathy-- just great. That’s okay—I had a plan.

I took the product to a different Sephora. I had thrown out the useless receipt. I simply said that I didn’t have the receipt (true), and that the product doesn’t work as it should (also true). I told her that I didn’t expect a refund; without a receipt, a store credit would be fine. The associate handled it appropriately and quickly. She took the product, gave me a store credit, and I walked out a happy customer who will continue to shop at Sephora. Win/Win.

In my effort to be diligent by scrutinizing the receipt and trusting that there was no hidden information, I shot myself in the foot. The key to handling a transaction like this is to keep it simple. So, I did, and it worked.

HOW YOU EXPRESS YOURSELF IS CRITICAL. IT’S ALL IN SIMPLE STRATEGY AND LANGUAGE. THE RIGHT STRATEGY AND THE RIGHT LANGUAGE WILL GET THE RIGHT RESULTS

LUCY AND ME

The last time Howard read a bedtime story to Avery, she chose a book about Lucille Ball. How wonderful! While I Love Lucy is iconic to my generation, I wasn’t so sure that Lucy would continue to remain relevant to future generations, timeless as she is. I was wrong. The next day, we showed Avery a few sketches on YouTube—the candy factory scene, Vitameatavegamin, Lucy on the ledge waiting for Superman. After many viewings in our lifetime, Howard and I still cracked up. So did Avery. Although we didn’t go into much explanation of Vitameatavegamin, even at 5 and lacking the boozy context, Avery thought that Lucy was hilarious. A great shared intergenerational experience.

My favorite episodes are the ones with starstruck Lucy. She and I could be sisters in that respect. Yes, I am starstruck. I know that stars are just human, of course, but there’s something larger than life about them. I can’t define it, but there's an appeal that goes beyond the mortal. I don’t know if I got it from Lucy or whether I’d be like that regardless. Nevertheless, when I see a star, an involuntary switch goes on. I don’t generally take full Lucy action—I’ve never pilfered cement footprints; I’ve never set my nose on fire after stalking a star. I just get that wild-eyed Lucy look on my face. That idiotic look got my children a wave from Ronald Reagan, got me into an argument with Howard and Cory over William Shatner, and caused Jeff Goldblum to bolt from an elevator.

We were on vacation in LA when Cory and Tracy were little. We had dinner at Trader Vic’s. As usual, I was the last to get out of our booth. Howard and the kids were way ahead of me. As I stood up, a woman at the next table said to me, “Your children are very well behaved. Did they see Ronald Reagan at the table over there?” She subtly nodded to a table right across from us. Reagan was having dinner with Nancy and another couple. As I stood up, that knee-jerk reaction happened. I knew I had that wild eyed look when I saw Nancy glare at me. I tried to be subtle, though there really is never any subtlety in a situation like this. I practically ran down the aisle and said to Howard in a choked whisper “Ronald Reagan is having dinner over there.” As I pointed to the president, the restaurant manager saw us. He walked over, picked up Tracy, took Cory’s hand, and walked them quietly down the aisle. Reagan gave them a friendly smile and a wave. I don’t know what Nancy did.

Shatner— A couple of years ago, we were in LA again, having New Years Eve dinner with Cory, and his fiancee, Judy. As we left, Cory and Howard walked ahead, while Judy and I strolled behind. She and I saw a man and woman sitting outside the restaurant. As we walked by, I did a double take. “I think that’s William Shatner!” I hissed to Judy. She took a much more subtle look and told me that the woman with him told him “I think that woman recognized you.” Judy and I, in a failed effort to be unobtrusive, did a kind of shuffle/run to catch up to Howard and Cory. They insisted that we move on. I think that Shatner wouldn’t have minded if I’d said a quiet “Hello” and told him that I’d been watching him forever and appreciated his work. I’m sure that he’d heard it before. But, sadly, a missed opportunity. I’m not going to listen to Cory and Howard any more! And I’m relieved that Judy’s okay with a curly haired, wild-eyed mother-in-law.

Jeff Goldblum—Howard and I were in a hotel elevator and saw Jeff Goldblum standing close by. When we reached the lobby, Goldblum bolted. I said to Howard, “He seems to be in a hurry.” Howard responded—“I think that you scared him.” Damn that reflex!

Suffice it to say that Howard was put off when I “ had dinner” with Glenn Ford in an Atlanta restaurant. Actually, I was seated with Howard, and stared at Glenn Ford across the room for most of the meal. And Howard saved Abe Vigoda from my Lucy self when he grabbed me as I reflexively started to chase Mr. Vigoda down a parking garage stairway.

All nice memories—at least for me. Yet the one that is most burnished in my brain is my adventure with Forrest Tucker. I was very young, fresh out of graduate school. One summer morning, as I strolled to work, I saw a man leaning against a building. Nothing exciting. But to my hyper charged brain, he looked like more than your average man. Trying to be subtle, I backed up. Though is there a subtle way of walking backwards, even if it was only a few steps? I looked again, trying to remain impassive. Forrest Tucker! Tucker had a long and notable career, though at the time that I saw him, he was a star in a not-so-great but popular TV show, F Troop. Tucker was tall and handsome. As I looked at him, I thought about what I should say. I came up with an idea—Do Nothing! He was absorbed in something, and I was in a crowd of morning commuters. So I walked on, Lucy-level excited. I had to do something—I’d call Howard! Remember, no cell phones back then, so no instant gratification. I rushed to work in record time. Howard was already at work. Lucky me—he had a pager. I paged him. He was in the elevator. There was a phone in the elevator. I knew that I must have sounded insane. Howard confirmed that. Breathlessly, I told him about Forrest Tucker. He sighed as he went patiently up and down in the elevator while I told my story. Forrest Tucker probably never had a more enthusiastic fan.

I could go on about my Lucy moments. But I think that you get the picture.

As I think about Howard and Avery reading about Lucille Ball, the memories come flooding over me. The times that restraint fell away, and I would get excited about someone who seemed otherworldly. Just little blips on the screen of life, but I smile as I remember the adventures.

MOVIE STARS ARE ORDINARY PEOPLE, BUT TO LUCY AND ME, A SIGHTING WAS ALWAYS AN ADVENTURE

MEMORIES OF TIMES GONE BY

A few days ago, I was driving in the neighborhood and noticed that the building that had housed Mapes has a new tenant pending. Who will that be? Another bank, another sushi restaurant? Just another business without charm or ambience in a building with a rich history of charm and ambience?

What’s Mapes? Mapes is a general store, family owned, having served the locals since 1897. When we moved to the area, they had several stores. Now, there’s only one. Mapes was a throwback to a kinder and gentler era, where service was prime and looking through merchandise was like walking through Fairyland. The local mantra—“You can find anything at Mapes”. I still have a thingamajig that pulls a snag on a sweater through to the other side. And my magic seam ripper to remove those pesky scratchy clothing tags without making holes in the fabric. When Tracy went off to college, we found her a screw driver with a flowered handle. I’m not sure why. I don’t think that she ever used it, but at the time, it seemed that she couldn’t start college without it.

There was a Mapes in the borough of Narberth, a local version of Brigadoon. I think that the old Narberth Mapes is a Thai restaurant now. And Bryn Mawr. That Mapes was in a building that had been The Main Point, where Howard and I had gone on our first date. The Main Point was a coffee house, where we saw Robert Klein and ate homemade gingerbread on that first night together. I can remember years later, moving to the area and driving to that building, after it had become Mapes, with Cory and Tracy in the back seat. Now young marrieds with young children, we were looking for basic home stuff—trash cans, light bulbs. That one building had owned a chunk of the history of our life together. Now it’s a furniture resale store.

The Mapes that closed a few months ago was in a building that had once been a supermarket. A resource for a community that needed all things quotidian, in a place that had charm. Amazon may be the new go-to, but it certainly lacks charm. Cory and Tracy could walk to Mapes with their friends to buy candy, toys, trinkets. It was a place where you could walk into a building with history, looking for something specific and also stumble over an unexpected find. Being helped by someone who’d had years of experience serving customers. None of that can be matched by the internet. It was far better than the non-experience of scrolling online.

But the best memory of times past, the one that consolidates everything that was good, happened when Howard and I went to Mapes the evening before a camp visiting day. We went to find candy and special odds and ends to bring to camp for Cory and Tracy. As we waited in line to pay for our finds, we found ourselves standing behind two boys. One was about 13, the other about 8. The 8 year old had a little football in hand, and a mountain of change to pay for it. It was obvious that he’d saved his allowance and that his older brother had taken him to go on an enchanted trek through the store to find the right treasure to spend it on. As we waited, a problem occurred. He was 12 cents short. The cashier stood and waited. The brothers looked at each other, stymied. Time seemed to stand still. What to do? Howard and I could envision the scenario of this 8 year old, saving his allowance, finally getting to walk to the store with his older brother, proud of having saved enough for that football. Miscalculation, and now—nothing. Howard and I looked at each other. We pulled out a dollar and went up to the boys. “It looks like you worked hard to save money for the football. May we help you?” The younger one looked to the older one. The older one hesitated. After a moment, he nodded to his brother and told him that it was okay. The little one handed the dollar to the cashier, who rang up the sale and gave him change. The older boy instructed him to give us the change. We told him to keep the change and use it to start saving for his next treasure. The older one hesitated. I said, “It’s okay. Someday, when you’re older, you’ll run into someone in the same boat, and you’ll remember this evening and help that person.” The boys thought for a moment, then smiled, said thank you, and walked out with the football. Howard and I enjoyed an experience that you can’t put a price on. That can’t happen with Amazon.

Driving by the site of that little adventure brought back that memory. The boys would be adults now. I hope that they had more gentle adventures together. And I hope that they remembered a very small favor in a very special place on a lovely summer evening and paid it forward.

BRICK AND MORTAR OF YESTERYEAR CAN HOUSE CHERISHED MEMORIES THAT CAN’T BE ERASED

WE NEED MORE OF THAT