Toward the end of the year I am entirely unproductive on Saturdays.  That is to say, you will find me either sitting in my family room or lying down in my bedroom, watching college football on TV.

Last Saturday disaster struck.  I couldn’t find the remote for the TV in the bedroom.  Daveen looked for it, without success.

I thought about the situation for a few minutes.  Then I opened the door to my nightstand and voila!  There it was.  I know I didn’t put it there, but I suspected that if I asked Daveen why she’d hid it we would have an argument.  And then I would miss the game.  So I merely said, “Thank you.”  (Three cheers for pragmatism.)

Alas, the remote control didn’t work.  So after fifteen frustrating minutes of not watching football in my bedroom, I moved downstairs to our family room, even though I prefer to watch in our bedroom because it is further from the kitchen where there are snacks easily available for me to munch on.

That afternoon Daveen found the correct remote under our bed.  I guess one of us had accidentally kicked it there.  I’m not going to talk to her about it, because she is undoubtedly certain that it was me.  And she may be right. And I’d rather watch football than argue.

In our house everything has its place.  My shirts.  Daveen’s shoes.  Drinking glasses in the cabinet to the left of the kitchen sink.  That is, everything except the TV remote, which seems to have a life of its own, and prefers to be “lost” somewhere in the bedroom.  Years ago I considered attaching it to my wrist, but that didn’t’ seem practical.

For you innovative thinkers out there, please come up with a better solution.  You could make a fortune inventing an always findable TV remote.  I’m sure that many men have found that arguing with their wives over where she put it doesn’t work, on so many levels.

Fortunately, my home desktop computer has never been misplaced, so writing this blog today turns out to be easier than watching college football on TV.

And writing is certainly more fun than searching for a TV remote.

Happy Tuesday!

Alan

When my children were young I caught myself talking to them harshly.  I sounded exactly like my father.  That was scary. My father had a rather loud bark.

My father was also extremely successful in figuring out his life.  He was a professional musician, but taught his students much more than how to play a wind instrument.  And, starting from zero, he discovered the secrets to leading a very fulfilling life.

Dad shared lots of invaluable wisdom with me and my brother.  But he was my father.  He dropped out of college before he earned his bachelor’s degree, and he was far too old to understand my problems, or so I thought at the time. And, well, he had a temper.

Yet, to paraphrase Brutus in Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar, “The mistakes we make are buried with our bones.  Our wisdom, hopefully, lives after us.”  That is why I wrote my three People Tools books.

A few of the lessons my father passed on to me are:

1. I am responsible for my own actions.
2. Actions definitely speak louder than words.
3. This is a tough one.  But I find that an apology is essential to soothe hurt feelings.  It doesn’t cost a dime, can be used over and over, and unless everyone agrees that you are always perfect and never wrong, there’s no real substitute.
4. Find the sweet grapes in life. Have a positive outlook.  Great expectations precede great experiences.
5. Especially frustration.  Whenever one family member had a complaint against another, Dad would call a “Family Conference” where each of us could speak, uninterrupted, for as long as we needed to.  (Although it seemed that I always remembered my best arguments after the meeting was over.)  As an eight-year-old my parents actually listened to me.  That was neat.
6. You don’t have to be perfect to deserve love.

It seems I appreciate my dad more each day, especially in his absence.

As Joni Mitchell sang in the song Big Yellow Taxi,

Don’t it always seem to go

That you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone…

Alan

When Daveen and I began living together almost fifty years ago, I told her to be on the lookout for a behavior of mine that was based on a belief I had carried since childhood.

“Don’t let it work on you,” I said.

Daveen and I had been together long enough for her to answer, “Tell me more.”

“Sure.  Somehow, when I was young, I got the idea that if I was upset enough for long enough other people would be sympathetic and give me what I wanted.  So if I go around the house sulking, ignore me as much as you can.  Don’t reward it.”

“O…kay.”  She sounded dubious.

When I think about it today, my belief was sometimes accurate, even if it was counterproductive – acting hurt to get sympathy.  Really?

Psychology books tell us that to encourage repetition of behavior we should give positive reinforcement.  When your children finish their homework we (should) say, “Great. Good job.”   (And never, “It’s about time.”)  When you step on the scale in the morning you should congratulate yourself on your success.  (If I think that my weight has risen, I sometimes wait a few days before I even step on the scale.)

But intermittent reinforcement is the strongest motivator of all.  When a pigeon receives a bit of food after every peck, it will soon stop pecking.  If the
“treats” are unpredictable a pigeon will continue pecking. So if my “mad on” got attention every third or fourth time, I was encouraged to continue using it.

We always have a number of emotional tools at our disposal. Acting upset so that everyone will know how hurt you are is certainly one of them.  But it’s far more pleasant to move past disappointment and feel happy.

We all know the saying, “Misery loves company.”

Guess what?  Joy loves company even more.

Have a cheerful day.

Alan