When I was a kid I loved to bake brownies. I would buy a prepared mix, add walnuts, and my family and I would enjoy brownies for a week. They were one of my favorite treats.

A few months ago Daveen ordered brownies, with walnuts, from a friend of hers, a teacher who became a baker during the pandemic.  The brownies were delicious, though I tried to limit myself to one (or two) a day (per meal).

Several weeks ago Daveen arrived home with a large number of boxes of brownies.

“Why so many boxes?” I asked.

“For us, and for gifts.”

“That’s great.  We’ll have lots for the holidays.”

“Yes.  But this is my last order.”

“What!? Why?”

Even though the brownies were priced at the same (high) cost per dozen they had been, each brownie in the new order was only half the original size. In effect, her friend, the baker, had covertly doubled the price – and Daveen was not pleased.

I agreed with Daveen, and even though I was disappointed I imagine I’ll be happier in a few weeks when I step on the scale.

I believe that sustainable relationships depend upon a mutual perception of equity. You expect, over time, to get as good as you give.  If a grocery store suddenly doubled its prices most people would leave and shop elsewhere.

We all make mistakes, but when you burn a bridge in a relationship you can’t reasonably expect to cross back to the other side.  I like to maintain relationships, and have had many of the same friends for most of my life.  One woman who began to work for me more than fifty years ago has retired, but she is still a trusted friend who works in my office some weekends.  Daveen and I separated in 2016.  At lunch two years later we decided, happily, to resume our relationship.

But now it’s bye bye brownies.  I certainly could still bake them myself, except…well, I must admit that I really don’t need the calories.

Have a great 2021, as we leave behind some of last year’s perils and pleasures.

Alan

As December brings this year to its inevitable end, I’ve been contemplating how I might improve my life in 2021.  I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s Resolutions because mine seem to disappear moments after I make them.

In light of that, I consider instead my core values – those issues I will not compromise.  My basic core belief is that we are here to help each other in whatever way we can.

A few days ago my youngest daughter and her husband visited our home with their three dogs.  The large dog, Brady, likes to lie on the sofa in our family room.

After they left, another family member observed, “I’m surprised you let Brady lie on the sofa.  We never let our dogs do that.”

I understand her surprise.

One of my strongest childhood memories is of the constant fight I had with my dad about taking care of my cocker spaniel. The dog liked to pee all over our dining room carpet.  One day my dog disappeared.

“I gave her to another family,” my dad said.  Since the dog reappeared two days later, hungry and unkempt, I suspect that Dad just dropped her off on the street a few miles away.  The second time my dad “gave her to another family” she didn’t return.  He probably just drove a little further.  Despite feeling sad, I must admit, some part of me was relieved that my father and I would no longer fight over the dog.

I have not owned a dog during my entire adult life.  I resisted the heartfelt pleas of my children, all of whom now own dogs as adults.  To me the pleasure of owning a dog (or three) is simply not worth the effort of taking care of them.  To be clear, there are many dogs I like – as long as I don’t have to feed them, walk them, or take them to the vet after they have encountered a skunk.

But I have no core value that insists a dog can’t rest on my sofa.  While that’s not my first choice, my higher value is to welcome family and friends when they visit, and that includes their dogs.

In 2021 I plan to continue to “go along to get along.”  It works for me, and I’ve had a wonderful year with those I love.  We’ve supported each other through the pandemic, with very little friction.

When I pick my battles I don’t have many.

I wish you a Happy New Year.

Love,

Alan

Every day, when I’m working at my office, I take a break to walk around the block.  I enjoy the exercise, as well as the opportunity to discover more about the neighborhood I’ve worked in for over fifteen years.

On my walk a few months ago I noticed a small tomato plant growing from a crack in the sidewalk.  A few weeks later a single cherry tomato popped out.  Every day after that I looked forward to seeing the small green fruit grow and ripen to red.

I didn’t intend to pick it.  I simply valued its being there until the day I walked by and the cherry tomato was gone – along with the entire plant.  Maybe someone else was taking a walk around the block and found the plant to be out of place.  After all, tomatoes belong in farms and gardens, and should not grow through a crack in the sidewalk of a commercial street, should they?

What do we call a plant that is out of its rightful place?  That’s right, we call it a “weed.”  In the words of Emerson, a weed is “a plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.” And what do we do with weeds?  We pull them up and throw them away.

Of course, one person’s discovered treasure may invoke another person’s scorn.  Whenever I walk the neighborhood, I pick up plastic cups, used surgical masks, and paper bags with remnants of fast food, and put them into a trash container.  At one time those objects were useful.  Discarded on the street they became trash, first cousin to a weed.

I’ve thought about the single, out of place, cherry tomato for three months now.  I realize that the days are cold, and the tomato plant would have met its inevitable fate even if it had not been prematurely plucked from its place in the world.

My real question is this:

Am I a cherry tomato, appreciated wherever I may be, or am I a weed, my virtues undiscovered in this world of humans passing by?

Alan