Every photo tells a story.  But some can unlock a treasured, and perhaps forgotten memory. Such is the case with the photo accompanying this blog – which was recently sent to me by Carolyn who was married to my brother David for many years.  Carolyn asked where it was taken and how old we were.

Looking at the photo brought back a cascade of happy memories.  I immediately recognized it as being taken at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.  We had toured the naval base there in 1952, so my brother and I would have been nine and twelve respectively.

I remember the year because my father was a musician, and he had accepted a job with the Xavier Cugat band touring Japan and the Philippines for three months, leaving my brother and me at home with mom.  Their tour ended with a week of performances in Honolulu.

In 1952 there were no cellphones, so regular communication was difficult.  Mom decided to take David and me to Hawaii to meet Dad.  We stayed there for a week at a small motel near the beach at Waikiki.  Although he was surprised to see us, I’m not sure my dad would have approved the cost of the trip if he’d been asked in advance, but ultimately our vacation was memorable for all of us.

I remember swimming in the ocean near the Royal Hawaiian hotel during a rainstorm.  My dad pointed out the obvious – in Hawaii it was warm enough to swim, even while it was raining.  That was an experience that both surprised and delighted me.  It was a treat, especially for a 12-year-old kid.

Years later, when I returned to Waikiki as an adult, I was shocked.  The small motel and empty lots had long since been replaced by multiple high-rise buildings.  Clearly, Waikiki had increased in popularity over the years.

Some of my fondest memories are of our family vacations.  One year we drove from Los Angeles to Seattle then boarded a ferry to Vancouver Island to visit Victoria and the renowned Bouchard Gardens.  On the same trip we also visited the dormant volcano at Mount Lassen in California.

I hope that you and your family have enjoyed many trips together, and that from time to time you run across photos that still hold wonderful memories – a lasting reminder of those happy times.

Alan

How can you tell which office desk is mine?  I offer two clues.

First, if I’m in the office, I’m probably sitting behind it.  That seems obvious.

But secondly, unlike any other desk in my three-story office building, mine is always the messiest.

Years ago, I grew tired of searching through the multitudes of paper covering my desktop for the one piece of paper I needed, even though I usually knew exactly where it was.  So I spent an afternoon working with my assistant to clear everything off my desk.  We went through every paper and filed each one in its proper folder. When I left my office that day I was very pleased with myself.

I should have started an office betting pool as to how long my desktop would remain orderly.  Perhaps if I had bet on forever my desk would still be organized today because I don’t like to lose a bet.

But alas, my desktop remained clear for about nine months.  Then, one afternoon as I was leaving for the day, I noticed one piece of paper out of place on the desk.  This sparked an internal argument.

“Deal with that piece of paper right now, or it’s over,” I thought.

“I don’t want to.” I thought back.

I’ve noticed that whenever I argue with myself, I lose.  Of course, I also win.  In this case I was right about what would happen if I didn’t listen to myself. I left the paper on my desk, and the next day there were three pieces of paper out of place, and the next day fifteen, and then… It has remained cluttered ever since.  And “ever since” means about twenty years.

I’m writing this at home where, as you might expect, my desk is also cluttered.  Fortunately, my two large computer screens here hide most of the chaos.  But if I really looked, I bet I would find papers from four or five years ago. Sigh.

I also suspect that a standing joke in my office might be, “If you can’t find something, go look on Alan’s desk.”

Thank goodness for computers which force me to save documents in searchable files where I can easily find them.

That is what I call progress.

Alan

We learn a great deal of useful information in school.  Arithmetic and reading are two of the best.  But there are also many life skills we have to learn on our own because they aren’t taught in school (or anywhere else). Office etiquette is one of those skills.

My first real office job was with the national accounting firm KPMG.  After my junior year in college, I was hired as an intern.  This later became a full-time job, but not because of my sartorial elegance.

No one had ever told me how to dress appropriately for the office.  My mother was a homemaker, and my dad was a musician, so I’d never learned what I should wear in a professional office setting.  I dressed in my usual school attire – white or blue shirt, with tie, slacks, and black shoes.  My idea of acceptable fashion was fine except for one detail.

I always wore white socks.

Why?  I suppose they were cheap. Also, that is what my mom bought for me.  I didn’t even think about it.  But while white socks might have been acceptable for home or school, they stood out at the office and marked me as a young man who didn’t know how to dress for success. After six months my supervisor politely mentioned that perhaps a solid color, such as black or navy blue, might be more appropriate.  (At that time the dress code of the Chicago office of KPMG was still so formal that hats were a required accessory.)

If you’ve ever unintentionally violated a social norm, chances are you were oblivious to it until someone pointed out your transgression. If you’re lucky, as I was, they did so compassionately.

Even so, I was embarrassed to learn that I had been violating an unwritten office rule.  I left work early that day to go shopping.  I purchased a dozen pairs of black socks.

You are welcome to come and check out my sock drawer.  To this day every pair is either black or navy blue.  I assume the accountants at KPMG would approve.

Of course, there remains the issue of my office desk that is in a state of, well, disarray.

But I’ll leave that confession for another day.

Alan