My cat is a jerk. No that's too nice. He's an asshole.
He was born to my parents' cat, which weirdly makes him both my adopted son and my nephew. His greyish blue fur coat makes him look pure bred. I assure you, he's just a barnyard cat.
We've had him since he was six weeks old. We feed him every day only to find him in the mid afternoon perched on the desk, sprawled on top of my reading glasses and a book.
He always looks at me as if to say, "What do you want? I'm here so go find another spot. I've laid claim to everything on this desk". When I push him off, he meows. No, meowing is a cute noise. He lets out a bawl as if to say, you're hurting me, put me down before I chomp on that fleshy hand.
When he was young, we neutered him and de-clawed all four paws. Back claws and leather sofas are not a good combination for wildly playful kittens. He can't scratch me, even though he's tried. Maybe that's why he hates me.
The only time he's nice to me is in the morning when his fat ass crawls out of my daughter's bed to get fed. Once he knows the cat dish is full, he rubs his paw continuously over the door to be let out.
He's an indoor cat, but we let him outside for a few hours a day in the summer months. We live in the country and we're a safe distance from the road. There are nights when he can't find him as it gets dark. With foxes, bobcats and who knows what else lurking in the bushes, we try to get him to come in. But he's an asshole and assholes live on their own time. There have been a few nights he's been left outside to fend for himself. He usually wakes us up around 2am begging to come back in. I guess the big cat is not so tough with all of the real animals outside.
I swear he's tried to trip me a couple of times on the staircase as I wander down in the middle of the night. He'll run down the stairs only to stop on the fourth one and lay down. His greyish blue fur blends perfectly with our cherry staircase in the dark. No broken bones yet, but he's trying his damnedest.
I've always liked cats. I think it's the fur. Petting a cat is like snuggling with a live teddy bear. My cat doesn't like to be petted. He uses me for food, then he leaves.
Why I keep this asshole in my life is beyond me. I guess he's family and family sticks together.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
God is in the details
Ludwig Mies van der Rohe is famous for the quote, "God is in the details". As an architect, he was simply referring to the need for planning of all small details in order to build the structure appropriately.
There are big picture thinkers and there are detail oriented individuals. There are tests out there that can assess into which you belong. I fall in the middle of the range, which means I don't like detail but I can do it if I feel it has to be done.
The restaurant business is not unlike any other business in that the details are extremely important for a clients' positive experience. You've all walked to the back of a restaurant to check the bathroom for a validation of the cleanliness of the kitchen. You don't have to waste that much energy. You can look for clues in the dining room. If a restaurant manager isn't paying attention to these details in the dining room, she isn't paying attention to the cleanliness of her kitchen.
The same holds true for any business. If the owner or manager isn't paying attention to simple cues, then chances are they aren't taking care of their customers in the best way possible.
A hotel that hasn't removed an old TV Guide may not be changing the sheets since the last customer did who knows what in your bed.
A dental office with ripped upholstery in the waiting area may mean the dentist doesn't have enough customers to pay for new chairs. If he doesn't have enough money for chairs it could mean he isn't that good. Are you sure you want a bad dentist treating that toothache?
A restaurant with burnt out light bulbs, beeping odour protectors in the bathroom, dusty shelves, cigarette butts at the front door, gum stuck under the table, ripped menus, walls needing paint, ripped bench seats could all point to the manager not paying attention to the cleanliness of her kitchen or the safety of the food being prepared. Just look for burnt out light bulbs. A good manager will have a system to change them daily if need be. Cleaning schedules, refrigerator temperature checks are based on the same type of systems.
The details are not just for businesses. They can used in life.
What important details in our lives are we not paying attention to that could indicate a more severe issue? The details have to be taken care of, God is in them.
I'm not good at detail. That's why I surround myself with people who are. And by luck I married a woman of detail. And yes, God is in her too.
There are big picture thinkers and there are detail oriented individuals. There are tests out there that can assess into which you belong. I fall in the middle of the range, which means I don't like detail but I can do it if I feel it has to be done.
The restaurant business is not unlike any other business in that the details are extremely important for a clients' positive experience. You've all walked to the back of a restaurant to check the bathroom for a validation of the cleanliness of the kitchen. You don't have to waste that much energy. You can look for clues in the dining room. If a restaurant manager isn't paying attention to these details in the dining room, she isn't paying attention to the cleanliness of her kitchen.
The same holds true for any business. If the owner or manager isn't paying attention to simple cues, then chances are they aren't taking care of their customers in the best way possible.
A hotel that hasn't removed an old TV Guide may not be changing the sheets since the last customer did who knows what in your bed.
A dental office with ripped upholstery in the waiting area may mean the dentist doesn't have enough customers to pay for new chairs. If he doesn't have enough money for chairs it could mean he isn't that good. Are you sure you want a bad dentist treating that toothache?
A restaurant with burnt out light bulbs, beeping odour protectors in the bathroom, dusty shelves, cigarette butts at the front door, gum stuck under the table, ripped menus, walls needing paint, ripped bench seats could all point to the manager not paying attention to the cleanliness of her kitchen or the safety of the food being prepared. Just look for burnt out light bulbs. A good manager will have a system to change them daily if need be. Cleaning schedules, refrigerator temperature checks are based on the same type of systems.
The details are not just for businesses. They can used in life.
What important details in our lives are we not paying attention to that could indicate a more severe issue? The details have to be taken care of, God is in them.
I'm not good at detail. That's why I surround myself with people who are. And by luck I married a woman of detail. And yes, God is in her too.
Working with family
My first experiment working with family was the summer my dad hired me to work in a fish processing plant. I hated working for him. We would be the first to arrive every morning and the last to leave every night.
The job was made for men with hair in their ears and stink between their legs. I was 14 and had neither at that point. My old man would push me harder than my 40 year colleagues. With sweat pouring down my forehead, he would tell me to go faster. I was already going twice as fast as the two pack a day future heart attack victims, but I wasn't going fast enough for him. I didn't take smoke breaks. I didn't talk about the drunken escapades from the weekend before.
I was 14 but I worked harder than most of the others for half the pay. He didn't see it and I momentarily hated him for it.
It was years later that he confessed that he pushed me harder so I wouldn't follow in his footsteps.
Forgetting the life lesson of working with family, my wife joined our family business 5 years ago. In training her, I was now the dictator, with emphasis on dick. I didn't realize how mean I was at the time. She would come home pissed at me almost every night. Staff noticed my behaviour and it strained not only the team but also my family at home.
I love my wife very much. I never wanted to hurt her. Yet in business, I was extra hard on her as I was trying to teach her the same level of scrutiny I expected from all my staff. She was extremely talented in running her restaurant. Her strengths were a perfect balance to my weaknesses.
We agreed one night that we both wanted to stay married to each other. We both wanted to stay in the family business. So we had to create boundaries if this relationship was to work.
Here are the rules we formed for a happy healthy working relationship in the family business.
1. Leave work at work. Leave home at home. If you are fighting about something at home, don't bring it to work.
2. Make time at work to talk about work stuff. Have a lunch meal together once per week to discuss anything important.
3. Promise to stay out each other's way. If one needs help, one needs to ask. Otherwise it will be assumed everything is fine.
4. Learn what will not work in the business relationship. In my case, my wife didn't like it when I told her what to do. Even if I knew what had to happen, I had to let her figure it out for herself or wait for her to ask for help.
5. Create an organizational chart with all of the necessary roles in the company. Decide who will assume which roles. Then revert to rule #3.
6. Lastly, don't be a dick!
The job was made for men with hair in their ears and stink between their legs. I was 14 and had neither at that point. My old man would push me harder than my 40 year colleagues. With sweat pouring down my forehead, he would tell me to go faster. I was already going twice as fast as the two pack a day future heart attack victims, but I wasn't going fast enough for him. I didn't take smoke breaks. I didn't talk about the drunken escapades from the weekend before.
I was 14 but I worked harder than most of the others for half the pay. He didn't see it and I momentarily hated him for it.
It was years later that he confessed that he pushed me harder so I wouldn't follow in his footsteps.
Forgetting the life lesson of working with family, my wife joined our family business 5 years ago. In training her, I was now the dictator, with emphasis on dick. I didn't realize how mean I was at the time. She would come home pissed at me almost every night. Staff noticed my behaviour and it strained not only the team but also my family at home.
I love my wife very much. I never wanted to hurt her. Yet in business, I was extra hard on her as I was trying to teach her the same level of scrutiny I expected from all my staff. She was extremely talented in running her restaurant. Her strengths were a perfect balance to my weaknesses.
We agreed one night that we both wanted to stay married to each other. We both wanted to stay in the family business. So we had to create boundaries if this relationship was to work.
Here are the rules we formed for a happy healthy working relationship in the family business.
1. Leave work at work. Leave home at home. If you are fighting about something at home, don't bring it to work.
2. Make time at work to talk about work stuff. Have a lunch meal together once per week to discuss anything important.
3. Promise to stay out each other's way. If one needs help, one needs to ask. Otherwise it will be assumed everything is fine.
4. Learn what will not work in the business relationship. In my case, my wife didn't like it when I told her what to do. Even if I knew what had to happen, I had to let her figure it out for herself or wait for her to ask for help.
5. Create an organizational chart with all of the necessary roles in the company. Decide who will assume which roles. Then revert to rule #3.
6. Lastly, don't be a dick!
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Wondering over trees
I think there might be something to learn from trees.
Trees are born as seeds. With enough luck and right conditions, they survive their youth.
Young trees reach for the sky, just like their parents do. The older trees protect the offspring from the snow and ice. But if the protection is too strong they don't allow the tasty sunshine through, the growth gets stunted.
The weaker trees die and the forest gets healthier.
A forest gets cut down and a new community of young trees emerge only to rebuild the once great forest, their parents left behind. Trees are resilient that way. Never giving up, never accepting defeat, trees grow on.
Animals searching for food, insects looking for shelter, parasites needing a host, the harsh realities of weather, and people using trees as their pawns, I wonder how we have any trees at all.
Thank goodness we do!
I was looking outside this morning at the beauty of the last snowfall. I'm not a fan of snow. But this snowfall was just the right amount of wetness to stick to the tree branches as it fell. Without these marvels I wouldn't have thought about life on earth, and it's beauty as it relates to our wooden buddies.
I look to the trees and wonder what stops their growth. Trees reach for the sun, but none have ever achieved it. Do all trees eventually lose to one of their predators? Or do they give up thinking their purpose was never to reach the sun. Is our life's purpose as simple as a their purpose in that it's their responsibility to continue the race, to provide a home to others, to provide food, and ultimately comfort.
I doubt any tree would want to become toilet paper. I can hear adult trees warning the sapling, "Keep it up and when you die, god will turn you into toilet paper". So even in the worst scenario, the purpose of comfort is still realized.
We do have a lot to learn from our wooden neighbours.
Trees are born as seeds. With enough luck and right conditions, they survive their youth.
Young trees reach for the sky, just like their parents do. The older trees protect the offspring from the snow and ice. But if the protection is too strong they don't allow the tasty sunshine through, the growth gets stunted.
The weaker trees die and the forest gets healthier.
A forest gets cut down and a new community of young trees emerge only to rebuild the once great forest, their parents left behind. Trees are resilient that way. Never giving up, never accepting defeat, trees grow on.
Animals searching for food, insects looking for shelter, parasites needing a host, the harsh realities of weather, and people using trees as their pawns, I wonder how we have any trees at all.
Thank goodness we do!
I was looking outside this morning at the beauty of the last snowfall. I'm not a fan of snow. But this snowfall was just the right amount of wetness to stick to the tree branches as it fell. Without these marvels I wouldn't have thought about life on earth, and it's beauty as it relates to our wooden buddies.
I look to the trees and wonder what stops their growth. Trees reach for the sun, but none have ever achieved it. Do all trees eventually lose to one of their predators? Or do they give up thinking their purpose was never to reach the sun. Is our life's purpose as simple as a their purpose in that it's their responsibility to continue the race, to provide a home to others, to provide food, and ultimately comfort.
I doubt any tree would want to become toilet paper. I can hear adult trees warning the sapling, "Keep it up and when you die, god will turn you into toilet paper". So even in the worst scenario, the purpose of comfort is still realized.
We do have a lot to learn from our wooden neighbours.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
The hard decision
Making a decision between two amazing things is extremely hard.
The summer before grade eight I started babysitting. I earned $400 that summer. The class field trip that year was Quebec City. A whole week in Quebec, taking in the historic sights had a price tag of $350. My parents couldn't afford it. They told me that if I wanted to go, I would have to use my own money.
There was one problem. I saved that money to go to basketball camp. The camp was going to take all of my savings. My parents gave me a choice: camp or Quebec. I really wanted to go to Quebec with all my classmates. The exoticness of this far away land was waving me over like the pretty girl in my dreams. If I didn't go, I would have to go to school for a whole week with a five other losers who couldn't afford the trip.
Basketball was my passion. I wanted to improve so much that making the varsity team wasn't enough. I wanted to be a starter.
I didn't want to be a loser.
I didn't want to miss the trip of a 14 year old's lifetime.
It hurt.
I cried a lot.
I begged for devine intervention.
It was not fair.
I wanted to do both things.
In the end my parents didn't waver from their initial stance. And I chose not to go to Quebec. The decision was neither right nor wrong. It was a decision and I thank my parents for forcing me to make one.
I was forced to make an equally difficult decision about a business today. I had to choose between chasing a dream or killing it. It sucks just as bad as it did back in grade 8.
I was fully committed to buying the business.
I spent 11 months working all of the angles and understanding the challenges.
I wrote out strategies and imagined systems that could improve the operations.
I put all other opportunities aside to pursue this one.
The pretty girl was waving me over in my dreams.
I didn't want to make the decision.
It hurt.
I asked for devine intervention.
I really really wanted to get involved in this business.
It won't matter if the decision is right or wrong. I made one. Now it's time to move on. Thanks Mom and Dad.
The summer before grade eight I started babysitting. I earned $400 that summer. The class field trip that year was Quebec City. A whole week in Quebec, taking in the historic sights had a price tag of $350. My parents couldn't afford it. They told me that if I wanted to go, I would have to use my own money.
There was one problem. I saved that money to go to basketball camp. The camp was going to take all of my savings. My parents gave me a choice: camp or Quebec. I really wanted to go to Quebec with all my classmates. The exoticness of this far away land was waving me over like the pretty girl in my dreams. If I didn't go, I would have to go to school for a whole week with a five other losers who couldn't afford the trip.
Basketball was my passion. I wanted to improve so much that making the varsity team wasn't enough. I wanted to be a starter.
I didn't want to be a loser.
I didn't want to miss the trip of a 14 year old's lifetime.
It hurt.
I cried a lot.
I begged for devine intervention.
It was not fair.
I wanted to do both things.
In the end my parents didn't waver from their initial stance. And I chose not to go to Quebec. The decision was neither right nor wrong. It was a decision and I thank my parents for forcing me to make one.
I was forced to make an equally difficult decision about a business today. I had to choose between chasing a dream or killing it. It sucks just as bad as it did back in grade 8.
I was fully committed to buying the business.
I spent 11 months working all of the angles and understanding the challenges.
I wrote out strategies and imagined systems that could improve the operations.
I put all other opportunities aside to pursue this one.
The pretty girl was waving me over in my dreams.
I didn't want to make the decision.
It hurt.
I asked for devine intervention.
I really really wanted to get involved in this business.
It won't matter if the decision is right or wrong. I made one. Now it's time to move on. Thanks Mom and Dad.
Kill dogs
Growing up with dogs, the whole alpha construct was clear. My dad was the alpha. My sister and I were part of the pack. We were equals. The dogs never bit us. The dogs played with us.
The neighbour's German Sheppard would attack me each time I would bike past the house. I would have to peddle my five speed as fast as I could up that small hill so I could get past the bastard's territory before he noticed me. On one occasion, he was in the front yard when he heard the squeakity squeak of my ungreased bicycle chain. He beat me to the road and leapt up to greet me with his smiling teeth as he tried to snap my juicy leg into his happy mouth. Impossibly peddling with my right leg, I lifted the left leg over the crossbar just in time to lose part of my gym sock. With the bike between me and the guard dog, I walked until the beast decided I was no longer infringing on his territory. It was by far the scariest moment I ever had with a canine.
We never had a dog that bit someone. They knew their place in our household. Even if they growled, my dad would remind them of their place. He was the alpha. They knew it and they respected him.
Some dogs are just bad. The rules don't apply to them. They are the alpha. They don't care about what the rest of the pack does. They are in charge. They make their own rules.
We had an alpha dog. My dad couldn't control him. He was an adult dog when we got him. He didn't play by dad's rules. Dad couldn't fix him. When he almost bit my sister, my dad took him to the woods and shot him. Can't have two alphas in one household.
I would personally learn that same lesson 12 years later.
The methods are different, but our society still kills bad dogs. Although a dog can be reformed, we don't waste the time or money on them. We remove them from life. This form of corporal punishment is still somewhat accepted.
We don't kill two legged dogs!
We allow murderers the right to live. Our society would rather lock a convicted murderer behind bars for 75 years than put them out of their misery.
I don't understand.
Putting a dog in a cage for the rest of its life just seems inhumane. I wouldn't do that to my Trixie.
The neighbour's German Sheppard would attack me each time I would bike past the house. I would have to peddle my five speed as fast as I could up that small hill so I could get past the bastard's territory before he noticed me. On one occasion, he was in the front yard when he heard the squeakity squeak of my ungreased bicycle chain. He beat me to the road and leapt up to greet me with his smiling teeth as he tried to snap my juicy leg into his happy mouth. Impossibly peddling with my right leg, I lifted the left leg over the crossbar just in time to lose part of my gym sock. With the bike between me and the guard dog, I walked until the beast decided I was no longer infringing on his territory. It was by far the scariest moment I ever had with a canine.
We never had a dog that bit someone. They knew their place in our household. Even if they growled, my dad would remind them of their place. He was the alpha. They knew it and they respected him.
Some dogs are just bad. The rules don't apply to them. They are the alpha. They don't care about what the rest of the pack does. They are in charge. They make their own rules.
We had an alpha dog. My dad couldn't control him. He was an adult dog when we got him. He didn't play by dad's rules. Dad couldn't fix him. When he almost bit my sister, my dad took him to the woods and shot him. Can't have two alphas in one household.
I would personally learn that same lesson 12 years later.
The methods are different, but our society still kills bad dogs. Although a dog can be reformed, we don't waste the time or money on them. We remove them from life. This form of corporal punishment is still somewhat accepted.
We don't kill two legged dogs!
We allow murderers the right to live. Our society would rather lock a convicted murderer behind bars for 75 years than put them out of their misery.
I don't understand.
Putting a dog in a cage for the rest of its life just seems inhumane. I wouldn't do that to my Trixie.
I'm losing my hair
What happened between ages 32 and 41?
I remember having more hair. I look in the photo album and I can prove my memory is correct.
16 years ago I got married. The faces in the wedding pictures are strangers. Who were these kids? My children don't believe me when I tell them I was once young. I'm not sure I believe me. Was that picture really me?
What happened to that young, good looking stud?
Two kids and three businesses later and I don't look as youthful.
I had my first grey hair when I was 16. It's not uncommon in my family. My gramma was grey in her forties. I never worried about the grey hair. It was hair loss that scared me.
I made a pact with myself 16 years ago. I would never be the guy hiding his budding baldness by combing over the remaining strands of dignity to mask the fleeting follicles.
This week, I used Skype for the first time. The person looking back at me on the computer screen was not the same person who greets me every morning in the mirror.
I didn't like the look of this guy. Where did his forehead end?
I made another pact recently. I like my haircuts short. I vowed not to get a haircut until I achieved one of my extremely hard goals. As my hair gets hippyishly long, my wife informs me the length of hair cannot cover-up the thinning effect. Have I become the comb-over guy?
I'm getting older. Was it the business stress, the family stress or just time catching up to this young punk?
I no longer look young.
I accept that.
I'm losing my hair.
I accept that too.
I blame my kids.
I remember having more hair. I look in the photo album and I can prove my memory is correct.
16 years ago I got married. The faces in the wedding pictures are strangers. Who were these kids? My children don't believe me when I tell them I was once young. I'm not sure I believe me. Was that picture really me?
What happened to that young, good looking stud?
Two kids and three businesses later and I don't look as youthful.
I had my first grey hair when I was 16. It's not uncommon in my family. My gramma was grey in her forties. I never worried about the grey hair. It was hair loss that scared me.
I made a pact with myself 16 years ago. I would never be the guy hiding his budding baldness by combing over the remaining strands of dignity to mask the fleeting follicles.
This week, I used Skype for the first time. The person looking back at me on the computer screen was not the same person who greets me every morning in the mirror.
I didn't like the look of this guy. Where did his forehead end?
I made another pact recently. I like my haircuts short. I vowed not to get a haircut until I achieved one of my extremely hard goals. As my hair gets hippyishly long, my wife informs me the length of hair cannot cover-up the thinning effect. Have I become the comb-over guy?
I'm getting older. Was it the business stress, the family stress or just time catching up to this young punk?
I no longer look young.
I accept that.
I'm losing my hair.
I accept that too.
I blame my kids.
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