"Just Say It"

c. 2018 Cheryl Kelly

All rights reserved

(11-18)

Ever notice that we as a species, human beings that is, as intelligent as we are, struggle terribly with communication? You would think that for as advanced as we claim to be, we would have this thing called “talking” down by now. But, we don’t. More people have misunderstandings simply due to the fact that their message was not communicated effectively. In other words, what was in their minds prior to speaking, was completely different than what was actually voiced to the intended recipient.

I, of course, would be no exception to this rule. No matter how well thought out the conversation in my head is, no matter how carefully plotted, when it comes down to the delivery, it is, at times, sorely lacking. Why does this happen? How can something be so incredibly clear in one moment and then so utterly destroyed the next? What happens during translation?

I think for me it has to do with an inherent discomfort with confrontation. Fear of the unknown – how will my message be received; how will it be interpreted; what if it is misread; what if it isn’t understood the way it should be? Now of course, any logical person could see that there is no way to know how someone else is going to react to any particular message at any given time. But, then there’s me, who will attempt to prepare a response to every possible outcome in the hopes of dodging said potential confrontation. Yes, if you are wondering, it is exhausting!

Most “normal” people, however, speak their mind and deal with whatever is thrown at them accordingly. This is a skill that, even given my older age, I seem to have not been able to master. I think at times it serves me well, as there is a built in pause button. This enables me to not speak too quickly and keep the emotional responses under my thumb a bit. There are times though that it does not serve me at all. Those times I find myself responding much too late, losing whatever appropriate impact I wished to make and then struggling to make my point at a later time costing me the desired punch I wanted to land.

Nowadays, the communication gaps come via the written word more so than the spoken one. Conversations through text, instant message or other technological means create a whole other avenue for misunderstanding. People cannot express themselves accurately enough at times through the written word as they can verbally. Lost inflection and tone can create issues not to mention the lost facial expressions and body language that “speak” volumes. I cannot tell you how many times I have read a text or an email and took a meaning completely different from what was intended. That being said, we live in a world where communication is less and less face to face. Ever watch couples or families today out to eat, each with their phone in hand and not engaging one another, not even being present? It’s a sad commentary – the bad part is that people seem to be unaware of just how damaging this is. Losing that much needed human contact will have an impact down the line.

This growing communication gap opens up a whole other challenge, and that is word choice. Our current world is so centered around being fast-paced and efficient. No one has any time anymore. Everyone is so incredibly busy that even our written conversations are short and abbreviated. For those of you with teenagers, if you have ever read their messages to each other or their posts on social media, you know what I’m talking about...lol. And what gets lost yet again? Meaning...the message...the thought process. We have forgotten about the importance of being together, listening, feeling, enjoying each other, being human. It is so critical that we find each other again, that we make the time for each other to remember just how important real one-on-one communication is. We are, after all, people...just say it!

Editor’s Note: Cheryl highlights an important point here. “Lost inflection and tone can create issues, not to mention the lost facial expressions and body language...” I remember having to address a similar subject with employees on my staff, as a retail manager. In particular, with a young pharmacist, fresh out of school. He had a persistent habit of irritating customers with an arrogant, condescending tone of speaking. I once admonished him to consider that “Although your message is impeccable, the manner in which you deliver it is flawed.” Predictably, he was wide-eyed and befuddled by my observation. Only when his career with the company fell into jeopardy did he fully ponder the value of my advice. Using text to communicate may flip that truism. Without the soft edges and nuances of personal communication, a line of words might project a cold and impersonal sentiment not intended by the sender. Moods often fail to make the electronic journey in a message. Pauses for breath and consideration, a humble posture, sweeping gestures indicating familial vibes… all may lose a seat when thoughts are carried on an e-platform. This is a subject worthy of reflection.

“You Can’t Always Get What You Want…”

c. 2018 Cheryl Kelly

All rights reserved

(9-18)

Life can be unbelievably cruel. It will give you the most incredible highs one moment and then in the blink of an eye, turn around and pull the rug right out from underneath your feet leaving you with the most bitter pain and suffering. Suffering that makes you actually contemplate if death wouldn’t be more bearable. It can give you triumphs that raise you to the highest elevations one day, and the next bring you crashing down into emotional devastation all the while leaving you wondering what just happened. It is this very uncertainty that makes life a challenge...that makes life worth figuring out how to navigate the ups and downs; how to take those highs and learn how to reign them in and capitalize on them and take those lows and learn from them to make them worth all the pain involved.

There are all kinds of advice out there meant to help you try to reason through life’s ups and downs… “when one door closes, another opens”… “things happen for a reason”… “you can’t grasp new things if your hands are full of yesterday’s baggage”. The point being that in life, nothing is certain, and just when you think you have it figured out, the rules change, and you are thrust right back to where you started, or worse, back even further. It never fails, the minute you think you have a handle on things, life reminds you just how naive you truly are as a human being...as if to pat you on the head and say, “silly human, don’t you know by now I’m in control?”. The tough part is learning the art of acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that you aren’t in control, and never will be. But, don’t despair!

You might be thinking, if you cannot control the things in your life, then how do you function, how do you survive, and succeed? I like to equate it to business. It’s all in your management skills. Learning to prioritize, delegate and, at times, when to walk away from a deal or partnership that isn’t efficient or effective. I know, easier said than done, but, if you can take something as complicated as life and break it down a bit, sometimes, you can find a new perspective.

Take relationships for example. You cannot control other people, and you surely cannot control emotions and feelings – they are what they are...but, you can try to manage your responses and your actions. What is difficult is recognizing where to focus your attention, when to know you need help, when to see that things are not moving in the right direction for you or the outcome is clearly not going to be in your best interest, and lastly, when to accept that it’s time to throw in the proverbial towel and move on. No one likes to fail, but at times, failing is inevitable. Especially when you come to the realization that you have nothing left to give, no more strategies left to try.

You can’t always get what you want, and that’s a reality that’s hard to accept at times. That lack of control breeds a feeling of complete chaos and it can be brutal. As a control freak myself, I can say, I’ve been there and it ain’t fun… It can easily send you spiraling down the path of no progress, or worse, down the completely wrong path, and before you know it, you have wasted years trying to make something work that you should have abandoned a long time ago. And those years, you can’t get back. Life, unfortunately, does not give many do-overs.

In the end, life dictates your successes and your failures. Some of those outcomes you can control, and others you can’t. Life would be easy if we knew those outcomes ahead of time so we could direct our actions accordingly, but what fun would that be? All you can hope for is that you can look back one day, sleep soundly at night knowing that your efforts were not wasted. That you made the right decisions for yourself at the right moments, and if you didn’t, you learned from that and you moved forward without regret. I know, it’s a tall order…

Editor’s Note: I like your analogy to business negotiations. As a Libertarian, I have sometimes observed that marriage (or any committed relationship) is basically a business partnership agreed upon by consenting adults. Adding religious or romantic overtones certainly gives it extra glamour, but in real terms, it is a deal between willing parties. As you observe, those can sometimes go bad, or prove to be unproductive. I once had an older friend who said he looked at a potential mate not only in terms of love but also by comparing assets in the relationship. (Personality, life managing skills, etc.) I used to think that was harsh, but reading your column makes me think you have grasped this concept where I failed to learn quickly. Cheers to you, my friend!

The Jeffersonian Democrat - Chardon, Ohio

https://www.newspapers.com/title_1572/the_jeffersonian_democrat/#

“Friend, Acquaintance...Or Other?”

c. 2018 Cheryl Kelly

All rights reserved

(6-18)

Throughout life, people come and people go. Some have longevity and hang for awhile, almost morphing into the family zone; others are here for only a short period of time, as if to serve some immediate purpose or need and then they are gone, never to return; and then there are those that flit in and out of your life jumping in here and there for undetermined amounts of time, and then they disappear, only to reappear a bit later to pick up right where they left off. It got me thinking about the people in my own life, and how I view those relationships. Are they friends, acquaintances, persons of interest…? What I have found, with myself, is that it comes down to how much I share of myself with them, not necessarily the amount of time I spend with them, that makes the determination for me.

Let’s start with the “other” category. These are the people that you see on a semi-regular basis. You may or may not remember their name, but there is something about them that draws your attention. It might be the way they smile, or the way they treat others, or the way they hold themselves at a gathering. They could be a coworker that perhaps you only see when you go to the cafeteria for a soda, or see at a company function. They could be someone you see regularly at the grocery store that you have idle conversations with on occasion, or it could be the guy that works on your car when it needs an oil change or a new set of wiper blades. No matter who they are, they play a role. They are the “potential” friend or acquaintance if given enough time. They are someone that you think in your head, “there’s someone who’s nice...someone I’d like to have a cup of coffee with sometime...” or in my case, a beer.

Next we have the acquaintance. This is someone who you have decided is worth your time to get to know better. They have sparked enough interest for you and have the “right” qualities and are on their way to the friend zone, but have been sidelined for one reason or another. You have decided that they are worth extending yourself a bit more to explore the possibility of friendship. On the surface the relationship with an acquaintance resembles friendship, but it has limitations. This is someone you spend time with occasionally, however, this person is not someone you open up to, not someone who is your “go-to” in times of crisis, nor is this someone who has your full trust. Now this isn’t because they have done something wrong, or has been deemed by you to be untrustworthy; it’s simply someone who just doesn’t fit in the friend mold all the way, at least not just yet. I have many acquaintances and I spend time with all of them, and I would think that if you asked them, they would define our relationship as a friendship, but technically, it’s missing some key components for me; components that my friends have been able to zone in on.

Solid friendships are hard to come by, at least for me. Friends are those choice few people in your life who come to mind when you want to share. Whether it be good news about a new job or hot guy that started at work; bad news like those curve balls that life throws your way every once in awhile; or sad news about tragedies in your life or your newly broken heart. When those things hit you, you know exactly who you need to talk to. Before you can even begin to wrap your own head around it, you are already dialing his or her number because you want them to know or you need help – their help, their guidance, their thought process on how to handle it. It matters to you what they think and how they feel. Their advice and opinion is golden and it influences your thoughts and your reactions. Friends are those select few who you have entrusted with the most devastating, hurtful, and embarrassing moments in your life. They are also the ones with whom you have shared the most beautiful, loving and joyful moments.

People who have entered my friend zone are among the most cherished persons in my life. Outside of my family, they are in my thoughts constantly. Even though life has a way of interrupting our time together at times, we always seem to find each other again. They are understanding, caring, compassionate people who I trust with some of the most intimate facts of my life. And even though my numbers are few, I feel incredibly fortunate. They help get me through this thing called life, and I hope I do the same for them. I am privileged to know them, to share their time, and I happily call them “friend”.

"Starting Over" (2010)

c. 2010 Cheryl Kelly
All rights reserved
(12-10)

Note To Readers: This was originally featured in a 'Thoughts At Large' column titled 'More Greetings From A Local Writer.' (Geauga County Maple Leaf)


The start of a New Year equates to a new beginning for some of us. In truth, I think everyone at some point reflects and sets goals for themselves moving forward, but for some of us, moving forward entails quite a bit more than just losing a few pounds or vowing to quit smoking. Some people are forced into making that new beginning and some do so by choice. No matter where you find yourself this upcoming year, starting over to whatever degree it might be, is never an easy task.

Decision making is a skill that not everyone does with ease. The ability to have confidence in your choices is a gift, and not one that everyone possesses. Constant second-guessing can be your worst enemy and learning to allow yourself the pleasure of making a mistake is the core to being able to start over. You can’t start over without first acknowledging that there is a need for it…a reason for it. It’s not always necessarily to fix a mistake; it could simply be a choice to try a different path. Change is an acquired taste, and one that not everyone handles with grace. It’s learning to accept that not all change is controllable, and not all change is bad.

I remember I had just started a new job, my first “professional” job as a working woman. My boss, an older man, very much set in his ways had given me a letter to type and I was taken aback by the address. The correspondence began with “Gentlemen”, not “To whom it may concern”, not “Sir or Madam” (which was the current appropriate address), but “Gentlemen”. I promptly got up from my desk and walked to his office. Knocking on his door and asking for a moment of his time, I inquired about the address. Now, being a fairly new employee, I very respectfully questioned the appropriateness of his opening address. The response I received was, “That’s how I was taught, and that’s how I want my letters addressed.” I was shocked. How could this man in this high position clearly not know that it was no longer proper to address blind letters with “Gentlemen”? For months I gently protested, and to no avail. I finally had to accept the fact that it was his signature at the bottom of those letters and not mine...no matter how hard it was for me to type and overlook. No, change was not in his vocabulary.

Change, like starting over is an acquired taste. Something some handle well and something others avoid at all cost. We go through life believing that at some point we will reach that ultimate goal of being able to sit back, relax and enjoy what we’ve worked so hard to achieve. As we go along, we ultimately discover that it doesn’t always work that way…that life is ever-changing and malleable, like a clay model that changes shape with every choice or decision we make and every person that we invite into or who touches our lives. And like clay models, life can be smoothed out and rolled and shaped into something new.

Starting over is like buying a new car. You pay and pay, month after month, year after year, thinking to yourself that eventually, it will be paid off and it will be mine, and I will have true ownership. But then what happens? The car gets paid off, sure, but now it’s falling apart and you need a new one, so, you start over. Again, sometimes by choice…sometimes by force. Life is full of constant start-overs…time to question and reflect…time to try again and see what it is that you’re going to do differently this time. Time to see what you’ve learned and time to apply different strategies in the hopes of finding the one that truly works…that allows you that opportunity to sit, relax and finally enjoy.

It can be a daunting task to start over…to begin again, a scary one at times, but a necessary one as well. No one ever said change was easy, but it doesn’t have to be debilitating. It can be exciting and refreshing and exactly what you need. The key is to open yourself up for whatever comes your way…either by choice or by necessity. Having faith in yourself that you will make the right choices, and if you get off track, you will find your way back, and be better for it. So, whether you find yourself making your own resolutions this year, or find yourself being pressed into making those changes…embrace it, because therein lies true ownership.

“Terrible Meanness and Beautiful Kindness”

c. 2018 Cheryl Kelly

(5-18)

Isn’t it odd how life gives you signs and shows you things that you weren’t looking for? That it can take one single, simple moment and make it have such an impact on you that you just can’t stop thinking about it and what it means…? That it can alter your thinking in one second or change your view with one experience? That it can show you terrible meanness and beautiful kindness all at the same time? Here’s a story I’d like to share of one such event for me…

A friend and I stopped after work one evening for a beer and a bite to eat at a local restaurant and bar. We grabbed a couple open bar stools and ordered our beers. We were there for about a half hour or so talking and watching the ball game on the big screen over the bar when I caught part of a conversation that was going on between a couple of people sitting a stool away from me. Now I’m not one to eavesdrop, but there was a tone to this conversation that grabbed my attention and so I nonchalantly tuned in. It was between this young woman, I would say in her early twenties, and this clearly drunk older man about sixty if I had to guess. The young woman was sitting at the bar looking up at one of the screens drinking a glass of water, and the man was speaking at her (yes I do mean “at”) spewing the most hateful things. “You know what you are don’t you? A waste, a piece of shit...” I looked at them, wondering if I really heard what I think I just heard.

The young woman was quiet for the longest time as the man continued to taunt her with one vile comment after another. She finally looked at him and responded with, “You don’t even know me. You don’t know anything about me...” By this time, my friend had noticed I had gotten preoccupied elsewhere and he began to get wind of the situation unfolding, along with several other patrons at the bar. It dawned on me after taking a long look, that this young woman clearly had some issues. It wasn’t just in the way she was dressed in her mismatched clothes and what looked to be pajama pants, or the way her hair looked as though it hadn’t seen a brush in awhile. It was her uncontrollable shaking of her leg and her slight disconnection from the immediate environment that made it clear to me that she was an addict of some type and was struggling at the moment.

Not being able to listen any further to the hate that continued to pour from this man’s mouth like vomit, I turned in my stool to face them and told the young woman to change her seat and come over by us; that she did not have to listen to that any longer. She picked up her water and walked down by us and sat on the other side of my friend saying a quiet “thank you”. The inebriated man then turned his hatred towards me and my friend asking us if we were “alright with that” pointing his finger at the young woman. My friend and I exchanged some words with the man telling him that she wasn’t hurting anyone, that she was quietly sitting drinking her water without disturbing him or anyone else, and who was he to judge or comment on anyone…? The conversation escalated with the old man, filled with liquid courage, calling my friend out for a fight. We both just looked at each other unbelieving that this was transpiring. I give a ton of credit to my friend too...it’s not easy to keep your head calm and cool when you’re being called names and called out to fight by someone who clearly needs his ass beat.

Finally, after waiting too long in my opinion, the manager of the bar approached the old man and escorted him outside. My friend and I went about our evening, ordering a drink and some food for our new friend who was clearly hungry. Although reluctant to eat at first, she soon warmed up and began to eat. We boxed up what she did not eat and told her to take it home for later. As we were finishing up our own food and drink, the manager stopped by to talk to us, trying to explain that the old man was a regular, a Veteran and had many times been kicked out of the bar for his behavior. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, “then why is he still allowed in?”, or “what does being a Veteran have to do with anything?”, but I didn’t. I know the manager was trying to excuse the old man’s poor behavior, and although I understand why, I think my friend summed it up best when he said, “People like that don’t change.”

A bit later something happened that I have not been able to get out of my head. Another man quietly stepped between me and my friend, he put his arms around our shoulders and without saying a word, looked at me and kissed me hard and long on my cheek and then looked at my friend and extended his hand to which my friend took to give it a good firm shake. Then just like that, without a word, the stranger turned and left the bar. My friend and I sat and stared at each other for a long moment wondering what just happened. We weren’t sure what to say. Neither of us knew this man nor did we remember seeing him in the bar at any time. I don’t know why this gesture has made such an impact on me...but it has. I have rerun that whole scene over and over again in my head wondering whether it was just someone simply saying “thank you” for your kindness or if it was a sign of some sort. All I know is that in one typical afternoon, I got a chance to witness life, at its worst and at its best, the worst in people and the best in people...utter meanness and beautiful kindness.

“Memorial”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(3-18)

Note to readers: My parents recently entered a nursing home, after a long battle to retain their independence. Mom is 87, Dad is 88. As I grapple to comprehend this late chapter of their story, memories from bygone days have given comfort. Time knows no mortal master. What follows here is another example of the ideas that have emerged while pondering this cycle of life.

A Capella singing. A tradition of the church community in which I was raised.

Once the last verse of ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ had been finished, our group fell silent. There was a moment of hesitation as the local pastor looked in my direction. I breathed heavily and reached for my cane. Then, with some effort, I moved toward the pulpit. My eyes were wet. But somehow, purpose brought clarity of thought. I looked across the crowd and back again. Then, with a noisy rustling of printed paper, my address began:

“I am grateful for those who have remembered my father today. For those who have spoken of his faith and service. For those who praised his degrees in formal education. For those who have remembered his authorship of theological books and articles written for many publications. For those who recall him officiating at weddings, funerals, services of all sorts, teaching Sunday School and leading songs. He would be thrilled to know that each step of his journey left an indelible footprint that served to inspire others. I am grateful for each word spoken today.”

In the front row, my sister was crying. She dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief.

“But today, it is my hope to place in your memory a different perspective on this man,” I continued. “You have heard about a remarkable fellow. A scholar, a steward, a leader, a teacher in the old tradition. Now, I want to tell you about… my dad. The man I knew at home.”

A breathless pause held the moment.

“I want to tell you about the giant who led me as a child,” I said. “My hand grasped one of his fingers like it was a mighty sword. He seemed huge and yet so gentle. I trusted him in every way. When questions ached in my head, he never failed to have some sort of answer. I marveled at his knowledge. Every conversation, no matter how innocuous, became a learning experience.”

An old parishioner wearing West Virginia University Mountaineers attire fumbled with his walker. An oxygen cylinder sat nearby. He nodded his bald head in approval.

“We would go to classic car shows in the summer,” I reflected. “Once, I saw a vehicle from the 1940’s and sounded out the name on its chrome grille. ‘Ply-mouth.’ Dad laughed and explained how to properly pronounce this automotive moniker. I never forgot that moment of kind correction. I soon became a vintage vehicle expert of sorts, from reading his Floyd Clymer books.”

My nephews began to smile.

“Dad had taken a course in television repair after graduating from high school,” I observed. “The manual was an enormous document, in a leather binder. During my childhood, he repaired many castaway sets that had been discarded as worthless junk. Even when I became a teenager, our family still watched programs on devices that were many years out of date. When friends visited, they felt mystified and amused. It was a trait of the Ice household. Yesterday and today coexisted in the same space.”

My uncle from Indiana beamed with pride.

“Writing has always been a family habit,” I proclaimed. “From an early age, the need to put thoughts into print was something I inherited from my father with much enthusiasm. I mimicked his office style by creating one of my own, in our basement. Later, his advice on content and editing proved to be invaluable. He admonished me to write from my own experiences, because those were more durable and genuine than any other kind of inspiration. He also said that a useful trick was to read manuscripts aloud, as an aid to proper phrasing. It is a tool I still use to this day.”

From a pew set far back in the church, an old woman prayed quietly. “Thank you Jesus, for such a man.”

“Dad hoped that I would follow in his footsteps,” I confessed. “But my life-path did not lead in that direction, for many reasons. Yet as I developed a career in business management, overseeing retail stores, it became clear that his template had become my own. The strategies I used at my workplace were no different than his own habits tending the flock. ‘Building lines of communication’ with employees and customers, as he had done himself, within the faith community.”

A young boy pondered his song book. He looked sad, but intently focused on every word I had offered. It was impossible not to wonder where his own path would go, in future days still waiting to unfold.

“My first car was a 1973 Volkswagen,” I said. “When it had a broken set of points, Dad helped get the Beetle right again, even though his days as a mechanic had long since passed into memory. Because of growing up on a farm, he had some familiarity with almost everything. After puttering with the German machine, we went back to our house and made coffee. He mused about rigging up radio antennas as a kid, to hear broadcasts of Folk and Country music on WSM from Nashville. Later, we discussed oddities like Edgar Cayce visions and Ray Palmer magazines. He was ahead of me at every point on the curve. I felt thrilled to follow and learn.”

My uncle from Tennessee bowed his head, respectfully.

“In summation, let me declare that the one we honor today was not merely a figure of public renown and regard from his peers,” I concluded. “He gave me life, hope, instruction and purpose. But most importantly of all, he offered the example of a loving father. One who made me feel truly glad to be a member of this family.”

I looked over at the casket, my eyes growing wet once again. “I love you, Dad.”

The congregation stood to sing. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see...”

Postscript: Dad died on April 27^th. I read this manuscript as part of his funeral service at the Union Church of Christ on May 1^st.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published regularly in the Geauga Independent