No Problem

Los Angeles, California

For the first, what, fifteen-plus years of blogwriting here, I ended each post thanking whoever was reading my posts. And people were and are reading it. I have the stats to prove it. But I've never been quite sure of who I was thanking. I haven't had a comment left in years, and that's ok. I was never much for interacting in that way. And, just between us, I'm not really sure that my gratitude was genuine. I mean, did I need to thank people for reading, when I truly wasn't writing it for anyone to read? Granted, it is different than my journal, where I do write the most intimate things. While I shudder at the thought of anyone reading what I write there, my blog is more or less public so I do acknowledge that there are readers. But in 2022, I stopped ending my posts with that grat note to them.

I hoped that leaving off that polite, grateful acknowledgment didn't mean that I had become part of the rude group. Gratitude is important. Manners are important. I will once again touch on the No problem response to Thank you. When I hear this, my brain still echos: I didn't ask you if there was a problem. I said "Thank you." Growing up, we were instructed in the niceties of Please and Thank you, as well as the responses of It was my pleasure and YOU'RE WELCOME (shout intended)! But life changes and change succeeds. Joel says that No problem in business means It's my job, you don't have to thank me. In other words, we shouldn't be grateful for someone who is just doing their job. But, I think we should. Granted a thank you is not a given. But I think that saying it's not a problem somewhat negates the expression of gratitude.

I'm rather certain we have all noticed that the attention of customer service has become very unfocused. A while back, I had two delivery services who actually did damage at my home. And I tipped the first one, discovering the damage after they left. That was on me. But they knew when they left that they had not fully assembled the item of furniture they had delivered, and that they had rammed the furniture into a freshly painted wall several times, leaving two 4x6" scraped, black marks on the wall.

On the next delivery, I advised a delivery truck that I had a large tree above my driveway and a tall truck would not be able to access the top of the driveway, so the product, an appliance, would need to be dollied the last few feet. Instead, they backed up the driveway, slamming into the tree and severing a very large branch. It sounded like they had hit the house! They did not receive a gratuity from me. In fact, they received a claim against the company they worked for. The owner actually called them stupid when I relayed what had occurred.

I suppose the worst offenders are the package delivery people. I can't tell you who is the worst. For a long time I thought it was Amazon, especially when they were utilizing gig economy (I like to call this gag economy) people driving their own cars or rental trucks. But, while I seldom utilize Amazon, the problems with deliveries continue. The USPS is not great with packages. They no longer ring doorbells, and packages delivered by them, as well as by the other delivery companies, are left wherever, even in downpouring rain. At the present time, UPS seems to be the most conscientious in my neighborhood, but this can change at any time as route drivers change. I suppose these are first world problems, but having grown up at a time when people took more pride in their work responsibilities, I find it quite frustrating. When my sister's boyfriend, Jim, was in the army and stationed in Vietnam during that scary time, our regular US postal carrier would sometimes find a letter from Jim's APO address when he returned to the post office after his rounds. He would make a special trip to deliver it to my sister on his way home. A big difference from what we now get from the postal service at twenty times what we were paying for postage back then.

I think expressing gratitude is a fundamental first step in courtesy and social discourse, and is important when dealing with anyone in the workforce. My late husband used to say that he wouldn't give panhandlers any handouts, but was happy to generously tip workers, especially the busboys, car wash workers and others who were clearly at minimum wage. While he was a generous tipper, he didn't approve of the abundance of 'tip cups.' He said that no one tipped him for doing his job. He wasn't happy that I was paying more to my hairstylist for an appointment, than to our doctor. But he strongly believed in rewarding people who worked hard for little money. So I continue that by tipping workers and delivery people. Just not when they take out a tree on my property.

Still, gratitude and gratuities aside, I did decide to forego the message of thankfulness at the bottom of each post. Actually I didn't really decide, I just stopped doing it. After all, I am providing something by writing. If that is appreciated, fine, but I don't expect to get thanked. But if you are feeling grateful and want to say thank you (or even send a tip my way - I'm joking!) for whatever my posts might provide for you, I will respond, just this one time: No problem.

Shohei 300 / Bronte 310

Los Angeles, California

Shohei Ohtani just hit his 300th home run, but I beat him by ten. Ok, not home runs, but blog posts. Still, while it's not 310 dingers, I think it's an accomplishment. Back in the day, when I started this blog, the blog universe was packed with blogs of all kinds. I didn't pay a lot of attention, although there was a food blog, Orangette, that I loved. I knew someone who started a blog, and I think I wrote about this in an early post on my own blog. I sent her an email to check in on her and her life, and she responded : If you want to know how I'm doing, read my blog. That seemed a little self-involved (which frankly confirmed what I already knew about her), so I didn't.

It would have never occurred to me to start a blog had I not had a conversation with someone I met in Lake Tahoe. She was a recent graduate with a master's degree in Journalism. And she had just started a blog. I told her about my misgivings about blogs but she pointed out that it could serve a function for my writing. Even on my second martini at the bar where I met her (she was a part of our group and I had been introduced to her), this seemed to create the necessary lightbulb over my head. As she described it, I could make it a writing practice. I let this marinate for about six months, then decided to utilize blogger.com, which she had recommended, and I designed and started this blog. I made a contract with myself that I would write two posts every month. As you can see here to your right, I mostly lived up to that, though there were a few years when I relied more on my personal journal for my writing, as I utilized it as one of my tools to dig out of a dark hole of grief. Later, just before the pandemic, I decided to say sayonara to my blog. And then, with all the time I had each day as we hunkered down, I pulled back that final farewell post, and kept writing.

I don't know how Ohtani feels about his 300th home run. I mean, it's not like he isn't doing phenomenal things in almost every series he plays. If I were, heaven forbid, to go back and read every post I have written, I am sure I would be chagrinned to read some of them. Certainly during the demon President's first term, I unleashed a lot of what our team was feeling: Frustration; disbelief, and intense embarrassment. A case could be made that I should have saved that for my journal, but what the hell. It's part of the 310. And maybe if I were to go through all of my posts, I might find a gem or two.

Inspired by Orangette, I started with the concept of including recipes. But the formatting was time-consuming, and I let that go so I could concentrate on what I really needed to do. To write. While I have the philosophy that I do three things competently (cooking, dancing and writing), the truth is that writing is the one thing that comes naturally, and always has. I don't know how or why, but when I put fingers on a keyboard or hold pen in hand, words and phrases flow. They're not always good, but that's where editing comes in to play. But, sometimes I do go back and I read something that I cannot believe I wrote. Not that it is so good, but that I have conveyed something and now, in reading it, I have no idea from where those words, and the composition of those sentences, came. It's just something I can do.

I was a fairly proficient figure skater. I took to dance from a young age, but salsa was something I worked hard to learn by attending classes, and workshops, and practicing, practicing, practicing. Cooking has certainly come to me through a lot of trial and error., starting from a young age. Writing is different. While I do think my voice can be heard in my writing, as people have commented that my posts "sound like" me, I know I am not as verbally articulate in speaking. That flow only comes through writing, almost as if I am channeling someone else's words. But they are mine now, as are these posts here. All 310 of them.

The Big 60

Los Angeles, California

I believe, fervently, in celebrating birthdays. And I should amend that statement to read celebrating birth months. So when the 'big' birthdays roll around, I am all in on the festivities. As I have written here before, Joel's birthday is just two days before Independence Day (mine just two days before Halloween), so it ties in with a lot of fireworks, flags, and general hoopla. This birthday also fell in the middle of the World Cup games, adding to the elation of this season.

We don't travel at this time of the year. It's family travel time, so a good time not to do so. Our usual celebration for both birthdays is going out for oysters then to a club for dancing. With dancing clearly on the back burner, we discussed alternatives and came up with... going out for oysters, solamente. And that we did. It is also soft-shell crab season, so we headed out to our local seafood restaurant, found a place at the bar so we could watch yet another soccer game, and indulged.

Joel had remarked that it wasn't a big deal to him to have this birthday 'tradition.' But it is to me. Traditions have always been important, and I come by this rightly. My mom was big on these things, and our family celebrated many events in the same way each year. Mom was a lover of green corn tamales at El Cholo, and these were (and maybe still are, I have no idea) seasonal with the season commencing June 1st. Since her birthday was June 2, that was our tradition for her birthday. It was unquestioned, just as having fish for Christmas Eve was the constant for that holiday. At some point my sister had rebelled against most  of our family traditions, attempting to manipulate them with her ever-changing food 'allergies.' But we weren't having any of that.

Besides being our birthdays' tradition, oysters work for us. They are among the very few celebratory foods that Joel and I can share. Not to put too fine a point on this, but Joel is a bit picky. He eats no finned fish, only shellfish. He does eat caviar, but going out for caviar is an even spendier experience than oysters, so we save that for caviar and champagne nights at home.

In addition to the oyster night (no salsa), we went out twice to watch World Cup games. Both times to a restaurant where we go often enough to know the bartender and for him to know what we drink without our ordering: Modelo Negra for J; Casamigos reposado for me. And, we topped off the weekend by attending a Dodgers game and seeing their first extra-innings game of the season, which included a home run by Ohtani in front of thousands of Ohtani-jersey clad fans (including me!). There in the Executive Club section where we sit, our bartender, Bradley, also knows my drink: Hibiki. And, Modelo for J.

I was grateful that this was a good birthday for Joel. Both because it was just before his surgery and also because I felt I fell down on the job on his big 50th. I was in the throes of selling my business at that time, and it was extremely stressful. I don't think I was able to concentrate on making that event very special. For this one, I think I did us proud. And I am happy to think that Joel is finally catching up to my age. To quote Monty Python: Wink, wink. Nod,  nod...

We Need a Hero

Los Angeles, California

Fourteen months ago, Joel took a fall at work and tore the rotator cuff in his shoulder. Since it was a work injury, he was immediately placed on leave under his company's workers compensation insurance. What has followed is too circuitous and, frankly, painful to recount. Let's just say, it hasn't gone well.

My father used to say that if you want something run and done well don't give it to the government. Our experience with workers compensation insurance is that it runs very well, if the object is to insure that no money is expended for the care of the injured. The coverage company, Liberty (yes, that one with the cutesy commercials), denied almost everything that was requested by the physician. The penultimate request was for pain medication, an enhanced plasma injection, some type of ultrasonic/infrared treatment (not too clear on exactly what that was), and PT. They turned down everything except the pain medication.

At each step of the way, doctors, physician assistants, and physical therapists kept asking us if Joel had an attorney. And, finally we got the message and found an attorney. By that time, the osteo surgeon had thrown up his hands and said that the only thing he could ask for, since they turned everything else down, was surgery. The insurance company received the request at about the same time they were served the court filing papers. They approved surgery.

Joel has been in pain for over a year, and while I think he may not have needed, or indeed need now, the surgery had he gotten any of the other treatments requested, he is at the end of his patience on this and just wants to be fixed. And I get that. So, when surgery was scheduled, he was glad and I was resigned. And then...

In preparation for the surgery, an ECG (remember when these were called EKGs?) showed an irregularity. This necessitated a sign-off from a cardiologist, and it was six days before his scheduled surgery. Each day, Joel called the cardiologist's office requesting an appointment, and he was sent back to the referring physician who had done the pre-op exam to fax over an authorization. Finally, the day before the surgery, he again called to request the form. This is what he heard: Well, I guess I could send it over again, but I've already faxed it three times. When he called the cardiologist's office again, they got him in for an appointment and he was subsequently designated as a low risk just twenty-three hours before his scheduled surgery. And, as a result of the 24-hour window closing, his surgery was scratched. And subsequently, rescheduled for four weeks later.

Joel's surgery is scheduled for next week, just a week after his big 60th birthday, which will be just under fifteen months since he slipped on a puddle of liquid detergent, and a month after he stopped working on a limited workload. His employer worked with him. His co-workers worked with him. The only people who didn't work with him were the Workers Comp insurance people.

We hope that the surgeon is the hero in this story, and that he comes through it all well and can return both to work and (more importantly) the dance floor. Then we may need another hero, as I was just diagnosed with a torn rotator cuff! Ok, on what planet does this happen? But in thinking about it since yesterday's diagnosis, I realize that the parts do wear out, and I have spent the last twenty years dancing salsa with my right arm lifted and worked as a lever to turn my body in circles. A bazillion times on scores of dance floors by a multitude of salseros, not all as gentle as Joel. I'm not in that much pain and I can evidently continue working out and lifting free weights, within reason. But I will need to see an osteo surgeon for a more comprehensive diagnosis and treatment plan. The secondary gain and silver lining is that none of this will have to happen through workers compensation. Because in the last analysis, the compensation dispensed in dribs and drabs, is designed to make you give up and deal with your injury outside of workers comp. Clearly, if you want something run really badly, give it to either the government or an insurance company.

My friend, Joan, had to build a gate on her 118-acre property in Santa Ynez. She wasn't completely happy with it, and explained to me that she needed to build one gate to understand the pitfalls and be better able to design the next gate. I think the workers compensation process is a lot like that. You have to go through it once to really understand how it works. Or, as the attorney remarked, how it doesn't work.