1.11.2001

[11:09 PM]
I always wondered where I would draw the line when it comes to the intrusion of advertising into my life. Sure I'm picky now about how much ad exposure I get. I change the radio station when commercials come on, I don't watch commercial TV, I do all the tricks I can to cut down the junk mail I receive and other small things to make myself as much a moving target as possible.

However, I've never let it get in the way of what I really wanted. I knew that eventually it might come down to choosing between something I wanted and sticking with my strong desire to not have advertising run me through like a spear.

The other day it came, the corner that I would round where finally I said that I've had enough.

I was in the grocery store adding eggs to my basket. I flipped open the lid of the carton to make sure all the eggs were intact. Each egg was stamped with a tiny red Safeway logo. I have told several people of this incident and they all blink and look at me in disbelief. I didn't believe it either and stood in front of the egg cooler looking at those eggs, trying to imagine them in rows in my fridge, little red ink stamps on my eggs. Safeway! Safeway! Safeway!

I slammed the lid shut and paid 25 cents more for different eggs.

12.29.2000

[4:00 PM]
I just had a horrible experience.

I rode my bike about three miles to a tiny contract post office that's in a tiny store in the harbor. The store is run by an Asian family. Generally the person at the helm is an old woman who has never been pleasant or unpleasant, and is mostly one of those invisible people who lurks in the shadows behind the counter moving back and forth like a fish in an aquarium. The store is very dark, not welcoming and there are never customers in it except for people walking through to get to the postal window.

I didn't take my bike lock, figuring I would just zip in, mail my letters and zip out, taking my bike in with me. It's light and easy to handle. As I pushed it up the steps and through the open doors, I looked for the standard signs that said "no skateboards, no bikes, no skaters", etc. I've taken my bikes into lots of places and have never had the problem. There was nothing posted.

Once inside, I was walking past the counter and the moray eel shrieked, "Bike outside! Bike outside!"

I was startled, so I stopped and said, "I just have to mail these letters very quickly. It will only take a minute. My bike won't get in the way and I'll hurry, if you'll just let me do this very quickly."

In that split second that it took for her to respond, I realized that I had broken 5 of the 48 Laws of Power:

• conceal your intentions
• always say less than necessary
• when asking for help, appeal to people's self-interest, never to their mercy or gratitude
• enter action with boldness
• plan all the way to the end

Because of that, I'm sure, she responded with raising her voice in pitch and volume, yelling, "You would not take bike into Supermarket, would you? This same as Supermarket. This is store, same as Supermarket!"

I hate confrontation more than almost anything and will go to enormous lengths to avoid it. However, I had just ridden three miles on my bike to mail these letters and wasn't going to leave without doing it. I had a $1,000 bike and it would be foolish to leave it out on the front steps while I was taking care of my business.

With determination, I walked the length of the counter toward the postal window where a woman stood taking care of her business. "As a matter of fact," I yelled back, "I have taken my bike into markets and I've even taken them into RESTAURANTS. And I have never, ever had a problem." (This is true.)

"Oh yeah? Oh yeah? You have taken your bike into the Supermarket???" (Translation: She didn't answer as expected and now I don't know what to say.)

I quickly retaliated with a compromise. "I will go very quickly. See how it's not in anybody's way? I will leave if it gets in anyone's way."

"You don't bring bike next time! You lock outside next time!"

"Okay, I will. I'm sorry."

The capitulation floated on the air between us, just as her son or husband (it was hard to say which) came running around the corner yelling, "You take bike outside! You can't bring bike in here! Would you bring bike into Supermarket?"

Have you ever seen one of those scary movies where the camera focuses on the person and suddenly the background recedes quickly and it's supposed to create a weird and frightening effect like something strange is going on? Well, that's what I felt like standing there in this dark, tiny store screaming at these two people and having them scream back at me.

I had the same basic conversation with him, both of us repeating the same things three times and me wondering if they were going to call the police. I figured I probably wouldn't be arrested, but it might get in the way of mailing my letters. I tuned quickly into the conversation of the woman in front of me and tried to calculate how long it might take to mail letters versus how long it would take the police to arrive.

Fortunately, they didn't call the police and the second screaming match ended about the same as the first.

I won.

If you're interested in "The 48 Laws of Power" I mentioned, check out this information on it. The book is written by Robert Greene and is fascinating, with fun and interesting stories. Currently my favorite story is the one about the 1972 Word Championship of Chess match between Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer (Law 17: Keep others in suspended terror: Cultivate an air of unpredictability). Definitely worth reading and a great gift if you know someone who loves psychology, business, negotiating, power, and that sort of thing.

12.28.2000

[11:28 AM]
I wanted to say something about letters of condolence.

Almost nobody is good at them. They are hard to write. It's difficult to know what to say. They are hard to read. You know that no matter how well you do it, it's going to be painful to read, because that's just the way it is.

A few months before my father died I wrote notes to my great-uncle whose wife had died and to his two daughters. Writing letters has never been much of a problem for me, but I have little experience (thank goodness) writing notes to people in grief, so I checked my Emily Post book. She had a great hint: mention something in the letter that is meaningful about the person who has died. It can be a memory or just something you particularly liked about the person.

I tried it and instead of writing a stiff letter saying that I was sorry for someone's grief, I ended up with a thoughtful note that said something nice about a woman I had not seen since I was a little girl. A few weeks later I got a note from one of the cousins who said that her father threw all but a few of the notes and letters away that he got, but mine was one that he kept.

I didn't receive very many letters of condolence since my father died. Maybe because they are so uncomfortable to write. Most of my friends called on the phone which was nice, but awkward at times because death is such an emotional event. What is important is to make mention of it, no matter how uncomfortable it makes you. People will take note and remember.

I received two letters that were particularly meaningful to me and I wanted to share them because maybe it will help you one day if you have to write one of these notes. Both were sent by email, both were written by men.

The first is from someone I have known for several months, but have never met. We have a rich correspondence and do our best to entertain one another with our email missives.

Dearest Wendy,

You honor me by sharing your sad news. Perhaps you remembered
my telling you of being alienated from my own father.

So it's a fitting coincidence to hear from you on Adolph's 91st birthday,
on which I had reluctantly phoned him prior to your e-mail.

You've done the important work for yourself, Wendy. Hard, I am certain,
but clearly thoroughly and well. He was a fortunate parent, a legacy of
which he had to have been proud.

You and Rob are bonding all the more now. A rich inheritance.

The second is from someone I have known for probably ten years. We met online and have visited each other in person only two or three times, but have kept in good touch for almost a whole decade.

Dear Wendy,

I was just wasting time at work when I happened to take my
periodic peek at your wendy.com website and read of your
father's death. I am so sorry and wanted to offer my condolences.
Email is such a poor format for this, and normally I would send a
real card, but since it is already a month past I decided on speed
over other issues. The news must have reached you right around
when I called, and I can only imagine how difficult this must have
been for you, coming right on the heels of your wedding.

There is obviously no good time or way for someone whom you care
about to die, and I am sorry to read that your father's wife managed to
only increase the pain for yourself and your brothers.

On the blessedly few occasions when I have had to write to convey my
condolences, I am always at a loss for words... I think back to the
summer when both my grandparents died (both of my mother's parents
had died when I was very young) and just remember in particular how I
felt when I learned of my grandmother's death, how I wanted to somehow
tell everyone I knew about it and somehow express the loss I was feeling.

It is times like this that I most feel the physical distance that separates
me from you and others of my friends; as much as I enjoy our
correspondence, it would be so much better if I could convey my
condolences in person. But at the very least I want you to know that I am
out here and care and still waiting to take you on a train ride. Please let
me know if there is anything I can do.

Yesterday I received in the mail a letter from my uncle (my dad's brother). It was in a cardboard express mail envelope. I pulled the tab on the envelope and peeked inside to find a handful of yellow legal pad papers. Eighteen pages. He wrote of all the memories of my father from childhood, some memories from adulthood and told me about his very last visit with my father. Eighteen pages of memories, wisdom, advice. This is one of the best gifts I have ever received in my life. So meaningful.

Those left behind feel pain whether you write or not. Open yourself to those in grief and don't be afraid to say what you really feel, even if it's to tell them, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say, but I'm here for you." There is beauty in the honest confrontation of death and grief and only more hurt in the awkward avoidance of bringing it into the light.

12.6.2000

[3:03 PM]
On November 15th my father died. I wondered how I would deal with his death since he and I have not had the best of relationships, due to divorce and his second family. The last twenty years of our relationship has taken place through letters only.

He had been ill for the past year, in and out of the hospital, but news didn't reach me frequently because he's so tight-lipped and doesn't like the family to gossip. Just before he died he told my uncle not to tell me he was in the hospital because he didn't want me to worry. I can't decide if that was kind of him or selfish. Not that it matters now.

I don't really want to do the self-indulgent rambling thing, but there is something I think is very important that I want to say because of all this. Several somethings, I guess...

First, remember that you just never know when someone is gonna go. Take advantage of the time you have with people and make sure you've said everything you want to say to them. With my Dad, I had been doing that in the last two years and am pretty satisfied that there weren't huge unsettled issues. Yes, I wish I had known him more as a man, as a human, than as a father, but I got a lot from him and I'm okay with it. I grieve, but I'm not filled with huge regrets.

Second, be kind to those in your family that you wouldn't have chosen as friends or those who were chosen for you. That means step-family, adopted family, in-laws. Family is something that happens to us, not something that we hand-pick to suit us. People we love sometimes love people we hate and there is nothing that can be done but to support them and to be as graceful about it as possible. That's the grown-up thing to do.

I say this, in part, because I have to convince myself of that sometimes. My father's wife had my Dad's body cremated before I knew he had died. She rushed through a memorial service (no funeral) to which neither me nor my brothers were invited, and which was planned so I couldn't get there on time even if I *was* invited. She left my brothers and I out of my Dad's obituary. In general, she neither acknowledges me, nor does she respect my grief or my relationship with my father. I haven't spoken to her since I was 12, bowing gracefully out of her life. I thought being quiet and not causing trouble would be good enough and that over time she would mellow and that at the end of my father's life she would do the right thing. She has not.

But that's her choice, not mine. I watch her and it teaches me to do better, to be better than that, no matter how painful it is. It's tempting to be vicious, but it takes more strength to forgive and to be kind.

10.26.2000

[3:23 PM]
I'm currently reading On Writing by Stephen King. It's a book about the craft of writing, from King's perspective. Even though I am only about halfway through the book, I have to say I like it more for what he says about himself than what he says about writing, but I don't think anyone should hold that against him. King is a great storyteller, he's just not the best person to explain how a writer should write.

Today I have to write three letters of condolence to family members. My great-aunt died, someone that I know slightly, but not very well. But it certainly makes me think a little about living and what a good thing that is. I'm very happy to be where I am these days and hope you are too. If not, why aren't you and what are you going to do about it?

8.4.2000

[11:24 PM]
Why are there no pork products on the menus of fast food restaurants? Breakfast items have bacon and ham, but I can't think of one fast food place that offers something on their menu that's made from a pig. Does anyone but me think that's weird?

7.30.2000

[12:10 AM]
It's late and I keep thinking I should go to bed because I'm sleepy, but sleep seems like such a waste of time. For the longest time it has seemed like that. I wish I could always stay awake and then in the night, like right now, I could work on quiet things, secret things when the world around me is mostly unconcsious, silent, gathering energy for the new day.

Too tired to form thoughts, even, so I guess I'll try writing again later. The sleep need is certainly persistent even at its most unwelcome.

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