Thank you for the thank you

I’ve always been a big believer in good manners.  As a child I’m sure at times I felt aggravated by being constantly reminded to begin and end every request with a please or a thank you, yet now it has become such an unconscious act, that the only time I give it thought, is in their absence, either by my own erroneous omission, or more commonly by others.  I have come to realize that a ‘please’ or a ‘thank you’, in particular goes a really long way, rippling into the lives of all those that it touches, filtering into their day, and in so doing, streaming into other people’s days as well.

It is a value that I have endeavored to instill into my own children from a very early age, and have not been shy in telling visiting children the same, much to my children’s annoyance.  Yet I have seen how important these simple etiquettes are in influencing people’s perception of the type of person you may be, providing the first and often most formative impression of someone, whether in a personal or professional context. Elevated to an even higher spiritual level, a ‘thank you’ forms a connection between people founded in humility, where an exchange occurs and the ‘other’ is acknowledged, even if it has been in a very small or seemingly trivial way.

I am reminded of this regularly, especially when preparing for the two cleaners that grace our house every couple of weeks, helping me maintain some kind of semblance of order and cleanliness in our home.  Without their regular presence the house would be filled with grotty paw marks from le pooch, who with his long shaggy woolen coat disperses a smattering of leaves and grass cuttings everywhere, adding to the general dirt, dust, grime and chaos that a household of four brings. I consider myself very fortunate and privileged to have cleaners and it appears that the fan club is mutual, as on a regular basis my cleaners in their thick French accents tell me that I’m remarkable; really special, and you know why? Drum roll please… in the note with instructions that I leave for them at the bottom I scrawl two words; thank you.  Sometimes I add a smiley face and on occasion when I’m feeling particularly guilty for leaving them an even bigger mess than usual, ie not cleaning up adequately in preparation for them to clean (a hotly debated issue in my household) I may leave out a couple of chocolates.  At times when I have returned home to a house that looks so neat and clean that I fear I may have stumbled into someone else’s vogue-inspired house, I call or text them, uttering those two magical words again.  Radical heh! Bemusedly, this then leads to a chain of thank you events, whereby one of the cleaners calls to thank me for thanking them, invariably when I’m speaking on the phone or somehow the phone has fallen to the depths of my handbag, which means I then feel obligated to return her thank you call, hoping that I’ll get her voice, as opposed to a voice message, so the whole thank you business, as nice as it might be, is not perpetuated any longer.

Each time this happens I get a twinge of sadness in knowing that displaying appreciation is something that does not happen nearly often enough.  Many people seemingly save these platitudes for the ‘big’ things, holding back from offering to the many small and unordinary daily events that transpire day in, day out. I know in the case of my cleaners, they really try harder to please, knowing that their efforts are appreciated. In a world where so many things are taken for granted, taking the time to acknowledge and appreciate these small acts helps transform the ordinary into that little bit extra ordinary.  Practicing what we have been taught and reminded about countless times as young children leads to days brimming with things that we are grateful for, rich in exchanges with people who feel valued, and assists in the spreading of that feeling of satisfaction that a simple thank you brings.  So rather than wait for the ‘big’ things to appreciate, begin peppering your day with micro-moments of gratitude, starting now.  On that note, I’d like to thank you all for taking the time to read this blog, I really appreciate it and wish you a lovely day. 

In love and laughter

Ros :)

When a joke is just not funny

Whist very much in holiday mode, a sea kayak tour was booked that within a short space of time diverted from its intended enjoyable course. The manager of the hire company enthusiastically decides to recount a joke to forge a connection with his new clients. He takes a look in my direction and deduces that the joke may not be for my ears, advising me to block my ears, although he seems confident that it would tickle the fancy of my two teenage sons and husband.  I jokingly respond that if the joke was not suited to my ears then perhaps it would not be suited to my younger son.  He enquires about his age, but hearing that he is 15, unhesitatingly proceeds to recite the joke inwardly to himself, conscientiously ensuring that the joke will be recounted correctly, as we all know how important a punch line is.

Eager to deliver, with a huge smile on his face in anticipation for the affirmative reaction he naturally assumes will follow, he begins telling the joke.  It’s almost over as soon as it had begun, so quickly that one could not imagine that in that one moment there would even have been enough time to cause offence.  I wish this had been the case, but the words that he so animatedly delivered encapsulated a heinous subject matter; that of pedophilia.  The laugh emitted from my eldest son suggested that he thought it quite funny, whilst my younger son looked perplexed and my husband most definitely did not feign any sign of humorous response. I was quite stunned at what I had heard, but with the sun streaming down on the kayaks as they beckoned to be let loose into the sea, I decided to let it pass.

Well, I thought that I had let it pass, but in the moment or two in which I hurriedly took a convenience break I was consumed by an anger so intense that I knew I could not stay silent.  I decided to approach the manager, as on so many levels I was disturbed by what had happened.  Firstly I could not get over the fact that to some people this might actually be considered a joke, no matter how black humor has the propensity to be, and secondly I could not believe that he had deemed it appropriate to share in the company of my two sons, even though I fleetingly gave him a small amount of credit for recognizing that it would not be suited to a mother’s sheltering ears. With metaphoric steam oozing out of every pore in my body and with a fierceness in my footsteps rarely felt, I marched over to the manager telling him with all the conviction that my small frame could muster, that I thought the joke was absolutely disgusting, certainly not appropriate to share in the presence of kids, or for that matter in anyone’s presence. Rather than apologize, he responded by saying that he thought it was a funny joke, and lots of people find it funny, to which in whiplash speed I told him that I most certainly did not find anything remotely funny in the ‘joke’.

Still without an apology, he tells me that people also make holocaust jokes, somehow trying to get me to concede that on some level that made the other joke more acceptable. At this point I should probably divulge that this holiday is in fact taking place in Israel, a country that arguably would never have been brought into existence without the impetus from the seismic horrors of the holocaust. With temperatures rising, even amidst the strengthening sea breeze, at the insistence of another client, an apology was reticently and half-heartedly uttered.  I turned my back on the manager, walking over to my two sons who were putting on their life jackets tucked away in a corner as far from the controversy as could possibly be.  Of course this display of emotion and anger did not bode well with either boys who have never enjoyed being embroiled in public scenes, particularly when their mother is at the helm of their deliverance.  My oldest son calmly tells me that these sorts of jokes are ‘in’ now and beckons me to leave it alone, clearly eager to leave all this behind and remove himself from the heaviness pervading the otherwise clear blue sky.

The kayak trip was a success, other than the legacy of my darkened mood, yet there was still a matter of unsettled finances, which the change from a chocolate bar was summoned to help solve. I most certainly was not going to return to the sparring scene, sending instead my husband who returned with a much more sincere apology and a summary of a discussion that had transpired with staff, who he was told had for much of the past hour been debating the appropriateness of certain jokes, and in what context they may be appropriate to share, if at all. 

I understand that humor can be very cathartic and it is a wonderful tool to help rise above painful moments and situations helping find meaning and validation where all sense of meaning may have been lost in an often senselessly hostile and cruel society. However I think it is a particularly sad reflection on society when jokes like the one I heard today, and hope to forget promptly (as I do with most jokes) are ‘in’.  This is one of the reasons that I love working with laughter as a laughter yoga facilitator and educator. Laughter is universal, whereas humor can be dangerously subjective. I don’t tell jokes to make people laugh, and even on the rare occasion that I do, I am mindful that ‘getting’ a joke depends very much on one’s personal and life experience, the context in which it is delivered and language and cultural differences.  So on this occasion I won’t tell you the one about the Rabbi and the Priest …

In love and laughter,

Ros

Don't smile for the camera

The other day I had my passport photo taken, retaken and retaken again.  You see there cannot be a hint of a smile, and for some reason, even though my pearly whites were securely hidden, something was causing my photo to be rejected time after time.  If it hadn’t been for my son’s photos on the exact same camera, with the exact same ‘passport photo technology’ on the very first occasion being so readily accepted with a blazing green computer tick, I would have assumed there was something wrong with the camera, or the associated technology.

With the camera lens directed towards me, it was very difficult to resist the automated temptation to smile, and even though I was not consciously smiling back at the camera, I did feel that my eyes, like a gentle hum, were slightly smiling. It was something that I had hoped to conceal, as those mug shots are so unappealing, but there was no tricking this technology.  Bemused by this I could not help feeling that, in the search for my true identity, the computer assessed these mug shots and said. ‘No, that just does not look like her’.  In the end I acquiesced and did as I was instructed to do, draining the smile from every aspect of my face until finally I was rewarded with the photo that was expected; dull, lifeless, functional.

Smiling to me is the essence of love, humanity and compassion.  There is nothing richer than walking down the street, sharing a smile with a passerby and in turn being rewarded with a full-bodied smile.  It’s such a giving thing to do, yet takes so little effort.  Smiles are effervescently loaded with boundless joy, pepping up all those that come into contact with one, providing happiness-inspired fuel to pass onto the next person making our day, and hopefully theirs, just that little bit more joyful.  It’s such an open and selfless act and I often ponder how the world could be transformed, with random acts of conscious smiling.  As part of a bid to improve community connectedness, a few years ago the Maribyrnong Police department ran an innovative smile campaign to astounding success. Whilst more recently at an Association for Applied Therapeutic Humor Conference in San Diego last year, one of the activities was a ‘Smile Squad’, where a group of slightly mad and far too happy people, carted swags of cardboard cutout smiles on sticks, and loaded themselves with supplies of smiley faced sweets to hand out.  You probably have figured out by now that I was one of those slightly mad and far too happy people!

As one large smiley movement we waltzed down to the port area, smiling at as many people as we could, handing out paraphernalia to willing, and some not so willing people of all ages, ethnicity and financial means.  Some distanced themselves from accepting both smiles and ‘fake smiles’, yet the vast majority embraced us, leaving us with a smile and buoyed mood. In the hour or so that we were on ‘smiley walkabout’ we met an array of people ranging from; policeman, tourists, homeless people, children with their families, protesters, all so different, yet with one shared smile, became a united force.  Two smile exchanges were particularly memorable; one with two San Diego policemen who took time to put their arms around us for a cheesy grinned photo whilst patrolling a permanent fixture of protesters against US navy ship presence in San Diego.  The other, was with a toothless homeless person, bearing a shoddy piece of wilted cardboard with the words written in looped scrawl; “My wife’s lawyer was better than mine”. The mood on the streets sweetly transformed to one more akin to a street festival or carnival. People stopped to have their photos taken with us, children skipped away with their smiley sweets; young lovers posed kissing each other with those delicious cardboard lips.  On our way back to the hotel, on a happiness high and already in premature reminiscent mode, we were amazed at how many people that we had passed earlier in the day, excitedly waved at us and flung an array of genuine smiles our way. 

Smiles are such a powerful force and I am so grateful that I live in Melbourne, where on the whole smiles are given and accepted freely and willingly. One can never play down the effect that a smile may have on someone’s day.  Who knows, it might be the only smile that they have received today, yesterday, maybe in a week, or even sadder, even longer than that.  A smile inherently says I acknowledge you, and all is well with the world, and when it is reciprocated and shared, for a momentary lapse of time, a bridge is constructed joining two people together in perpetuity.  So don’t waste opportunities to spread the joy that is so perfectly encapsulated in a smile.  Go forth and smile. 

In love and laughter, Ros J