Why I love Chick-fil-A (It’s not about the food)

The last several years of my dad’s life, he and my stepmother went to their local Chick-fil-A for lunch every day. There they were treated as treasured family members by the staff and other regular customers. It literally made their day.
Everybody there was their friend. Even the young, teenaged counter workers came to chat with them. They took the time to listen to my parents’ stories about the old days and shared their own lives, too.
As Dad grew frailer, somebody was always there to help him to and from the car. If he was too sick to make the trip, someone would deliver their order to the house. Once when he was in the hospital, a CFA manager took him a chicken sandwich and brought his wife and baby to visit.
His doctors were convinced that having Chick-fil-A to look forward to extended his life by several months. As Dad’s health failed, he was unable to do much of anything, but he always made it to CFA until the last week of his life, when he could no longer even leave his bed.
The young couple who managed CFA had their first baby while Dad was bedridden and no longer always aware of his surroundings. They brought their 3-day old son to meet Dad the night before he died.
CFA staff not only came to his funeral, the owner-manager insisted on supplying the food for the after-funeral gathering. When my stepmother had to start going to lunch by herself, a staff member always came to sit and talk to her so she wouldn’t have to be alone.
CFA President Dan Cathay says their goal is to create raving fans. Because of their kindness and care for my parents, they made me a raving fan for life. In fact, they are a beloved member of my family.
I also like the food.

American Holiday 2011

I received this recently from my niece Kristin. I’m not sure where she found it (or if she wrote it herself), but it’s definitely worth passing on. Of course, I will need to rethink what I’m getting her for Christmas, but that’s probably a good thing.
As the holidays approach, the giant Asian factories are kicking into high gear to provide Americans with monstrous piles of cheaply produced goods — merchandise that has been produced at the expense of American labor. This year will be different. This year Americans will give the gift of genuine concern for other Americans. There is no longer an excuse that, at gift giving time, nothing can be found that is produced by American hands. Yes there is!

It’s time to think outside the box, people. Who says a gift needs to fit in a shirt box, wrapped in Chinese produced wrapping paper?
Everyone — yes EVERYONE gets their hair cut. How about gift certificates from your local American hair salon or barber?

Gym membership? It’s appropriate for all ages who are thinking about some health improvement.

Who wouldn’t appreciate getting their car detailed? Small, American owned detail shops and car washes would love to sell you a gift certificate or a book of gift certificates.

Are you one of those extravagant givers who think nothing of plunking down the Benjamin’s on a Chinese made flat-screen? Perhaps that grateful gift receiver would like his driveway sealed, or lawn mowed for the summer, or driveway plowed all winter, or games at the local golf course.

There are a bazillion owner-run restaurants — all offering gift certificates. And, if your intended isn’t the fancy eatery sort, what about a half dozen breakfasts at the local breakfast joint. Remember, folks this isn’t about big National chains — this is about supporting your home town Americans with their financial lives on the line to keep their doors open.

How many people couldn’t use an oil change for their car, truck or motorcycle, done at a shop run by the American working guy?

Thinking about a heartfelt gift for mom? Mom would LOVE the services of a local cleaning lady for a day.

My computer could use a tune-up, and I KNOW I can find some young guy who is struggling to get his repair business up and running.

OK, you were looking for something more personal. Local crafts people spin their own wool and knit them into scarves. They make jewelry, and pottery and beautiful wooden boxes.

Plan your holiday outings at local, owner operated restaurants and leave your server a nice tip. And, how about going out to see a play or ballet at your hometown theatre.

Musicians need love too, so find a venue showcasing local bands.

Honestly, people, do you REALLY need to buy another ten thousand Chinese lights for the house? When you buy a five dollar string of light, about fifty cents stays in the community. If you have those kinds of bucks to burn, leave the mailman, trash guy or babysitter a nice BIG tip.

You see, Christmas is no longer about draining American pockets so that China can build another glittering city. Christmas is now about caring about US, encouraging American small businesses to keep plugging away to follow their dreams. And, when we care about other Americans, we care about our communities, and the benefits come back to us in ways we couldn’t imagine. THIS is the new American Christmas tradition. This is a revolution of caring about each other, and isn’t that what Christmas is about?

Something Better Came Along

Just as I was getting ready to make an offer on the place I told you about in the last past, something better came along.
This is another one-bedroom condo two miles from Olde Town Arvada. It has several things the other one didn’t have. For example, it has a front porch and a garage, a separate laundry room, air conditioning and a fireplace. It’s almost twenty years newer than the last one and in much better shape.
It still needs hardwood floors in the living room/dining room/kitchen, plus a new sink and countertops. I’d need to buy a refrigerator, washer and dryer. The bathroom floor has some damage, but that’s it. Best of all is that it doesn’t stink of smoke.
Now for the downside. The location is not especially “walkable”–no shops or restaurants to walk to. Well, there is a Super Target about six blocks away, but the streets aren’t pedestrian friendly.
Back on the plus side is a wilderness trail along a creek only two blocks from the unit and a great view of the mountains. I could watch the sunset every night from my porch.
Alas, it looks as if this one isn’t meant to be. I’ve run into some snags with getting my house on the market.
So, maybe the right place for me is still out there somewhere. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that I can find what I want in my price range. Someday all the angst, frustration, dashed hopes and confusion will be behind me. If it doesn’t kill me first.

Why I Haven’t Made an Offer

I mentioned in the last post that I may have found my new place. Here’s the rest of the story. It’s complicated. First, I need to sell my house before I can buy a new one. The idea is to use the proceeds from my house to pay cash for the new one. My plan is to pare down my expenses so, if I need to retire (not a part of my plan, but it could happen), I’ll be able to live comfortably with much reduced means. You never know.

So, okay, I need to sell my house, and before I do that, I need to do some serious decluttering. I’m working on that and shooting for the end of the month to put it on the market. Meanwhile, I’m taking a load of excess stuff to charity about once a week, giving the shredder a workout, and recycling stacks of paperwork.

To further complicate matters, when I told my neighbors I planned to move, they were interested in buying my house. They would use it as a rental until Scott’s mom retires here from West Virginia. Also, they’d like to add office and studio space for themselves above the garage.

We talked at length one afternoon, and my brother explained my house’s structural problems, which didn’t seem to phase them. Anyway, it would be great if this all works out, but there is one teeny, tiny problem. Before they could buy my house, they would have to sell their current rental. Luckily, both their rental and my house are in one of the most popular neighborhoods in Denver. In fact, I’ve already heard from four potential buyers for my house and, as I mentioned, it’s not on the market yet. It’s shaping up to be an interesting summer.

I May Have Found My New Place

It isn’t exactly what I envisioned. First, it’s outside Denver, close (but not walking distance) to the shops, restaurants and library in Olde Town Arvada. Originally a two-bedroom condo, a wall was removed to open the second bedroom to the living room. This suits me fine. I don’t have or want to have guests stay over. Just the thought of being around someone else 24/7 gives me the willies.
I work at home, so I need a bigger living room to accommodate my studio. My work is so integrated into my life that I don’t like having it segregated into a separate room. This room has a cathedral ceiling and two skylights, which makes it the perfect space to spend my time.
The kitchen is small and open to the common room (my term for the combined living room/studio). The bedroom has both a walk-in closet and a linen closet. It’s been 25 years since I had a walk-in closet and I’ve never had a linen closet, but both were on my “want list.” The bathroom has a large oval tub, perfect for a bath lover like me, and a closet laundry.
There is also an enclosed porch with more storage. At 728 square feet, it’s bigger than I thought I wanted, but will still require me to get rid of a ton or so of excess STUFF. I’m working on it.
There’s no garage, but plenty of parking and pretty, well-maintained grounds, next to three tiny lakes and a little park.
The main drawback is that the current owner is a smoker and the place reeks of smoke. I grew up in a house with two parents who smoked, and I keep wondering if our house smelled like that. Ick.
If I buy this condo, I’ll rip out the carpet, install hardwood floors, and paint, which will go a long way toward getting rid of the odor.
And no, I haven’t made an offer yet (it’s complicated—I’ll explain in my next post), so I may lose it. I’m philosophical about that. If I lose it, I’ll find a better one. Meanwhile, I’m having fun making lists of everything I’d like to do to the place and rearranging furniture on paper.

A Little Jewel Box, A Cool Building, A Great Neighborhood

This could be called “The Return of the Auntie Flat” (See my previous posts on this topic.) Although that project fell through last fall, I never really gave up my dream of a little house for the next phase of my life. After living here 24 years, I’m ready to sell my house and find a new place. I dread the thought of packing up and moving, but my house has become more than I can handle—not that it’s too big; it’s only 900 square feet, although that is more than I need. The main problem is that the house is 121 years old and requires ongoing maintenance that I just can’t do. Also, I’m no longer interested in doing yard work and my neighbors deserve better.

So, I’m looking for a little jewel box in a cool building and a great neighborhood. Is that asking too much? My initial scouting of the Denver market has convinced me that I should be able to find what I want with persistence, patience, and a little help from my friends.

Here’s where you come in. If you know of anyplace interesting, please let me know. My wish list follows:

A Little Jewel Box

I’m looking for a modern loft with about 600 square feet. I’d like a large, open space, but a one-bedroom is okay. I prefer hardwood or tile floors; a small, updated kitchen (with a dishwasher, which I have done without for 24 years); some outdoor space; a tub and shower in the bathroom; laundry facilities in the unit; and a garage.

A Cool Building

Ideally, this would be a condo in a building converted from a nonresidential use, such as a church, schoolhouse, library, storefront, or warehouse.

A Great Neighborhood

After living all my adult life in the inner city, I think a real neighborhood includes a neighborhood business district, with nearby parks, shops and restaurants. Of course, ideally, I’d like to stay in Highland neighborhood, but other possible areas are near the Tennyson Street shops, the shops on Old South Pearl or South Gaylord, or Olde Town Arvada.

Just in case there is anything to the Law of Attraction, I’m keeping this image in my mind. In fact, I’m kind of obsessed with it as you will see in forthcoming posts.

March Madness Sadness Gladness

March is a confusing month for me.

Although March is historically our snowiest month in Denver, it is also the month when spring begins and flowers start to bloom, even in the snow. Actually, that’s a pretty good metaphor for the month.

My beautiful nieces were both born in March, and they have been bringing light into my life for more than 40 years. That’s the gladness. They live in Phoenix, so I don’t get to see them as often as I would like.

Sadness comes because both my mother and father died in March. My mother passed away on March 18, twenty-one years ago at the age of 67. My dad lived until age 90 and breathed his last breath on March 25 three years ago.

Maybe that’s why March Madness irritates me so much. First, CBS pre-empts The Young and the Restless for FOUR days to show some idiot basketball games. I don’t even like Y&R much anymore, but it’s what I use as background noise when I eat lunch and read.

In the middle of the basketball frenzy comes St. Patrick’s Day. How can the Irish be proud of a pseudo-holiday that’s celebrated in America by people drinking themselves stupid?

And speaking of people drinking themselves stupid, what can I say about spring break. When did it become a requirement for college (and now even high school) students to debark to Mexico to raise hell and party themselves into oblivion? Don’t get me started.

Let’s just say I’m happy April is just a few days away.

March Madness Sadness Gladness

March is a confusing month for me.

Although March is historically our snowiest month in Denver, it is also the month when spring begins and flowers start to bloom, even in the snow. Actually, that’s a pretty good metaphor for the month.

My beautiful nieces were both born in March, and they have been bringing light into my life for more than 40 years. That’s the gladness. They live in Phoenix, so I don’t get to see them as often as I would like.

Sadness comes because both my mother and father died in March. My mother passed away on March 18, twenty-one years ago at the age of 67. My dad lived until age 90 and breathed his last breath on March 25 three years ago.

Maybe that’s why March Madness irritates me so much. First, CBS pre-empts The Young and the Restless for FOUR days to show some idiot basketball games. I don’t even like Y&R much anymore, but it’s what I use as background noise when I eat lunch and read.

In the middle of the basketball frenzy comes St. Patrick’s Day. How can the Irish be proud of a pseudo-holiday that’s celebrated in America by people drinking themselves stupid?

And speaking of people drinking themselves stupid, what can I say about spring break. When did it become a requirement for college (and now even high school) students to debark to Mexico to raise hell and party themselves into oblivion? According to Time magazine, the debauchery started with the ancient Greeks and Romans  celebrating the vernal equinox. But American students have put their own special stamp on it, egged on by liquor companies, MTV and Joe Francis of Girls Gone Wild notoriety.

These things make me happy that I’m not a teenager anymore. Maybe I should celebrate that this month, but mostly I’m looking forward to April.

Pride and Prejudice

It was the Academy Awards that got me started thinking about Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Colin Firth won (as expected) for best actor in The King’s Speech, but I kept thinking about him as the definitive Mr. Darcy in the 5-hour BBC television mini-series of the book.

The newer, shorter Keira Knightley version is frequently on television, and I’ve seen it several times. I think Keira Knightley made a sparkling Elizabeth and I loved Donald Sutherland as her father and Dame Judi Desch as the imperious Lady Catherine de Bourg. But Matthew Macfadyen just didn’t cut it as Darcy. No smolder, no inner turmoil. And the movie moved too fast. The viewer doesn’t get the same feeling of suppressed desire and frustration, wondering when Lizzie and Darcy will finally get together.

In short, it doesn’t have Colin Firth.

I ordered the BBC series from the library and spent most of Saturday watching it. It didn’t disappoint. I fell in love with CF all over again. When the series was over, I wanted to watch it again. Instead, on Sunday, I watched Becoming Jane starring Anne Hathaway as the wildly popular author.

Soon, I will want to reread the original book, but until then, I’m filling in with Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife, an audio download from my library. This “sequel” to P&P tells of life at Pemberly after the wedding.

Next, I’m planning to dive into one of the Austen biographies. Obsessed? Not me. I could probably spend the rest of my life studying Austen, but there are too many other books I want to read, too. So many books, so little time.

Go With the Simple Solution

The lamp on my desk wouldn’t come on when I turned the switch. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. I’d just change the light bulb and move on. This, however, was one of those energy-saving curlicue bulbs which are supposed to last five years, so that couldn’t be the problem.

I checked to make sure it was plugged in. Because I live in an ancient house with too few outlets, the lamp plug was piggybacked on the plug for my digital phone modem. (I swear I’m getting rid of the damn land line and going cellular. I might as well get some use out of the cell phone that I pay for and never use. But I digress.) The phone was working, and I deduced that the outlet wasn’t the problem.

Hmmm. Could be the switch. I bought the lamp at Target less than a year ago. Maybe I could exchange it for a new one.

After getting by for two days with just the overhead lamp, which threw my shadow onto anything I tried to read at my desk, I decided I had to quit overthinking this and do something. I replaced the light bulb with a new curlicue and it lit right up.

Maybe the fact that my desk lamp is on roughly 12 hours a day used up it’s life in less that the promised five years. Whatever. This was a reminder of Occam’s Razor: the simplest solution is usually the best. At least it’s the best place to start.

So, the next time you find yourself overcomplicating things, remember Occam’s Razor and try the simplest solution first.