One day last week (Wednesday, if you must know) I left the hospital in somewhat less than a good mood. I'd just had another test in a seemingly endless array precipitated by the recent weight loss. There I was slightly irritated (ok, so that's not far from normal), when I made a right turn into a construction zone I hadn't previously noticed.
"Great. Frickem, frackem. I'm going to be even later. I just want to go home and take a nap. Grumble grumble whine. Effing great."
I noticed a flash of blue and yellow out of the corner of my eye. "Jeezus. Please don't be another symptom."
But, no, Mel. It's not actually all about you today.
The flash I saw was a construction worker who had dropped his equipment* and run to a woman preparing to cross the busy street. I watched as he gently tapped her on the arm and spoke to her. When she turned, I could see the long white cane in her right hand, stretching out to feel for the curb.
She answered him, tucked her hand under his arm and smiled as they crossed the street together, both chatting all the way.
I tend to be a little on the cynical side, but a lot of the time is to hide the fact that stuff like this makes me weepy. Or maybe it makes me weepy because I tend to be cynical. Either way, it was a lovely, touching thing to see and I drove home smiling, with nary a grumble.
* Please. I have no idea what it was. :-)
Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts
Monday, October 19, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Ecomomics of Happiness
It's true. The little things do make you happy. And sometimes they do make you spend more money.
Most Wednesdays, I take the night off and treat myself to dinner at the same place. Sometimes I hit the gym first; occasionally I try a new place--only because I keep thinking that I need to break myself of the "creature of habit" habit. But I'm rarely satisfied--well OK, there was the one time I skipped dinner all together and saw Burn After Reading instead--but I generally wind up at Vino Santo. Because food-wise and not-minding-if-I-bring-a-computer-a-book-or-a-friend-wise, this is my absolute favorite place to go for a lovely dinner. Every once in awhile I do take a friend!
Tonight, I tried to talk myself into either staying home (a bad mashup of "I'm too unmotivated to decide on anything" and "maybe I should tighten that belt a bit") or trying something different. But old habits and my adoration of the Vino Santo Caesar salad with grilled chicken won out.
I might call it a habit, but what really keeps me coming back is that, like tonight, when I got there, the only open table was "my" table. There were two couples waiting, but as soon as I arrived I was told that MY table was ready. And after dinner when I confided to the waiter that I loved seeing them so busy on a weeknight, he told me that they had actually turned away a table because the only one open was . . . MY table.
I’m not sure that everyone else would find the Caesar salad to be as tasty, or the pan roasted sole with a white wine, butter and caper sauce to be as divine. In fact, even my favorite Daniel Gilbert* might say that, because of the habituation factor, even I don’t enjoy the salad or fish as much as I did the first time. And yet.
Vanity has ever been an economic motivator and it is always in the merchants’ best interest to make sure you want to come back again and again. After all, why would you not want to go where every body knows your name (Norm), where the staff all know where you like to sit and know which menu items you might like and those . . .well, maybe not so much.
It may have been a complete fabrication--even a partial would have felt good--but the waiter said that it was my table, and they were going to hold it on the (very good) chance that I came to claim it. And I was told that my “usual” house white had been replaced and that I probably wouldn’t like it. I didn’t. It was then upgraded to something much nicer—cost (to them) be dammed. Maybe it was a small exaggeration. But there WAS a couple waiting by the door, and there WAS only my table open.
The upshot is that it made me happy. It didn’t cost them a whole lot.
And it made me want to keep going back.
And this post just reminded me to buy my own copy of Burn After Reading.
* I am embarrassed to admit that I didn’t catch Mr Gilbert on the Colbert Report a couple of years ago. But now you can! God I love the Internets!
Most Wednesdays, I take the night off and treat myself to dinner at the same place. Sometimes I hit the gym first; occasionally I try a new place--only because I keep thinking that I need to break myself of the "creature of habit" habit. But I'm rarely satisfied--well OK, there was the one time I skipped dinner all together and saw Burn After Reading instead--but I generally wind up at Vino Santo. Because food-wise and not-minding-if-I-bring-a-computer-a-book-or-a-friend-wise, this is my absolute favorite place to go for a lovely dinner. Every once in awhile I do take a friend!
Tonight, I tried to talk myself into either staying home (a bad mashup of "I'm too unmotivated to decide on anything" and "maybe I should tighten that belt a bit") or trying something different. But old habits and my adoration of the Vino Santo Caesar salad with grilled chicken won out.
I might call it a habit, but what really keeps me coming back is that, like tonight, when I got there, the only open table was "my" table. There were two couples waiting, but as soon as I arrived I was told that MY table was ready. And after dinner when I confided to the waiter that I loved seeing them so busy on a weeknight, he told me that they had actually turned away a table because the only one open was . . . MY table.
I’m not sure that everyone else would find the Caesar salad to be as tasty, or the pan roasted sole with a white wine, butter and caper sauce to be as divine. In fact, even my favorite Daniel Gilbert* might say that, because of the habituation factor, even I don’t enjoy the salad or fish as much as I did the first time. And yet.
Vanity has ever been an economic motivator and it is always in the merchants’ best interest to make sure you want to come back again and again. After all, why would you not want to go where every body knows your name (Norm), where the staff all know where you like to sit and know which menu items you might like and those . . .well, maybe not so much.
It may have been a complete fabrication--even a partial would have felt good--but the waiter said that it was my table, and they were going to hold it on the (very good) chance that I came to claim it. And I was told that my “usual” house white had been replaced and that I probably wouldn’t like it. I didn’t. It was then upgraded to something much nicer—cost (to them) be dammed. Maybe it was a small exaggeration. But there WAS a couple waiting by the door, and there WAS only my table open.
The upshot is that it made me happy. It didn’t cost them a whole lot.
And it made me want to keep going back.
And this post just reminded me to buy my own copy of Burn After Reading.
* I am embarrassed to admit that I didn’t catch Mr Gilbert on the Colbert Report a couple of years ago. But now you can! God I love the Internets!
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Mall
You've seen, on television and in the paper and everywhere online, the crowds that packed the National Mall, waiting for Barack Obama to be sworn in as the 44nd President. None of those people drove to the Mall. A few were dropped off by limo or taxi. Many of them walked. But many more arrived by Metro, Washington D.C.'s subway system.
My friend Sharon and I took the Metro in from her home in Bethesda, MD. Because her stop is almost at the end of the line, the cars were relatively empty when we boarded. But by the time we transferred to the correct line, the trains were full, and when we finally reached our station, the cars were packed so tightly that you didn't actually need to put your feet on the ground.
It took us 40 minutes to get from Bethesda to the L'Enfant station. It took another hour to get from the train door to the street:
The funny part? No one was angry. Some were afraid that they might miss everything. Some were pushing, but only because they were being pushed and had no choice. But everyone apologized for pushing and made sure no one pushed or knocked over the little kids. But no one was angry about being stuck underground for so long with no idea when we were going to be set free. We just laughed and chanted "Let my people go" and "Yes We Did" when we finally moved toward the gates.
Of course there were a few other, less polite, chants:
My friend Sharon and I took the Metro in from her home in Bethesda, MD. Because her stop is almost at the end of the line, the cars were relatively empty when we boarded. But by the time we transferred to the correct line, the trains were full, and when we finally reached our station, the cars were packed so tightly that you didn't actually need to put your feet on the ground.
It took us 40 minutes to get from Bethesda to the L'Enfant station. It took another hour to get from the train door to the street:
The funny part? No one was angry. Some were afraid that they might miss everything. Some were pushing, but only because they were being pushed and had no choice. But everyone apologized for pushing and made sure no one pushed or knocked over the little kids. But no one was angry about being stuck underground for so long with no idea when we were going to be set free. We just laughed and chanted "Let my people go" and "Yes We Did" when we finally moved toward the gates.
Of course there were a few other, less polite, chants:
Monday, January 19, 2009
Monday, October 15, 2007
Quote for the Day
I found this on ZenHabits, not always true, but funny nonetheless:
"Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city."
--George Burns