flags at the graves of soldiers

Today is Memorial Day. I took off Friday, so have enjoyed a four-day weekend. On Monday morning, I planned what jobs I could get done around the house during the remains of the weekend. I called my Mother, and then started to think I should drive down to Camp Butler to put flowers on my father's grave. I wanted to stay home and paint and garden, but patriotic duty seemed to call. I could also stop by and till Mom's garden, which would be fun.

My father was not a decorated soldier. I think he got thrown into the brig several times for not returning to the ship on time or other insubordinations. Many WWII veterans spoke proudly of their service. My father felt incredible guilt for the Japanese planes he shot down in the Pacific. He felt anger for the exposure to radiation he received when he and his shipmates were sent into Nagasaki after the bomb dropped. He never talked about his service. He traveled outside of Sangamon County reluctantly. We never took vacations. Travel, to him, meant unpleasantness. After sailing almost every mile of the U.S. coastline and most of the South Pacific, he wanted to stay home.

So, when I found his marker in the crowded cremation section, by following the dates of death, I remembered that it told an umimpressive record: gunners mate 3rd class. My mom had given me the only remnants of spring left blooming in her yard: some floppy, wind-blown mock orange blossoms. Camp Butler has bins of metal vases that fit securely in the ground, but by late afternoon on Memorial Day, the bins were empty. I got a water bottle from the car, but the profusely blossomed branches tipped it over. The ground, still somewhat soft from recent rain, let me poke the branches around the stone. I then poured the water over the dirt.

If you haven't been to a national cemetery on Memorial Day, I think it worth the drive. Flags line each throughway and a small flag is set at the end of each grave. Not knowing the tradition, I wanted to move my father's flag closer to the stone, nearer the flowers, for aesthetic reasons. When I got in the car, Performance Today was on the radio, broadcasting Memorial Day services from Arlington National Cemetery. I learned that the "Old Guard" stays at Arlington all weekend during "flags in" to make sure that a flag stands one foot away from the base of each grave.

Dad did love flowers, but I realized that even more he loved coffee. I decided that next time I visited his grave I would start a new tradition of bringing a thermos of coffee. I will pour two cups. To one I will add two packets of sugar, stir it vigorously, and then send the spoon (metal) dancing across the stone, just as Dad would fling a spoon, dripping coffee, across our oak kitchen table about 10 times a day. I will then say a word, set the sugared one down, and drink strongly from mine, black.

I think that would be better than flowers.

new tech

We could send publications out as a DVD - with a nice accompanying booklet - like CD liner notes - telling people what's inside and providing crucial information for people who never play the disc. We could interview people, include videos, and save some paper!

Podcasts: potential. Easy to record a message and have it posted within minutes. Link it prominently.

Blogs, blogs, blogs. Chatty, with a charming personality! Blogs could be a community effort. One voice but several writers. Lots of great digital photos - point, click, download, comment.

Many new-tech ways to communicate.

explore
experiment

Coffee and the airport

I recently had the good fortune to be able to attend a design conference in Seattle. In Seattle, I found out, they have at least one and sometimes two coffee shops per block. My dream city!

Before deplaning in Seattle, however, I had to catch a wee-morning flight in Peoria. Thank goodness I don't live that far from the airport, as I think I was half asleep driving there.

As I approached the security gate, I noticed, off to the side, a coffee vending machine. For the mere price of one dollar, you could get a paper cup full of scalding hot coffee. I pushed aside other passengers, I think, to get to it.

After several attempts, I found in my bag a dollar bill the machine would accept. I selected the super strong dark brew option. The paper cup dropped and began to fill. A recorded voice motioned me to the security area. I had my carry-on, my coat, my shoes, and my paper cup of coffee. Take any of the above, but not the coffee, I thought.

Hoping not to splash boiling coffee on a TSA agent, I continued to balance the hot paper cup, as I removed my coat and backpack and sent them through the conveyor for inspection.

As I entered the secure terminal, a savvy Bradley student, who evidently travels often, put her dollar into a machine and drew a cup of hot Maxwell House. "Oh, I wish I would have known this was here," I told her.

"I had to keep reminding myself," she said, "that I could wait. It was hard."

the lost art of communication

Even as we have more and more ways to communicate with each other, we are losing our ability to communicate well.

People may work in cubicles yards away from yours or in a cubicle farm across campus, you may have shared projects and goals, but lack of communication makes achieving these goals more difficult, and the projects suffer.

People act without consulting each other, leading to resentment. They edit or comment on each other's work via pdf or Word files without dialogue that could lead to improvement. When you do have a meeting, participants have brought their cell phones, which, inevitably, start to buzz or play a Rolling Stones tune just as you are about to make your best point.

Is this any wonder?

We live in isolation. Communication is a one-way street. We passively receive the news from the "media," but seldom from each other. When a neighbor passes away, you often read about it in the paper rather than learning the news first hand. A major catastrophe or triumph occurs in the house next door and you never hear about it.

Communication at work these days often consists of phone calls, which are more personal than the even more popular e-mail but are still no substitute for face-to-face involvement. We are more comfortable with these impersonal forms of communication at work because we no longer learn and appreciate the art of interpersonal communication at home.

Without good communication, we become more and more isolated and less and less productive.

cubicle coffee thanks to Starbucks

Ubiquitous Starbucks needs no free advertisements but when I stopped in one day for a latte on the run, a well-designed vessel caught my eye. "Cubicle coffee," I thought. "Perfect, and my birthday is next week." I got my wish, and now the Bunn-O-matic has been turned off. Since I'm the only one in the office who requires a constant flow of brewed coffee to keep me going, I have been feeling guilty about keeping the Bunn on and throwing out half a pot of coffee twice a day.

The Starbucks travel coffee press has lessened my guilt. I draw water from the water heater/cooler that everyone in the office enjoys, add a heaping spoonful of coffee, answer a couple of e-mails or write a couple sentences, then slowly plunge down the press. I wait several minutes for the mixture to cool and then enjoy a fragrant, rich coffee.

Since this is made of stainless steel, I don't worry about breaking glass as I would with a traditional coffee press. Since the brewing container is also the imbibing vessel, I don't have to worry about spilling hot coffee on anyone as I decant. I do feel a bit guilty, however, about washing a few coffee grounds down the bathroom sink as I rinse. I have warned the custodian that I have been pouring the dripping dregs into the bathroom wastebastket, where, hopefully, the enormous number of wadded up paper towels will aborb most of it. I told him, however, that I was the cause of any brown sludge that may drip from the liner when he removes it. He just shrugged and said he'd double line it if it were a problem and not to worry. "They drip all the time,' he said.

When I was in high school I remember writing a speech for speech class about how McDonald's was evil. They were taking over the world, producing bland, greasy food and turning a nation into obese morons. I thought of this when I came across the website "I hate Starbucks dot com."This site collects comments from the many people who oppose the proliferation of this successful corporation. A typical comment, this one from "Megan:"

Starbucks coffee is horrible and so expensive! All you losers out there who feel the need to show your status by marching around with those cups...run your numbers through this calculator I found on the web and realize how much you are throwing to the corporate pig.

Since a Starbucks shop just opened up near campus, across the street from a family-owned coffee shop/cafe, all of us in the Bradley University community neighborhood should think about which we will support. I have decided to support both. The family-owned shop, One World, has the best food in walking distance to campus. At One World, nutritious salads, hearty, healthy sandwiches, and wonderful soup are always on the menu. You will always be served by a friendly person. The coffee is good, but not top shelf. The best drink they serve is their hot spiced apple cider. Superb. If you feel weighted down by the world or a bad cold, stop in at the corner of Main and University in Peoria and order the hot cider. Just breathe it in and you will feel better. You can also order any wonderful coffee drink for here or to go.

Starbucks sits across the street in the Campustown shopping center. I do pop in there for a coffee on the run because it's fast, effecient, and friendly. The staff can get health benefits, something only a large over-charging corporation can offer part-time employees.

So, I feel comfortable supporting both places. For food and drink, One World. When I need a coffee before running errands on Saturday, Starbucks.

And, if you need a great vessel for cubicle coffee, go get the travel mug coffee press. Of course, maybe One World or your local coffee shop will start coming around to our cubicles with a coffee cart of fresh brew every morning and afternoon. That would be great too.

humbled by the hoopmasters

I have worked in Bradley Publications for over seven years, producing newsletteres, catalogs, development pieces, president's reports etc. I felt humbled on Sunday afternoon as I watched a group of tall college kids finish off their second upset of the NCAA tournament. That evening, my in-laws came over for dinner. After I finished eating, I looked at the clock and grabbed my coat. They all looked at me rather surprised. "Take care," I said. "I gotta run." They were surprised to learn that I, who could never be called a sports fanatic, was heading to the airport to greet the team as it stepped off the plane. They looked at me with quizzical expressions.

I explained that I had realized this afternoon that these often ineloquent, but incredibly talented young men had done more to advance Bradley University in one week than I could do in a hundred years of hard work. I had also attended the send-off party for the team a few days earlier, and I decided then that these seemed like really sweet guys. They truly appreciated people coming out to wish them luck, they gave high fives and hugs to little kids, they signed whatever we asked them to sign and just seemed to appreciate the attention.

So Bradley is now in the Sweet Sixteen. The phones are ringing off the hooks. We're all over ESPN and the upcoming Sports Illustrated cover. Reporters and film crews are on campus. Prospective students are getting more interested. Suddenly, the country is curious about this little school with a big heart in Peoria, the town with a funny name that few people can find on a map.

So, I'll keep cranking out printed pages, but I have a new perspective on my work.

Follow Bradley's wonderful players at www.bubraves.com.

coffee unwired

Of course when you work in a basement cubicle and the power goes out, you feel for a flashlight or try to make it out to the hallway that is dimly lit by an emergency light. You get to go home, where, hopefully, you do have power and can make that afternoon cup of coffee.

I am sitting here in my cubicle, formatting the schedule of classes, a tedious task, and thinking it is just about time to head for the Bunn-O-Matic, which makes a tolerable pot of coffee in seconds flat. Before I get up, however, I have to relay my mother's recent plight. She lives in Rochester, a tiny town about 5 miles outside of Springfield, Illinois. As you may have heard, Springfield sustained heavy tornado damage Sunday night. Most of the city—and the surrounding towns—were without power for two days.

So mom thought about driving into Springfield to find a cup of hot coffee, but that didn't seem reasonable. The entire town of Rochester had no power, so a trip to the gas station for a cup was out. Ever resourceful, mom went out and built a fire in the Weber grill. Once she got it going, she put a pot of water on it. Since I heard the story second hand from my brother, I'm not really sure if this method worked. Sounds like a lot of trouble, but when you really need a cup of coffee, especially after two days with no power, you'll try anything.

Personally, I would have braved the streets and driven five miles to the outskirts of Springfield, where Starbucks recently opened a new shop. (I'm sure they would have found a generator, sensing how desperate the whole town was going to be for a good strong cup of joe.!) But a trip into town for one cup of coffee would seem quite wasteful to her, I am sure.

More power to you, Mom!