Help. This child's circumstances hurt my heart.

This morning I had the opportunity to meet Jamie. He had come to our store (I am in retail mgmnt) when we opened, and came back later (he lives about an hour's drive away) when there was a problem with his product.

Jamie told me he was trying to make this a good Christmas for his 5 year old son (John S). He looked like he wanted to tell me something. I asked if he was okay. He looked at me, paused, and said "Last month, my wife died. She died on the 8th, our anniversary was the 18th, then Thanksgiving, now Christmas. I've had better days.".

I have no idea of Jamie's financial status. I do know that my heart broke. I intend to deliver some toys to Jamie's son John. It has to be hard for Jamie to concentrate. If I can do something small to make his son have a good day, I want to.

Jamie said he'd seen better days, but I am sure he will have even harder days ahead.

I am not asking for anything but prayer. If any of my friends feel the urge to help, wonderful (you can e-mail me at johncbickford@gmail.com).

Merry Christmas to you all - John

Christmas future is far away, Christmas past is past, Christmas present is here today, bringing joy that may last...

What a great attitude adjustment song! This is Carpe Diem with a Dickensian twist! Through traditions, we can emulate prior Christmases, but we cannot relive them. Through planning, we can prepare for Christmases to come, but a lot can happen between now and then.

I have figured out for myself that I don't have to overdo. I don't have to overspend. I simply have to make an attempt to make our Christmas happy. That needs to be my focus.

THIS MOMENT, THIS CHRISTMAS, slow down and make someone happy. You will find that by making someone's Christmas merry, yours stands that much better a chance of turning out merry as well.

Merry Christmas, from my family to yours!

Winding Down at Taco Mac

What a hectic day yesterday was! I got in to work at eight am, to find I had twenty one pallets of rugs to put away and no help. Resourceful as I am, I called in my trusty sidekick, Andrew. Hassan came in at nine, and as soon as he was done with his stuff, I grabbed him too. We latched on to a few others as they trickled in to work, and by day's end had seven pallets left.

Tired, sore and satisfied, after helping a customer with a dead battery start her car, I headed off to Taco Mac to meet my wife and daughter for Friday night dinner.

The stranded customer allowed Phyllis to beat me to the restaurant. I told her to put our name on the list for a table, but I knew she wouldn't, she's just that way. That was my job. Other people came in after her and went up to put their name on the list. Kudos to the hostesses, because they had seen Phyllis come in, and one of them walked over to give Phyllis one of those Close Encounter lightshow vibrating coasters. The young lady told Phyllis that she was ahead of all those people who walked in after her.

When I walked in the door, Phyllis started telling me what the hostess had done, and the vibrating lightshow coaster went off.

As we made our way to our table, I took in the room. I saw only part of the restaurant, and counted twenty-five televisions, tuned to a variety of sports events. The place was busy, packed and full of laughter. Just what I needed after a tough day. A slow, quiet place would have put me to sleep.

There were some large parties, some smaller like ours, and at least a few parties with gray hairs, and one I saw with kids. The majority of people were in their twenties or thirties. Everyone seemed to be having fun, and it was contagious.

We sat in a booth with a large table and very high seat backs, which gave us some privacy without taking us out of the party atmosphere. There were a lot of staff people hustling back and forth. Our waitress, Amber, came and took our order. Beth got a club sandwich (it was huge, and came with fries), and Phyllis and I shared twenty wings. The wings were good, but I've had better.

Two tables away, a family or two with elementary age boys sat laughing and telling stories. Next to us, a party of mid twenty year olds were eating dinner and drinking beer. A cute college coed pranced by us with her look what I got smile on as she towed by the hand a young man with a happily emasculated grin. The table over my shoulder housed an older group of people. Aside from their hair color and a few wrinkles, they were identical to the table of twenty year olds.

Lots of people, lots of laughter, plenty of talk, and none of it angry.

Just what I needed after my day at work.

Wicked Good

My new friend Jillian recently moved to Kennesaw from Maine. She is a graduate student at Kennesaw State University. We met one day when she was buying furniture, and I offered to help her mom load the car. Their accents made me feel homesick and comfortable at the same time.

I saw Jillian from a few tables away at Panera in Kennesaw just a few days ago. She was working on a project with some classmates, so I didn't interrupt. I sent her a note on Facebook later to let her know I had seen her, and to say hello.

It was the second time that I had been to Panera. The food there is very good, but it is one of those places where the regulars make you feel foolish because you haven't learned how to eat there. It was pretty simple really, but with no direction and no real flow of traffic, I ended up guessing my way through the process.

The worst of it was this is another of those places that doesn't seem to want to let patrons order a la carte. Everything is a combo, whether you like it or not. Well, not everything, but the things I wanted. I ended up with nearly two full meals because I wanted a whole sandwich with my soup. Live and learn. Half sandwich next time.

Not that I'd desire a half sandwich, mind you. That tuna sandwich was wicked good. There is your tribute, Jillian and all my friends from Maine. Wicked good is the ultimate compliment for food or anything else in Northern New England. The word wicked in context means most extreme.

By the way, a lot of my friends have been singing the praises of this Panera. They tell me that all of the dishes are good and the WiFi is free (they do turn off their outlets between 11:30 and 2:30 though). The first time through might be a bit confusing, but I will be back. The food is a bit pricey but the odds of seeing friends there are wicked good.

Alabama wins! So does Sidelines!

Last Saturday was hectic. Working at a home decor store during the pre-holiday season is more demanding than I expected it to be. The Christmas decorations were flying out the door. Trying to serve many people at one time mad my meal break extremely beneficial.

I timed my lunch so that I could drive to the Sidelines on Chastain Road (not the same one I wrote of in an earlier entry) in time to see the last half of the Alabama/LSU football game. I really wanted to see part of that game, and this was wonderfully convenient.

That particular Sidelines has a no smoking section, which is where I headed. I asked to sit in the corner booth where I could see the big screen that showed my game. The back seat of the booth was a long bench that connected three other tables, two of which had been pulled together to seat four adults and a seeming multitude of kids, one of which was quick to show me that he had a french fry. I now had 48 minutes.

My waitress, Michelle, appeared quickly. She asked me what I would like to drink, and I asked for a coke. I looked her in the eye as I answered, but was quickly distracted by a good play in the football game.

Michelle then asked if I needed a minute, and my phone rang. I rudely answered as I nodded yes. It was Phyllis, excitedly asking me if I was where I could watch the game. I said yes and that I had to go. Michelle had gone on her way to another table. I now knew that I wanted chicken noodle soup and a salad. 45 minutes left.

At the next table, the kids were getting restless. They were loud, but the game was muted, so I didn't care. I love kids, so I was doubly entertained.

Michelle was running from table to table, getting more exercise than Richard Simmons at a fat camp. It was eventually my turn to order (my fault entirely for answering my phone when I knew what I wanted), and she took my order and disappeared into that place all waitresses disappear into. 38 minutes left.

Michelle reappeared with a fantastic looking bowl of soup and a decent salad. The soup had thick noodles and one inch squared pieces of chicken breast. It was thick enough to eat with a fork. I ate my soup first, then my salad.

Michelle came back with another coke, and asked the questions required of all waitresses. I had already witnessed the fact that she was the only waitress working this room, and she did so quickly. What surprised me more was the smile on her face and the feeling she evoked, making me feel like I was her only patron. The game progressed, tied, not tied, tied again. 10 minutes left.

My boss called my cell. Business had not slowed. When would I be back? I had to leave with the game tied. Michelle heard me say I was on my way as soon as I paid my bill. She stepped over quickly and I gave her my money - keep the change - and a card telling her to read my review. Her face changed to one who thought she was being tested. I tried to put on my best reassurance face, and asked her again to read my review.

Everybody in the room was happy, my food was great and I returned to work with 5 minutes left in my lunch hour.

Michelle, I would say you were great....

Remember the day.....?

I just had a minute to talk with Kenia, the manager at McAlister's. We were talking about writing blogs, and finding the time for same.

We talked about the impact of good, happy employees who have the heart to serve. How patrons will keep coming back just for the service.

We talked about the concept of being a part of a "blog community". Kenia told me how tight her time was because she chooses to spend as much time as possible with her baby. I work a schedule similar to hers, but my kids are nearly grown.

Here's a thought for those of you considering writing a blog. Some people use blogs to document their lives. A written photo album, if you will. Writing down what happens is a sure fire way of remembering events the way they really occurred. I would love to remember my thoughts from the day my son first walked, spoke or, later, confessed to liking a girl.

So write, people. It strengthens your communication skills as well as a myriad of other beneficial things.

If you write a blog, please share with me the URL, so I can visit and see your life through your words...

Through The Hoop, This Time With Feeling

The Vice President of our company, our Regional Manager and District Manager are all supposed to meet at our store today. You ought to see the worker bees go! We're dusting, moving, filling, building, straightening and re-straightening.

All of the things we are supposed to do on a daily basis.

Jumping through hoops is not my favorite pastime. If you do things right, you are always ready for any visitor you may have.

I saw on a friend's FaceBook page that the Target store he worked at had just had a bad visit from their District Manager. It was another case of people almost finishing their work. What is it with people that they want to do exactly what it takes to get by, and less if they can get away with it? To me, that is theft. These people are being paid to do a job, and by intentionally not doing their job, yet still collecting a paycheck, they are stealing from the company.

When I interview someone for a job, they always tell me how hard they will work, how smart and well trained they are, and how their prior experience is going to put the company I work for on the map. Then when I hire them, some go through a comfort zone metamorphosis and place themselves in the "exactly what I have to do and nothing more, less if I can get away with it" category. All I know is they sold me something in that interview, and I want what I bought.

The bottom line is, as long as people are unwilling to take ownership and show accountability for their work, there will always be a hoop to jump through.

The Heart to Serve

Given today's economy, and the shrinking of disposable income coupled with the fear that we may never be able to retire, it has been said that fewer people will be eating out.

You couldn't have made me believe that on Wednesday. I sat in McAlister's and watched the line grow to the sidewalk from the front counter. It was still being replenished when I got up to leave. How could that be, given the current state of the wallet?

Shae is awesome. That is what she'll tell you when you ask her how she is, and she'll say it with a melt butter smile.

The same can be said of Abby, Alanna and Jamie at Cuppy's. Even when they don't think anyone sees, they enjoy their work as well as each others' company. Alanna with her loving spirit, Abby who can't speak without a laugh in her voice, and Jamie with a smile to challenge the sun.

Today, at Cuppy's, it was wall to wall patrons with their friends and laptops.

I will repeat myself when I say that happy employees make for good service. Only a fool will return where he feels unwelcome. If I am a chore to my server, nobody goes home happy.

Employers and employees alike should take note , the line at McAlister's was long because Shae is awesome.

Henry

On a side note, Henry had liver cancer. He has recently received a liver transplant, and is recovering at home. Please offer your prayers for a thorough and speedy recovery.

Henry's Louisiana Grill

Not so long ago, downtown Acworth was a veritable ghost town. A smattering of businesses occupied storefronts here and there, but excitement wasn't part of the plan. There was an investment office, a doctor and further down a dentist. A store would open and close now and again, but there was no real reason to walk the sidewalk.

A small group of people became enamoured with revitalizing downtown, and things began to change.

Along came Chef Henry. Henry's Louisiana Grill has been a cornerstone to the rebirth of a stretch of Main Street Acworth for a few years now. Since the restaurant opened up, foot traffic has increased, and with that, other businesses have moved in. Not that he was solely responsible, but Henry's willingness to stick with it and make it go has put a pulse back in the arteries of Acworth's downtown.

I visited Henry's the other day. It was about two o'clock, so the large dining room was closed. This meant that I could either sit at the bar or at a table just outside the kitchen door, Normally I would not choose to sit anywhere near the kitchen, but today I was alone, so I didn't mind.

The restaurant is done up in Louisiana decor. Henry is from either Baton Rouge or New Orleans, so the look and feel is authentic Cajun. The staff is friendly, but the place was hopping, so Wendy, my waitress, never stopped running.

When she came to me, I ordered my bowl of red beans and rice (which I heartily recommend) and cornbread (which is more like dessert). Henry offers a wide variety of Cajun food, including Chicken Oo La La, Shrimp etouffee, and the occasional gator dish (yes, alligator), but I almost always get the red beans and rice. Especially when I have a sinus headache, if you get the picture.

Wendy never let my tea glass get empty, and took time to speak, even though I was alone and there were a few larger groups that she had to attend to. I enjoyed eating my lunch in relative peace, eavesdropping and looking into the kitchen, with it's small cross on the back wall as the staff hustled dishes up for the waitresses.

Got Gas?

Larry called out today. He couldn't get to work because he ran out of gas and no stations in his area had any.

Friday night at Garden Ridge seemed like a Wednesday. Three times as many employees as customers. Eating lunch today at McAlister's was like a typical weekday. Only it is Saturday. A block from the mall. It was me and four others. Quiet. Quiet enough that I could hear the girl across the room on her cell phone.

Nobody is going to use gas they may not be able to replace before midweek to go shopping or out to eat. There was even talk of canceling the Alabama-Georgia football game, and if you know anything about football in the south, you'd have better luck asking a preacher to cancel a holiday service.

This all started with hurricane Ike, which caused the shutdown of several refineries in Texas. Atlanta, along with about 14 other cities, require a cleaner grade of gas which is only refined at a handful of refineries, of which only one is in operation. The Governor has persuaded the EPA to temporarily release us from those restrictions, but the gas delivery will still not arrive for some time now.

When stations have received their deliveries recently, the lines begin. My wife waited in line for forty-five minutes the other night. I have heard stories of longer waits and restricted purchases. There have been fights and police. At the very least, we live in a very frustrated and panic filled metro area.

If I wouldn't look stupid on a scooter, I'd get one. I may anyway. At $4.50 a gallon, I can laugh my way to the bank.

Angela

Today was haircut day. I usually go to a stylist about twenty miles from home, but gas is pricey and hard to find, so I decided to get it cut near home.

As I have stated in a prior post, I am a creature of habit. I derive comfort from familiarity. The same girl has cut my hair for a few years, now, and for me to go to someone new was a scary thing.

People say I'm a snob because I won't go to a "fast food" style shop. My reasoning is plain and simple. The ladies (and men) that cut at most of those places have usually moved on by the time the next haircut is due, and the managers will never tell you where they went.

I was smack dab in the middle of a catch 22. My hair was long enough that it bothered me, but I didn't want to hunt and then pay for the gas to go twenty miles one way.

So that's how I found myself parked outside the Supercuts on Baker Rd in Kennesaw. When I went through the door, I saw that aside from two stylists, I was alone. A pleasant woman asked the obvious do you need a haircut question and then guided me to my stylist, Angela.

Angela was a pretty young lady with short dark hair that sported electric blue tips. She had stars tattooed on one forearm, and a very winning smile. She combed her fingers through my hair and asked how I'd like it cut. Then she did something abnormal. She listened.

After she finished cutting my hair, she washed it out (that's my favorite part of a haircut). She gave a fantastic shampoo, massaging my scalp and taking her time. Then she used a great minty cool cream rinse that made my head feel cool and tingly.

All in all the experience surprised and pleased me. I won't think twice about returning. Angela may not be there, but if she reads this, maybe she'll e-mail me when she goes on to someplace else....

Autumn

At 11:44 am EST today, I will officially become homesick. At 11:44 am EST today, it will officially be Autumn.

Memories flood my mind. Growing up in Maine, this time of year was wonderful. The leaves began to turn (everyone has seen all the puzzles with New England fall landscapes), the air has already taken a turn for the cool side, apples ripen on the trees as the wind starts blowing from a different direction.

I loved sports as a school kid, still do, in fact. Playing sports meant walking home from school after practice. In the fall in Yarmouth, walking home after cross country practice was a beautiful thing.

Walking down main street meant a stop at Vaughn's Pharmacy for a cherry vanilla ice cream cone (cost me a quarter). If it was exceptionally late, Mr. Vaughn would call my mom to tell her I was there, okay, and on my way home.

The last half of my walk took me down Route 88, past the boatyard and the cemetery. The hill on Route 88 was the least looked forward to part of my walk. It seemed a long hill, especially after a hard practice.

As soon as I went under the Route 1 overpass, I could see the boatyard and smell the sardine cannery. Then came that hill. Pleasant Street was a lot more steep, so 88 it would be.

Dusk came early there. The sun began to set as I walked home. At the top of the hill lay Riverside Cemetery. Now, at the back of that cemetery was a path that cut through the woods toward my house, but as I said, the sun was setting.

The next part of 88 was dotted with houses, followed by the darkest part of my walk where the trees hung over the highway as the road dipped toward it's intersection with Princes Point Road. The air would get more crisp, and the smell of the King's pines would fill my head.

Westcustogo Inn sat at that corner, and turning down the home stretch, as I reached the edge of the Inn's parking area, I would often pick a couple of golden delicious apples from one of their trees, and munch one over the last leg of my walk.

The sun was getting lower now. I passed the Millett's, then the Knoop's. I could then see the amber glow from our kitchen window. Major ran out to greet me. I was home.

Help? from the SSA

Yesterday, I tried to help my mother in law change banks. The bank part was easy. We got great assistance from both banks. They understood her needs. She is handicapped, and at 80 deserves to have a few conveniences.

The hard part was Social Security. I don't think I have had to deal with a more rude person than Sandy, my agent "there to assist me". From the onset, she was on the attack. When she asked the purpose of my call, I answered that I was calling to assist my mother in law with changing banks, and part of that was changing her direct deposit. I guess she thought I was trying to steal mother's money, because she immediately increased her abusiveness.

She asked if I had filled out any forms. You could feel the snarl, impatience and doubt in her voice. I informed her that I had paperwork to show that I had mother's power of attorney. I further stated that I was primarily looking for instruction.

Sandy then asked "Did you bring her into the office and file paperwork to show you on her account???". Well, when we moved mother here, we took her to a lot of places to set things up, and I couldn't remember if Phyllis had taken her to Social Security, and I told Sandy that. "You took her to a LOT of places?" She wasn't listening or didn't understand, and now I was getting impatient.

"Could you look at her file and see if I am listed?" "Number!" I told her mother's SSN. "No, YOURS." At this point, frustrated, I said "You are being very rude. I am trying to help an 80 year old who can not hear. I waited on hold for a long ti...." "Then go online!" Click.

Sounds like instruction to forge a document to me.

Career Ministry of Saint Catherine of Siena Church

Caroline. This lady will tell you that she has little to do with your success should you find it from the resources available at the meetings that she facilitates.

Allow me to tell you differently. From April until June, I was a job seeker. While reading the newspaper, I saw an ad for a networking group that meets near my home. I called the number advertised, and Caroline answered.

Caroline told me that I had thereby made the first step toward a new job. She convinced me that I wasn't just going to look for a job, I was going to find the right job. The job I was prepared for, trained to do, and would enjoy.

She told me of the power of networking. It sounded like group therapy, but I was willing to try anything. That night (Thursday) I attended my first meeting.

Caroline stood in front of the group and introduced the topic of the night. Before we did anything else, Caroline asked for a volunteer to pray. This is, after all, a meeting hosted in a church. She said that some of us may not have faith or believe in God, but without Him she didn't "know how you put one foot in front of the other."

What she showed me at that moment was that alone, I may not achieve my goals, but with faith, perseverance, and teamwork, I will. Not might. Will.

This network of professionals soon became a network of friends. Together we learned how to use tools and resources that I never knew existed. The team of volunteers were an abundant resource of knowledge, help and support.

Within four weeks, I had networked my way into a higher paying better job than I expected.

The key experience I drew from St. Catherine's is the loss of feeling alone. We are never alone when we have friends like those I met in those meetings.

Thank you, Caroline, for answering the phone that day. Your calm, soft, positive voice let me know that I was truly going to be alright.

You can visit the group on the first and third Thursdays of the month at 6:30 pm. The church is located at 1618 Ben King Rd in Kennesaw.

Visit their web site at http://www.scsjobs.com/

Bailey's Pub and Grille

This afternoon, my son and I decided to take in a movie. We were hungry, so lunch came first. Just down from the theater, on Cobb Place Lane in Kennesaw, is Bailey's Pub and Grille. We decided to give it a try.

As we step into the entry way, Lillian, a manager, greets us and tells us to have a seat anywhere we like. One good thing about eating lunch late or early is you get to sit where you want. We survey the floor and sit in a booth to the left against the wall. The hostess comes over, explains the drink specials, and we both order iced tea. Our glasses never get empty from that point on.

The bar sits at the back of the room. It is a large square, open at the back. An outer bar parallels the drink bar. It is a bit higher, with seats on both sides. The bar top has built in chess boards.

The large dining room spreads out with ample room between the tables and booths that line the wall (wood from the waist down and beveled glass on top) between the dining room and the billiards room . The room is wide, open and has very high, dark, paneled walls. The dark walls, plush chairs and subdued lighting brings to mind a men's club, sans the animal trophies and monacled, pipe smoking gentlemen.

Our waitress, Jessie, takes our order. Ward gets chicken strips and I get the Philly Cheese Steak. While we wait, I note the music is not overbearing, and we can carry on a normal conversation. There is a digital jukebox that hangs on the wall next to the door to the billiards room, which houses several pool tables, and a few bars to eat at.

Our food arrives quickly, and immediately I see that we have a good bit more food than expected. My sandwich is too big to eat without using a fork. My son has the same "portion shock". His portion is unfinishable.

All in all, the experience has been wonderful, and I will be back.

Until next time....

Sidelines Revisited - Sept. 13, 2008

Another Alabama game on pay per view tonight. Let me see, $29 to watch at home, cook my food and serve myself. Or $34 to watch at Sidelines with others, eat a meal that is served to me (by a cute waitress named Jennifer), and have the food at home tomorrow. I went to Sidelines.

The manager came over and said hello. Phyllis asked him if he took much grief for wearing his University of Michigan polo shirt. He does take some, depending on what games are on. Everyone who works there displays their allegiance through the jersey they wear.

The crew was about the same as last time we visited. Our server was Jennifer, who was attentive, attractive and friendly.

At the bar sat the diverse blend of patrons. From aging biker dudes to young men and women dressed to party. The beautiful thing is that nobody seemed to mind who they sat next to.

The food was great, the service just right, and the atmosphere fun.

I no longer think I've found my new sports viewing hangout. I am going to fight to make it just that.

Cuppy's Coffee - Sept 11, 2008

After taking mother to the doctor, I had some time to kill before work, so I stopped in to Cuppy's for a visit.

As soon as I entered, Alanna smiled and called out my name. Is that not the kind of hello you want at any establishment? Abby (our lady of rainbows and lollipops) was there, smiled and asked me what I'd have. I ordered my scone and coke. As I paid, I saw the tip cup with a sign that said "Instant Karma". I tossed my change in, and told Abby I liked the sign. When Abby told me she made it up, I asked "the sign or the song?".

To my dismay, I was having a difficult time getting Abby to recognize that great song. There was a gentleman at a table near me. He was working on his laptop, and turned it toward Abby, and with the press of a key, John Lennon's voice came through the air. "Ohhhhh I know that song!"

A feeling of age and comradery hit me at the same moment. Abby went on telling me of how she loved the Beatles. How her car was named Lucy and her son's favorite movie is Yellow Submarine. I couldn't help but feel old, knowing that I was alive when the Beatles were still recording.

That man at the next table pitched in, saying how great it was that she was teaching her kids about the history and foundation of modern music. We shared with each other our thoughts of early music, and agreed on most things. We introduced ourselves. his name was Will Underwood. He asked me what I did, and I told him of my occupation and my writing. I asked him what he does, and he told me that when he isn't performing, he works for a fence company. When he is performing, he is a hired guitarist for the Georgia Satellites. Perhaps you know the song "Keep Your Hands To Yourself"?

When Will asked me about my writing, I told him about my blog, and how I wrote of experiences. I explained that I enjoy writing about observations. We talked about how important it is to pay attention to people. How sitting in a coffee shop, you can find out a lot about folks. Alanna pitched in, saying that people come to her shop and end up networking. People have come in, and end up in conversations or light debates with perfect strangers. The strangers then become acquaintances, and some become friends.

We talked about how all too often we are thinking about what we are going to say instead of listening to what others are saying. How we've been given two eyes, two ears but only one mouth.

People have a lot to share if we just let them. We may even learn something.

What have I learned (or re-learned)? Quit looking at the floor. Look people in the eyes. Listen. Listen. Listen some more. Smile and respond when spoken to. Say "How are you?". Care what the answer is. Care in general. All you need is love, love is all you need.

Oh, and, Amanda, that guy Will loves you more than breath.

Dr. Cantrell

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of visiting my doctor, Dr. David Cantrell. My wife sees Dr. Cousins, with whom my doctor shares a practice, but to my mother in law and me, Dr. Cantrell is it.

The building is brick, house-like, and sits on a treed lot off of the beaten path on Vann Street at the far side of the hospital district. Walking in, the cool air hits me, and it feels good. I signed us (mother and myself) in and turned to the waiting room.

The whole interior of the building is colored with earth tones, primarily that old brown reserved for a quiet den or study. The waiting room is like all doctor's office waiting rooms of my childhood. There's a fireplace, easy chairs and country style paintings. It is quiet and well, but softly lit. In the background I hear the soft buzz of voices from the office. The lighthearted office chatter and efficient movement of the staff lends a sense of security, like you're being cared for by mom.

The sample reps in their business suits and perfect smiles come and go while the patients, mostly mid thirties and older (when and why did we ever get away from the whole family seeing the same doctor?), wait to hear their name called.

As soon as my name is called, I knew that I would have to step on the scale. The nurse smiled at my balking and weighed me just the same. When she walked me to the examination room and took my vitals, I realized that everyone I passed had looked me in the eye, smiled and spoke.

I waited only a few minutes, and then in came Dr. Cantrell. He is the epitome of the family physician. Balding on top and microscopically close cut on the sides, his glasses perched on the end of his nose so he can read my chart and look over them to see me. He reaches out with a firm handshake, looks me in the eye and asks "Why are we here?", as if he didn't already know. The real reason he asks is because he wants me to talk. My mother in law, a hard to please retired RN, says she likes him because "he lets you talk and LISTENS when you do". He tilts his head and listens to my whole statement, and then addresses my chart.

Soon, the examination is over, and all is well. Dr. Cantrell's advice is clear, and my questions have been answered.

When checking out, I schedule my next appointment, happy to know that I get to come back.

Cuppy's Coffee - Upcoming Stuff

Just a short note to let you know that in true coffeehouse style, Cuppy's has live open mic on the weekends, and may soon offer poetry readings.

I like this kind of thing. It's an opportunity for perfect strangers to open themselves up to one another. Too often, we walk past people with our eyes on our shoes. We say hello, but couldn't describe the person two seconds later.

I'm thrilled that we have an opportunity to get to know more people by really listening to them.

More to come (practicing my finger snapping and looking for a black beret).

Sidelines Grille - Acworth

On Saturday, Sept 06, Phyllis and I wanted to catch the end of the Alabama vs Tulane football game, which was only on pay per view TV. We decided to drive over to Sidelines Grille on Cobb Pkwy in Acworth.

Before arriving, we were concerned that we might not find a table near the television showing our preferred game. On entering, our fears dissipated. There seemed to be a television every three feet, and a wide screen in our room that was showing our game! Some of the tables had televisions of their own (ours was one that did). We could adjust the volume and hear the announcers without disturbing anyone else.

The restaurant was divided into two rooms. Ours was small with a dozen or so tables in it. That room used to be smoke free and was once glassed in to separate it from the bar. The glass has been removed to make the whole restaurant smoker friendly. The other room housed a good-sized square bar (near our wall) with tables on the fringes and even more tables on the side away from us.

We had a lot of fun. We could follow a bunch of different games, and watch a lot of entertaining people. The staff was primarily young women. The wait staff, most of whom had on very short shorts (ours didn't) and football jerseys rolled up to expose their midriff (ours didn't) seemed to be having a great time. Again I will say that a happy employee generally makes for good service.

Off to my left sat a table comprised of two body-builder guys and their Barbie doll meets South Beach dates. They were paying attention to the Florida vs Miami game, cheering for Miami. Two booths up from us sat two lady Bama fans. Their table did not have a television. They did not choose wisely.

Next to us were three tall tables in the center of the room. A couple of people sat there but soon changed to low tables. Maybe they feel like I do. When I go to a restaurant, I don't want to be on display. Nobody should know when I spill something.

At one low table sat about five guys and another Acworth goes South Beach blonde. They didn't pay any attention to the football, but as soon as Ultimate Fight Club pay per view came on, they went nuts.

At the bar sat a wide variety of people, most of whom were slightly older than the folks at the tables (why is that?). They all seemed to be having a good time. One guy, probably in his forties had his arm around his date's chair. It was fun to watch. He would let his hand slip and try to turn it into a hug, and she would pick his hand up and put it back on the chair.

Two guys, mid thirties, sat at a high top between the bar and our room. They were high-fiving each other every time their team did something of note.

All in all it was a very enjoyable experience. The food was good, the staff friendly and the crowd a very good cross section of people.

I think I've found my new hangout when normal television coverage does not include my game.

Cuppy's Coffee

It was in March or April I first met Alanna Z. I'll post her last name after she gives me permission. Alanna was pushing a cart through the housewares department of the Target store where I worked. She was looking for some items to help spruce up her new coffee shop. She had a good New England accent, and being from Maine, I was inclined to hear more of the phonetic tones I had missed for so long.

Once her search was over, Alanna told me that I could get a free cup of coffee on my first visit. I am not one to ignore the word free when it comes to food or drink. When I finally had the opportunity to make my first visit, I was in a hurry and got my free cup to go. That was a shame in itself, but that's another segment.

The coffee was great. I'm not much of a designer coffee guy, but I really liked that Mocha. There was no bitter aftertaste that I am so not fond of. Alanna was there, and pointed out the things she and I had put in her cart, smilingly introducing me to her employees as the Target guy who helped her out.

My second visit to Cuppy's Coffee was a good bit more leisurely. I got a chance to converse with quite possibly the happiest barista on the planet. If I remember, she said she had sunshine and rainbows (or lollipops?) for breakfast. I enjoyed a chocolate chip scone and a coke (not a coffee guy so much).

My scone was wonderful! I was prepared for the scone to be handed to me in a paper bag, but got it warm, on a plate, with chocolate drizzle! For the first time, I ate a scone with a fork.

The shop is part of a strip of shops, but being on a corner gives it a stand alone feel. The decor is homey with a New Orleans flair. There is a small platform for open mic night (on Friday and Saturday, they have their own musical showdown). There is a conference room, though I've never seen it, and a small sidewalk cafe style patio.

I came back for lunch once. I used their WiFi and got an incredible Chicken Chipotle Panini served up by two young ladies who looked like they'd been snatched right out of the California sun, pearly white smiles and all. That's another thing. It doesn't matter when I go, every worker seems genuinely happy to be there. That is not so common nowadays. Happy workers make for good service.

Well I'm off to bed. I work late tomorrow, so maybe I'll pay Alanna and her crew a visit in the morning. In case you are wondering, they are at 1600 Kennesaw Due West Rd in Kennesaw, Ga.


http://stores.cuppyscoffee.com/305/ is their url

Catch up with me tomorrow...

McAlister's Deli - July 27, 2008

Since taking a job at Garden Ridge about two months ago, I have frequented McAlister's Deli, a small chain restaurant. Altough the word deli is in the name, it is not a true deli by definition. There is no meat cutter, no man with a foreign accent barking out your order to the sandwich maker, no smell of pastrami or corned beef.

McAlister's is well known locally for it's fantastic sweet tea, and it's unusually large baked potatoes (they really use two potatoes and trim off one end of each, piecing them together to appear to be a football sized spud).

Today is Sunday, and at 12:30, it's busier than I am used to.

The staff and I have come to know each other over these two months. The restaurant is just across the street from Garden Ridge, and convenience takes advantage of me being a creature of habit.
Today, they are working exceptionally hard. Normally, the attitude is very laid-back, but Sunday after church means families and shoppers (the mall is a block away).

Today's crowd is an eclectic blend of ethnicity. In front of me is a surprisingly vacant table, and after that sit two Pakistani couples, one of which has brought their toddler along. Like all toddlers, he is adventuresome and eager to explore his surroundings. Dad tries to reign him in, but I say good luck with that. Let him learn but keep a watchful eye

At the table next to me is the typical American girls' day out. Mom, a pre-teen and two teenage daughters discuss their shopping plans. The college kids sit in the corner, crowding five to the table. The line from the door to the counter never seems to dissipate, and the staff is furiously trying to satisfy their clientele. Much to our toddler's delight, a young couple comes to sit at the vacant table. A new set of people to entertain!

Well, my spud is gone, and so is my lunch hour.

Until next time...