I'm off to see the Coach this morning.

He and TRQ didn't come up for Thanksgiving yesterday because he isn't doing well, so I'm headed to Provo right now to see them.  They are both ever present on my mind these days.

Last Sunday in the NYT I read an election post-mortem piece that claimed the reason HRC and the Democrats lost is that Left has given in to "identity politics"--unintentionally emphasizing the things that make us different, that separate us, as opposed to the things that we as Americans have in common.

I have no idea if this is true or not, but it did make me think about the Coach and how he dealt with people.  You could almost watch his special antennae come out and feel their way around an initial conversation, searching for the things he had in common with a single mother of color and the son he was recruiting.  And when he found them, voila!  That's what they talked about.

He did this with everybody and in retrospect, I would say it's one of the big reasons he had such a singular career.  That insight was the motivation behind this piece in the Trib.

Meanwhile, I'm wishing you a happy Thanksgiving weekend.  Thanks for stopping by and reading.

Working on Thanksgiving

This morning while I was shopping for Thanksgiving at the Smith's downtown, I struck up a conversation with an employee, who suddenly launched about how wrong it is for people to shop on Thanksgiving.  She's senior enough herself that she isn't working on Thanksgiving, but she thinks it's better for folks to stay home and enjoy their people and their meal and give everybody a break.

And all I could do was stand there and say "d'accord."  Which was weird.  Because I usually don't speak French when I'm shopping for Thanksgiving at Smith's.

Two grandfathers

The other day when I was driving home from Provo, I stopped at a fruit stand on 8th North in Orem.  There were mostly apples for sale, so I asked the man there which variety was his favorite.  He said Fuji.  So I bought a basket of Fuji apples and he threw in a few extra for good measure.  Meanwhile, Mt. Timpanogos loomed blue behind us both, along with the small patch of orchard that hasn't been plowed under for new homes.  This man was my paternal grandfather two generations ago.

Later that day I took our car into Bobby's Car Clinic on Third Ave and immediately felt at home when I inhaled the familiar scent of oil on concrete.  Bobby was my maternal grandfather two generations ago.

It was one of those days where time, in the words of Joseph Smith, became one eternal round.

More TRQ

Still reading TRQ's memoirs and enjoying them so much.  I just read a passage about how she discouraged she and the Coach were after trying for years to get pregnant without success.  And then things changed.  She lists the reasons why she was (at last!) expecting a child, which are tender and touching.

I like the last reason the best, though:  "Of course the natural event also took place."

As the years have passed, I've grown to cherish my mother's vibrancy and unique perspective so much.  Love her.

What I'm possibly learning as I grow older

The French say it is a privilege to grow older.

At least that's what somebody told the French say.  Those French.  Always going around saying stuff that you then quote without knowing whether or not actual French people were involve in the saying of that stuff.

But whatever.

It's an interesting thought--one that runs counter to the way we often feel about aging.

This morning I was thinking about the things I maybe understand a little better now than I did when I was younger.  The first one is this:  whenever possible, people should solve their own problems.  You can support and listen, but in the end, people gotta take that solving problems walk for themselves.

The second one is this:  holding onto grudges is stupid.  Forgiveness is essential.

OK.  So I've only learned two things.  But still.

Facebook shaming

Dear Facebook,

Overtime I check in with you (which is more often than I care to admit) I notice that over there where I am supposed to share personal info, you've got a little note saying, "I know.  I'm too old for this."

Just so you know, Facebook, I understand what you're trying to do.  You're trying to make me go, "But I'm NOT too old.  Look at me!  I'm young!  For my age!  See how young I am?  I'M ON FACEBOOK!"

So, FYI, Facebook.  Only old people are on Facebook except, of course, some of my kids who are on there to taunt other family members.  Especially when those other family members are being sincere.

So get over it, Facebook.  I'm on to you.

Sincerely,

Someone who's old

My name is Ann Cannon and I am an biter of string cheese

The other night at work two of my fellow employees were talking about string cheese.

#1:  I have a friend who eats string cheese.  Ugh.

#2:  I eat string cheese.

#1:  Okay, fine.  But you probably don't BITE IT.

#2:  LORD NO!  I pull it apart.

I was standing there at the cash register, listening in dismayed silence because a) I eat string cheese and b) I bite it like it's a Tootsie Roll.  And also I was having flashbacks to that moment when I realized I should have been tipping the pizza delivery guys all along, which I never had because I didn't know you were supposed to.  That happened in the days before I was the sophisticated person I am now.

Except I bite string cheese BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW ANY BETTER.

So I remained silent, although I did send an email the next day, confessing I am a biter.  And guess what.  They love me anyway.