Dear Evan,
I can hardly believe you've already been part of our life for (more than) a year. It was not the easiest of years, especially those first couple of months -- through no fault of your own; 16 months, I now know, is just a very narrow window between kids.
But it was no time before you had stolen our hearts with your bright-eyed smiles and propensity to snuggle and contagious laughter. Your Gran and Gramps are still lobbying for us to submit this to "America's Funniest Home Videos."
You're all boy, and heavy on the charm. People routinely tell us things like "If Evan ever goes missing, don't let them come looking for him at my house" and "Holding Evan is as good as a dose of Valium." In addition to flirting with much older women, your favorite amusements include all balls, all things with wheels, climbing, exploring, trying to jump, chasing and being chased.
You're a sucker for having your hair brushed. Your pants always have grass stains. You play in any available toilet. You eat until we stop offering food.
Most of the time, you're remarkably tolerant of Claire's occasionally heavy-handed attempts at playing together. Her go-to game, Ring Around the Rosie, is a tall order for a kid who's just learning to walk, not to mention confusing (walking in circles? falling on purpose?), but you're a good sport. Let's hope she's as tolerant when you can exert your own influence a little more effectively.
Anyone who meets you comments on how good-natured you are, and anyone who holds you doesn't want to let you go. But we're the lucky ones who always get to take you home. We love you so much, dear Ev-man, and are so very thankful God handpicked you for us. Happy belated birthday!
Showing posts with label letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label letters. Show all posts
Monday, November 21, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Dear Claire
Dear Claire,
It's August. I'm more than a month late with your second birthday letter. I've been busy but also procrastinating. Where in the world do I begin?
You are one incredible little girl. You're spunky and independent, with opinions about everything; I didn't expect to have to choose my battles quite so soon. I know this strong will of yours is a good thing. I also know it makes your Grandma smile. Payback!
When the house is too quiet, it often means you've discovered something new to climb -- and then jump from. In your more chill moments, you like to curl up in the nearest lap with a stack of books. You have an impressive imagination and entertain yourself well, but you also love playing with friends -- especially a certain couple of cousins.
You're precocious and talkative and a great observer. I'm constantly fascinated by the things you notice and the connections you make. I should be writing down so much more of what you say. Your prayers are priceless. So is your rendition of "Somebody to Love."
You're generous with shows of affection, and every single time you run up and hug my knees or lean in for a kiss or say "I love you, Mom" for no particular reason, my heart melts. How could it not?
You aren't perfect -- no one is -- but I can't imagine loving you more. Of course, I thought the same thing a year ago.
I do love you immeasurably much, and I know you know it. Every day in a hundred ways you make me laugh and shake my head and thank God for landing you with us.
It's August. I'm more than a month late with your second birthday letter. I've been busy but also procrastinating. Where in the world do I begin?
You are one incredible little girl. You're spunky and independent, with opinions about everything; I didn't expect to have to choose my battles quite so soon. I know this strong will of yours is a good thing. I also know it makes your Grandma smile. Payback!
When the house is too quiet, it often means you've discovered something new to climb -- and then jump from. In your more chill moments, you like to curl up in the nearest lap with a stack of books. You have an impressive imagination and entertain yourself well, but you also love playing with friends -- especially a certain couple of cousins.
You're precocious and talkative and a great observer. I'm constantly fascinated by the things you notice and the connections you make. I should be writing down so much more of what you say. Your prayers are priceless. So is your rendition of "Somebody to Love."
You're generous with shows of affection, and every single time you run up and hug my knees or lean in for a kiss or say "I love you, Mom" for no particular reason, my heart melts. How could it not?
You aren't perfect -- no one is -- but I can't imagine loving you more. Of course, I thought the same thing a year ago.
I do love you immeasurably much, and I know you know it. Every day in a hundred ways you make me laugh and shake my head and thank God for landing you with us.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Grammar hammer
Dear [editors],
I'm glad to have begun writing on a freelance basis for The Pilot. I've been assigned interesting stories and the pay, if not princely, is always prompt.
I particularly enjoyed writing about Sandhills Farm to Table, a movement that in both principle and practice exemplifies so much of what I love about our community.
When I read the first installment of this series this morning, I was disappointed to find that two mistakes had been inserted into my copy. As mistakes go, they're minor -- an ill-advised apostrophe and a questionable capital letter. But it's always disheartening when copy editing, which is meant to guard against errors large and small, and above all should do no harm, does just that.
My main quarrel is with the addition of an apostrophe in the following sentence: “What this does is guarantee the farmers’ purchase of their produce,” McAllister says. This apostrophe makes "farmers" possessive, as if they themselves will be purchasing their produce. Which, of course, makes no sense.
I also noticed the capitalization of "the" in the following sentence: "The hope, adds McAllister, who oversees distribution at The Village Chapel location, is to create a win-win situation in which 'every Moore County resident has secure access to sufficient local farm and food products.'" The Village Chapel's proper name does include "The," so its capitalization in a given sentence is a question of style as much as of technical correctness.
The closest AP style opinion I could find was this: "The definite article is generally lowercase in AP news stories about universities, professional organizations and the like." But Bill Walsh, a copy editor at The Washington Post (or, a Washington Post copy editor), addressed the question on his blog, http://theslot.blogspot.com.
"Don't go capitalizing 'the' in something like 'the Hague-based International Court of Justice,' even if you normally cap 'The Hague.' In that instance, 'the' goes with 'International Court of Justice,' not with 'Hague,'" he wrote.
Likewise, in my article, "the" goes with "location," not with "Village Chapel."
Again, as mistakes go, these are small, and few readers will notice them. But they're still mistakes. And taking care with details like punctuation and capitalization implies you're also committed to accuracy with the facts. Inversely, sloppiness in the details can cast doubt on the credibility of the content, not to mention the writer and the publication.
Print being print, it's too late to change the hard copy. But could you please correct the online version of this article?
Thanks so much.
I'm glad to have begun writing on a freelance basis for The Pilot. I've been assigned interesting stories and the pay, if not princely, is always prompt.
I particularly enjoyed writing about Sandhills Farm to Table, a movement that in both principle and practice exemplifies so much of what I love about our community.
When I read the first installment of this series this morning, I was disappointed to find that two mistakes had been inserted into my copy. As mistakes go, they're minor -- an ill-advised apostrophe and a questionable capital letter. But it's always disheartening when copy editing, which is meant to guard against errors large and small, and above all should do no harm, does just that.
My main quarrel is with the addition of an apostrophe in the following sentence: “What this does is guarantee the farmers’ purchase of their produce,” McAllister says. This apostrophe makes "farmers" possessive, as if they themselves will be purchasing their produce. Which, of course, makes no sense.
I also noticed the capitalization of "the" in the following sentence: "The hope, adds McAllister, who oversees distribution at The Village Chapel location, is to create a win-win situation in which 'every Moore County resident has secure access to sufficient local farm and food products.'" The Village Chapel's proper name does include "The," so its capitalization in a given sentence is a question of style as much as of technical correctness.
The closest AP style opinion I could find was this: "The definite article is generally lowercase in AP news stories about universities, professional organizations and the like." But Bill Walsh, a copy editor at The Washington Post (or, a Washington Post copy editor), addressed the question on his blog, http://theslot.blogspot.com.
"Don't go capitalizing 'the' in something like 'the Hague-based International Court of Justice,' even if you normally cap 'The Hague.' In that instance, 'the' goes with 'International Court of Justice,' not with 'Hague,'" he wrote.
Likewise, in my article, "the" goes with "location," not with "Village Chapel."
Again, as mistakes go, these are small, and few readers will notice them. But they're still mistakes. And taking care with details like punctuation and capitalization implies you're also committed to accuracy with the facts. Inversely, sloppiness in the details can cast doubt on the credibility of the content, not to mention the writer and the publication.
Print being print, it's too late to change the hard copy. But could you please correct the online version of this article?
Thanks so much.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Dear Claire
Dear Claire,
You turned 1 three weeks ago. I had hoped to write this letter before celebrating that milestone, but since your arrival in this world, I don’t seem to be on time very often.
I’m writing, sweet girl, to tell you happy birthday, and that I love you, inexpressibly so.
When we announced my pregnancy with you, almost everyone had one of two responses: “Your life will never be the same!” or “When you hold that baby for the first time, you’ll finally know what love is.”
Both of these statements annoyed me, for different reasons. “Of course life will change!” your dad and I would repeat to each other later, in private. Why else would we have waited so long to bite the bullet and have a baby? We knew we weren’t taking in a stray cat.
The second declaration was even worse. To me, it implied that sure, I thought I loved my husband; sure, I thought I loved my family members; but a few minutes with this 7-pound stranger would reveal how shallow those relationships were. This, finally, would be the real thing. Whenever someone told me this, I politely smiled and nodded, thinking to myself, “Clearly, I love my husband more than you love yours.”
I heard that line so often, though, including from older and wiser parents whom I respected, that as your due date approached I started to look forward to this magical moment in which you and I would experience immediate mutual enchantment.
It didn’t happen. Not for me, anyway. Labor was long and exhausting, and for the first few minutes after it was over, I was just glad to have survived.
We brought you home and started settling in as a family of three. Your dad and I were blessed with an abundance of support from family and friends, but still, dealing with the biggest change of your life, while sleep-deprived and unable to zip your favorite jeans, is no joke.
I remember one night – I don’t think you were even a week old yet – when I was trying to get you back to sleep after a middle-of-the-night feeding. We rocked and rocked and rocked, and you were screeching, and my eyes were burning. I looked out the window and thought to myself, “I wish I could return her.”
Don’t take that personally, Claire. I didn’t know you at all back then. The only reason I even mention it is that around that time, a few of my most honest friends quietly acknowledged having felt the same way in their children’s newborn days. But, they were quick to add, I would grow to love you more than I could believe. Their assurances helped me keep my chin up and feel a little less like a fraudulent mom without an instant-bonding gene.
The first six or eight weeks were a crash course in self-sacrifice. You were entirely helpless, and my schedule revolved around yours. For the first time in years, I wasn’t bringing home my own paycheck, and I was turning out to be a terrible housewife, despite being home all day and feeling too guilty to nap while you napped. Some days lunchtime would roll around without my having showered – the whole morning was gone, and I couldn’t even say where it went. I hated the feeling of being utterly unproductive.
I know now – and I knew then, theoretically, anyway – that those early months were far from unproductive. Every 3 a.m. nursing session, every messy diaper change followed almost immediately by another one, every time you slept snuggled against my chest, rendering me unable to unload the dishwasher – these and a thousand other gestures helped convey to a tiny you, still flabbergasted and indignant at being out of the womb, that you were safe and protected, valued and loved.
Almost imperceptibly, just as I was starting to accept my new greasy-haired reality, things began to improve. I started pumping and storing breast milk, so other people could help feed you. You started sleeping longer stretches at night, so I did too. Best of all, you started offering sweetly contented smiles: the gold standard of immediate gratification.
Somewhere along the line, it’s become impossible to imagine life without you.
“We love you as much as that very first day. Thank you, God, for sending sweet Claire our way!” proclaims one of your favorite books. That part bugs me every time. “I love you much more than that very first day,” I think to myself.
Everyone says our love for you will only deepen as the years go by. I can’t imagine.
But I’ve been wrong before.
You turned 1 three weeks ago. I had hoped to write this letter before celebrating that milestone, but since your arrival in this world, I don’t seem to be on time very often.
I’m writing, sweet girl, to tell you happy birthday, and that I love you, inexpressibly so.
When we announced my pregnancy with you, almost everyone had one of two responses: “Your life will never be the same!” or “When you hold that baby for the first time, you’ll finally know what love is.”
Both of these statements annoyed me, for different reasons. “Of course life will change!” your dad and I would repeat to each other later, in private. Why else would we have waited so long to bite the bullet and have a baby? We knew we weren’t taking in a stray cat.
The second declaration was even worse. To me, it implied that sure, I thought I loved my husband; sure, I thought I loved my family members; but a few minutes with this 7-pound stranger would reveal how shallow those relationships were. This, finally, would be the real thing. Whenever someone told me this, I politely smiled and nodded, thinking to myself, “Clearly, I love my husband more than you love yours.”
I heard that line so often, though, including from older and wiser parents whom I respected, that as your due date approached I started to look forward to this magical moment in which you and I would experience immediate mutual enchantment.
It didn’t happen. Not for me, anyway. Labor was long and exhausting, and for the first few minutes after it was over, I was just glad to have survived.
We brought you home and started settling in as a family of three. Your dad and I were blessed with an abundance of support from family and friends, but still, dealing with the biggest change of your life, while sleep-deprived and unable to zip your favorite jeans, is no joke.
I remember one night – I don’t think you were even a week old yet – when I was trying to get you back to sleep after a middle-of-the-night feeding. We rocked and rocked and rocked, and you were screeching, and my eyes were burning. I looked out the window and thought to myself, “I wish I could return her.”
Don’t take that personally, Claire. I didn’t know you at all back then. The only reason I even mention it is that around that time, a few of my most honest friends quietly acknowledged having felt the same way in their children’s newborn days. But, they were quick to add, I would grow to love you more than I could believe. Their assurances helped me keep my chin up and feel a little less like a fraudulent mom without an instant-bonding gene.
The first six or eight weeks were a crash course in self-sacrifice. You were entirely helpless, and my schedule revolved around yours. For the first time in years, I wasn’t bringing home my own paycheck, and I was turning out to be a terrible housewife, despite being home all day and feeling too guilty to nap while you napped. Some days lunchtime would roll around without my having showered – the whole morning was gone, and I couldn’t even say where it went. I hated the feeling of being utterly unproductive.
I know now – and I knew then, theoretically, anyway – that those early months were far from unproductive. Every 3 a.m. nursing session, every messy diaper change followed almost immediately by another one, every time you slept snuggled against my chest, rendering me unable to unload the dishwasher – these and a thousand other gestures helped convey to a tiny you, still flabbergasted and indignant at being out of the womb, that you were safe and protected, valued and loved.
Almost imperceptibly, just as I was starting to accept my new greasy-haired reality, things began to improve. I started pumping and storing breast milk, so other people could help feed you. You started sleeping longer stretches at night, so I did too. Best of all, you started offering sweetly contented smiles: the gold standard of immediate gratification.
Somewhere along the line, it’s become impossible to imagine life without you.
“We love you as much as that very first day. Thank you, God, for sending sweet Claire our way!” proclaims one of your favorite books. That part bugs me every time. “I love you much more than that very first day,” I think to myself.
Everyone says our love for you will only deepen as the years go by. I can’t imagine.
But I’ve been wrong before.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Thanks to Tripps
Dear Tripps of Southern Pines,Just a quick note to thank you for making my day yesterday. My husband, daughter and I went to your restaurant after church with a group of friends (had planned to eat leftovers at home, but once someone mentions your scrumptious Sunday brunch it's hard to resist). We were seated quickly even though there were 11 of us, including three babies, and our waitress was great.
While a few of us got our food soon after ordering, the rest of the table had to wait quite a bit longer for theirs. We were preoccupied with conversation and complimentary muffins, so although we did wonder where the rest of the food was, we didn't mention it to our waitress. Apparently she or someone else spoke up on our behalf, though, because much to our surprise the manager came over to our table, apologized for the timing, and said those of us who were still waiting would not have to pay for their food.
I might as well admit my first thought was that I wished my meal was one of the delayed ones -- who wouldn't be willing to wait 10 or 15 minutes to eat for free, right? But your brunch and bottomless coffee are well worth paying for, so this was just a fleeting thought. The rest of the food arrived just a couple of minutes later.
At the end of the meal, when we were all thoroughly, happily stuffed, our waitress told us that there was no charge for any of us; the whole table had been taken care of. Needless to say, we were surprised and delighted.
No doubt about it, you went beyond the call of duty. I don't think the management at most restaurants would have even acknowledged our lopsided wait, much less comped eight adult meals to make up for it. I left Tripps with a good taste in my mouth (in more ways than one) and I'm happy to spread the word of your excellent customer service.
Thank you again for such a wonderful experience.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
A rant
Dear Walgreens of Aberdeen,
I won't be able to fully express how frustrating my experience with you today was, but I'm going to try.
You were supposed to have flu shots -- only 50 of them -- available starting at 10 this morning. I woke my 3-month-old daughter from a sound sleep to drop her off at my parents' house and arrived at your store at 10:05. I was the 10th person in line. One by one, we filled out the paperwork. All of us were told the shots would be given based on our place in line, that we would be paged when it was our turn, and that meanwhile we could shop.
An hour later, most of us had tired of walking in circles around the store and had returned to the pharmacy area, where we flipped through magazines or chatted with other waiting people as the clock kept ticking with no sign of the pharmacist. Finally, he emerged and gave about five flu shots, then scooted back behind the counter and out of sight. Forty-five minutes later, he returned and gave five more people their shots.
At that point it became obvious that the shots were not being given in order, as no one in that second round was among the first 10 in the initial line. When several people asked when, approximately, they might get their shot (since the first-come, first-serve method was obviously not being applied), the pharmacist got snappy and said he didn't know. That was reassuring.
It was about this time that my parents called saying my daughter was hungry and crying inconsolably. (Having never expected getting the flu shot to turn into an all-morning ordeal, I'd left her with only one bottle.) I asked a pharmacy worker whether she had any idea at all how much longer it would be before my name came up. She did not. I asked her if I could leave, feed my daughter and return. I told her I could be back within 45 minutes or at any time later in the day. She said I'd lose not just my place in line (worthless anyway) but my claim on a flu shot if I left.
I called my parents to tell them this wasn't worth the trouble and I was coming home. My phone call woke my daughter, whom my dad had finally gotten to sleep. She was screaming so loudly he couldn't hear anything I said, but he told me my mom and grandmother were on their way to my house to get a bottle for her, and that I should just stick it out at Walgreens. After all, I'd already devoted a whole morning to the cause.
So I stayed. Another round of people got their shots. Not I. By this time the pharmacy area was full of irritated people, all of whom were sick of waiting and completely confused as to the order in which flu shots were being given out. Some late arrivers were getting their shot before others who (like me) had been waiting for two and a half hours. Mixed in among us were people waiting not for a flu shot but one, two or three hours for a prescription to be filled.
If there was a method to the madness, all of your employees refused to disclose it. Seriously, it felt like we were unknowing participants in some kind of psychological experiment. I finally got my shot at 12:30.
Walgreens, you really dropped the ball on this one. The fact that you were still giving flu shots when almost everywhere else in town was out of the vaccine was an opportunity for you to impress potential new customers with your efficiency, competence and service. Instead, I'm happier than ever that we have kept our prescription business with a local non-chain drug store that's served us well for years. I had plenty of time to talk with the people waiting with me this morning, and many expressed similar sentiments.
If you're going to provide flu shots, do everyone -- that includes you, since I'll be shocked if you don't lose some customers over this -- a favor and figure out a system that works. Hire more pharmacy workers so someone can focus on people who are there just for the flu shot. Or have special early or late hours only for giving the flu shot.
And be candid with your customers about how long you expect the wait to be. Most of the people I talked with this morning didn't mind the wait itself; it was the wait's open-endedness that was maddening.
If I'd been told at 10:05 a.m. that it would be, let's say, at least noon before I could get the shot, I could have used that time well. I could have gotten an oil change, dropped by my office, picked up our dry cleaning, gone to the library, done a week's worth of grocery shopping or met my husband for an early lunch. I could even have worked out at my gym, right across the street, or driven to my parents' house and fed my daughter, avoiding a huge headache for my parents.
Instead I spent all morning getting more and more frustrated, composing this letter in my head and vowing not to return to your store anytime soon. The first thing I did when I got home was announce to my 331 Facebook friends: "I am confident that getting the flu would be preferable to today's maddening flu-shot ordeal at Walgreens." The second thing I did was write this letter, which will be posted on my blog and copied to Walgreens' corporate headquarters. Third, I ate a very late lunch.
I would be remiss, however, not to mention one of your pharmacy workers, Taylor. All morning she was incredibly courteous and patient with the dozens of disgruntled people venting their frustrations to her. She reflected really well on your store.
Thanks for the flu shot, but next year I may just take my chances with the flu.
I won't be able to fully express how frustrating my experience with you today was, but I'm going to try.
You were supposed to have flu shots -- only 50 of them -- available starting at 10 this morning. I woke my 3-month-old daughter from a sound sleep to drop her off at my parents' house and arrived at your store at 10:05. I was the 10th person in line. One by one, we filled out the paperwork. All of us were told the shots would be given based on our place in line, that we would be paged when it was our turn, and that meanwhile we could shop.
An hour later, most of us had tired of walking in circles around the store and had returned to the pharmacy area, where we flipped through magazines or chatted with other waiting people as the clock kept ticking with no sign of the pharmacist. Finally, he emerged and gave about five flu shots, then scooted back behind the counter and out of sight. Forty-five minutes later, he returned and gave five more people their shots.
At that point it became obvious that the shots were not being given in order, as no one in that second round was among the first 10 in the initial line. When several people asked when, approximately, they might get their shot (since the first-come, first-serve method was obviously not being applied), the pharmacist got snappy and said he didn't know. That was reassuring.
It was about this time that my parents called saying my daughter was hungry and crying inconsolably. (Having never expected getting the flu shot to turn into an all-morning ordeal, I'd left her with only one bottle.) I asked a pharmacy worker whether she had any idea at all how much longer it would be before my name came up. She did not. I asked her if I could leave, feed my daughter and return. I told her I could be back within 45 minutes or at any time later in the day. She said I'd lose not just my place in line (worthless anyway) but my claim on a flu shot if I left.
I called my parents to tell them this wasn't worth the trouble and I was coming home. My phone call woke my daughter, whom my dad had finally gotten to sleep. She was screaming so loudly he couldn't hear anything I said, but he told me my mom and grandmother were on their way to my house to get a bottle for her, and that I should just stick it out at Walgreens. After all, I'd already devoted a whole morning to the cause.
So I stayed. Another round of people got their shots. Not I. By this time the pharmacy area was full of irritated people, all of whom were sick of waiting and completely confused as to the order in which flu shots were being given out. Some late arrivers were getting their shot before others who (like me) had been waiting for two and a half hours. Mixed in among us were people waiting not for a flu shot but one, two or three hours for a prescription to be filled.
If there was a method to the madness, all of your employees refused to disclose it. Seriously, it felt like we were unknowing participants in some kind of psychological experiment. I finally got my shot at 12:30.
Walgreens, you really dropped the ball on this one. The fact that you were still giving flu shots when almost everywhere else in town was out of the vaccine was an opportunity for you to impress potential new customers with your efficiency, competence and service. Instead, I'm happier than ever that we have kept our prescription business with a local non-chain drug store that's served us well for years. I had plenty of time to talk with the people waiting with me this morning, and many expressed similar sentiments.
If you're going to provide flu shots, do everyone -- that includes you, since I'll be shocked if you don't lose some customers over this -- a favor and figure out a system that works. Hire more pharmacy workers so someone can focus on people who are there just for the flu shot. Or have special early or late hours only for giving the flu shot.
And be candid with your customers about how long you expect the wait to be. Most of the people I talked with this morning didn't mind the wait itself; it was the wait's open-endedness that was maddening.
If I'd been told at 10:05 a.m. that it would be, let's say, at least noon before I could get the shot, I could have used that time well. I could have gotten an oil change, dropped by my office, picked up our dry cleaning, gone to the library, done a week's worth of grocery shopping or met my husband for an early lunch. I could even have worked out at my gym, right across the street, or driven to my parents' house and fed my daughter, avoiding a huge headache for my parents.
Instead I spent all morning getting more and more frustrated, composing this letter in my head and vowing not to return to your store anytime soon. The first thing I did when I got home was announce to my 331 Facebook friends: "I am confident that getting the flu would be preferable to today's maddening flu-shot ordeal at Walgreens." The second thing I did was write this letter, which will be posted on my blog and copied to Walgreens' corporate headquarters. Third, I ate a very late lunch.
I would be remiss, however, not to mention one of your pharmacy workers, Taylor. All morning she was incredibly courteous and patient with the dozens of disgruntled people venting their frustrations to her. She reflected really well on your store.
Thanks for the flu shot, but next year I may just take my chances with the flu.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Say it ain't so
Dear Southern Pines Public Library:When my husband and I moved to town four years ago, getting a library card was one of the first things on our to-do list. According to your website, "to obtain a card at no charge, you must show proof of ... residency or ownership of property within the town of Southern Pines." Although we don't reside in Southern Pines, we own property here -- an office building and a single-family home in downtown, and a lot in National Golf Club -- and were deemed eligible for a library card at that time.
But last week, when my husband was trying to check out a book, he was told we have to give up our library cards because our Southern Pines properties are in the name of our company rather than our personal names. Apparently the library has adopted, or recently has begun enforcing, a policy of not extending library privileges to companies.
I ask you to please, please make an exception in this case. My husband and I are the only people with Southern Pines library cards through our company, and free library access is an essential element of our budgeting and mental-health goals.
We pay Southern Pines property taxes. We cheerfully pay overdue fines. We buy books by the dozen at your library sales. We sing your praises to everyone we know. We support libraries in general, and the Southern Pines one in particular, in every way we can think of.
I hope you'll agree that we have a legitimate case, and will restore our free library privileges. Thanks for your time and consideration.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Voice from the past
A year ago today Amanda posted about FutureMe.org and then used it to write me an email, which arrived in my inbox today! Fun!
Thanks, lovie! This was a great surprise! Expect a reply next Oct. 15.Dear FutureMe,
or rather, FutureYou,
or really PresentYou when
you're reading this!
The past eight months have been so cool. We moved back home from Charleston in March - when mom had her liver transplant - and we've been able to spend so much time together! I especially love it because it's so much fun hanging out with you, and seeing people laugh at us when we say the same thing at the same time, or laugh the same way, or any of those other Loyd nuances that we both acquired.
I love getting your hand-me-downs even more than I like shopping at Goodwill. I love being on your team for Trivial Pursuit even though you sometimes lose faith in us. I especially loved the time that we played Hear Me Out and you had to talk to me for 45 seconds straight in a nonsense language! I don't think we've laughed that hard in forever!! And I wonder if we're still watching UFCs together. I hope so! So much fun!
You guys are building a house right now. Do you love it or are you already thinking of ways to improve? Hopefully we are still in our house in Pinebluff.
[Censored]
I love you so much and I'm so glad you're my best friend and sister. We're so lucky to have the relationship we have. I'll ALWAYS be here for you no matter what and I can't wait to see what the future has in store for us!!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Coolio
People are always asking me whether I get responses to the letters I send. And the answer is, hardly ever. I know I'd have better luck if I wrote to corporate rather than the local entity, but I want to know the letters are reaching their intended audience. Yes, I love Chick-fil-A in general, but I wrote my love letter specifically to the Southern Pines one. Most Pizza Huts might have great buffets, but the Aberdeen one doesn't. Et cetera.
Therefore, a couple of weeks ago when I was really happy with the customer service at the Southern Pines Stein Mart, I sent my letter of thanks to that store -- but corporate found me anyway. Check out this exchange, from the blog-post comments:
Kathy Lussier said...
Hi Jennifer! Thanks so much for your kind words and for sharing them with the world! We're proud of the great customer service you received and would love to recognize the associates involved. Can you tell me what store you visited? Thanks! Kathy Lussier with Stein Mart.
jennifer said...
Hi, Kathy, The store is located at 10564 US 15/501 in Southern Pines, N.C. Please do recognize the associates if possible! Thanks for your comment! P.S. How in the world did you find this post?
Kathy Lussier said...
It came up on a google blog alert I had set up. I love your "list" idea, too. You've inspired me to start one...is "making a list" something I can put on my list! HA! :)
I hope the women who helped me that day do get recognition from the corporate office. Next time I'll be sure to catch their names.
Therefore, a couple of weeks ago when I was really happy with the customer service at the Southern Pines Stein Mart, I sent my letter of thanks to that store -- but corporate found me anyway. Check out this exchange, from the blog-post comments:
Kathy Lussier said...
Hi Jennifer! Thanks so much for your kind words and for sharing them with the world! We're proud of the great customer service you received and would love to recognize the associates involved. Can you tell me what store you visited? Thanks! Kathy Lussier with Stein Mart.
jennifer said...
Hi, Kathy, The store is located at 10564 US 15/501 in Southern Pines, N.C. Please do recognize the associates if possible! Thanks for your comment! P.S. How in the world did you find this post?
Kathy Lussier said...
It came up on a google blog alert I had set up. I love your "list" idea, too. You've inspired me to start one...is "making a list" something I can put on my list! HA! :)
I hope the women who helped me that day do get recognition from the corporate office. Next time I'll be sure to catch their names.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Here's to you, Mr. Robinson
Sheriff Raymond R. BellSussex County Sheriff’s Department
P.O. Box 1326
Sussex, VA 23884
Dear Sheriff Bell,
I’m writing to tell you how impressed my sister and I were with Deputy John Robinson (Badge #72) last Saturday. We were returning to North Carolina from northern Virginia and were singing at the top of our lungs, obeying the speed limit and generally minding our own business when a van passed us and honked its horn. “Your tire! Your tire!” the woman in the passenger seat frantically mouthed to us.
We immediately pulled over. Indeed, we had a flat tire. We called AAA. Unfortunately, we didn’t know where we were – we thought we’d seen signs for Emporia, but didn’t remember how far it was – and there was no mile marker or exit visible in either direction.
Just then, Deputy Robinson pulled up on the service road that ran parallel to the highway. We told him we were fine and had AAA on the phone but that we didn’t know where to tell them we were. The traffic noise made it hard for Deputy Robinson and me to hear each other so he said to sit tight while he got on the highway and found us. Before driving off he made sure we understood to stay out of the grass (apparently there are a lot of poison snakes in the area).
It’s usually not a good feeling to be on the side of the road with a patrol car behind you, but in this case we were really thankful. Deputy Robinson talked to AAA and told them exactly where we were and which towing company to call. Then he told us that he was going to wait with us until the tow truck arrived, so we could get back in our car and relax.
When the towing company arrived, only about 15 minutes later, Deputy Robinson told us he was going to drive us to the towing company. I have been towed before, and had to ride in the cab of the tow truck, so I thought this was especially thoughtful of Deputy Robinson.
Deputy Robinson was courteous and professional in every way and went beyond the call of duty for us. We want to make sure he, and you, know how much we appreciate it.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Pleasantly surprised
Dear Stein Mart,
I’m writing to say thank you for the excellent customer service you extended to me this week.
I had bought some sunglasses at your store that broke just a couple of weeks later. On Monday I brought in the broken glasses with my receipt, hoping for store credit, but I had low expectations, especially since their breaking wasn’t your fault.
To my surprise, the two women at the customer-service desk offered me an exchange, which I declined (I’d already replaced them), so they refunded my money. There was no hassle, the employees were exceptionally pleasant, and the entire transaction took less than five minutes. It reflected really well on your store and its management, and I've been giving you free word-of-mouth advertising ever since.
I wish I had gotten the names of the two women who helped me, but I didn’t. If you can find out who was working the customer-service desk at 10 a.m. on May 5, I hope you’ll tell them how much I appreciate the way they treated me.
I’m writing to say thank you for the excellent customer service you extended to me this week.
I had bought some sunglasses at your store that broke just a couple of weeks later. On Monday I brought in the broken glasses with my receipt, hoping for store credit, but I had low expectations, especially since their breaking wasn’t your fault.
To my surprise, the two women at the customer-service desk offered me an exchange, which I declined (I’d already replaced them), so they refunded my money. There was no hassle, the employees were exceptionally pleasant, and the entire transaction took less than five minutes. It reflected really well on your store and its management, and I've been giving you free word-of-mouth advertising ever since.
I wish I had gotten the names of the two women who helped me, but I didn’t. If you can find out who was working the customer-service desk at 10 a.m. on May 5, I hope you’ll tell them how much I appreciate the way they treated me.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Love letter
Dear Chick-fil-A,
I’m writing to tell you that you rock my world. If I were a fast-food restaurant, I would aspire to be like you.
Your self-serve condiment station is brilliant. I love that I never have to ration my ketchup like I do some places.
The Styrofoam cups you use are so much better for to-go drinks than the flimsy cups most fast-food restaurants use. Also, your Coke is so good. Thank you for not watering it down and for always getting the syrup-to-carbonated-water ratio right.
You’re so generous with freebies and discounts that sometimes I feel guilty. Coupons are always in the newspaper, your calendars are full of them, and you accept them even after they’ve expired. And your Chamber card combo deal is absolutely extravagant.
I respect that you’re closed on Sundays. I like what this decision says about your company’s values.
Your system for taking orders and payment is superior to all your competitors’. No matter how long your lines are, they move fast and the orders are accurate. Whoever’s in charge at Wendy’s could take a cue.
Your restaurant is always clean. I have no idea how, since it is always full of people, but it is. And all of your employees are friendly, courteous and efficient.
You stopped charging extra for lemonade refills. Thank you!
The food! I almost forgot. Not only are the flavors delicious, but everything is always hot and fresh.
All in all, I could not be any happier with you unless you had outdoor seating, which I realize is probably out of your control. Thank you for being so great.
I’m writing to tell you that you rock my world. If I were a fast-food restaurant, I would aspire to be like you.
Your self-serve condiment station is brilliant. I love that I never have to ration my ketchup like I do some places.
The Styrofoam cups you use are so much better for to-go drinks than the flimsy cups most fast-food restaurants use. Also, your Coke is so good. Thank you for not watering it down and for always getting the syrup-to-carbonated-water ratio right.
You’re so generous with freebies and discounts that sometimes I feel guilty. Coupons are always in the newspaper, your calendars are full of them, and you accept them even after they’ve expired. And your Chamber card combo deal is absolutely extravagant.
I respect that you’re closed on Sundays. I like what this decision says about your company’s values.
Your system for taking orders and payment is superior to all your competitors’. No matter how long your lines are, they move fast and the orders are accurate. Whoever’s in charge at Wendy’s could take a cue.
Your restaurant is always clean. I have no idea how, since it is always full of people, but it is. And all of your employees are friendly, courteous and efficient.
You stopped charging extra for lemonade refills. Thank you!
The food! I almost forgot. Not only are the flavors delicious, but everything is always hot and fresh.
All in all, I could not be any happier with you unless you had outdoor seating, which I realize is probably out of your control. Thank you for being so great.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Letters!
I just found out that the theme for April NaBloPoMo is ... letters!
24 groups/people I might write letters to during April:
1. United Way (appreciation -- this and the next nine will fulfill No. 23 from my list)
2. Sandhills Coalition
3. Family Promise
4. Friend to Friend
5. Sewer and Water Assistance Program
6. Moore Free Care Clinic
7. Salvation Army
8. American Red Cross
9. Meals on Wheels
10. Bethany House
11. The family of Mom's liver donor (gratitude; No. 78)
12. American Home Shield (complaint)
13. The Pilot (re: Dad's retirement party)
14. Coca-Cola (praise and coupons request)
15. The village (re: greenway trails)
16. Mars, Inc. (praise for Milky Ways and coupons request)
17. Target (begging for one in our town)
18. Cook-Out (praise)
19. Remington Grill (begging for one in our town)
20. Lowe's Foods (re: per-unit pricing on GreenPoints pricing)
21. Chick-fil-A (praise)
22. Our church (re: access to church budget; No. 50)
23. Our associate pastor (encouragement)
24. Trader Joe's (begging for one in our town)
Have a suggestion for one or more of the remaining six days of April? I'd love to hear it!
24 groups/people I might write letters to during April:
1. United Way (appreciation -- this and the next nine will fulfill No. 23 from my list)
2. Sandhills Coalition
3. Family Promise
4. Friend to Friend
5. Sewer and Water Assistance Program
6. Moore Free Care Clinic
7. Salvation Army
8. American Red Cross
9. Meals on Wheels
10. Bethany House
11. The family of Mom's liver donor (gratitude; No. 78)
12. American Home Shield (complaint)
13. The Pilot (re: Dad's retirement party)
14. Coca-Cola (praise and coupons request)
15. The village (re: greenway trails)
16. Mars, Inc. (praise for Milky Ways and coupons request)
17. Target (begging for one in our town)
18. Cook-Out (praise)
19. Remington Grill (begging for one in our town)
20. Lowe's Foods (re: per-unit pricing on GreenPoints pricing)
21. Chick-fil-A (praise)
22. Our church (re: access to church budget; No. 50)
23. Our associate pastor (encouragement)
24. Trader Joe's (begging for one in our town)
Have a suggestion for one or more of the remaining six days of April? I'd love to hear it!
Monday, February 4, 2008
It's the principle
To Whom It May Concern:
Three friends and I recently visited your restaurant for the first time, and I’m writing to express our disappointment with the experience. While we enjoyed the live music, the atmosphere and the wine, that’s likely the last visit we’ll make.
We decided to go to Coach Light Cafe after one of our party saw advertised on your Web site “half-price wine by the glass all day Fridays.” We each ordered a glass of wine. When the bill came, we had been charged full price, and since it was a Friday – half-price-wine day – I pointed it out to our waitress.
She told me that that special had been over for a month. I told her it was still on the cafe’s Web site and in fact that was the reason we had decided to go there that night. She replied that the Web site “hasn’t even been working lately.” Which I knew was not true; I had visited it myself that day.
It came down to her word against mine. She told me she would re-ring our bill and bring it back to our table.
When she returned, she told us, “The owner would only agree to take $2 off each glass.” My glass cost $7. Half-price would have been $3.50. Instead I was charged $5. I cannot believe that the people in charge at Coach Light Cafe think that making an extra $1.50 on each of us was more important than a) having satisfied customers and b) honoring a claim on your own Web site.
Incidentally, more than a week later, this special is still advertised on the site. Let’s hope no one else takes it at face value.
I’m a small-business owner myself, and I know that no amount of advertising dollars can make up for negative word-of-mouth. This is particularly true in a small town such as ours. “The customer is always right” is usually taken to mean “... even when she’s wrong,” but in this case, I believe your customers really were in the right.
Three friends and I recently visited your restaurant for the first time, and I’m writing to express our disappointment with the experience. While we enjoyed the live music, the atmosphere and the wine, that’s likely the last visit we’ll make.
We decided to go to Coach Light Cafe after one of our party saw advertised on your Web site “half-price wine by the glass all day Fridays.” We each ordered a glass of wine. When the bill came, we had been charged full price, and since it was a Friday – half-price-wine day – I pointed it out to our waitress.
She told me that that special had been over for a month. I told her it was still on the cafe’s Web site and in fact that was the reason we had decided to go there that night. She replied that the Web site “hasn’t even been working lately.” Which I knew was not true; I had visited it myself that day.
It came down to her word against mine. She told me she would re-ring our bill and bring it back to our table.
When she returned, she told us, “The owner would only agree to take $2 off each glass.” My glass cost $7. Half-price would have been $3.50. Instead I was charged $5. I cannot believe that the people in charge at Coach Light Cafe think that making an extra $1.50 on each of us was more important than a) having satisfied customers and b) honoring a claim on your own Web site.
Incidentally, more than a week later, this special is still advertised on the site. Let’s hope no one else takes it at face value.
I’m a small-business owner myself, and I know that no amount of advertising dollars can make up for negative word-of-mouth. This is particularly true in a small town such as ours. “The customer is always right” is usually taken to mean “... even when she’s wrong,” but in this case, I believe your customers really were in the right.
Friday, December 14, 2007
A better buffet
Dear Aberdeen Pizza Hut,Let me start by saying I think you have the best pizza in town. My mouth waters just thinking about a Supreme with a pan crust, and if this letter takes me long enough to write I’ll probably develop a craving and wind up ordering one for dinner tonight.
Big fan that I am, I often round up a few people from the office to eat at your lunch buffet. Unfortunately, the experience usually leaves us somewhat disappointed.
All too often we arrive to find unappealing, soggy remnants on the buffet. A typical spread might feature a pizza from the Lovers line, a dessert pizza and one with some random combination of toppings – ham and black olives, for instance. If and when a pepperoni pizza – the universal favorite! – does come out, all the hungry people who have been waiting for that moment get in line and sometimes it’s gone before everyone gets a slice.
When people pay for “all you can eat” buffets, they would like to be offered all they can eat of foods they actually want to eat.
So if I could offer just one suggestion for improving your lunch buffet, it would be this: Always have at least one pepperoni pizza on the buffet. And as soon as the last piece is eaten, bring out another one. Pepperoni pizza is popular with almost everyone. If you were to apply this simple principle and change nothing else, I think you would be shocked at how much happier your lunch crowds were.
One more thing. There usually is only one waitress covering the entire restaurant at lunchtime, but she’s great. She’s friendly and always remembers what my husband and I like to drink. I don’t know her name, but I hope you pay her well.
Thank you for taking the time to read this letter, and I hope you will seriously consider my suggestion to always have pepperoni pizza available on the buffet. Merry Christmas!
Sincerely,
Jennifer Kirby
P.S. Your double-punch Mondays deal offers great value, and your breadsticks are delicious. However, are you using a new breadsticks recipe? They seem to taste a little rubbery lately, although not too rubbery to eat.
(With the mailing of this letter I'm checking off No. 24.)
Sunday, October 14, 2007
A letter to my 17-year-old self
Dear Jennifer,
I like you, and I'm going to like you more the older you get. You have some quirks, but they're part of your charm.
I want to offer you a few hints that might make the next decade a little easier for you.
First, you're not a good driver, so be extra careful. Come to complete stops at stop signs, or one day you might come this close to hitting a state trooper. Also, remember to drive around ditches, not through them. You'll thank me next New Year's Eve.
Go see a podiatrist about the pain in your right foot. The big toe is broken and if left untreated will make you run funny indefinitely.
Splurge now on one pair of expensive jeans that flatter your body, make you feel great and are actually long enough. You'll wear them for years and get your money's worth over and over.
Congratulations on getting into UNC! You're about to enjoy four of the best years of your life. Stick with club tennis, and study abroad the summer after your freshman year. Also, I know you think astronomy sounds interesting, but it's over your head. Drop that class while you can still get a full refund on the textbook.
Pink is your color. Keep your old notes and letters. You're a better dancer but a worse singer than you think. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Cosmo is full of crap.
Your hometown is not a bad place to live. Matt is a great catch. You are too.
Your life won't unfold exactly as you expect, and that's a good thing. Relax and enjoy the ride.
Love,
Me/you
P.S. Enjoy living with a cat, because you never will again.
I like you, and I'm going to like you more the older you get. You have some quirks, but they're part of your charm.
I want to offer you a few hints that might make the next decade a little easier for you.
First, you're not a good driver, so be extra careful. Come to complete stops at stop signs, or one day you might come this close to hitting a state trooper. Also, remember to drive around ditches, not through them. You'll thank me next New Year's Eve.
Go see a podiatrist about the pain in your right foot. The big toe is broken and if left untreated will make you run funny indefinitely.
Splurge now on one pair of expensive jeans that flatter your body, make you feel great and are actually long enough. You'll wear them for years and get your money's worth over and over.
Congratulations on getting into UNC! You're about to enjoy four of the best years of your life. Stick with club tennis, and study abroad the summer after your freshman year. Also, I know you think astronomy sounds interesting, but it's over your head. Drop that class while you can still get a full refund on the textbook.
Pink is your color. Keep your old notes and letters. You're a better dancer but a worse singer than you think. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Cosmo is full of crap.
Your hometown is not a bad place to live. Matt is a great catch. You are too.
Your life won't unfold exactly as you expect, and that's a good thing. Relax and enjoy the ride.
Love,
Me/you
P.S. Enjoy living with a cat, because you never will again.
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