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D: None of the Above

Baseball game Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I was born in March, so, of course, I wished I were born in the summer.

My brothers were both born in the heat of the summer, which means they could go to a warm beach on their birthdays, sail across some waterway around Long Island, and celebrate the passage of another year without a midterm on their big day or, even worse, the day after their birthday.

But, the real reason I wished my birthday came during the summer was so that I could attend a Yankees game.

When my birthday rolled around, pitchers and catchers were often reporting to spring training, getting ready for the marathon of each baseball season.

When my son was born in July, sandwiched between a host of other family birthdays on both sides of the family, I figured he would have the chance to pursue the kind of unfulfilled baseball fantasy that I could only imagine as I was memorizing facts, figures and formulas for another set of tests before, during and immediately after my annual rite of passage.

Recently, we celebrated his birthday by going to one of the last few Yankees games before the All-Star break. 

We had the privilege of attending a weekend game, when neither of us felt the need to work or meet a deadline.

My son is taking a summer course for which he was supposed to have a virtual test the day before we went to a game. The computer system crashed that day, and the professor suggested everyone take it the next day.

The system, however, continued not to work, perhaps obeying a secret wish my son made over his customized birthday cake, giving him the opportunity to enjoy the entire day with little to no responsibility other than to reply to all the well wishers and to compliment them on their melodic singing.

The game itself became a blowout early, as the Yankees scored run after run, and the Red Sox seemed to retreat to the safety of the dugout soon after coming up to bat.

Both of us ate more than we normally do in a day, celebrating the outing and reveling in the moment, high-fiving each other and the reveling strangers in Yankees jerseys in front of us.

While the packed stadium started to clear out when the game seemed out of reach for the visitors, we remained in our seats until the last pitch, soaking up the sun, predicting the outcomes of each pitcher-hitter match up and observing the small games-within-a-game that comes from watching the defense change its positioning for each hitter.

It still confounds me that a team could leave the third base line completely open, shift all the infielders towards right field, and still, the hitter won’t push the ball in a place where he could get a single or double. After all, if they heeded the advice of Hall of Famer Willie Keeler who suggested they “hit it where they ain’t,” these batters could get a hit, raise their batting average and contribute to a rally just by pushing the ball to a huge expanse of open and unprotected grass in fair territory.

Amid the many relaxing and enjoyable moments of connection with my son, he shared that he kind of wished he had born in the winter. After all, he said, he loves hockey and always imagined going to an NHL game on his birthday.

I suppose the grass is always greener, even on your birthday.

To be fair, though, he did add that wasn’t a genuine wish, as he was thrilled to attend baseball games on his actual birthday, and he was pleased that, in every other year, he didn’t have to worry about exams.

Mice. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The English language makes no sense. As soon as you create a rule, exceptions crop up like mushrooms colonizing an open field.

Let’s start with the plural form of nouns.

“Add an ‘s’ and be done with it,” you might say. While that’s a simple solution, the language laughs in the face of such elegant simplicity.

Take the words “chief” and “thief.” Chief” becomes “chiefs” easily enough, as Kansas City football fans will readily tell you.

But then thief changes everything. The plural becomes “thieves,” as if someone robbed the word of its “f” and replaced it with something that sounds more vile and villainous.

The plural for hoof, as in the bottom of a horse’s foot, is hooves, but the acceptable plural for roof, which also only has one different letter way at the start of the word, is roofs. Yes, I know people say “rooves,” but that doesn’t make it accurate.

A root at the bottom of the tree that draws nutrients from the ground becomes roots. A single owl calling to another across the treetops utters a hoot. Several owls responding reply in hoots. So far, so good.

But then, what’s wrong with those things that are important for walking and that smell up a room when they sweat too much? How is it that foot, which also only differs in the initial letter, becomes feet?

Then there are the plural forms of animals. A mouse hunting for food with his rodent pals becomes mice, while a moose eating in a field with his family becomes, well, moose.

The moose, however, hasn’t cornered the market on words that describe an individual and a group. Deer, sheep, salmon and trout also don’t budge when switching from one to several. 

And why are the words for a group of animals different? Couldn’t they all be packs, herds, groups or schools?

Wolves banding together to hunt, live and howl form a pack. A family of giraffes is, fittingly, called a tower. That seems appropriate for animals that are born 6 feet tall.

But what about a collection of bears? They’re a sleuth, while a group of bats is a cloud.

One goose pooping on a field is inconvenient and messy, but is still a goose. Two of them are geese. A group of them walking on the ground is a gaggle, while those same birds in flight become a skein.

People often describe the challenge of bringing people together as akin to herding cats. While the verb is accurate, the name for a group of cats is not: they are a clutter, a glaring or a pounce, although numerous other words also describe a cat confab.

Now, more than one dolphin, those adorable marine mammals that make cool clicking sounds and perform at aquariums, becomes a school, which is also true of more than one fish, even though other marine mammals, such as walruses become herds or pods

When several ducks get together, they aren’t a flock, despite the fact that they are birds. They are a raft, perhaps reflecting the fact that they look like independent floats sitting on the water. Sea lions also become rafts when they’re together in the water.

Returning to those hooting owls, they become a parliament. Sure, that makes sense.

A group of hippos is called a bloat. While hippos average 3,310 pounds as an adult, the same word doesn’t apply to the larger elephant, which is part of a herd.

A number of crows is a murder, reflecting, perhaps, their ominous role in literature.

Penguins may take the word group crown, having a wide array of terms for them when they get together. A group is called a colony, rookery or huddles. It doesn’t end there. Swimming penguins, like ducks, are a raft. More likely than not, you might guess the name for walking penguins: they are a waddle.

Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I read bumper stickers, buttons, fortune cookies and messages on T-shirts. They are a form of poetry that captures a moment, an approach, an attitude, and a message in fewer words than some of the soupier birthday cards.

Like birthday cards, sometimes these messages work, are amusing, evoke a reaction, or make me laugh for intentional and unintentional reasons.

In the modern world, in which so many interactions seem less than optimal or contrary to the intentions, I have some suggested messages that reflect the current state of customer service and civility, or lack thereof.

— Please don’t interrupt. I’m in the middle of looking busy. When I started working many years ago, someone told me to balance between looking busy and being under control. She suggested I walk quickly and purposefully, even if just to the bathroom, to suggest that I’m too busy to tackle something new that might involve lots of administrative work.

— Yes, I am talking to you. Those of you old enough to have seen the Robert De Niro film “Raging Bull” will understand this one instantly. This message captures the prevalence of confrontations.

— I have no idea what’s good. I don’t eat here. Diners often ask waiters and waitresses, “what’s good.” More often than not, they tell people what’s popular dishes or their specials. The subtext here is that some of them don’t, can’t or wouldn’t eat where you’re eating, especially after spending considerable time in the kitchen.

— Everything and nothing is special today. Keeping with the dining theme, while blending in some grade inflation, waiters could provide something philosophical for their diners to consume.

— I believe in building suspense. The assignment, the job, or even the entree may be later than someone wanted. This message could suggest the tardiness was deliberate and was designed to enhance appreciation and add drama. So, you’re welcome.

— Sure, you can ask. I like the buttons people wear at Yankees games that encourage fans to ask a question. On a day when these customer service professionals are feeling tired or hung over, they could don messages that encourage people to move along or to figure out how to drive home to Pennsylvania from the Bronx on their own.

— How can I appear to help you? Life is all about optics. Yes, we should be helping and yes, people are paid to help each other, in person, on phone and on the Internet. Sometimes, the person (or artificial intelligence programs) that is offering assistance isn’t delivering much.

— I brought my own questions, thanks. I would love it if a politician wore this button to a debate. On one level, it could suggest the candidate has questions that are hopefully substantive for his or her opponent. On the other, it could be an honest way of acknowledging the disconnect between a question about the environment and an answer about the person’s commitment to family.

— What can you do for me? This is a way of turning the tables, literally, on a hostile or inappropriate customer. It also discourages people from asking too much of someone who is not eager to deliver.

— Is there anything else I can’t do for you? I’ve been on numerous calls with people who haven’t done anything, particularly when dealing with traveling details, who then ask if there’s anything else they can help me with. When they haven’t helped me with the first question, it’s hard to imagine they can help with a second. A more honest message might suggest that they also anticipate not being able to provide any help with a second problem or question.

— What did you get me for my birthday? People often want, or expect, something, even from strangers, on their birthday. They don’t often consider that the person from whom they expect service, help or extra treatment had a birthday they likely missed.

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We don’t usually go to bed thinking, “what if I’m wrong?” We don’t get up asking ourselves the same question.

We develop our beliefs, stick with them and, as time goes on, we defend them or push for change based on something we think, or are fairly certain, we know.

But it’s worth considering the possibility that we might be wrong, particularly in connection with something as important as the only habitable planet we know.

If you don’t believe climate change is a threat and you think rules restricting environmental pollution are unnecessary and a federal government overreach, have you considered the consequences of being wrong?

I won’t trot out all the climate science experts who have what they consider incontrovertible proof that the climate is warming based on years of data.

You’d probably come back with the argument that the data can be interpreted in other ways or that science itself rarely has complete certainty.

You might even suggest that a warmer climate would mean we wouldn’t need to use as much heat during the winter months and that some crops might grow better during a longer, hotter growing season.

While I don’t ascribe to those thoughts —which a headline grabbing Republican recently espoused — because of the danger to so many staple crops from a warmer season that could include droughts and storms that cripple cities and destroy crops, I want those who don’t believe climate change is real to consider what might happen if they are wrong.

At the time of this writing, the Supreme Court hadn’t ruled on West Virginia vs. Environmental Protection Agency. If the conservative majority, who have been reshaping the political and legal landscape at a rapid pace, rules as expected, the EPA will have less authority to regulate power plant pollution.

That would mean power plants won’t have to comply with federal rules that limit the gases they emit into the environment and the pollutants they send into the air.

These companies may be able to make more money by continuing to operate as they had in the past. Yay for them? Right? Well, not so fast.

What’s the risk if they are wrong? We all make decisions when weighing risks, whether it’s the types of stocks we invest in, the places we go that might be dangerous at night, or the undercooked foods we eat.

So, if they’re wrong, the world continues to heat up, storms such as hurricanes move more slowly, dumping more rain on any one area, crops get destroyed, glaciers continue to melt causing sea levels to rise, and biodiversity declines, wiping out species that might have otherwise led to cures for disease or provide future food sources.

Some areas also become uninhabitable.

Our children, grandchildren and future generations can’t come back to tell us who was right. What we do or don’t do, however, will undoubtedly affect them.

Using the same logic climate change deniers use to suggest that nothing is certain, it seems critical to hedge their bets, protecting us from a future they believe is possible but unlikely.

Even if the Supreme Court acts (or acted, depending on the timing) as expected, we don’t have to be fatalistic or cynical about the next steps in the battle against our own gaseous waste.

Utilities and other companies that produce these gases have to take responsibility for their actions, regardless of what the Supreme Court says or does. Even reluctant legislators have to consider what might happen if they are wrong. Yes, leaders have numerous other problems.

We can’t ignore the Earth. If some people consider the consequences of freeing up companies to send carbon dioxide into the only air we have, they might be making a one-way mistake. They must consider what will happen if they are wrong.

The White House. METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Dear President Biden,

In an ideal world, everyone would be rooting for you. After all, as the leader of the country, your success is our success.

That’s certainly how the late George H.W. Bush (41, not 43) felt when he left a supportive note for Bill Clinton, the politician who defeated him.

We don’t live in that world. People are actively rooting against you, many of them American and many of them eager for power, influence and opportunity. Against that backdrop, I’m sure it’s challenging to get out in front of any story or narrative. You can’t control gas prices, right? You can’t control the weather, the global economy, the war in Ukraine or anything else that’s casting a pall over the nation and the world.

And yet, your job requires a certain level of messaging, communicating and leadership. You might not feel you can do much about the litany of problems you face — Republicans won’t let you, inflation is cutting everyone’s pay, and Covid continues to make people sick.

But here’s the thing: you need to get out in front of something. You need to step up and tell us how things will get better. We want to believe you because everyone wants happier days.

That starts with you. In the midst of some heated tension with the Soviet Union, Ronald Reagan offered the country the kind of reassurance that you haven’t provided. Despite the collection of nuclear missiles pointed at us, Reagan suggested that we were safe and should sleep well.

Look, I get it. People pounce on every syllable you say that might be a bit hard to follow. You’ve had a long history of verbal gaffes. But you can’t let fear of saying the wrong thing keep you from saying anything. Americans see you periodically, but you rarely tell us anything memorable or offer us a digestible helping of hope.

Your administration as a whole seems to be following your lead. No one in your cabinet has given us the sense that things will get better soon or, for lack of a better phrase, “you got this.” You have the largest bully pulpit in the world. The press follows your every move. Use that to your advantage. Seize the narrative. Give us a Project Hope or a positive message. Celebrate Americans doing good for their country.

The talking heads on both sides have given Americans an enormous dose of anger every day. It’s become an outlet for their energy and a way to keep Americans glued to their screens, waiting for the latest outrage and the newest opportunity to be disgusted by the other side.

When you ran for office, you assured us that we would return to normalcy and that you’d bring some measure of civility and decency back to the oval office. Here we are, the clock is ticking, and the anger machines from our two parties are in full gear.

Show the kind of leadership the situations demand. You don’t have to solve everything at the same time, but give us a regular update or an idea of what you know will work.

We need you to show us you have ideas we can support and that you have a plan you’re putting into action.

I understand your plan is to run for office in 2024. Why? How would that help the country? We know Republicans in the house, outraged on behalf of the two impeachments of your predecessor, may launch a host of investigations into you and your son if, as expected, they take the majority in the upcoming midterms.

When that process starts, being angry and outraged will only throw your own fury on the fire. We, and you, need positive and effective leadership now. Talk to Americans, share your plan for a better today and tomorrow. We need you to succeed. While what you’ve done so far might be undervalued and undercovered, we need visible wins. Break this pattern and give us reasons to believe in you and in the future.

METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Even as I type this, I’m sure my mom, and the parents of people in their 40s and 50s, are going to laugh.

You see, my daughter turned 21 recently. For me, her age comes as a bit of a shock, a take-stock moment and a time warp enigma.

I get it. She’s lived 21 years, but, somehow, her reaching that age seems to have happened suddenly.

I know it’s not all about me, but it is in this column, so, hang with me for a few more minutes.

I don’t remember many of my birthdays when I was younger. At her third birthday, I’m pretty sure I didn’t stop and say to myself, “When I turned three, I was wishing with all my might for a Big Wheel.”

That probably was what I wanted, but I don’t remember thinking that. In fact, I don’t recall other landmark birthdays all that vividly, even though my parents invited my friends over, sang to me, and insisted that I make a “really good wish” before I blew out the candles.

What I remember from that age was my ambivalence. I was uncomfortable with all the attention, but I enjoyed the excitement of opening new presents. One year, all I wanted was basketballs, so I got three of them from my obliging social group.

So, back to our daughter. She earned this milestone birthday, leaving behind a trail of bread crumb memories.

On the day of our daughter’s birth, my wife insisted that I stay with her in the hospital no matter what was happening with my wife, so that we brought home the baby that had been “cooking” as we called it, for all those months.

It wasn’t hard to find our daughter, who has a distinctive birthmark and was exactly twice the weight of the baby next to her in the pediatric unit.

She went through numerous stages on the journey from that first miraculous day to now. When we moved out to a suburb from Manhattan, she took a walk through a nearby wooded path. An inchworm dangled from a tree and landed on her small, thin outstretched finger.

She carried it, slowly and carefully back to our house, offering to show this miracle to our new neighbors. Having lived their entire short lives in the suburbs, they didn’t relate to this city girl’s fascination with small samples of nature and returned to their driveway activities.

She took us with her on a journey that included brief visits to ballet studios (that ended abruptly) and to gymnastics floors (that also didn’t take). We spent considerably more time on hot softball fields and in confined volleyball gymnasiums, where ear-piercing whistles blended with teams celebrating the end of each point.

We also attended numerous concerts, including jazz bands, where she overcame stage fright to play a tenor saxophone solo.

We went through phases where nothing I said was right, funny or even worth sharing. The silent treatment, the lack of communication and the dubiousness with which she interacted with us helped prepare us for the moment when her younger brother exercised his own need to push us away and assert his independence.

So, here she is, at 21, driving a car, preparing for her senior year of college, making friends, gainfully employed during the summer, and filled with so much of the same wonder that defined her earlier years. In fact, these days, instead of carrying inchworms on her now manicured hands, she maintains several ecospheres filled with snails on a small table in her room.

When children act out, parents sometimes caution them that they may one day have a child just like them. In her case, I certainly hope so. I couldn’t wish anything better for our now 21-year-old.

Wedding. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We’re finally here.

These poor couples have had to wait for days, months and years to tie the knot in front of family and friends. It’s such a relief that we can all gather again, celebrating the love that binds two people forever and that may, if it hasn’t already, lead to children.

It seems that the list of dos and don’ts for weddings has changed, just as so many other parts of modern reality have altered the way we go about our lives.

Here are a few of the dos and don’ts, starting with the don’ts.

— Cough. Ever. If you have to cough, swallow it or make it sound like a strange laugh. No one wants to hear a cough, least of all at a wedding. Go outside to cough. Cough in the car. Cough into your hand like you’re saying something private and being discrete. Go to the edge of the parking lot and cough.

— Chew with your mouth open. No one wants to see the food you’re eating, especially not in the third year of COVID-19.

  Point to the food and say how much better you could make it. Look, we know that you’ve lost a step on your social graces from being home so often. We know that you’ve spent a great deal of time cooking meals to your satisfaction. We know that you are a great admirer of your own food, your own voice, and your own way of doing things. Appreciate that someone else has made the food and will clean it up and that they do things differently than you do. You can have food you know you love as soon as you walk back into your fortress of solitude.

— Talk about politics. You’re not going to convince anyone who doesn’t agree with you already of your views. So, why bring it up? This isn’t the time to try to make a reasoned argument with relatives who only share genes and nothing else. Smile if they bring something up you find disagreeable.

— Complain about the weather. The bride, groom and the extended family have no control over the weather. If it’s too hot, get a drink. If it’s too cold, shift back and forth from one foot to the other or bring a sweater. The weather is either perfect, dramatic, lovely or dynamic.

— Talk about your own wedding. If people were there, they remember. If not, they don’t need you to compare what’s going on to what you did. Your wedding may have been lovely, but you’re not there right now.

— Point to someone else’s mask and ask them why they’re wearing it. Do whatever is comfortable for you. Don’t tell anyone else what to do because, well, that doesn’t work and it gets people angry. They do their thing, you do yours.

— Binge watch shows while you’re waiting for the ceremony to start. Yes, the invitation said the party would start at 7 p.m. and it’s now 7:18 p.m. So what? You’re there to celebrate other people and to witness this lovely moment. Netflix and other shows can wait. Live your life.

— Show pictures of your pet. Many of us added dogs, cats and fish, particularly during the pandemic.

Okay, so, here is a short list of dos:

— Give other people a chance to talk. Silence, periodically, is okay. You don’t need to fill every quiet moment, if there are any, with your opinions, thoughts and experiences.

— Ask someone to dance who seems eager for a partner. Grab your mother-in-law, your brother-in-law, or your something-in-law by the hand, lead him or her to the floor, smile, and appreciate the chance to dance.

— Remember that you won’t have to see many of these people until the next blessed event, whenever that is.

— Thank the bride, groom and their families for a lovely event. Even if you hated it, you’ve got some good stories to share and you gave your wonderful pets a short break from you.

METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Once upon a time, a girl named Fiona read the book “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”

She thought it was funny and charming that a child could see what no one else admitted. But then, something strange happened: she thought she could also see things that no one else could.

“That’s sweet, Fiona, but focus on your school work and let your imagination run wild at other times,” her father told her that night.

Fiona did as she was told because she wanted to please her parents and her teachers. It was her teachers that caused problems for her.

It started with Mrs. Butler in her third grade class. A tall, thin woman with white hair and glasses, Mrs. Butler always wore high-heeled shoes. She looked directly in the eyes of every student. One day, her friend Simona fell and hit her head. When Mrs. Butler bent down and checked on her friend, Fiona saw the kind of coat doctors and nurses wear appear around her shoulders. Fiona rubbed her eyes, but the coat was still there. Mrs. Butler calmly told the class to go to their seats, sent Bill to get the nurse and kneeled on the floor near Simona.

When the nurse left with Simona, Mrs. Butler’s white coat disappeared.

The next day, Jeff couldn’t understand a math problem. He wrote numbers all over the paper, but he didn’t have the answer.

Fiona noticed a change again in Mrs. Butler’s clothing. Instead of her powder blue blouse, she had an orange vest and white gloves. With numbers on the smartboard, she directed Jeff away from all the dead ends.

When he got closer to the answer, Jeff smiled. Fiona looked back at Mrs. Butler, whose orange vest and white gloves disappeared.

Later, Doug and Andrew got into an argument near the stack of books at the back of the room. When Doug swung his arm to make a point, he knocked over several books.

Fiona saw Mrs. Butler’s clothing change again, this time into the kind of black and white stripes that referees wear in football games. She could even see a whistle dangling from her teacher’s neck.

The next morning, Jill and Amanda couldn’t agree on how to do a class project. Jill marched to the front of the classroom to complain. Amanda followed closely.

While Fiona couldn’t hear everything, she saw a black robe form around Mrs. Butler.

When the conversation ended, Mrs. Butler said something that made both girls happy. They shook hands and walked back to their desks, where they returned to work on their project.

One day, Fiona arrived early to class. She and her teacher were alone and she felt like she had to say something.

“Mrs. Butler?” Fiona asked.

“Yes?” Her teacher replied.

“I see all the clothing you wear,” Fiona said. “I don’t think anyone else sees it.”

Mrs. Butler narrowed her eyes and looked carefully at her student.

“What do you see?” Mrs. Butler asked.

She described the medical jacket, the orange vest, the referee’s coat and the judge’s robe.

“What do you think of all that?” Mrs. Butler asked.

“Is it real?” Fiona asked.

“Thank you for seeing,” Mrs. Butler grinned. Other students walked into the room and class started.

Just then, Fiona heard an alarm. Mrs. Butler reacted immediately. She held up a shield and directed everyone to the back of the room.

While they waited, Mrs. Butler told everyone to remain quiet. The class waited for the all clear.

“It was a drill,” Mrs. Butler said. “You can return to your desks.”

Fiona was the last to leave the classroom that day.

“Fiona?” Mrs. Butler asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “Thanks for … everything.”

METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Empty nest? Seriously? I almost want to laugh maniacally when people ask about our empty nest.

For starters, we have a dog and two cats, which means that our nest, such as it is, has plenty of creatures with ongoing needs. One of our neighbors even asks regularly about our “little one.” It still takes me a second to realize she’s not inquiring about our children, who are anything but little, but our dog, who is also over 80 pounds.

The pandemic and the weather have disrupted so much over the last few years that we half expect to see one or both of our children at the airport or on our doorstep at any given moment.

Sure, we’ve had a few weeks where we’ve been on our own (with our pets), but in between, we’ve entertained visitors thrilled to travel again. We, ourselves, have also traveled back and forth to visit family, which means that the whole us-time has morphed into a collection of pet feedings and short trips.

Like so many other parents of college kids, we welcomed our children back to our home recently. It’s a wonderful chance to see them face to face, when they pick their heads up from their phones, and to connect the dots on snippets of their lives that they’ve shared from a distance.

The dog, who loves both of our children something fierce and whose tail threatens to detach from his hindquarters and float to the ceiling each time they return, is completely exhausted. After a few late nights with the kids and their friends, the dog reaches the sidewalk in front of the house, stands stock still, and stares at me, as if to say, “you want me to walk now? Do you have any idea how late I stayed up?”

Once I coax him, in between clenched teeth, away from the house, he still stops at random places, eager to turn around and lay down.

The dog loves it when I chat with a neighbor, which gives him a chance to plop down on the grass and pant, as if I’ve taken him much further than the 1/8th of a mile from our home.

During a recent such pause, a neighbor shared the joy/frustration of having his two children in his house. His wife wants to institute strict rules about comings, goings, and living-under-their-roof. His son, a junior at a nearby college, is delighted for the home-cooked meals, but not so much for the home-cooked rules.

Both of our children have become nocturnal. They have no need to hear birds chirping in the morning, to plow through a plate of pancakes, or to share in the start of another day.

In the “late” evening (which is getting earlier for me each day), our children often appear as we’re going to sleep. Excited to see them, we sit up and engage in what can be competing conversations. It’s like that old joke about a lawyer who moves into town and has almost no business, until another lawyer comes and they’re both working nonstop.

Something about hearing a sibling talk greases the wheels for the other one, who then remembers important details to share.

The next morning, when we’re at our desks, our children are happily sleeping, resting and recovering and our dog is flat out on the floor.

Then again, the fatigue is more than offset by the joy of hearing about their adventures, marveling at their maturation, and steadying ourselves for the moments when they head back to their busy lives.

Checklist. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Some people live from one list to another, checking off boxes only to create new tasks and new goals.

Some of the things on the list are manageable, like picking up medicine from the drug store, shopping for the ingredients to cook dinner, or bringing a friend to or from the airport.

Others are much broader and appear on the list almost daily, even if we take small steps to get closer to them, like getting a job, losing weight, or moving to a new apartment or a new city.

Those bigger goals, while important, can make these lists cumbersome and, seemingly, never-ending. Perhaps we need a few easily achievable tasks that reflect the reality of our lives. To that end, how about a few items from the practical, the mundane and the absurd:

— Walk into a room, forget what you needed, stand in the room for a moment, shrug and walk out. While that doesn’t happen every day, it has certainly happened to me. I’ve also seen it happen to others. Somehow, putting it on a list makes it seem like an accomplishment, rather than a reflection of the distracted state in which we live.

— Pet an animal while working from home instead of finishing an assignment. While deadlines help us accomplish our goals, petting our dogs and cats, or staring at our fish, lowers our blood pressure and soothes us. Take a moment to enjoy the fur of a pet who will likely appreciate the attention.

— Turn off the light in a room when no one is there. Yes, this is small, but it lowers the electricity bill. Checking off this box should be easy and it increases our checked off list. The devilish among us might “accidentally” turn the light off when someone is in the room.

— Take a power nap. Instead of feeling guilty about walking away from your desk or your dog, feel good about the few minutes you get closing your eyes to restore your peace of mind.

— Use a new word, like feckless as often as possible. Feckless sounds kind of angry and frustrated, which can reflect the frustrations of a feckless manager.

— Throw something. Try not to break anything or cause any damage, but the sheer pleasure of throwing something like a football, baseball or even a balled-up piece of paper at a garbage can offer a satisfying outlet and a way to offset the figurative paper cuts we endure each day.

— Stop at a yellow light. I know we’re all in a hurry, but if we put this one on the list, we can feel good about stopping when the light is about to turn red.

— Smile at someone. This one is so easy, and yet it’s worth putting on a list because we might make someone feel better during the day or offer support in an important moment.

— Be grateful. Anger is everywhere around us, particularly on TV, where talking heads share the latest outrage from here, from there, from everywhere. Be grateful for the person who stocks the shelves at the grocery store, the person who takes your insurance information at the doctor’s office, or for the emergency workers who stand by ready to help the rest of us.

— Watch nature do something cool. Enjoy the sight of a wave on the beach, the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves, the parade of ants climbing a tree, or the shades of yellow and orange light that the sun casts on trees and the sides of buildings as it sets at the end of the day and as you’re checking off your list of manageable achievements.