Justin wouldn’t stay off the road tonight, with his bike or his hockey stick.
Korey wouldn’t do his homework.
Justin wouldn’t get out of the sandbox and come in the house for dinner.
Korey wouldn’t stop asking for just one more candy.
Justin wouldn’t stop taking the bikes out of the shed.
Korey wouldn’t stop crying because Mandy ate his salad.
Justin wouldn’t stop saying Korey was a baby.
Both cried because it was time for bed.
Neither would stop asking for one more kiss.
No complaints.
I just learned my new friend had her twin boys prematurely. They cling to hope. White light, white light, white light. May the universe bring strength and healing to you all, abundantly.
My brother-in-law very matter-of-factly called me a rather unpleasant name yesterday. I was thinking, “WTF!?”, but my very calm response was, “is that how you are experiencing me, or is that how you are remembering me?”
The reason this exchange didn’t escalate into a domestic 911 emergency is because he’s known me since I was 9 years old, and I’m sure for brief moments during all these years, I’ve been a “LMIB” a time or two—especially during puberty and those confusing teen years, not to mention swelling to nearly twice my size…twice. Still no excuse to call me out, but I accept (not subscribe to) his foibles. I’ve known him a long time too and my memories of him aren’t exactly snow white.
This got me thinking. When building a brand, is it the experience we are trying to create or the memory of the experience? There are businesses I shy away from because I have a bad memory of them. Often when I give them a chance, my experience is good and slowly my bad memories are replaced. And if it’s done right, the new memories are more positive than if they had gotten it right the first time. Still, I tend to forgive, not forget.
Remember the Tylenol scare in the 80’s. My memory of that still makes me shiver when I grab the red bottle and often I’ll buy generic—and not because of the price. Intellectually I know everything is ok, but my memory rules.
Often though, the problem doesn’t even stem from the product or service. Sometimes it’s a seemingly minor touch-point that just doesn’t live up to the brand promise. I’m not a difficult consumer, but I do expect consistency and good customer policies—the first of which is the customer always has something valid to say.
The strongest trigger of memory is scent and scent marketing is happening all around us. In big-box stores, speciality departments will infuse a scent into the air to attract consumers to their product. Real Estate agents have been doing this for years—advising clients to bake bread or boil cinnamon before an open house. Scent marketing seems risky though, especially in this age of “noscents” and extreme intolerance. While scent marketing is not really a practical tactic for the online arena, it is interesting. Besides, who said, if it can be dreamed, it can be done?
Great experiences give birth to great memories. Creating great experiences is within the direct control of every business. The resulting memories are personal and a lot more powerful.
By the way, my brother-in-law was remembering, not experiencing me and I’ll still be experiencing him—albeit, a lot less often.
My car sat overnight in the parking lot at work. I was so hoping it would be gone when I returned. Two years ago I was sucked into buying extra insurance that gives me 5 grand if it’s stolen and unrecovered. This wouldn’t be such a bad deal considering that’s a lot more than I’d get on a trade-in. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to hire a hitman for my car. But its innocent disappearance wouldn’t break my heart. I’m ready for a new relationship.
I’m lamenting the rain. I know it brings fertility and cleanses nature’s palette, but I haven’t been able to bounce in 2 days. There in the backyard sits our beautiful new trampoline, waiting patiently for us to climb aboard and begin our awkward, gleeful levity. My only consolation is that I have more time to practice my kegel exercises, which, I discovered, are absolutely necessary prior to bouncing.
The morning went well for a change. The kids were happy to have eggos on the go, without syrup or the drink of the week, TMNT fart juice. We piled in the car, dog and all. I was agitated that the check engine light had turned off after 5 days of steady illumination…my appointment 2 days later would prove a complete waste of time without the dammed light on. I willed it to re-light.
After the kids were deposited at the sitters, Mandy and I made our way to her spa appointment. We didn’t get far. The car started to sputter and then the check engine light began dancing to an uncontrollable beat. The car stopped, right outside the entrance to the elementary school. School buses and busy parents dodged to the left and right, annoyed but still pleasant, as far as I could tell.
The ETA on roadside assistance was approximately 1 hour so Mandy and I walked home. The spring fur balls would remain for another day. Once she was safely barking her face off inside the house, I made my way back to the car. Being a good canine citizen and not wanting to tempt karma, I collected her droppings from the walk home, and fantasized about leaving them somewhere at the car dealership…don’t you even think about touching that link.
Three calls to work, 2 canceled appointments and 1 (long-overdue) crafted thank you note later, three guys in a tow truck arrived. I’m not sure exactly why there were three…oh yeah, it was training day. The funny thing was they all seemed to be in charge. I couldn’t tell exactly who was training who, unless it was, of course, me being trained in the art of, ‘just don’t make small talk, this will all be over soon’.
They sat me in the front seat and proceeded to coax and ram my car onto the truck. I think I heard it crying for me. I wasn’t listening, it deserved the rough handling. I was secretly hoping it would fall off the back and innocently roll off a cliff, never to be seen again. I was even willing to part with my favourite yoga mat and Justin’s most prized, “real” hockey stick, nestled securely in the trunk.
The drive to the dealership…don’t touch it…was…more male bonding than I had all of last year. The guy behind me was having phone sex with his girlfriend, “I love you…why? Because you take care of me…I think you know what I mean.” Fortunately, and I mean for me, he was interrupted by his other cell phone before the climax.
The driver then took a call, became agitated and threw his phone against the front window. Silence loomed large. “Wife?” phone-sex guy asked. “No, worse…my mother,” was the reply. That awkward exchange was satisfyingly cut short, when a call came over the radio, “When you’re done there can you call me, there’s a baby locked in a car.” I wanted to scream, “forget about me…go get the kid.” I didn’t. It wasn’t hot out, the child was likely not in any danger or they would have called the cops, right? I mean I just wanted to get to the dealership…ah, ah, ah…as quickly as that tow truck haulin my sorry-ass car would go.
Once we arrived, phone-sex guy kindly offered me his greasy, black, rubber-rubbed hand to help me down from the truck. Now, I’ve been in a truck or two in my day, and didn’t actually need the help, but didn’t want to appear rude or manly. I gently brushed the cleanest part of his jacket I could find, somewhere just above the elbow, and…I was free. Scarred but not cut.
My cab ride to the office was much more relaxing as was the return 7 hours later knowing my bank account was only dented $44. My warranty runs dry in August and it’s cliff or sale for my 2001 Jetta. I think every part has been replaced or poked at least once. This time it was the ignition switch and something was blocking the air filter, likely Mandy’s fur.
That’s what I get for buying a car in the rain. It looked so shiny and clean and worthy sitting there on the lot that fateful day at the dealership.
I’m discovering an enviable place. It’s filled with passion, love and light that doesn’t dimmer, even when a storm raves. It’s where I want to be with all my heart. Open and full and still able to accept more. Where life is fun and joyful, serious but not dry, reaching not pulling and accepting not diminishing. Tears roll for the life I’ve created not wanted. There’s no blame, just acceptance and the lessons learned. Time moves me forward. I gather the greastest parts of me. My enviable place awaits.
The trampoline is finally here. It takes up most of my backyard and is likely an eye-sore for the neighbours, but I don’t care. It’s amazing how much lighter you feel, in mood and mass, when you experience life mid-air. My kids and I are birthing lots of great memories with games like: popcorn, egg breaker, Johnny butt cracker, face plant and genie in a bottle. Plus, they are content to be completely caged in the backyard, burning off all the extra energy that seems to cause wild mood swings and random attacks on each other.
The health benefits of bouncing are enormous. Since the lymphatic system doesn’t have a natural pump, bouncing is really great for keeping things moving and ridding your body of toxins and unwanted deposits. And, the cardiovascular benefits are swift and effortless. Your heart-rate rises quickly and it’s easy to maintain because you just don’t want to stop. It’s a fun, low-impact and strenuous workout. I have a physio appointment Monday morning. I’m sensing we’ll be covering new ground.
While I’m blessing it with safe white light, I’m grateful to have such an efficient and delicious toy.
“Mommy, I made stars today.”
“You did! That’s great. I can’t wait to see them.”
“Do you like stars Mommy?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Because they are shiny?”
“Shiny and bright and they twinkle.”
“Mommy, you’re my star.”
—does it get better than that?
If we can’t remember, it’s better left forgotten. How did that go? I’m too tired to think past the moment, backward or forward. I’m staying here for a while and trying to refuel.
Just a Moment 