FIRST IMPRESSIONS

When my oldest brother first met the woman who would become his wife, he took along a picture of himself to show her. That’s not as odd as it sounds. They were set up on a blind date at a Halloween party. He wore a quite convincing costume and wanted to make sure she knew what he normally looked like.

He understood the value people place on first impressions. The picture of himself was his insurance against her developing a bias which might have derailed the relationship before it even started. I’m sure there were other factors at play, but since they got married, obviously it worked.

Quite often the judgment a person makes when first meeting someone can define the entire scope of their relationship. Certainly by staying alert and developing our powers of observation, we can glean much information from subtle clues. However, it’s unfortunate that a brief snapshot in time can become the sole basis for assessing the entire scope of a human being.

This is especially unfortunate because at any given moment, we can either rise to new heights of social savvy or dive into depths of dimwitted delirium. If we meet someone when we’re riding one of those lows, we could make a terrible impression that we can never overcome. On the other hand, that bad first impression may have nothing to do with us at all. It could also be the person we’re meeting is riding his or her own low and that is tainting their objectivity.

Judgments, no matter how useful, can also create false impressions which lead us astray.

They tend to get applied whenever we feel a personal assault. Problems arise because, as it turns out, very rarely is anything ever intentionally meant as a personal assault. Usually it’s just a misinterpretation on our part, based on only having partial information. But when our egos feel bruised, our otherwise impartial observations become poisoned. We make a judgment, justifying it with our misinterpretation of that partial information.

Learning when to apply judgments and when to hold them at bay can be a useful skill. It’s pretty clear when judgments are needed for decisions regarding purely physical events; like whether to race across a busy street when a small opening appears or deciding to stand on a chair when reaching for something, instead of getting a ladder. But when the decisions involve interaction with other people, they’re not as clear.

At those times, we can learn to rely on another source of guidance. This source comes from somewhere deep inside. I call it the “inner voice.” I don’t really know where it comes from, but it is the voice of “higher reasoning.”

I’ve learned to recognize this voice from all the other “voices” in my brain because it’s the one which always speaks from a sense of calm. It is never anxious, nor does its advice ever feel uncomfortable. It makes its statements matter-of-fact and leaves it to me to accept or reject them based on the gift of free will. It doesn’t try to coerce me or offer justification. It simply suggests in a non-threatening tone.

I have my personal belief that this “voice” is my direct connection to the divine, but it may just be my conscience speaking. Either way, I don’t have to understand its source to benefit from its wisdom.

Try listening for it yourself. It speaks in many situations, but you might find it useful next time you meet someone for the first time who seems to fall below your limit of acceptability. Their poor first impression may have nothing to do at all with their underlying personality. Then again, you might ask if they have a picture of their real self to show you.

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OH #$%^! TREE


I love the Christmas holiday season with all its festive trimmings and lights. The joy of Christmas time is truly infectious.

The only thing that would please me more is seeing a hunky Santa in a thong. Yeah, I’ve got some hot buttered rum for you, baby.

I used to wait until the first week of December to decorate for Christmas — but not anymore. I start right after Halloween, after I’ve eaten all the candy I bought for those pesky tricker-treaters. I skip decorating for Thanksgiving completely. It’s not a real holiday anyway. Just ask Native Americans.

Why should I waste my time with rotting pumpkins and tired-looking Pilgrim figurines when I can have Santa and Mrs. Claus getting’ down on my mantle? Why should I muck around with making a pecan pie no one will eat when I can have fun making anatomically-correct Gingerbread men?

I don’t decorate with garlands of popcorn or cute paper chains. I go for stuff you notice — like an animated Santa that passes wind as he does his “ho, ho, ho-ing”. I’m especially proud of the outdoor nativity scene I made out of butter. Yup, it’s not just for cooking anymore.

I did get in trouble with the Homeowner’s Association (HOA) though. I was caught sprinkling “reindeer patties” on my neighbor’s lawn. Hey, I was only getting even for his dog doing its business on my lawn, sans pooper-scooper. In the spirit of Christmas, I just thought it was fair for my neighbor to “receive” as he had no trouble “giving.”

I like having outdoor lights, but only if someone else hangs them for me. I found out we have HOA rules for that. There’s a maximum number of lights allowed. You can’t mix clear lights with colored ones. And they have to be the low-energy, LED kind. The November newsletter warned, and I quote, “All townhome Christmas displays must be harmonious, in keeping with the general theme of the neighborhood.”

Even though this year I had no one helping me with lights, I felt the need to respond to this attack on individuality. At a garage sale I bought some old-fashioned, outdoor lights. You know the kind, with bulbs about the size and shape of enema bulbs?

I didn’t count the lights when I draped them around a buttery Mary and Joseph. I pooled a string of white and green ones on the ground, under the muzzle of a greasy manger cow. This was supposed to look like grass, but resembled vomit — consistent with the “general theme of the neighborhood.” Satisfied, I sat back and waited for the Harmony police to track me down.

There was a knock at my door. The HOA Chairman and the Landscape Director came to see me. I could hardly keep the sick smile off my face. I waited for them to verbally flog me for my HOA violations.

“Miss Denise, Herbert and I are trying to figure out what that mess is out there on your lawn. We think it might be a sewer backup.” I gazed over his shoulder, puzzled.

I saw no Christmas illumination. But, by the light of an overhanging street light, was a string of shorted-out lights floating in a pool of melted butter.

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