Product Promises, Broken iPad & a Blessing

Jan23

My dear friend Cindie recently had what could have been a terrible, awful, and heartbreaking incident happen with her sons iPad mini, BUT, Walmart did something wonderful, something another company could have easily, and perhaps should have done themselves.

Cindie’s son is an adorable 9-year-old boy who dropped his iPad, breaking it. Now I know some of you might be thinking, why does a 9-year-old have his own iPad? Or something along those lines; the difference between Cindie’s son and an arguably overindulged 9-year-old with an expensive piece of technology is this, he is autistic.

This particular little boy uses his iPad to communicate, it is his voice. Like any responsible parent, Cindie did her best to protect her sons ability to communicate with the world. She purchased a protective case she was led to believe was pretty much indestructible.

Problem is, the case itself does fulfill the indestructible portion of its claims, but not so much the protective part. It fell short in its ability to protect what it was meant to protect, leaving Cindie and her son with an intact case on a broken iPad.

I realize we can’t blame a product for its hype or effectiveness, well, we can, but reality is, things happen and sometimes we just have to suck it up. I understand Cindie’s frustration with the product in question, I also understand that companies do not have to go out of their way to help us out when something goes wrong, but they can. Some do. Especially in circumstances like the one I’m sharing.

Thankfully, a company did step up, it wasn’t the one she’d expected.

The following is the message which prompted me add my own two cents worth of words . . .

PLEASE SHARE! From a note I wrote . . . I never write things, but I feel very strongly about this.

iPad smashed — The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

The Bad — My 9 year old son dropped and shattered his iPad mini at school. It had a Griffin Survivor case on it. My husband called Griifin and talked to customer service, and to their supervisor and to their supervisor (you get the picture). Well there is nothing they can do for us “But if the case is broken we will replace it.”

WHAT!!!! The case is not broken. The iPad it was supposed to protect is. http://store.griffintechnology.com/survivor-case-for-ipad-m…

The Good — Our local Walmart in Coventry, RI, upon hearing that R needed a new voice, has donated one to him! Yay Walmart! http://www.walmart.com/store/2283/

The Ugly —I’m feeling really ugly, mad, and hateful towards Griffin Technologies. Military tested! And it broke! Now I totally support our military, but, yeah, ummm Griffin you dropped the ball. How’s about Autism Tested?

That last bit there is a pretty good idea, I propose ALL products be autism tested as the new standard of durability!

Kudos to Walmart for extending such compassion.

I’d love to hear your suggestions, experiences, and advice in regard to what you feel is the best protective cases on the market, I’m sure Cindie would as well . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Testing Compassion Capacity

Jan23

My compassion capacity was tested the other day, just a little bit. Many of these moments occur in the same place, Walmart. People sometimes seem to schedule their shopping trips around the time they are in the worst possible mood.

I was in line, a long line. I like to think of myself as a patient person, but my patience had already been tested at least three times in the ten minutes before I took my place in that long line.

As I stood waiting, the cart behind me made contact, nudging me ever so slightly forward, I turned to see a little boy, no more than three or four, grinning gleefully at his accomplishment. I turned and resumed my attempt to practice patience in the face of all things Walmart.

It happened again, with just a little more force and obvious glee accompanied by giggles. I ignored it. I ignored it the third time as well. The fourth time, I turned in hopes of making eye contact with the little trolls mother, she was blissfully glued to her iPhone, unaware of the war her little munchkin had declared on me.

I was annoyed and out of what little patience I once had. I gave the boy that mommy look I keep in reserve, leftover from when my own children where still little trolls. It worked, at least I thought it did. He turned his attentions in full force on his mother. She told him to shut up. It’s always pains me to hear a mother slap down a child with those words.

I looked at them closer, at least I looked a little closer at the troll. He was starving, I could tell. Not for nourishment of the body, but for attention, and he was trying in every way he could to satisfy his hunger.

He tugged at her, she shoved his little hand away. He laid on the floor and tried to kick those within kicking distance. She reached down and pulled him by one arm back to a standing position. “Quit acting like a brat.”, she said. Her eyes never leaving the glowing screen in her other hand.

He resumed his cart bashing fun.

I firmly held the end of the cart and looked the little bugger right in the eyes . . . he cringed. I said, “You are really strong, aren’t you?” He smiled and tried to push into me again. Not strong enough. I was safe.

I looked at him again, really looked. He was dirty and disheveled and my heart broke a little. Mom was still absorbed in whatever escape she’d found on her phone. I looked at her. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, her hair was hastily drawn into a pony tail and she looked like I know I must have looked at some point in my parenting journey. Tired. So very tired.

Her little man was obviously a handful and a half. My ire for her began to fade. We’ve all had those days. Maybe she was a good mom. Maybe even a great one. Maybe, just maybe, it was simply one of those days.

I glanced back at the munchkin troll, if he hadn’t been trying to dislodge the bones in my ankles, I might have thought he’d had an afternoon of fun, playing in the dirt at the park. I may have thought he was just a little angel in need of a good nap.

Either way, it pained my heart and I whispered a prayer for them.

I could have easily been angered. I could have said something nasty to mom or been harsh to the boy. I chose to bite my tongue instead. I chose patience. I chose compassion. It isn’t always an easy choice, but it is one we must choose, especially when we are tempted to feed the anger and annoyances we feel, and especially, especially . . . at Walmart.

Crystal R. Cook

Will you join us?

Jan20

Momentary Disconnect

Jan19

Today I felt just slightly off-balance, a little less than completely out of sorts, but a little more than a little. I was rather disconnected from myself, not entirely, but sort of.

It’s a strange and disconcerting thing that sometimes happens to me. I feel like I’m peering through a dusty window, watching myself, observing my movements, eavesdropping on the thoughts of the me on the other side of the glass.

Sometimes I am back where I am meant to be, no longer watching, though still feeling separate, or at the very least, different. It’s dreamlike and odd and I don’t much like when it happens. It feels like nothing is real.

There is a slight emotional detachment from the rest of the world, from the ones closest to me, from myself. I know I am awake and present, but I’m not. Sometimes by limbs feel like they must surely belong to somebody else, my legs still move, my feet get from point A to point B even though I don’t feel like I am the one in control.

It never lasts long, this strangeness; it can feel like forever until it subsides. Realistically only minutes, sometime mere moments have passed, but the lingering memory of the spell takes as much time as it pleases to let me go.

None of this is new to me, sharing it is, however. I have had these happenings since I was a child, they often accompany or visit shortly after an anxiety attack or a melancholy mood has paid me a call. I always attributed it to my innermost self attempting some sort of escape in a less than pleasant moment.

I’ve recently learned this departure from self has a name, depersonalization or derealization. Fascinating. I always thought I was just weird, which I realize I am, but I found a sort of comfort in knowing this actually happens to people other than myself.

Depersonalization can be a syndrome, one so intrusive it is disabling to some, it can also be a symptom associated with other mental disorders such as schizophrenia. For those like me, it is generally linked to anxiety and stressors.

The most susceptible are those who have experienced past traumas, severe illness, or have witnessed or been subject to abuse. In some ways it sounds almost like a form of post traumatic stress.

For the time being, I am back to being me. I’m not entirely certain what triggered todays departure from reality, I’m not going to pay it much thought or attention, there are far too many wonderful things to fill my mind with.

Crystal R. Cook

What Does Compassion Mean to YOU?

Jan18

All Atwitter

Jan18

Small announcement.

I did it. I made a Twitter account. I swore I would never . . . I still hate the word hashtag, this does nothing to change my mind on that; but, maybe it will be like the avocado. Maybe. See previous post regarding avocados. actually, that post played a pivotal role in my decision to become a twitterhead.

I added the widget and everything. So, @QwietPleez is me.

That is all.

.coms and avocados

Jan18

I was 27 the first time I used the internet, I was a stay at home mom with four young house trolls and a husband too often far from home in service of his country. I had a computer, I got my first one In 1993. It was a beast of a machine, a wonderful machine, really not much more than a glorified word processor, but it allowed me to print my words to more than scattered notebooks and scraps of paper, it didn’t stop the notebooks and scattered papers from piling up though, it never will.

Fast forward to 1997 and we were dialed in the World Wide Web of Wonder. I was in point and click .com nirvana. I searched out and soaked up so much knowledge. I emailed friends and family everyday, at least I attempted to. I found places to write, to mentor, and learn, I became part of the online community.

Internet friends started talking about Facebook, encouraging me to join. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I checked it out, but my usual non-judgmental self became judgmental and I concluded this Facebook thing was for attention seeking, over sharing, drama addicts and bored housewives.

I figured it was probably much like MySpace, which I thought was simply dreadful. So, I refused to take part . . . but then . . . my family members joined the Book of Face and I realized it was actually a pretty cool way to have more of the interaction with them I so desperately desired. One day and I was hooked like a fish with a juicy worm on a hook.

I re-connected with old and dear friends I never thought I would see again, I made amazing new and fabulous friends, something I am generally incapable, or maybe just unwilling to do in the real world, and my life actually felt fuller. I kind of love Facebook.

Then there was this invite for a beta site called CafeMom. Pfft, dumb. I was bored though and the idea of being among the first to check out a new website and offer insights and suggestions sounded intriguing, so I joined. Life changed for me. It truly did. The life altering change happened when a stranger, a beautiful, fantastic, and wonderful stranger invited me to a group she was building there, an autism support group.

Historically, I have always steered clear of support groups, I never truly found much support within them. Something just felt right though. I have two boys on the spectrum and thought, if anything, I could offer support, advice, and encouragement to other moms blazing and tumbling along the same path. I never expected to be the recipient of any of those things, but I was.

The friendships I forged there transcended the group, they became more than my autism support group friends, they became my true, real, and lasting friends.

Then this thing called Pinterest popped up. Ha! Waste of time for sure! No way was I getting sucked in to that nonsense. I suppose you can guess what happened, the vacuum that is all things positively pinteresting sucked me right in. I can truly say I am addicted to Pinterest, to pinning and re-pinning. This may sound silly, but it’s therapeutic for me and quite calming. I kind of love Pinterest.

I write. A lot. When people would find out, they would always ask where my blog was, what blogging platform I used, and why the heck don’t you have a blog? You should totally start a blog.

Honestly, I used to think of blogging in much the same way I felt about avocados and I didn’t like avocados. I’d never actually tasted an avocado, but I knew I wouldn’t like them. In truth, I didn’t really know what a blog was. I had no idea most of my favorite places to visit online were, in fact, blogs.

One day, I accidentally ingested a bit of guacamole. Taste bud heaven opened up, I loved avocados. Loved them. I figured if I could love the vegetafruit called an avocado, maybe, maybe I was being wrongly stubborn about other things.

I started a blog. I love blogging. I love blogging and avocados and Facebook and an online support group and Pinterest. Love them.

I just know ya’ll were simply dying to know my history of all things internet, (you didn’t know you wanted to know, but you did and now you do). Then again, I may have just bored ya to tears, which was actually my inspiration for writing this all down, not to bore you to tears, but because I was bored.

I shouldn’t be bored because I have tons to do, other things I should be writing, and laundry and getting dressed, which is precisely why I am doing this instead. I don’t wanna do those other things . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Coffee Shop Blessing – compassion in action.

Jan17

My recent involvement with the amazing compassion initiative #1000speak, has me thinking quite a lot about moments I’ve been witness to acts of kindness and compassion, I wish there were more of these moments to remember, perhaps one day my heart will be filled to capacity with these beautiful memories.

I’ve shared this particular story before, it seems appropriate to re-share as I gather my thoughts in preparation for February 20th, the day 1000 bloggers will come together to reach every willing ear with a message, a call to action, an invitation to embrace compassion and kindness.

My Coffee Shop Blessing

My heart was touched today by an unexpected kindness I was blessed to be witness to . . .

I went to the coffee shop to write, I wasn’t intending to document my time there, sometimes we choose what to write, sometimes we write what chooses us.

I’m watching the world from a cozy corner of the coffee shop. On hot days like this everyone orders iced coffees and teas, except the older folk, they seem to be sticking to good old hot coffee, nothing fancy. I’m glad they do, a mocha frappucino just doesn’t have the delightful aroma only a freshly brewed cup of coffee can hold.

It’s busy today. Usually I make a hasty retreat home when all the tables are filled and the line is long, but today the people have captivated me. I don’t wish to speak to them mind you, just watching them suits me fine. It’s kind of a hobby I suppose you could say. You learn a lot about human nature by observing the people around you.

I feel like a documentarian hidden from some undiscovered tribe in some far off mountain jungle, taking notes for what will be a fascinating new Discovery Chanel exclusive. Except if I was, I think I’d just leave them be, why risk them being invaded by what we call humanity. Perhaps our world has me feeling a bit jaded today, I wouldn’t mind being part of a tribe far removed from civilization to be honest, it’s getting difficult to find much civility these days.

Enough with the noises in my own mind . . . A woman just walked in, she looks a bit disheveled and a lot perturbed, sort of how I look after cleaning house all morning actually. She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily as she took her place in line. She isn’t the only one here with their grumpy face on, it’s a shame, I wonder if they realize what a beautiful day it is. Maybe they are jaded as well.

A middle-aged man trying unsuccessfully to look like a younger version of himself just took out his earbuds to ask why there aren’t more people behind the counter. There are four of them back there, two on the registers and two making drinks. I don’t think there’s enough elbow room for another. It looks like the grumpy lady is leaving. Only three people left in front of her too. I’m going to whisper a prayer for her, she needs a blessing today. Maybe two.

Ah, loud talking cell phone man has made an entrance. There is always a loud talking someone on a cell phone these days. It seems he has a Dr. Appointment a 3:00 to get his cholesterol checked and needs to stop by the store for some bread. He has plans for the weekend so he won’t be able to make it even though he really wanted to be there. For some reason I think loud cell phone man is fibbing. He’s probably going to forget the bread.

Oh, grumpy lady has returned, she still looks annoyed, but with one person in line now maybe she’ll stay long enough to order. She keeps looking at her phone and frowning at it, she can’t seem to keep her foot from tapping. There is an air of expectant worry about her. Maybe three blessings today would be best.

I find myself drawn to one girl in particular, a lovely young lady so self-conscious about her weight she draws attention to it by tugging and shifting her clothes with every breath. She has no idea she is the most beautiful girl in the room. She noticed me looking and tried to shrink into the wall. I smiled, but I don’t know if she saw me. Her clothes and bright red hair seem to scream for attention, but her eyes don’t reflect the same need. I hope someone tells her she’s beautiful today.

Everyone not completely glued to an electronic screen of some sort is looking toward the homeless man who just came in. He makes his temporary home behind the strip mall around the corner, I’ve seen him here before. He’s waiting in line to ask for some water. Depending on who answers and what kind of day they are having he may not be given any.

Sophia, formerly known as grumpy lady, has just picked up her tea, I would have thought she was a coffee drinker. You just never know. She is watching the homeless man as well. The girl at the register just turned him away.

Several minutes have passed since the homeless man was told if he was not a paying customer he would have to leave. I had to stop watching and writing for a spell. People surprise me sometimes. When Sophia saw him turn to leave she reached out for his arm. When he looked up from the floor she offered her drink to him, she said, “I haven’t taken a drink yet.”

He shook his head no, but she smiled and he accepted the kindness. I found myself wiping my eyes as he walked out the door. Sophia returned to the line she seemed so frustrated with before. There were four people ahead of her, every one of them let her pass to the front. The girl behind the register said, “You know, you can’t help them all.” Sophia handed her a five dollar bill and said, “No, but you could have helped him.” Still wiping my eyes I smiled at her as she walked by, she smiled back. A man sitting a few tables from the door got up and opened it for her. I thanked God for getting to those blessings so quickly.

I’ve learned things are not always what they seem, people are often more than we expect them to be, sometimes they are less. Sometimes they just need someone to be kind, to look past their grumpy expression, their weight, their manner of dress, their color, their status, their extroverted nature or their introverted nature, and see the person beneath it all.

I love sitting here at the coffee shop, just watching the people.

Crystal R. Cook

#confession, #1000speak, #octothorpe

Jan17

I have a confession to make.

I hate hashtags. I love octothorpes. At least, I love the word associated with the symbol commonly known to most these days as, and I cringe to say it, a hashtag.

I am not entirely certain why I have such disdain for the new terminology. I don’t deal well with change. I realize octothorpe is archaic terminology, some even dispute its correctness, but I embraced it long ago. It has been called many things, pound sign, number sign, hash mark; none of which I have ever objected to, but for some reason, hashtag annoyed me the moment it became a thing.

I vowed to never, ever, not ever use a hashtag. Perhaps it was my way of rebelling against the text-speaking society we have become. It bothers me to see my beloved words reduced and mangled and mashed, I don’t want to spend precious moments deciphering messages like a spy.

I tried it once. I wrongly assumed WTF meant way too far; the conversation did not go as planned.

Back to my confession, I have embraced, semi-sort of and in a round-about way, the hashtag. Not entirely mind you, and it wasn’t without hesitation, but the reason for my change of heart is worthy. Well worthy.

#1000speak

1000 Voices for Compassion. Well worthy indeed.

The blogosphere is filled with amazing, talented, beautiful people and two of these beautiful people had a conversation, one that led to an idea, a glorious idea. They realized our world needed to embrace compassion, and indeed it does. Because of their compassion, a movement has begun.

The idea of 1000 bloggers, 1000 voices from around the globe coming together on the same the day to share a message. Brilliant.

On February 20, 2015, the interwebs will be inundated with words of hope, kindness, acceptance, and love . . . It will be filled with compassion, because of compassion.

It doesn’t have to stop at 1000 voices, we all have a voice. We share a global platform from which we can shout out this message, the world needs to be reminded compassion can change us, it needs to change us.

I invite, challenge, encourage, and implore you to join us on February 20th to share your thoughts, ideas, and from the heart feelings. You don’t have to be a blogger or a writer or a poet, simply share your message of compassion with your Facebook families, your Twitter fans, your Instagram and Tumbler friends.

Don’t forget to use the hashtag.

#1000speak

Crystal R. Cook