Is it December already?  November whooshed by like a turkey flushed from its roost.  I hope December will linger a while longer.

 

The Holidays always throw off my rhythm a bit.  We have three day workweeks, four day workweeks, and days off that fall in the middle of the week.  I find myself wearing sweaters with trees and snowflakes and glitter and reindeer that make me look like some sort of circus clown or walking billboard.  Parties are so frequent that I can't remember whether I'm the hostess or the guest. 

 

I like my routine and Christmas always pushes me out of my comfort zone.  It's a season of excess.  Too much family and friends.  Too much food and drink.  Parties with co-workers.  Red shoes and gold blouses.

 

This Christmas I'll try to stay balanced while enjoying the season.  I will keep up with my aerobics class.  I will not stress out over the perfect gift for my sister.  I will watch what I eat and drink.  I will try to keep my blouse and bra on at this years office party.  And, most of all,  I'll relax and enjoy myself during this season of peace.

How often have I said, "The squeaky wheel gets the grease?"  How unfortunate is that, especially when the wheel just thinks it is squeaky, or, worse, is pretending to be squeaky?  Little kids learn how to squeak very early.  One whines and complains and gets attended to.  This doesn't escape the notice of her sibling who escalates the war of whining.  If I make the mistake of giving in I find myself in the middle of a neverending cycle of demands and conciliation.

 

At the office, clients who make the most noise get preferential treatment.  It doesn't matter that they may be miserable people who can never be satisfied; they get attention simply by squawking.  And by doing so they take attention away from the patient and satisfied clients who happen to be our best sources of referrals. 

 

In our quest for peace we are rewarding and encouraging poor behavior that is anything but peaceful.  If I come home in a foul mood or if I peevishly snap at my husband during PMS-induced delerium his being nice to me just invites more abuse.  A surly teenage daughter will not be any more pleasant when I try to respond with kindness.  My frustrated and pushy sister responds to nothing less than a curt, "I can't talk to you right now."

 

Here's a call for a little more corseness in our dealings with one another.  Politeness has its place, but so does directness and assertiveness.  Everything does not have to be greased.  Some interactions need to be rough.  Those who push boundaries should meet resistence, whether that boundary is one of social propriety, physical integrity, workplace abuse, or constant implacable demands.  Grease is good, but we can only move forward through the traction we get from grit.