Dear Cold Caller,

You are lucky if you get this reply from a potential customer,

"We aren't able to use your product right now, but please take my email and send me information because we would like to be able to plan for it."

The correct response can come in many forms.  It does not, however, sound like this:

"Well we don't send out information.  That would be a waste of time for us."

Because, as it happens, any follow up response from said potential customer (SPC) will include a short but sweet declination of your services ending with the statement, "because that would be a waste of time for us."

Furthermore, when you then give out your website address, SPC will not even pretend to write it down.  She will, though, roll her eyes at the not-quite-cleverly misspelled name of your company before hanging up.

Oh Christmas Tree

Tom's third trip to California to see me was right after Christmas, 2000.  One thing we did was drive out to Santa Monica to visit his uncle, Frendell.  (His name is Frederick Wendell Somethingorother.  He grew up as Fred and then switched to Wendell for the stage; his kids dubbed him Frendell.)  Wendell has a book-lined apartment right behind the main drag.  A few memories stick out from that night.  One was that Wendell had this perfect little Christmas tree on a table, covered in candles and ribbons.  He lit the candles, turned out the lights and we sang "Oh Christmas Tree."


Today we did not sing any Christmas jingles, but we did drive down to a lovely Christmas tree farm where Tom and Mad selected our tree and Tom cut it down.  Fynn and I were nursing in the car (out of the rain) during the selection, but we were there to ooh and ahh over Daddy's quick work at cutting down the tree.  Mad, Fynn and I were very impressed that it took two men to carry away the tree Tom had just cut down by himself.


The tree farm was the last of several stops today.  We'd left home just before 10:00 and headed home around 4:00.  Mad hadn't napped all day.  Tom said, "I'll bet she falls asleep on the way home."


"Okay, what do you want to bet?"

"You don't think she'll fall asleep?"

"It's not that.  I'm up for a wager."


Tom's considered answer was, "An hour of control in the bedroom."


As we arrived home I said, "Prepare to do some serious laundry folding, dude."