You’ve got to love the people who get high watching Oprah and perusing spiritual enlightenment picture books and then go on a preaching stampede, telling anyone who will listen that looking at things from a positive angle is the solution to all the world’s problems, which are caused by those who bitch and complain too much. A few months ago I collided with one such individual over the issue of tree removal. In 2002 I planted a stick in the ground, essentially, that grew into a Eucalyptus tree that was at least 50 feet tall and was, briefly, the horticultural wonder of my neighborhood. I loved the silvery green sheen of the leaves, the white bark and, most of all, how out of place it looked. Sadly, the tree got zapped last winter, when the temperature hovered around 18 degrees for many days. By April it was clear that the tree needed to be removed. The tree wasn’t much in terms of bulk, but it was tall and power lines were involved. “My God,” my friend the positive thinker exclaimed. “That’s going to cost you. That’ll cost a fortune, I bet.”
My guilt here – and it is considerable – is that I internalized this oft-repeated bantering to the point where I was queasy just thinking about calling around to find out how much it would cost to have the tree removed. I do not use the word guilt in order to appear reasonable and civilized. I use it seriously. My guilt is that I ignored one central fact that’s kind of a game changer: my happy-go-lucky, positive-thinking friend has never, ever had a tree removed. So I now must admit that I’m as guilty as anyone when it comes to not letting the facts interfere.
Having the tree taken down did require me to make a few arrangements. The tree company came over and gave me an estimate, but I forgot to get it in writing, so I had to call them back and ask if they could drop it by. Joseph, the beautiful, haunted looking young man I dealt with, said he could bring the paperwork over at about 3:30, and his truck pulled up at exactly that time. I had a bit of a run around with a woman at the power company, who kept changing how much advance notice was required to arrange a service shut off. I finally told her to please let me know what date worked best for her and offered to reschedule accordingly. She said, in a sort of huffy tone (although I’ve heard way worse) that the date I’d scheduled the tree removal, September 2nd, would be fine. A few minutes later another woman from the power company called me back and told me that someone from Pacific Power would be at my house that morning at 9 if not a few minutes before. Her name was Mary.
The tree was gone by 11 that morning. I was surprised at how sad I was to see it go, but equally surprised at how pleasant the house smelled the rest of the day. And speaking of surprises, I cannot believe how much I've enjoyed being totally passive-aggressive with my glass-half-full! friend. In a very forced-to-sound-casual way, he did ask how the whole thing had turned out. I told him it went fine. He stopped short, of course, of asking me what it had cost, and I kept it to myself, because my commitment to not gloating over proving someone wrong is sincere. One of the few things I didn’t like about my mother was her terminal zeal for starting statements with, “As I tried to tell you …” As much as I wanted to pound my chest about how very little the tree removal process had cost, I still think talking about money in a competitive way is tasteless. Plus, I’d be lying if I denied that it’s kind of fun to listen to someone scramble around a conversation like a lab rat, desperately searching for any morsels that will help him avoid admitting that he was wrong.
My guilt here – and it is considerable – is that I internalized this oft-repeated bantering to the point where I was queasy just thinking about calling around to find out how much it would cost to have the tree removed. I do not use the word guilt in order to appear reasonable and civilized. I use it seriously. My guilt is that I ignored one central fact that’s kind of a game changer: my happy-go-lucky, positive-thinking friend has never, ever had a tree removed. So I now must admit that I’m as guilty as anyone when it comes to not letting the facts interfere.
Having the tree taken down did require me to make a few arrangements. The tree company came over and gave me an estimate, but I forgot to get it in writing, so I had to call them back and ask if they could drop it by. Joseph, the beautiful, haunted looking young man I dealt with, said he could bring the paperwork over at about 3:30, and his truck pulled up at exactly that time. I had a bit of a run around with a woman at the power company, who kept changing how much advance notice was required to arrange a service shut off. I finally told her to please let me know what date worked best for her and offered to reschedule accordingly. She said, in a sort of huffy tone (although I’ve heard way worse) that the date I’d scheduled the tree removal, September 2nd, would be fine. A few minutes later another woman from the power company called me back and told me that someone from Pacific Power would be at my house that morning at 9 if not a few minutes before. Her name was Mary.
The tree was gone by 11 that morning. I was surprised at how sad I was to see it go, but equally surprised at how pleasant the house smelled the rest of the day. And speaking of surprises, I cannot believe how much I've enjoyed being totally passive-aggressive with my glass-half-full! friend. In a very forced-to-sound-casual way, he did ask how the whole thing had turned out. I told him it went fine. He stopped short, of course, of asking me what it had cost, and I kept it to myself, because my commitment to not gloating over proving someone wrong is sincere. One of the few things I didn’t like about my mother was her terminal zeal for starting statements with, “As I tried to tell you …” As much as I wanted to pound my chest about how very little the tree removal process had cost, I still think talking about money in a competitive way is tasteless. Plus, I’d be lying if I denied that it’s kind of fun to listen to someone scramble around a conversation like a lab rat, desperately searching for any morsels that will help him avoid admitting that he was wrong.
