Agent

Leslye Stratton is a dear, one of the rare real estate agents who, after selling us a house, became a friend. She contacted us when the tax valuation came through. No doubt a professional habit, but she didn't present it that way. She just asked how we were doing. She's finding us listings to help get our house value down to reduce our taxes. Well, the state is taxing us on a house over $40K more than we paid, and prices have gone down(a bit) since then.

A vivacious and attentive woman, and I was able to offer her a referral to a specific kind of doctor - which I am always happy to do.

We owe her thanks for our Home. She guided us so competently and kindly through what was, for us, a very difficult process. And we tried to respond with attentiveness and alacrity. She helped us find our House the Home.

Thinking about all the people, or at least the professions, that folks usually hate, and how often I wind up liking them. I've always liked my dentists - kind, hardworking guys who treated me kindly for all that it was uncomfortable. From the first young dentist when I was 17, who had mountain posters on the ceiling, to my Aoki today, who plays a country radio station and actually examines my whole mouth, and never nags me about not flossing as much as I really should. He also hums, and is obviously concerned, and has endured a total knee replacement.

I liked my drill sergeants, not in a happy-go-out-dancing like, but a respect for their devotion to a very difficult job. Near the end of Basic, they smoked* us, but there was a sense of following orders, as it seemed to be done on a pretext and without much enthusiasm, especially by female Johnson - who took my glasses I had perched on my stomach, and returned them to me, with a quiet look of near shame at the end.

Over time, I realized that this seemed to be a kind of initiation ritual* that a vast majority of soldiers experienced in varying degrees, ours was pretty mild.

For a long time, I thought less of them for participating, but I had this insight, the Sergeant Major's face the few times we saw them in conflict with him, and I begin to suspect they were acting under orders. Problem was, over half my platoon were over 25, and more or less had our shit together, making it difficult to have a clear reason. So they had to exaggerate something and then keep it all to a minimum. It was all very strange, and up until then they had my respect. They now have it back.

I liked my army recruiter, nice guy, older, made no bones about the whole thing, said Basic would be the worst two months of my life, but I only had to do it once. The tuition reimbursement wasn't wonderful, but it would help. Not his fault some of the rules got changed after, and I certainly felt honestly prepared.


Maybe I just give a certain amount of credit to people who do those kinds of jobs. A little slack, like for a waiter having a bad day, or a cashier making a mistake. I am predisposed to be forgiving of those who manage to stay sane while performing a difficult role.





*Two hours of hard physical exercise in a small room, so that it rained down with our sweat, and more than a few of us admitted to losing bladder control, as three Drills shouted at us. It ended and we were sent up to shower - ten minutes to lights out, and we crowded in and showered two at a time, and fast, tended our blisters and settled down fast.