Easy

My father was impossible to please. Though my mother, for her own peace, certainly tried. I can only suspect, that, given constant negative feedback for large or small effort, she put as little energy into her efforts as possible. Especially over time, as her good will eroded over decades of derision and snide disappreciation. This was evident in her cooking, which elicited much scorn from him. Perhaps she was never much of a cook, but his criticism certainly degraded her inspiration.

I thought about this, growing up there. Needing to perfectly iron white cotton handkerchiefs, lest his fellow factory workers look down at him for having a few wrinkles in his snot rag, ill-ironed by his ungrateful daughter. Or if I did not shine his shoes, worn black leather, huge in my small hands, to his unattainable satisfaction, both to be worn to work, removed and re donned after, or for Sunday mass. My resentment for him grew each time I had to put a hand in his shoe to buff it to some kind of shine.

I have met many unpleaseable people since. No surprize that some have been surgeons, though less than you might imagine. Beyond high maintenance, these surgeons snip and snarl, yell and throw instruments, and no effort is appreciated. An occasional thank you is treated as an ironic miracle, not genuine gratitude. One of which, Dr. Evil shall we say, sounded out "hurryhurryhurry!" as a regular cry of exasperation at the careless incompetence of all the idiots around him. I once confronted him.

"You know, when you say that, it actually slows us down." I said to him, quietly.

His reply, "I know," in a quiet, self satisfied admission of manipulation, told me much.

Likewise, scrub techs who, upon returning from lunch, snort derision, and shuffle items around, as the person who set up, tries to defend their own organization, and finally just breaks scrub, leaving the other to fall into ignorance pits. Or, when asked to assist that person, will do the absolute minimum. Hard not to. I worked just as hard for the difficult as the easy, for the sake of my patients, but the difficult stole more of my energy, adding chaos and distraction.

And then, there are those surgeons who want what they need, but when that isn't available, make do. Flexibility and imagination as a fortification of their intelligence, they say "That'll do" or "I can make this work." even if the reason the item is not there is purely their circulator's error. And with them, we try harder. I worked regularly with two of this temperament. I strove to have everything imaginable ready for them, went to great effort to make their lives in the OR easier, because they made it worthwhile. They did not criticize - only instructed, when I failed, and gave generously of their praise when all went well. My work meant not only good outcomes for my patients, but acknowledgment of my competence, with better effect with less effort over time. There was a kind of joy, as in a shared burden, gladly borne.

D is easy. Oh, he apologizes for his lack of attention, messiness, mental absences, or being a bother. I don't mind any of that, I find it endearing, because he is grateful, and is so obviously pleased with whatever I do. There was a time when he was happy that I had frozen burritos available, and he gladly nuked them himself. (He's trying to eat better now, or I'm sure he still would be perfectly pleased.) He would no more think to criticize my housecleaning deficits than he would expect to suddenly even begin noticing that vacuuming needs to happen. He is constantly surprized and glad when I make dinner, or bring him home some needful gift.

"Oh, thank you so much. You're wonderful, you know." He tells me, with all his heart.

So, when I thank him for running the dishwasher, or doing laundry, I get "Well, it's only fair." I try to express my appreciation sufficiently, generously. He is better at it than I am. I am learning.

It's one of those nameless virtues, because it is not just gratitude. It is a talent for being happy, for being pleased in a way that returns the pleasure to the giver. A grace of making the most mandatory work a freely given gift, turning a chore into a fountain of bounteous plenty. And yet, I begin to think having both high standards, and being easy to please is a true path to a good life, and real happiness.

I struggle to learn this.