Robbery!

Sometime during the night before MLK Day, someone entered our house while we slept and made off with my Surface computer, Larry’s iPad, both our cell phones, and my purse.

The good news:

1.  We didn’t wake up, even though they entered through the door directly under our window. (The back door to the garage, which we never locked. We will now, though.)
2.  They missed our iPods in their docking stations.
3.  They only took these few items and did no vandalism.
4.  It appears they were in and out quickly.
5.  Most of it was just “stuff,” and we can replace it.
6.  They only got my cards, so Larry had all of his—with the numbers and contact phone numbers on the back.
7.  Because the next day was a holiday, not many places were open where they could have tried to use them.

The bad news:

1.    I had three credit cards and my debit card, plus my driver’s license in my purse.
2.    I also had at least $500 hidden in the purse as well as about $200 visible.
3.    Since it was right after Christmas, I had $300 in gift cards.
4.    My glasses with the new lenses and their case were taken.
5.    Two checkbooks were in the purse.
6.    We’re still remembering other cards.

First thing in the morning of the holiday, we began calling the banks and credit card companies to block the cards. We arranged for replacement cards, and received most within a couple of days.

We didn’t have to close the checking accounts. Once we made sure all the checks we had written had cleared, the bank blocked all the unused check numbers prior to the next set I had for each account. Easy peasy.

I was able to report my stolen Medicare card and Blue Shield cards online. I received one already and the others should follow soon.

The San Clemente office of the DMV has reopened, so it took less than an hour to get a temporary driver's license and arrange for a replacement.

So, things are starting to get back to normal. It was disturbing. But we are getting close to being made whole, and no one was injured. It’s just stuff, and it can be replaced.

We were robbed when we lived in Denver in 1972, and we had some bicycles stolen from our previous house. Once again, just stuff. I still miss a few things, but mostly I’m grateful that we didn’t lose more.

Have you ever been robbed?

On Whining

I confess I don’t like whining, and I don’t tolerate whiners well. It may be a character flaw, but I own it.

My daughter learned this early in life. If she tried whining, which she did a couple of times, I ignored her. She didn’t try it often. If she told me her problems, I listened and tried to help her find a solution.

I see a lot of whining on Facebook. Some people seem to use this as a platform to express self-pity. Sorry, they will get little sympathy from me unless they are actually doing something to change their situation.

I don’t mean sharing hard times. Several friends are currently fighting cancer. I want to know where they are in the battle. Others are enduring different tragedies, and I want to be there to support them. I’m talking about those people whose every entry is complaining about situations they could change if they wanted to. They just don’t want to.

This same intolerance led to a decision Larry and I made early in the writing of our first book, 31 Months in Japan: The Building of a Theme Park.

We could have told all about the problems and difficulties—and there were enough to fill a book. We didn’t skip the hard times, but we wanted to make the book a celebration of our team’s accomplishments, not a list of complaints.

Despite setbacks, budget problems, personnel issues, we managed to complete a world-class theme park ahead of schedule and under budget. Now, that is something to celebrate.

Please share your problems with me. I want to be able to be of support. My mother-in-love used to say, “You have to tell me what’s wrong. I can’t pray for you if I don’t know you have a problem.”

However, constant whining and feeling sorry for yourself will cause me to dismiss your perceived problems. It may be a huge character flaw or the result of a difficult childhood where I had to pretend everything was okay so my mother could save face. I don’t know where it came from, but there it is.

Does anyone else have this same intolerance?