<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503</id><updated>2008-08-26T11:56:02.244-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning Memo</title><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/memo.htm'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default'/><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>39</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-7588272524771848722</id><published>2008-08-26T11:34:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T11:56:02.257-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe It's Just Me</title><summary type='text'>


Maybe it's just me, but I think words are incredibly important. There have been too many times when I have spoken an ill chosen word and done harm to another.  There are, fortunately, also times when just the right word has given peace, support or comfort. I listen to words carefully, because I don't think they are accidents. Rather, I think they come from the place of truth within us.  That </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2008/08/maybe-its-just-me.html' title='Maybe It&apos;s Just Me'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=7588272524771848722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/7588272524771848722'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/7588272524771848722'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-7984848983669365070</id><published>2008-07-30T10:33:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T10:56:35.984-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What's the Problem</title><summary type='text'>

“If you want to protect your feet, don’t try to cover the whole world with leather; cover your feet with shoes.” Buddha

We often take on the whole world, when focusing on our self would do. It is like going after a flea with a sledge hammer. I think we do so because it is easier to focus on an external issue than an internal problem. There are many historical characters who, instead of dealing</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2008/07/whats-problem.html' title='What&apos;s the Problem'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=7984848983669365070' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/7984848983669365070'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/7984848983669365070'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-4620362818333439276</id><published>2008-07-29T16:57:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T17:03:07.685-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Searching for Landing Places</title><summary type='text'>

The only way to have a friend is to be one. Emerson

Getting to truly know other people is a privilege. Like most valuable and important activities, it is not easy to do. It is our nature to be somewhat cautious about personal things. Keeping things to ourselves is what make them personal. However, keeping everything personal from everybody leads to a sense of isolation and loneliness. We can </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2008/07/searching-for-landing-places.html' title='Searching for Landing Places'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=4620362818333439276' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/4620362818333439276'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/4620362818333439276'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-5151358078166796364</id><published>2008-05-13T17:02:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T17:09:37.904-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Less or More, More of Less</title><summary type='text'>

    "Do not travel far to other dusty lands, forsaking your own sitting place; if you cannot find the Truth where you are now, you will never find it" - DogenThere is little question that the economic slowdown having an impact on almost everyone. Only the extremely poor and extremely rich are imune from the discomfort associated increasing expense and declining income.  It throws our personal </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2008/05/less-or-more-more-of-less.html' title='Less or More, More of Less'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=5151358078166796364' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/5151358078166796364'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/5151358078166796364'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-415514722252629270</id><published>2007-11-18T07:01:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T07:04:20.985-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hope'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Expectation'/><title type='text'>What Did You Expect?</title><summary type='text'>

In the early 90’s, there was increasing economic noise about the country slipping into recession. At the time, Mel Karmazin was CEO of CBS. There was a great deal of conversation about how business, especially the advertising business, was going to suffer in the months ahead. At an annual manager’s meeting, Karmazin informed the entire CBS’s management team that, “If there is a recession, we </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/11/what-did-you-expect.html' title='What Did You Expect?'/><link rel='related' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com' title='What Did You Expect?'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=415514722252629270' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/415514722252629270'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/415514722252629270'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-706629745642195191</id><published>2007-10-07T06:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-07T06:28:33.595-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Questions'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>Things People Say</title><summary type='text'>


   Often I hear people say things I don't understand. When I hear them, I look around and nobody else seems to be confused. So, I don't say anything. Perhaps I am the only one who doesn't understand what people mean when they say:

"I don't have all day." - How can anybody not have all day? We all have all day.
"It's the least I can do." - Why would anybody want to admit theyare doing the </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/10/things-people-say.html' title='Things People Say'/><link rel='related' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com' title='Things People Say'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=706629745642195191' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/706629745642195191'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/706629745642195191'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-4290108098246563274</id><published>2007-06-29T10:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-29T11:00:37.605-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='etiquette'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='manners'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kindness'/><title type='text'>The Door Holder</title><summary type='text'>
There is a serious gratitude shortage. Gratitude is a scarce commodity, an endangered species, a disappearing ingredient of daily living. Saving gratitude deserves a major conservation effort.
The gratitude shortage is most evident in small things. I was taught that one should hold doors open for others. It is a deeply ingrained habit. It is a small gesture, but I am constantly surprised at how </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/06/door-holder.html' title='The Door Holder'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=4290108098246563274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/4290108098246563274'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/4290108098246563274'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-2841030823165885560</id><published>2007-06-15T07:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-15T07:39:11.894-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fathers Day'/><title type='text'>Hours of Discontent</title><summary type='text'>


"It gets better by the glass" -- Big Russ



I have been thinking about contentment lately. Not because I lack it, butclearly there are moments, even days, that it escapes me. I have a friend who I perceive to be extremely and consistently content. I have told him so. He has never denied it. I confess to envy when I observe him. Often he whistles. Always, he smiles. Yet, I know that the truth </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/06/hours-of-discontent.html' title='Hours of Discontent'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=2841030823165885560' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/2841030823165885560'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/2841030823165885560'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-5442510998000081020</id><published>2007-06-13T10:22:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T10:23:35.777-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Win Lose or Flaw</title><summary type='text'>Win Lose or Flaw

 Competition is a sacred word in America.  It drives our economy,
 industry, scientific discovery and even our arts.  We learn to
 compete as children playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and continue
 all the way to rest home bingo.

 Competition requires performance measurement. To be first, means getting
 ahead of the person in second and staying there.  The constant
 pressure </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/06/win-lose-or-flaw.html' title='Win Lose or Flaw'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=5442510998000081020' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/5442510998000081020'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/5442510998000081020'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-3948074383985591581</id><published>2007-06-11T16:54:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T17:35:13.121-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Serendipty'/><title type='text'>Regrets Only</title><summary type='text'>


When I was in junior high, I wanted to ask a girl named Ginger to go with me to the school dance.   Not only was it the first “boy/ girl” dance of the year, for many of us it was the first “boy/girl” dance of our lives.  When I finally worked up the courage to ask Ginger, she responded to my invitation with a, “Maybe.” I didn’t know what to do.  I wanted very much to go.  Everyone I knew was </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/06/regrets-only.html' title='Regrets Only'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=3948074383985591581' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3948074383985591581'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3948074383985591581'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-2543215187844236902</id><published>2007-03-23T07:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-23T07:58:25.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Do It on Purpose</title><summary type='text'>

Yogi Berra is visiting our town this week. I'm glad Yogi is still going.Not only is he in baseball's hall of fame, he's the poster boy for the quotation hall of fame. Among Yogi's most memorable comments -- "We are lost, but we're making good time."

There are days when I get moving so fast I forget where I am going. That can happen to groups of people, organizations and companies too. As human</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/03/do-it-on-purpose.html' title='Do It on Purpose'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=2543215187844236902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/2543215187844236902'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/2543215187844236902'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-8436414890146380105</id><published>2007-03-20T08:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T08:08:37.961-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bull Riding Days</title><summary type='text'>
Somehow, just as I get cruising along, feeling good, thinking things are how they are suppose to be, somebody or something shows up to mess it up. Now, I know this has more to do with me, than with anyone else, but darn it, some people just get me the wrong way? Charles Schultz creator of the Peanuts cartoons once had good ol’ Charlie Brown say, “I love mankind. Its people I can’t stand.” Some </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/03/bull-riding-days.html' title='Bull Riding Days'/><link rel='related' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com' title='Bull Riding Days'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=8436414890146380105' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/8436414890146380105'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/8436414890146380105'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-4346682406778023141</id><published>2007-03-15T06:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T06:43:50.368-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Beware the Ides of March</title><summary type='text'>
The soothsayer's warning to Julius Caesar, "Beware the Ides of March," has forever imbued that date with a sense of foreboding. But in Roman times the expression "Ides of March" didn’t evoke a dark mood. It was simply the standard way of saying "March 15." Even in Shakespeare’s time, sixteen centuries later, audiences attending his play Julius Caesar wouldn't have thought twice about hearing the</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/03/beware-ides-of-march.html' title='Beware the Ides of March'/><link rel='related' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com' title='Beware the Ides of March'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=4346682406778023141' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/4346682406778023141'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/4346682406778023141'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-3944345432076774763</id><published>2007-03-13T18:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-13T15:36:13.651-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Emotional Philotelia</title><summary type='text'>

Anger as soon as fed is dead — 'Tis starving makes it fat. Emily Dickinson

In 1896 Sperry Hutchinson Company started S&amp;H Green Stamps. The stamps were the forerunner of frequently flier and other loyalty programs which are so in vogue today. The stamps were issued at participating merchants. We would lick and stick them into savings books and redeemed them for merchandise from the S&amp;H Green </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/03/emotional-philotelia.html' title='Emotional Philotelia'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=3944345432076774763' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3944345432076774763'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3944345432076774763'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-8844804280807246444</id><published>2007-03-13T07:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-13T07:39:11.834-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Of God, Folly and Laughter</title><summary type='text'>



There are three things which are real: God, human folly, and laughter. Thefirst two are beyond our comprehension. So we must do what we can with the third." - John Kennedy

Human emotions are a wonderful thing. We have a huge capacity to feel. There are extremes, the highs and the lows, the ups the downs, the sad and the happy. Conventional wisdom suggests that we are best served by </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/03/of-god-folly-and-laughter.html' title='Of God, Folly and Laughter'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=8844804280807246444' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/8844804280807246444'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/8844804280807246444'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-7483351626474121054</id><published>2007-03-12T08:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-12T08:31:56.478-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Now That You are Here</title><summary type='text'>
For nearly two years, each Monday through Friday a new "Morning Memo" has been posted. A day has never been missed. Granted, somedays the thoughts were far superior to others. Yet, it has been interesting to note what has meaning to one person has no meaning to another and visa versa.

Beginning this day, the Morning Memo will be posted with "occasional irregularity" here on the blog. You are </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/03/now-that-you-are-here.html' title='Now That You are Here'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=7483351626474121054' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/7483351626474121054'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/7483351626474121054'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-6218999552533769722</id><published>2007-03-09T08:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-09T09:03:27.440-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Things People Say</title><summary type='text'>



Often I hear people say things I don't understand. When I hear them, I look around and nobody else seems to be confused. So, I don't say anything. Perhaps I am the only one who doesn't understand what people mean when they say:

"I don't have all day." - How can anybody not have all day? We allhave all day.
"It's the least I can do." - Why would anybody want to admit theyare doing the least </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/03/things-people-say.html' title='Things People Say'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=6218999552533769722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/6218999552533769722'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/6218999552533769722'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-8048079555580113757</id><published>2007-03-05T06:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-05T06:40:59.178-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Do Right</title><summary type='text'>

"... If you are not prepared to resign or be fired for what you believe in, then you are not a worker, let alone a professional. You are a slave." --Howard Gardner 
He is uncomfortable. He is watching things happen within his organization about which he has ethical questions. He is uncertain. Perhaps everything is ok. Perhaps it is he who is out of balance. After all, nobody else is saying </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/03/just-do-right.html' title='Just Do Right'/><link rel='related' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com' title='Just Do Right'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=8048079555580113757' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/8048079555580113757'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/8048079555580113757'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-583644413305098697</id><published>2007-02-28T06:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-28T07:01:47.240-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello</title><summary type='text'>


“Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.” Snoopy

It was the third grade. It was October. We had moved to a new home in a new school district. Twenty-six faces stared </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/02/hello.html' title='Hello'/><link rel='related' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com' title='Hello'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=583644413305098697' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/583644413305098697'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/583644413305098697'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-8785939000822952715</id><published>2007-02-27T12:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-27T12:20:58.794-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Reality of the Bully</title><summary type='text'>
"If we could read the secret history of our enemies,
we would find in each person's life sorrow and suffering
enough to disarm all hostility." Longfellow 

Recently, in a golf tournament, I was paired with three other people including one fellow who was extremely unkind, unsporting, and ungentlemanly. He was obvious in his gamesmanship, rude in his etiquette, and wanting in his sportsmanship. He</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/02/reality-of-bully.html' title='Reality of the Bully'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=8785939000822952715' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/8785939000822952715'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/8785939000822952715'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-3875968799213637194</id><published>2007-02-26T13:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-26T13:07:42.412-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Terrific Mondays</title><summary type='text'>
 To have a terrific week, you got to have a terrific Monday. Here are seven suggestions.Number one is required. Choose two from the rest.
1. Decide to feel good for no good reason!
a. You don't really need a reason to feel terrific. Do you? 
b.Change the screen saver on your computer to say."I feel terrific for nogood reason"

2. Take six pennies put them in your left pocket. Move them one at </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/02/terrific-mondays.html' title='Terrific Mondays'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=3875968799213637194' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3875968799213637194'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3875968799213637194'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-7975725459510255777</id><published>2007-02-22T19:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T19:35:04.416-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Once Upon a Time</title><summary type='text'>

Perhaps you recall, as I do, being small, sitting in a semi-circle with other children, legs crossed, heads back, looking up to a teacher perched on a low stool. She would read and show pictures, as our small eyes and minds strained to understand. We listen best when stories are told. We are best heard when we tell them. 

Throughout history, the most important and lasting messages have come to</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/02/once-upon-time.html' title='Once Upon a Time'/><link rel='related' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com' title='Once Upon a Time'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=7975725459510255777' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/7975725459510255777'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/7975725459510255777'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-3237334470849211597</id><published>2007-02-22T19:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T19:31:04.343-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Nathan Brinbaum</title><summary type='text'>

Nathan Brinbaum was a tremendous fellow. He said more good and funny things then almost anyone else I can think of. Among his many outstanding accomplishments was that he lived to be 100 years old. He once said, “If you live to be 100 you got it made. Very few people die past that age.” Up until the very end of his life, he loved to entertain and make people laugh. 

When he got older, much of </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/02/nathan-brinbaum.html' title='Nathan Brinbaum'/><link rel='related' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com' title='Nathan Brinbaum'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=3237334470849211597' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3237334470849211597'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3237334470849211597'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-5253075795284336647</id><published>2007-02-16T08:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-16T08:55:53.220-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Made a Typo</title><summary type='text'>

I made a typoShame on meI thought I was carefulAs I could be

It was a couple of lettersIn a few little wordsThat brought me downIt all seems absurd 
The meaning intendedWas plain as could beLife wasn't meant To be a big spelling bee 
Still, to my attentionThe errors were all broughtThere was nowhere to hideThe mistakes were all caught
Yet, read on if you willIf you don't really mindAnd tell me</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/02/i-made-typo.html' title='I Made a Typo'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=5253075795284336647' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/5253075795284336647'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/5253075795284336647'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34286503.post-3505514400786881990</id><published>2007-02-13T16:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-13T16:06:26.143-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hair Today Gone Tomorrow</title><summary type='text'>
After over paying for a haircut today, I decided I've reached a milestone.I have crossed the line which divides good haircuts from bad haircuts. Thatline is defined by the number of hairs on one's head. I have no idea howmany hairs I have, though the Bible says they are numbered. I do know myfollicles number far less than they did not too long ago. It seems reasonable to me that the cost of a </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/2007/02/hair-today-gone-tomorrow.html' title='Hair Today Gone Tomorrow'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34286503&amp;postID=3505514400786881990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.jimgustafson.com/morningmemo.blogspot.com/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3505514400786881990'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34286503/posts/default/3505514400786881990'/><author><name>Jim Gustafson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03428546644229597306</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry></feed>