Why don’t you, or I, or why doesn’t someone write another book for dummies?
“Four strong secrets to motivating people you meet and people you live with.”
I know why not, it’s because we already know what the four secrets are?
1 - A firm, threatening voice,
2 - displaying anger,
3 - invoking shame
4 - shunning.
After an incompletion of the motivational pass a time or two, it becomes easier and easier to believe the person who made the following observation. I can’t motivate you and you can’t motivate me. Ok, so now I’m convinced we can’t motivate each other, each individual needs to take the initiative to motivate themselves. So, does that give me the eternal green light to ignore someone else’s lackadaisical attitude?
“Here’s a glass of water, that’s not my pill to swallow.”
I pulled four motivational passing secrets from the thesaurus,
1 - inspire,
2 - encourage,
3 - prompt
4 - stimulate.
I’d feel rewarded if some of us would wind these secrets into the tight spiral of an attempted motivational pass during our next game time, see if they might not hold some promise.

Lead your challenger into believing yours was their idea!

We got only one keyless entry remote with our Odyssey and we really needed two. Wait a minute, not so fast, a new remote from a Honda Dealership is somewhere upwards of $75.00. The dealership, with whom we made the purchase, offered to try to find us a used, second keyless entry remote but, “I’ll need your remote and the van to program it. When you program one remote, the other one forgets everything it ever knew and you have to reprogram both at the same time.” Remember, that dealership is six hours away. “No thanks, I’ll do it myself.”
The internet convincingly listed the remote part number that worked on four successive year model Odysseys, including ours. Next I had to choose one of several programming instruction choices. Eennie meennie, this one looks good. Then I went to ebay and bid on a (used remote) good deal. While I waited for the time to expire on that listing, I noticed the battery was low on the one lonely remote that we had. I figured I’d lose the program if I changed battery, so what, I was destined to loose it anyhow. This would give me a chance to practice. I installed a new battery, followed the programming instructions, nothing, now the remote was completely dead. No little red light popped on at the press of a button like it used to. I guessed it was possible that a new battery could have a problem, so I put another new battery in. Still nothing, so I reinstalled the old battery, it was weak but had still lit the little red light. Nothing!
Meanwhile, my new/used remote ($13.50 delivered) was delivered. I selected a different programming instruction sheet off the internet and tried my hand at programming the second remote first. I got to the last step in which I was to pull the key and try my remotes. I pulled the key and immediately saddled all of Marion counties wind gusts with BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, and I had no clue how to kill it, even though I really felt like it. I locked and unlocked the doors, I started the engine, stopped the engine. I picked up the live remote and pushed every button on it. I picked up the dead remote and pushed every button on it. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. As a last ditch effort, I began what I thought was reprogramming the live remote one more time and finally the horn quieted, only the echoes are still heard, bouncing off the sunflowers along the county’s boundaries.
Now, for the rest of the story.
I successfully resuscitated the dead remote by turning the battery cover 180 degrees before tightening, like it was intended to be. I randomly picked a programming instruction sheet. Could have been the same one that gave our horn center stage just a few moments hence. Anyhow, we now have two remotes that work perfectly well but, next time you hear me say, “No Thanks, I’ll Do It Myself.” somebody please say, “Wait a minute, not so fast”!

As I sit here, thinking past several hundred sunrises that have long ago completed their journey West, I’m not very proud of what I recall.
In a well groomed city park in an unfamiliar town, we were enjoying the warm morning sun, unwrapping our breakfast.
That’s when I first noticed him.
Immediately, I observed that we had something in common, he was squinting against the same morning sun we were.
“Isn’t this a beautiful morning?” I ventured.
“No it isn’t, it’s a terrible morning.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, listen to the birds singing.”
“Their not singing, their complaining.”
“What do you think their complaining about?”
“Nobody feeds them and their hungry.”
“I’ll bet there are plenty worms around for them to eat, I think their singing.”
“God is angry and hid all the worms, their complaining.”
I felt like digging a pile of worms, plopping the wiggly mess right under that fools nose and telling him, “My God doesn’t work that way, those birds are singing, weather you like it or not.”
Instead I sat down with a warm heart, savoring my positive outlook and ate breakfast.
I left him sitting at an empty table alone, on a cold concrete bench.
I was enjoying the warmth of a happy sun and the music of the birds.
I left him to deal with the pangs of emptiness, to struggle with the chills of gloom, anger and despair, without offering help.
I evidently wasn’t properly equipped because, I simply snuggled deeper into my own comfort and didn’t think past the sun. We had a lot of extra room for a hungry guest, in need of an updated introduction to our God, at our table in the park that morning.
Now, many moons later I ask myself, “Am I really equipped to think past the sun today?”

Gliding down the isle, knees bent, torso folded forward and head at half mast, pretending that this twisted body form defies visibility. Every attendee can easily guess, a crumpled up posture (like so much discarded tinfoil,) is bent on sneaking up on a picture yet to be taken.
A family in the city park, standing in tight rows, mouths frozen in “cheese.” Adult hands flailing about aimlessly, grabbing randomly, hoping to enforce the, “Children obey your parents” rule.
Facing the family is a lone creature, kneeling on one knee, head cocked awkwardly sideways with one eyelid locked down. Another easy guess, the family, in concert with the single eyed creature, is trying to sneak up on a picture yet to be taken.
A scenic mountain overlook silhouettes a statue like figure, a pair of 7x35’s velcroed to his eyeballs, overpowering natures canyon from the roof of his car. It’s a no-brainer, that statue is sneaking up on a picture yet to be taken.
Have you ever been observed as the absurd, trying to sneak up on a picture yet to be taken?