It's too bad I am such a poor communicator, but Steve isn't much better at getting his thoughts across to me.
I think I have the advantage. I can read Steve's mind.
He tells me, "You have no idea what I am thinking, so you can't say, 'I know what you're thinking.'"
Personally, I think he says that because he's using his defensive man-plays. He knows that I do know what he's thinking; he just doesn't want to admit that I am correct.
Sure, Steve and I have our lapses in communication. I would like to say we manage to work around our miscommunications in an adult manner. You know, talking civilized to each other and happy, helpful baloney like that.
But alas, I cannot.
Most of the time our communication conundrums end up with me getting even more perturbed than when I asked the initial question.
Such was the case yesterday morning.
It needs to be understood that Steve has a tendency to beat around the bush and then the big oak tree, twice, before he doesn't answer my question.
He doesn't answer the question.
So I asked, "Which one of these fresh cows can be milked into the pipeline this morning?"
"Just a minute," Steve answered. "I will go look."
I continued doing my business of prepping the first four cows in this particular group. I always get the first four cows. It's a habit every single person that has ever milked with me understands. I have no reason for it; I just do.
Upon his return to the milking parlor, Steve said, "This one would have been cleared to go in, but Zach treated her for something."
That was all he said.
So, I had to reiterate my question, "So which one of these two fresh cows can be milked into the pipeline?"
"What, you don't like explanations?" Steve said.
"I really don't mind explanations, but I do need to know the answers too," I said. "So, can Sylvie's milk go into the pipeline?"
Steve replied, "I don't know I never looked at her information."
Same thing happened in the field Wednesday afternoon. I drove out to our "station field" to pick up Steve and his brother Pete.
All three of us were sitting in the pickup when I asked, "What's the moisture of the corn here?"
"It's the same as the 60," Steve replied. (The 60 is a 60-acre field north of our home.)
"So... what's the moisture of the corn in this field," I asked again.
"Well, it's a bit wetter than the 60," Steve said. "I thought it would be dryer."
"So what's the moisture?"
"The 60 averaged 18 percent moisture. This field is 18.5," Steve stated.
I just laughed. Hey, at least I didn't get annoyed. I'm trying to be better like that.
Really, I did laugh, but it wasn't my infamous flamboyant laugh. It was more of a chuckle.
"Really, you're going to narrow it down to the half-percent?" I asked.
Steve just smiled.
I don't need to know all the fine details and he loves to give fine details.
That's it, I have solved our communication problem!
Steve over-communicates. He likes to share little tidbits of what I deem insignificant information - like numbers and junk.
I don't like to communicate little tidbits of info. Just give me the answers!
For questions, or comments, e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org.