The Goal: a process of Ongoing Improvement

But fifteen percent?
We’ve been eating up our backlog of orders at a terrific rate. And by doing so
we’ve been able to ship a tremendous volume of product—tremendous by
any comparison: last month, last quarter, last year. It’s given us a big surge of
income, and it’s looked fantastic on the books. But now that we’ve shipped
all the overdues, and we’re putting out new orders much faster than before....
The thought creeps up on me that I’m in really big trouble. Where the hell am
I going to get the orders that will give me an extra fifteen percent?
Peach isn’t just asking for another good month; he’s demanding an incredible
month. He hasn’t promised anything; I have—and probably too much. I’m
trying to remember the orders scheduled for the coming weeks and
attempting to calculate in my head if we’re going to have the volume of
business necessary for the bottom-line increase Peach wants to see. I have a
scary feeling it won’t be enough.
Okay, I can ship ahead of schedule. I can take the orders scheduled for the
first week or two of July and ship them in June instead.
But what am I going to do after that? I’m going to be putting us into a huge
hole in which we have nothing else to do. 
We need more business.
I wonder where Jonah is these days.
Glancing down at the speedometer, I find to my surprise that I’m zipping
along at eighty. I slow down. I loosen my tie. No sense killing myself trying

---

to get back to the plant. It occurs to me, in fact, that by the time I get back to
the plant it’ll be time to go home.
Just about then, I pass a sign saying I’m two miles from the interchange that
would put me on the highway to Forest Grove. Well, why not? I haven’t seen
Julie or the kids in a couple of days. Since the end of school, the kids have
been staying with Julie and her parents.
I take the interchange and get off at the next exit. At a gas station on the
corner, I make a call to the office. Fran answers and I tell her two things:
First, pass the word to Bob, Stacey, Ralph, and Lou that the meeting went
well for us. And, second, I tell her not to expect me to come in this afternoon.
When I get to the Barnett’s house, I get a nice welcome. I spend quite a
while just talking to Sharon and Dave. Then Julie suggests we go for a walk
together. It’s a fine summer afternoon outside.
As I’m hugging Sharon to say goodbye, she whispers in my ear, "Daddy,
when are we all going to go home together?’’
"Real soon, I hope,’’ I tell her.
Despite the assurance I gave her, Sharon’s question doesn’t go away. I’ve
been wondering the same thing myself.
Julie and I go to the park, and after walking for awhile, we sit down on a
bench by the river. We sit without saying anything for a while. She asks me if
something is wrong. I tell her about Sharon’s question.
"She asks me that all the time,’’ says Julie.
"She does? What do you tell her?’’
Julie says, "I tell her we’ll be going home real soon.’’
I laugh. "That’s what I said to her. Do you really mean that?’’

---

She’s quiet for a second. Finally, she smiles at me and says sincerely,
"You’ve been a lot of fun to be around in the last few weeks.’’
"Thanks. The feeling is mutual,’’ I say.
She takes my hand and says, "But ...I’m sorry, Al. I’m still worried about
coming home.’’
"Why? We’re getting along a lot better now,’’ I say, "What’s the problem?’’
"Look, we’ve had some good times for a change. And that’s fine. I’ve really
needed this time with you,’’ she says. "But if we go back to living together,
you know what’s going to happen don’t you? Everything will be fine for
about two days. But a week from now we’ll be having the same arguments.
And a month later, or six months, or a year from now . . . well, you know
what I mean.’’
I sigh. "Julie, was it that bad living with me?’’
"Al, it wasn’t 
bad,’’
she says. "It was just...I don’t know. You weren’t paying
any attention to me.’’
"But I was having all kinds of problems in my job. I was really in over my
head for awhile. What did you expect from me?’’
"More than what I was getting,’’ Julie says. "You know, when I was growing
up, my father always came home from work at the same time. The whole
family always ate together. He spent the evenings at home. With you, I never
know what’s going on.’’
"You can’t compare me to your father,’’ I say. "He’s a dentist. After the last
tooth of the day is filled, he can lock up and go home. My business isn’t like
that.’’
"Alex, the problem is 
you
are not like that,’’ she says. "Other people go to
work and come home at regular times.’’

---

"Yes, you’re partially right. I am not like other people,’’ I admit. "When I get
involved in something, I really get involved. And maybe that has to do with
the way 
I
was brought up. Look at my family—we hardly ever ate together.
Somebody always had to be minding the store. It was my father’s rule: the
business was what fed us, so it came first. We all understood that and we all
worked together.’’
"So what does that prove except our families were different?’’ she asks. "I’m
telling you about something that bothered me so much and for so long that I
wasn’t even sure if I loved you anymore.’’
"So what makes you sure you love me now?’’
"Do you want another fight?’’ she asks.
I look the other way.
"No, I don’t want to fight,’’ I tell her.
I hear her sigh. Then she says, "You see? Nothing has changed... has it.’’
Neither of us says a word for quite awhile. Julie gets up and walks over to the
river. It looks for a second as if she might run away. She doesn’t. She comes
back again and sits down on the bench.
She says to me, "When I was eighteen, I had everything planned—college, a
teaching degree, marriage, a house, children. In that order. All the decisions
were made. I knew what china pattern I wanted. I knew the names I wanted
for the kids. I knew what the house should look like and what color the rug
should be. Everything was certain. And it was so important that I have it all.
But now...I have it all, only it’s different somehow. None of it seems to
matter.’’
"Julie, why does your life have to conform to this . . . this perfect image you
have in your head?’’ I ask her. "Do you even know 
why
you want the things
you do?’’

---

"Because that’s how I grew up,’’ she says. "And what about you? Why do
you have to have this big career? Why do you feel compelled to work twenty-
four hours a day?’’
Silence.
Then she says, "I’m sorry. I’m just very confused.’’
"No, that’s okay,’’ I say. "It was a good question. I have no idea why I
wouldn’t be satisfied being a grocer, or a nine-to-five office worker.’’
"Al, why don’t we just try to forget all this,’’ she suggests.
"No, I don’t think so,’’ I tell her. "I think we should do the opposite. We
ought to start asking a few more questions.’’
Julie gives me a skeptical look and asks, "Like what?’’
"Like what is our marriage supposed to do for us?’’ I ask her. "My idea of the
goal of a marriage is not living in a perfect house where everything happens
according to a clock. Is that the goal for you?’’
"All I’m asking for is a little dependability from my husband,’’ she says.
"And what’s all this about a 
goal? 
When you’re married, you’re just married.
There is no goal.’’
"Then why be married?’’ I ask.
"You get married because of commitment . . . because of love... because of
all the reasons everybody else does,’’ she says. "Alex, you’re asking a lot of
dumb questions.’’
"Whether they’re dumb or smart, I’m asking them because we’ve been living
together for fifteen years and we have no clear understanding of what our
marriage is supposed to do...or become...or anything!’’ I sputter. "We’re just
coasting along, doing ‘what everyone else does.’ And it turns out the two of
us have some very different assumptions of what our lives are supposed to be

---

like.’’
"My parents have been married for thirty-seven years,’’ she says, "and they
never asked any questions. Nobody ever asks ‘What is the goal of a
marriage?’ People just get married because they’re in love.’’
"Oh. Well, that explains everything, doesn’t it,’’ I say.
"Al, please don’t ask these questions,’’ she says. "They don’t have any
answers. And if we keep talking this way, we’re going to ruin everything. If
this is your way of saying you’re having second thoughts about us—’’
"Julie, I’m not having second thoughts about you. But you’re the one who
can’t figure out what’s wrong with us. Maybe if you tried to think about this
logically instead of simply comparing us to the characters in a romance novel
—’’
"I do not read romance novels,’’ she says.
"Then where did you get your ideas about how a marriage is supposed to
be?’’ I ask her.
She says nothing.
"All I’m saying is we ought to throw away for the moment all the pre-
conceptions we have about our marriage, and just take a look at how we are
right now,’’ I tell her. "Then we ought to figure out what we want to have
happen and go in that direction.’’
But Julie doesn’t seem to be listening. She stands up.
"I think it’s time we walked back,’’ she says.
On the way back to the Barnett house, we’re as silent as two icebergs in
January, the two of us drifting together. I look at one side of the street; Julie
looks at the opposite. When we walk through the door, Mrs. Barnett invites
me to stay for dinner, but I say I’ve got to be going. I say goodbye to the kids,

---

give Julie a wave and leave.
I’m getting into the 
Mazda
when I hear her come running after me.
"Will I see you again on Saturday?’’ she asks.
I smile a little "Yeah, sure. Sounds good.’’
She says, "I’m sorry about what happened.’’
"I guess we’ll just have to keep trying until we get it right.’’
We both start smiling. Then we do some of that nice stuff that makes an
argument almost worth the agony.

---

28
I get home just as the sun is starting to set. The sky is rosy pink. As I’m
unlocking the kitchen door, I hear the phone ringing inside. I rush in to grab
it.
"Good morning,’’ says Jonah.
"Morning?’’ Outside the window, the sun is almost below the horizon. I
laugh. "I’m watching the sun set. Where are