Stop Making Sense

Son #1 just called to tell me about his swimming lessons.

Me: What are you doing for the rest of the day?

Son #1: I don't know.

Son #1: Wanna know what just happened in my brain?

Me: Sure!

Son #1: Part of my brain said to me, "She just asked you a question. You should give her a better answer than that." Then another part of my brain responded, "But I really don't know what we're going to do today."

I think we might have the next Bob Newhart on our hands.

Road to Nowhere

This Friday night, I have to stand in front of 300 people and speak at a fund raising event. This, alone, is making me extremely nervous. So much so that I have an eye twitch.

To make matters worse, I have to read something that I did not write. It's a heavy-handed bio for which I need to channel Charles Kerault. Or Charlton Heston as Moses parting the Red Sea. I'm more of a light-hearted quipper who is more comfortable one-on-one or with a small group of friends.

Yet, I recognize that this is not about me. It's an honor to have been asked to give this speech.

When I was first hired by Kodak in the late 80s, I didn't speak to anyone for months. Literally. In retrospect, I recognize that I have come a long way from my intense shyness. I used to get physically ill beginning new jobs; now I meet with new clients on a daily basis.

I guess it's all part of my path. I'm just not exactly sure where I'm going. Or why.

I'll gladly accept any and all prayers that I do justice to this piece that was written, I'm sure, with love. I just hope I don't trip myself up over the hokey Hallmark sentimentalism. It's not my strength.