The other day, as I was leaving for work, my husband commented on my fairly new (within the last year at least) BCBG dress.
Hubby: "You wearing that?"
Me: "Why, is it bad?"
Hubby: "Not if you're traveling through a time warp to 1986."
Me: "I don't have time to change."
Hubby: "Well, you can probably pull it off."
Me: "I don't want to 'pull it off'; I want to look good."
Hubby: "There's always tomorrow."
The bad news: everything else in my closet is worse.
The good news: I just got a raise! Mama needs some new clothes . . .
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Best Friends Forever
Aside from a brief moment of knowing where a certain document of my boss’ was (in the wrong client file), I haven’t had a strong intuitive experience in many years. The last one I did have was really strange, however.
In NYC, I had a girlfriend with whom I did everything. Drinks, dinner, shopping. My favorite thing of all, however, was sitting with her on the rock by the pond in
One night, she and I went out to meet some friends of hers and then we shared a cab across town. I was heading home and she was meeting up with her boyfriend (who my husband referred to as “Chinless”). She asked me to come into the sports bar where she was meeting Chinless to make sure he was there before I took off. I did.
She then said she would walk me home if I waited for her to use the bathroom. The minute she left, Chinless turned to me frantically. “Did you see anything when you came in?” I had no idea what he was talking about but it couldn’t have been good.
When we went to leave, he said he wanted to come outside with us for a moment and smoke a joint. He went to get his coat and, as he walked away, he whispered something to my friend. She asked aloud, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shared with her what he said to me. She looked pissed.
When we got outside, they were smoking pot while I was doing a handstand against the building (one of my default stress-relief mechanisms). Then, as we went to leave, he and I hugged goodbye slightly. She spewed, “get your hands off her.”
To make a long story short, we walked toward my apartment and then stood by the river at
When I hugged her goodnight, a big booming voice sounded in my head, “You will never see her again.” It was so loud, I was taken aback.
When I got inside and told my husband, he told me I was probably feeling some weird vibes because she was stoned. I wasn’t.
She was my best friend for years and I’ve never seen or heard from her again. And sometimes I still miss her.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Perfect Timing
When I was little, I was psychic and it was effortless.
One day, my father and I went to Coney Island while my mother and sister went shopping. (I must have been really young because I haven't turned down a shopping expedition in a long time!) I'm pretty sure my brothers were with us too but I can't remember for sure. I do remember, however, that out of nowhere I suddenly told my dad that we needed to leave immediately. I wasn't panicked; we simply needed to go meet my mom and sister.
We went back to the subway, hopped on the next train (after witnessing a homeless man getting mugged) and, after switching trains again, made our way up to Bloomingdale's. Sure enough, the minute our train -- just one of hundreds -- pulled up to the 59th Street station, we spotted my mom and sis as they, too, arrived on the platform. "There they are," I told my dad. I wasn't even the slightest bit fazed. He was incredulous.
There's no way of telling what may have happened had we not met them. Maybe nothing. It was just clear to me, for whatever reason, that we needed to get there so we could all be together.
One day, my father and I went to Coney Island while my mother and sister went shopping. (I must have been really young because I haven't turned down a shopping expedition in a long time!) I'm pretty sure my brothers were with us too but I can't remember for sure. I do remember, however, that out of nowhere I suddenly told my dad that we needed to leave immediately. I wasn't panicked; we simply needed to go meet my mom and sister.
We went back to the subway, hopped on the next train (after witnessing a homeless man getting mugged) and, after switching trains again, made our way up to Bloomingdale's. Sure enough, the minute our train -- just one of hundreds -- pulled up to the 59th Street station, we spotted my mom and sis as they, too, arrived on the platform. "There they are," I told my dad. I wasn't even the slightest bit fazed. He was incredulous.
There's no way of telling what may have happened had we not met them. Maybe nothing. It was just clear to me, for whatever reason, that we needed to get there so we could all be together.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Same Games, Different Millennium
My middle brother, who is closest in age to me, was in town from NC -- just for dinner -- last week. It was awesome to see him, albeit briefly. The strange thing is that, now that I have two little boys, I feel like I’m reliving much of my childhood with him. I can still hear him badgering me to stay in the lines as I sit on the floor at night coloring robots and racecars. And he and I played endless games of “pig” (i.e., basketball) and Battleship: two things I’ve been doing a lot lately. But finally, at least for now, I have the advantage. “Mama, you’re really good at basketball.” Yep, and I’ll take on any five-year-old who dares me.
Like him, my boys are nascent drummers and both are even sporting the same, short, military haircut that he modeled in the 60s; they’re just lacking the Buddy Holly, thick, black-framed glasses to complete the look.
I wonder, however, if either of my kids will get his bizarre sense of humor. He once told me that we went to private school because we were mentally challenged. “Haven’t you ever noticed it says ‘SLOW Children’ right where the buses park?” Nice.
My girlfriends loved him because he used to make Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes for us during sleepovers. This was after he would wake us up just to “make sure we were sleeping okay.”
He and I were the ones who rode in the back of station wagon together, facing backwards, on every family trip. Then, when he learned to drive, he would purposely hit every bump on the road if I was applying mascara in the passenger seat. He later taught me how to drive.
Because of my brother, my heart now aches when I witness kids in the neighborhood not wanting to play with the younger kids -- not because the little ones feel left out but rather because it must be such a huge drag for the older kids when they are forced to include them. My mom always strong-armed my brother to let me tag along with him and his friends even though I am a girl and four years younger. And then he would get in BIG trouble when his friends would ditch me. Especially when I got home first and promptly told my mom (like the time I made the perilous journey back from the next town over, sans supervision, along the train tracks). D'oh!
It's hard to believe it's been over thirty years since we hung out as kids. It feels like only yesterday.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The World Can Change in an Instant
Son #1 fell in the Erie Canal yesterday while fishing with his dad and little brother.
He kept his cool, swam to the edge, held on, grabbed my hubby's hand and was pulled out.
Everything seemed fine last night. We all played tennis and the boys spent some time rolling down the hill by the courts; but, he was pretty scared when he finally climbed into bed. He began crying and told me that he was really glad to be alive because he really wanted to stick around and "see the sights." He also discovered that he wants to live for a really long time because he "likes it here on earth."
I like it when he's here on earth, too.
He kept his cool, swam to the edge, held on, grabbed my hubby's hand and was pulled out.
Everything seemed fine last night. We all played tennis and the boys spent some time rolling down the hill by the courts; but, he was pretty scared when he finally climbed into bed. He began crying and told me that he was really glad to be alive because he really wanted to stick around and "see the sights." He also discovered that he wants to live for a really long time because he "likes it here on earth."
I like it when he's here on earth, too.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Rochester: Made for Living
The cover of the current issue of Solar Today has the following headline, "Sustainable Cleveland: How the city is reinventing itself as a clean, green center."
I read this and wondered, why isn't Rochester doing something like this? We've lost our brand identity -- if we ever had one. We have no impassioned "hook" to get the general populous reinvigorated about living and investing here.
Ignoring the Radio Shack-inspired logo, our homespun "Made for Living" campaign simply covers the basics on why Rochester is seemingly a good place to live. But, it's flat. And I'm not pointing fingers at whatever ad agency developed it. They were just working with our current state. But what is Rochester's future?
I've been thinking about this for a few years. Ever since I read an article in Yoga Journal about how the tiny Himalayan nation of Bhutan is measuring itself on "Gross National Happiness." According to this article, they used Buddhist principles to identify four specific "pillars" upon which Gross National Happiness rests: good governance, cultural preservation, environmental conservation, and economic development. These may be difficult to quantify but presumably can be analyzed objectively.
Although "happy" is not a word I would even remotely use today to categorize Rochester, with a little work it could be. The city itself is a dichotomy. One one hand, we have urban decay (i.e., a soul-less inner city complete with housing projects on our riverfront) and nothing inviting along our lake shore except an infamous local rock club and tattoo parlors. On the other hand, we have pockets of hope for city revitalization (e.g., ARTWalk, Corn Hill Landing), stunning natural resources (e.g., Lake Ontario, the Genesee River, the Finger Lakes), a number of architectural gems, amazing cultural institutions (e.g., the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra, Rochester City Ballet, Rochester International Jazz Festival, Geva Theater), top-notch school systems, and in my opinion, one of the best talent pools in the world: highly intelligent and well educated. In addition, unlike some other cities, the people here are extremely down-to-earth and, for the most part, willing to work hard. I really love the people here: they are by far our best differentiator.
With that said, why can't we reinvent ourselves? We have so much to offer. What would it take to become "the happiest city in the U.S." or "the healthiest city in the U.S."? Are either even desired? If so, how would we measure ourselves?
I have this daydream where I win the lottery (which may be difficult given that I don't really play). That aside, in this dream, I gather local leaders and economists (business, political, not-for-profit, education, religious, etc.), couple them with interesting, non-locals like Malcolm Gladwell, and use the money to treat Rochester like an incubator and invest in out-of-the-box recovery programs.
Like painting over the graffiti in the NYC subway system, maybe we could hire unemployed teenagers in the inner city to paint houses and plant flowers. We could train them and equip the teams with free paint (perhaps with a generous donation/co-branding opportunity from a firm like Benjamin Moore) with the hope of getting people to take greater pride in their homes and neighborhoods . . .
Along those same lines, perhaps we can create our own "Trading Spaces" program where the unemployed learn basic design principles along with useful skills like reupholstering. Donated items could be refurbished and either sold to raise money or given to hardworking but impoverished families in dire need of an internal "face lift."
From my distant standpoint, it appears that there are a number of organizations working independently to make a difference. Don't get me wrong, this is not a bad thing. However, I do feel we might be better served if we had a cohesive, collective vision for the future of Rochester along with fully aligned resources. But I'm a political outsider. If any of this is being done today, then someone needs to market it more effectively.
Please, give us hope.
I read this and wondered, why isn't Rochester doing something like this? We've lost our brand identity -- if we ever had one. We have no impassioned "hook" to get the general populous reinvigorated about living and investing here.
Ignoring the Radio Shack-inspired logo, our homespun "Made for Living" campaign simply covers the basics on why Rochester is seemingly a good place to live. But, it's flat. And I'm not pointing fingers at whatever ad agency developed it. They were just working with our current state. But what is Rochester's future?
I've been thinking about this for a few years. Ever since I read an article in Yoga Journal about how the tiny Himalayan nation of Bhutan is measuring itself on "Gross National Happiness." According to this article, they used Buddhist principles to identify four specific "pillars" upon which Gross National Happiness rests: good governance, cultural preservation, environmental conservation, and economic development. These may be difficult to quantify but presumably can be analyzed objectively.
Although "happy" is not a word I would even remotely use today to categorize Rochester, with a little work it could be. The city itself is a dichotomy. One one hand, we have urban decay (i.e., a soul-less inner city complete with housing projects on our riverfront) and nothing inviting along our lake shore except an infamous local rock club and tattoo parlors. On the other hand, we have pockets of hope for city revitalization (e.g., ARTWalk, Corn Hill Landing), stunning natural resources (e.g., Lake Ontario, the Genesee River, the Finger Lakes), a number of architectural gems, amazing cultural institutions (e.g., the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra, Rochester City Ballet, Rochester International Jazz Festival, Geva Theater), top-notch school systems, and in my opinion, one of the best talent pools in the world: highly intelligent and well educated. In addition, unlike some other cities, the people here are extremely down-to-earth and, for the most part, willing to work hard. I really love the people here: they are by far our best differentiator.
With that said, why can't we reinvent ourselves? We have so much to offer. What would it take to become "the happiest city in the U.S." or "the healthiest city in the U.S."? Are either even desired? If so, how would we measure ourselves?
I have this daydream where I win the lottery (which may be difficult given that I don't really play). That aside, in this dream, I gather local leaders and economists (business, political, not-for-profit, education, religious, etc.), couple them with interesting, non-locals like Malcolm Gladwell, and use the money to treat Rochester like an incubator and invest in out-of-the-box recovery programs.
Like painting over the graffiti in the NYC subway system, maybe we could hire unemployed teenagers in the inner city to paint houses and plant flowers. We could train them and equip the teams with free paint (perhaps with a generous donation/co-branding opportunity from a firm like Benjamin Moore) with the hope of getting people to take greater pride in their homes and neighborhoods . . .
Along those same lines, perhaps we can create our own "Trading Spaces" program where the unemployed learn basic design principles along with useful skills like reupholstering. Donated items could be refurbished and either sold to raise money or given to hardworking but impoverished families in dire need of an internal "face lift."
From my distant standpoint, it appears that there are a number of organizations working independently to make a difference. Don't get me wrong, this is not a bad thing. However, I do feel we might be better served if we had a cohesive, collective vision for the future of Rochester along with fully aligned resources. But I'm a political outsider. If any of this is being done today, then someone needs to market it more effectively.
Please, give us hope.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Extreme Leadership
I now have something that historically sounded like an oxymoron to me: a sober boss. Two words I previously thought were mutually exclusive! Couple that with the fact that she's one of the most intelligent people I've ever met, insightful, driven, hardworking and genuinely interested in our clients' welfare, I finally have a solid, professional, work environment. My boss holds integrity at the top of her list of qualifications and, unintentionally but effectively, surrounds herself with Christians.
My boss is, to use Jim Collins' term in his book Good to Great, a "Level 5 leader." She embodies his definition: a mix of professional will and personal humility, ambitious for her clients first and foremost, sets all of us (staff and clients) up for success, is modest and self-effacing, is fanatically driven with an incurable need to produce sustained results and takes full responsibility if anything ever goes poorly (which it rarely does). Unlike many of my other bosses, she is not larger than life. In fact, she's tiny and somewhat unassuming in her cuff linked, Brooks Brothers suits—that is, until she takes control of a room.
One client, who is a black-belt in Karate, likens a day of Strategic Planning with her with "going 10 rounds." As he says, "I know what that feels like." She is intense.
As such, this is, by far, the best environment I've ever experienced. And I believe wholeheartedly that I got this job through divine intervention.
My husband wanted to move back to Rochester; I did not. I sent a million resumes to companies throughout Maine (where I wanted to live) and only one to Rochester—to a company I had never heard of before and one that did not even have a position posted. I simply researched where alums of the U of R were working and this one firm looked interesting. Unbeknownst to me, my counterpart here was praying for her replacement and a suitable candidate could not be found. It was perfectly scripted.
Six years later, it still feels right with one exception (and it's significant): I'm exhausted.
I remain a good fit here because, in a similar vein to cramming for exams and subsequently acing them, I work well under tight deadlines and bend over backwards to ensure everyone is satisfied. However, as a very intuitive girlfriend who I went to college with recently commented, "Sounds like you've been taking finals every day for six years."
It was as if a light bulb went off in my head. I had a Charlie Brown moment: "That's it!" That's why I am so fatigued. I keep telling my boss that she needs to find my replacement, and even have gone so far as to introduce her recently to a candidate, but she claims I simply need a vacation. Perhaps.
I, once again, await divine intervention because, in addition to sobriety, I now want "normalcy" which I'm loosely defining as "more time with my family and a less furrowed brow." Until then, I keep plugging away because I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.
My boss is, to use Jim Collins' term in his book Good to Great, a "Level 5 leader." She embodies his definition: a mix of professional will and personal humility, ambitious for her clients first and foremost, sets all of us (staff and clients) up for success, is modest and self-effacing, is fanatically driven with an incurable need to produce sustained results and takes full responsibility if anything ever goes poorly (which it rarely does). Unlike many of my other bosses, she is not larger than life. In fact, she's tiny and somewhat unassuming in her cuff linked, Brooks Brothers suits—that is, until she takes control of a room.
One client, who is a black-belt in Karate, likens a day of Strategic Planning with her with "going 10 rounds." As he says, "I know what that feels like." She is intense.
As such, this is, by far, the best environment I've ever experienced. And I believe wholeheartedly that I got this job through divine intervention.
My husband wanted to move back to Rochester; I did not. I sent a million resumes to companies throughout Maine (where I wanted to live) and only one to Rochester—to a company I had never heard of before and one that did not even have a position posted. I simply researched where alums of the U of R were working and this one firm looked interesting. Unbeknownst to me, my counterpart here was praying for her replacement and a suitable candidate could not be found. It was perfectly scripted.
Six years later, it still feels right with one exception (and it's significant): I'm exhausted.
I remain a good fit here because, in a similar vein to cramming for exams and subsequently acing them, I work well under tight deadlines and bend over backwards to ensure everyone is satisfied. However, as a very intuitive girlfriend who I went to college with recently commented, "Sounds like you've been taking finals every day for six years."
It was as if a light bulb went off in my head. I had a Charlie Brown moment: "That's it!" That's why I am so fatigued. I keep telling my boss that she needs to find my replacement, and even have gone so far as to introduce her recently to a candidate, but she claims I simply need a vacation. Perhaps.
I, once again, await divine intervention because, in addition to sobriety, I now want "normalcy" which I'm loosely defining as "more time with my family and a less furrowed brow." Until then, I keep plugging away because I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.
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