Ataraxis Out

My friend Peter just hooked me up with Visual Thesaurus which "creates word maps that blossom with meanings and branch to related words." If you glide your cursor over the synonym hub, a short definition will appear; if you click, the map will regenerate around your new selection.

More fun for nerds!



I chose "peace" for today because I need it -- as I attempt to find serenity amidst chaos. And I like the image because it looks like someone who is successfully balancing on one leg while her hands are full and ideas are springing from her head yet she has peace in her heart.

Clearly not a self-portrait at this point in time but perhaps an aspirational vision!

Ansel in Distress

Okay, so I'm not a great photographer (yet!) but I wanted to share the silhouettes of the boys that I hung on our staircase. From this vantage point, they look like twins.



Got what I wanted! And they look great next to our deliberately tea-stained (i.e., faux aged) needlepoint family portrait -- complete with Stinky the cat -- where we are all rendered as stick figures and the hubby has a ball and chain tied around his ankle. Pure Americana kitsch.

A mi me gusta la playa!

So, what’s the best way to end an absolutely perfect vacation? By coming home to a week of springtime, sunshine, warmth, budding trees and daffodils. And leaving work on time to go to little league practice and ice cream socials at school. Oh and spending the weekend riding bikes and jumping on the neighbors' new trampoline. From now until late August (ignoring the snow this week), I should be happy!

And speaking of perfect vacations—from smooth flights that got into Puerto Vallarta early (yes, early!) to glorious, cloudless days spent oceanside with mountain views all around and cruise ships coming in/out of port—I finally got my TripAdvisor review posted.

The only issue I have with my review: I wrote NATO instead of NAFTA. Silly wabbit. Must slow down . . . or get an editor! Or better yet, give TripAdvisor some usability feedback for the next version of their site: the capability to modify a posting after it goes live would be fabulous.

Anyhoo, thank you mom for yet another week of heaven. You're pretty fly (for a white girl).

Rochester in Bloom

I received this picture from a girlfriend who works for the City of Rochester. It was taken by the City Forester on Oxford Street the other day.



It's so gorgeous here this time of year. To think we just spent the majority of the day in 85+ degree sunshine marching through town in in the Little League parade and the temp just dropped to 60 degrees as the rain came rolling through late this afternoon. What's worse? It's supposed to snow this week.

Ay caramba. But, it's still green, budding and spring right now!

Three Cups of Tea

My fantabulous friend Patrick in San Francisco sent the book Three Cups of Tea to me a few months ago and I finally took the time over my awesome vacation to read it. Whoa. Talk about inspiring.

In a nutshell, an American mountain climber, Greg Mortenson, after a harrowing (read: failed) attempt at ascending K2 basically stumbles, completely ill-of-health and frozen solid, into a tiny town in the mountains of Pakistan where he's catered to until his strength returns. And it changes his life. He witnesses the boys and girls of this town attending "school" in extreme outdoor conditions and promises to come back and build a school for these students. But this true story isn't one of the rich American guy coming back and tapping into his wealthy friends for financing. He's an otherwise unknown nurse who works the night shift, sleeps in his car and denies himself any/all modern conveniences in order to save every penny he earns for these poor, Muslim kids on the other side of the world.

He's a man on a mission and this dangerous adventure takes him repeatedly into Pakistan and Afghanistan during pre- and post-9/11 turmoil. The book allows us to experience the obstacles he encounters along with the riveting political, cultural and social dynamics of the region that our news coverage doesn't provide.

Most importantly, it shows how the simple act of providing the poorest students with a balanced education, is making them much more willing to trust Americans and, in turn, difficult for the extremist Islamic religious schools (or madrassas) to recruit.

And it shows how one man can, in fact, change the world -- one village at a time.

Lastly, although the following pales in comparison with everything else the book describes, there was something mentioned toward the end that stopped me in my tracks once again. A friend of Mortenson's named Julia Bergman heads to Pakistan with him to lend a hand in some extremely hazardous conditions. She shows up wearing a necklace that reads, "I Want To Be Thoroughly Used Up When I Die."

I simply love that. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die.

I'm Still Dorky

When I was in high school, my siblings were all out of the house -- college and beyond -- and my parents worked. I would come home most days to an empty home. My mom, ever vigilant about ensuring I didn't get locked out of the house, would call out to me as I left each morning, "Don't forget your door key."

Ah yes, the daily nerd reminder from my mother!

Just kidding, mom. I know that you meant it only in a true "door key" fashion.

But it still cracks me up when I hear it -- like whenever I left the room during our recent vacation.

Yep, still dorky . . .

Bragging Rights

Just flew in from Mexico -- and boy are my arms tired. D'oh.

More on our fabulous vacation later but first I need to boast about something that has absolutely nothing to do with me but about which I am abundantly proud by proxy . . .

My nephew who is a freshman at Brown apparently won "best screenplay" in the Ivy Film Festival last weekend.

How cool is that?

Okay, I'll answer: pretty darned cool.

Peace Out

I always struggle a bit when posting about anything smacking of Christianity because so many people find it offensive and send me emails or make comments. But, I have to say, it's such a big part of who I am that I feel I would be negligent (at best) if I wasn't being true to myself. So for my non-believer friends, you might not want to read this post.

Anyway, I bring this up because I intended to get up at the crack of dawn and head back into work really early today because I have some serious deadlines and three important client meetings in the next two days. Last night, as I worked well past my bedtime, I was mentally exhausted and basically angst-riddled that my boss and I had committed to these unreasonable time frames with our clients. Note: Not one deadline is unreasonable -- just all of them lumped together is ridiculous. I kept thinking, "why didn't we just tell the last client, 'yes, we would love to help' but cannot begin for two weeks"? Is it that urgent that something that hasn't been addressed for years suddenly gets my immediate attention?

As I was waking up, I felt called, instead, to do my bible study. I countered with a quick "but I need to get to work before I have a nervous breakdown" thought but was immediately convinced that my bible study was more important. Fancy that.

So I went downstairs and opened to the next chapter Romans:15--which is all about how we serve God by serving others. Hello! And it even had this little gem from the Apostle Paul that I loved, "I have been bold enough to write about some of these points, knowing that all you need is this reminder."

Yes, on this excruciatingly painful deadline-driven day, God knew that I needed a gentle reminder. Again, again, again: it's not all about me. I am now able to begin my day with a joyful heart so that I may be a stronger encouragement to others.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Como se dice Babewatch?

This just in from the BBC: "The Simpsons has been dropped from morning TV in Venezuela after being deemed unsuitable for children - and has been replaced by Baywatch."

I'm sorry; I must have misread that. Baywatch? Pamela Anderson in a tight, red bathing suit?

Yeah, that's healthy for kids: girls with poor self-images and boys with (insert your own sardonic thought here).

Next, they might want to consider getting rid of the sodas in the school vending machines and offering only light beer.

Spring Glorious Spring!

There is a man outside my window right now using a Weed Whacker. It's music to my ears.

I just realized that the grass is green. And that there IS grass. And the sun is out. And the birds are chirping.

My boss thinks I'm nipping at a little something behind my desk.

But it's just spring!

Why? Cuss we like you!

Apparently, this is 91% less than other websites who took this test (read: derelict expletive-laden filth mongers).

However, if I'm aiming for Six Sigma defect standards, I have some gosh darn diddly arn work to do.

Created by OnePlusYou.

Pimp My Cart

Last night, I ran into the Pittsford Mega-Wegs for some quick dinner items. I'm not a big grocery shopper and rarely relish the experience (again with the bad puns. must. stop.). However, yesterday I got a rare treat: somebody pimped my cart.

I'm no industrial designer but I'm guessing there was a bolt missing that keeps the basket firmly attached to the legs/wheels. As I went over the bumps on the floor -- especially the area near the cheese shop that is tiled! -- my cart undulated with style.

To add an even greater sense of the surreal to the entire encounter, Foghat's Slow Ride was playing over the store speakers. No one else seemed to find that music selection bizarre. Or at least others did not have incredulous smirks on their faces. Since when is grocery shopping supposed to whisk you back into your Dazed and Confused days of yesteryear?

But seriously, I think I'm onto the prototype cart of the future. My realization (in technical terms) is that carts don't need to be so blinking herky-jerky or unwieldy. Alas, I wish I had flagged it somehow so I could find it on my next journey into the wilds of Weggies. It made the entire experience so much smoooooother.

If there's a next time with the cart-of-my-dreams, I hope to hear Low Rider. And I'll plan to buy some Colt 45.

Gotta dime? Call someone who cares.

Went to IHOP this a.m. with Son #2 because he wanted Horton Hears a Who pancakes and a Beezlenut Splash drink. This is the stuff that dreams are made of for kids. And dentists.



On the way out the door, there were a couple of phone booths.

Son #2: "Whoa, look mama! They have phone booths here."

Me: "Tell me you've never seen a phone booth before!?"

Unreal.

Sometimes it's easy to forget just how much the world has changed.

Better than the Betty

My brother and his family just got back from a fabulous vacation at La Quinta Resort & Club outside of Palm Springs.



As beautiful as it appears, I have to question: Is 41 pools and 53 hot spas enough? Gosh, what on earth would we do all day long? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Sounds soooo good to me on this chilly, drab day.

The only time I have ever been in that area was for a regional sales meeting when I worked at American Express which took place at the Hyatt Grand Champions Resort in Indian Wells. (No, contrary to public opinion, I haven't been to the Betty Ford Clinic -- yet.) Because we played marginally instrumental roles in facilitating the sales meetings that year, a co-worker and I were placed (unbeknownst to us until we arrived) in our own, side-by-side, two bedroom villas complete with fireplaces, private backyards and spas. Apparently the hotel was filled to capacity and we were the primary recipients of the luxurious benefit. Who am I to complain?

When I arrived, I called the hubby to let him know I was safe and sound. During our call, I heard a knock so I put the phone down and answered the door. It was Charles, my butler (!), checking in to see if there was anything I needed. Nope! I think I'm okay!

When I got back to the phone, my ever-so-lovely husband, who overheard the brief conversation, put the phone up to his butt and proceeded to let one rip. What the . . ? His response, "I just wanted to remind you of what you were coming home to." Yeah, sadly that realization has never escaped me!

A moment later, Monique came to get me for dinner and noticed that I had a piece of chocolate on each pillow across my beds. She joked with her butler on the way out the door, "Hey, why don't I have chocolate on my pillows"? He appeared to be just as surprised as she was and apologized profusely.

Upon arriving back later that evening, she came rushing into my villa, "You HAVE to come see this." Her butler had taken hundreds of pieces of chocolate and placed them roughly an inch apart from one another completely covering her beds. She was ecstatic.

Now that's what I call service.

Mommy Cash

"Boy, you're just screaming 'springtime' today," said my husband to me this a.m. as I was leaving the house wearing a black blazer, black shirt, black skirt, black tights, black jacket and black heels while carrying a black purse.

Well at least I'm not in boots nor am I wearing a wool coat!

And, for whatever it's worth, my lipstick is light pink.

Over the past few years I have come to terms with the fact that I have morphed into my mother--who we used to call "Mommy Cash" when we were younger for her myriad black-on-black ensembles. I have somehow become the same woman who would frown upon purchasing, for example, an orange sweater as it would be very impractical.

My mom refused to buy the blue plaid polyester uniform for me when I was in grade school because it was tacky; however, she never seemed to mind that I was the only kid still wearing the "old school" (pun intended?) gray plaid wool uniform a) well into spring and b) when I had grown so much that it had become a micro-mini. (I actually had to wear shorts underneath to avoid showing my skivvies.)

From a fashion perspective, it shouldn't take too much for me to transition into becoming a nun during retirement. This black has become a habit . . .

Oh, I slay myself.

My Affair Continues

Yesterday, I left the house without my wedding band on. I showed my hubby the rash on my ring finger beforehand and asked him if it was okay if I went sans ring for the day. He couldn't have cared less.

So I spent the day at a client site and checked my voicemails at the end of the day. My girlfriend Michele, with whom I was having dinner, left a message that said, "I just called work and they said you weren't there today so I'm going to try you at home and see if your husband knows where you are."

Ring-less? Not at work and not at home? Here we go again! My cover is blown!

On a side note, I did learn one valuable lesson last night: Remember to take the safety goggles off your head when dining out. Even Paris Hilton doesn't wear frames that large.

She is fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack;
She's touring the facility and picking up slack.

Somehow high fashion on the production floor doesn't quite cut it in a nice restaurant. Why is that?