One of my best friends since the first grade came over for wine and cheese a few weeks ago. The kids, mainly Son #2, have a running gag with her where they pretend to drink too much (i.e., head back, fist to mouth, thumb to lips, pinkie in air), stagger around the room and then get behind the wheel of a car (i.e., two fists turning an invisible steering wheel) while making screeching tire noises. Very rude behavior from disrespectful children. Not to mention, completely undeserved. Thankfully, she laughs.
Son #2, our resident comedian, even coined a new nickname for her. In response to me calling her a "soccer mom," he stated, "More like a sake mom."
It'll be hard to live that one down.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
My Eulogy
I just went through the 3.5 years of this blog and deleted most of my work-related rants. Why? Partly because I'm very appreciative of this job (which is also well documented) but mainly because it's hurtful. And, while my readers are limited to a few friends and family, I don't want to be that person who intentionally or unintentionally hurts someone's feelings. It amounted to 13 posts over the past 46 months (i.e., roughly one per quarter). In hindsight, not too bad, after all.
The other morning I had coffee with a headhunter who bills himself as a connector. He wanted to meet with me to discuss a business idea he's hatching. Somehow in the course of our conversation, he asked what I wanted said about me during my eulogy. Nothing business-related, I assured him. (Man, could she produce. Have you seen her spreadsheets?)
The topic came up again later that same day when I had lunch with my favorite pastor. He said it's a topic in the bestseller and major snooze fest (my add), The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. To live a noteworthy life, you basically start with the end in mind. For example, he said that he hopes people will always recognize him as someone who truly cared for others. Nice.
But what's my end goal? The question keeps rolling and rolling around with the tumbleweed in my brain.
Yesterday, my mom and I went to my uncle's funeral. His eulogy was centered around his larger-than-life personality, ability to live life to its fullest and can-do personality. He focused his approach to life around a single question: Is it the right thing to do? and, if the answer was "yes," he would say, "then do it."
I have no such defining principles. Or, if I do, I'm not sure they're earmarked as mine and/or shared readily with others.
What would others say at my funeral? She was so busy, I barely saw her anymore? That probably would not be stated aloud. Maybe people would say that I'm nice. Or sometimes funny. A good mom. All of these are good things but they're not strong differentiators.
Who am I? More importantly, what positive mark should I be attempting to imprint on my children? I don't have the answer yet but I'm glad to be posing the question.
The other morning I had coffee with a headhunter who bills himself as a connector. He wanted to meet with me to discuss a business idea he's hatching. Somehow in the course of our conversation, he asked what I wanted said about me during my eulogy. Nothing business-related, I assured him. (Man, could she produce. Have you seen her spreadsheets?)
The topic came up again later that same day when I had lunch with my favorite pastor. He said it's a topic in the bestseller and major snooze fest (my add), The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. To live a noteworthy life, you basically start with the end in mind. For example, he said that he hopes people will always recognize him as someone who truly cared for others. Nice.
But what's my end goal? The question keeps rolling and rolling around with the tumbleweed in my brain.
Yesterday, my mom and I went to my uncle's funeral. His eulogy was centered around his larger-than-life personality, ability to live life to its fullest and can-do personality. He focused his approach to life around a single question: Is it the right thing to do? and, if the answer was "yes," he would say, "then do it."
I have no such defining principles. Or, if I do, I'm not sure they're earmarked as mine and/or shared readily with others.
What would others say at my funeral? She was so busy, I barely saw her anymore? That probably would not be stated aloud. Maybe people would say that I'm nice. Or sometimes funny. A good mom. All of these are good things but they're not strong differentiators.
Who am I? More importantly, what positive mark should I be attempting to imprint on my children? I don't have the answer yet but I'm glad to be posing the question.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Back in the Day
Wow, this video brings back so many memories. Taking the bus downtown with my mom to go to the dentist and stopping to watch the clock at Midtown Plaza. Going to dinner at the Spring House many, many times. Riding our bikes down a relatively quiet Monroe Avenue to Pittsford Plaza and eating french fries at the cafeteria in Woolworth's. Picking up the latest 45s at J.C. Penney. Getting our new shoes for the school year at Altier's -- where they measured your feet and made sure they fit perfectly. And getting S&H green stamps at the supermarket, affixing them to the coupon books and leafing through the catalog for free goodies.
Great childhood. Fun video.
Great childhood. Fun video.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Editorial Review
Years ago my old boss, Frank Smith, and I were in Penn Station on the way to a client visit in Philadelphia. He glanced at the newsstand and did a double take at Ms. magazine. A typo on the cover?! We both bought copies. He said, "Well, someone just lost a job." My heart sank for that person. By the time we arrived at the 30th Street Station in Philly, all of the issues had already been pulled from the shelves.
On the news later that week, the editor of Ms. magazine went on record to share that no one lost a job. In fact, a gazillion people within the magazine had seen/reviewed that cover and all of them, collectively, were culpable. Checks and balances. Mutual accountability.
Love that.
Image grabbed from here.
On the news later that week, the editor of Ms. magazine went on record to share that no one lost a job. In fact, a gazillion people within the magazine had seen/reviewed that cover and all of them, collectively, were culpable. Checks and balances. Mutual accountability.
Love that.
Image grabbed from here.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Ah! The Joke's on Me!
I've decided that if you list all of the attributes of the perfect spouse (e.g., rich, handsome, kind, generous, pleasant, tidy, faithful), not only should "funny" be at the top of the list, it should be weighted more heavily than all of the other attributes combined--especially if you're like I am and take life a bit too seriously at times. Because when life hands you lemons, you may as well have someone beside you to unexpectedly squeeze them into your face and make you laugh.
Last week, I went to Stein Mart, home of the epic sale, and bought a slew of black sweaters, black skirts, black dresses, gray dresses, and so on (i.e., my daily work wardrobe) and only spent $200. I was soooo proud of myself. (Aside: I love how the Stein Mart receipt tallies your supposed savings! What a psychological boost to see that I presumably saved over $950.)
Hubby: Congratulations! You just spent $200 buying stuff you already own!
Last night, our family was watching a Nova episode entitled "Can We Live Forever?" in which they profiled the 13-lined ground squirrel -- an animal that can survive an experience which should have left him for dead: hibernation.
Hubby: Oh! I thought they were going to say "marriage."
Ha. Good for an unexpected laugh out of me and the thumbs-up from Son #1.
Short story long. It reminded me of a day spent, many moons ago, in pre-cana (i.e., mandatory premarital counseling for those being wed in the Catholic church). Our guide for the day was a deacon of the church and his wife, a woman of considerable heft. You could hide a Twinkie in her folds if she didn't get to it first. My most vivid memory of the day was when he talked about how he found God whenever he and his wife made love. Seriously. T! M! I!
Anyhoo, at our table were three women named Laura and Cathy Turner, local Olympic gold medalist in speed skating, along with their soon-to-be spouses. Each couple received a workbook that had a picture of a happy couple doing a crossword puzzle together. The first word, horizontal, was being filled in by the dude holding a pencil with the word "marriage." How sweet, right?
While the rest of the room was taking their partnering exercises very seriously, our whole table was cracking jokes. Turned out to be a pretty fun day, all things considered. At one point, I glanced at the cover of our workbook and noticed that my lovely boyfriend had drawn a speech bubble over the guy's photo and written, "Honey, what's an eight-letter word for incarceration?"
Upon reflection, I think that may have set the tone for our far-from-perfect but still funny marriage. I wonder how the rest of the couples in that room fared?
Last week, I went to Stein Mart, home of the epic sale, and bought a slew of black sweaters, black skirts, black dresses, gray dresses, and so on (i.e., my daily work wardrobe) and only spent $200. I was soooo proud of myself. (Aside: I love how the Stein Mart receipt tallies your supposed savings! What a psychological boost to see that I presumably saved over $950.)
Hubby: Congratulations! You just spent $200 buying stuff you already own!
Last night, our family was watching a Nova episode entitled "Can We Live Forever?" in which they profiled the 13-lined ground squirrel -- an animal that can survive an experience which should have left him for dead: hibernation.
Hubby: Oh! I thought they were going to say "marriage."
Ha. Good for an unexpected laugh out of me and the thumbs-up from Son #1.
Short story long. It reminded me of a day spent, many moons ago, in pre-cana (i.e., mandatory premarital counseling for those being wed in the Catholic church). Our guide for the day was a deacon of the church and his wife, a woman of considerable heft. You could hide a Twinkie in her folds if she didn't get to it first. My most vivid memory of the day was when he talked about how he found God whenever he and his wife made love. Seriously. T! M! I!
Anyhoo, at our table were three women named Laura and Cathy Turner, local Olympic gold medalist in speed skating, along with their soon-to-be spouses. Each couple received a workbook that had a picture of a happy couple doing a crossword puzzle together. The first word, horizontal, was being filled in by the dude holding a pencil with the word "marriage." How sweet, right?
While the rest of the room was taking their partnering exercises very seriously, our whole table was cracking jokes. Turned out to be a pretty fun day, all things considered. At one point, I glanced at the cover of our workbook and noticed that my lovely boyfriend had drawn a speech bubble over the guy's photo and written, "Honey, what's an eight-letter word for incarceration?"
Upon reflection, I think that may have set the tone for our far-from-perfect but still funny marriage. I wonder how the rest of the couples in that room fared?
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Namaste
At the end of yoga classes, the teacher typically puts his/her hands in prayer pose, bows to the class and says, "Namaste." It's a Sanskrit word that loosely translates to "The divine in me honors the divine in you." The students reciprocate the bow and sentiment.
It is a beautiful practice and reminder that God lies within each of us.
Last weekend, I was reading a book entitled Soul Prints written by Rabbi Marc Gafni that I grabbed from the free, discard shelves at our library. In this book, he states that "shalom" not only means "peace" but also in the Kabbalistic understanding of language conveys a wider intent--specifically, "The divine point within me greets the divine point within you." Wow. Really?
Early the same evening, after reading that point, and pondering its significance, I attended Catholic mass and couldn't help but notice the similarities. The priest says "The Lord be with you" and we respond "And also with you." Sometimes it's more elaborate (e.g., "The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all") but the response is the same, "And also with you."
Later, the priest states, "The peace of the Lord be with you always" and again we say, "And also with you." We then offer each other a sign of peace by shaking hands with everyone around us and saying to one another, "Peace be with you." Every week, bar none, this simple gesture reminds me of my grandpa Jack who always turned to us and said, "Shalom."
What an honor, right? To acknowledge the divine peace and presence in the family, friends and strangers among us. Although I've been performing this act my entire life, until last weekend, I had never fully appreciated the beauty.
Namaste.
Or, as the great spiritual leader Obi-Wan Kenobi once said, "May the force be with you."
It is a beautiful practice and reminder that God lies within each of us.
Last weekend, I was reading a book entitled Soul Prints written by Rabbi Marc Gafni that I grabbed from the free, discard shelves at our library. In this book, he states that "shalom" not only means "peace" but also in the Kabbalistic understanding of language conveys a wider intent--specifically, "The divine point within me greets the divine point within you." Wow. Really?
Early the same evening, after reading that point, and pondering its significance, I attended Catholic mass and couldn't help but notice the similarities. The priest says "The Lord be with you" and we respond "And also with you." Sometimes it's more elaborate (e.g., "The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all") but the response is the same, "And also with you."
Later, the priest states, "The peace of the Lord be with you always" and again we say, "And also with you." We then offer each other a sign of peace by shaking hands with everyone around us and saying to one another, "Peace be with you." Every week, bar none, this simple gesture reminds me of my grandpa Jack who always turned to us and said, "Shalom."
What an honor, right? To acknowledge the divine peace and presence in the family, friends and strangers among us. Although I've been performing this act my entire life, until last weekend, I had never fully appreciated the beauty.
Namaste.
Or, as the great spiritual leader Obi-Wan Kenobi once said, "May the force be with you."
Friday, February 18, 2011
Going Waco
Years ago, when the feds were piping loud music into the compound at Waco in an attempt to drive out cult leader David Koresh and the Branch Davidians, our friend Jason made the following observation, "If you really want to drive people crazy, don't blast Alice Cooper to a rock 'n' roller, pipe in 'Pop Goes the Weasel' at loud decibels for days on end."
Made sense to me.
Makes even more sense now. Son #1's saxamaphone teacher has her students practicing that song night after night after night. It's been confirmed: that song WILL drive you nuts even in 20 minute increments. Calgon take me away.
I got no friends 'cause they read the papers
They can't be seen with me
Made sense to me.
Makes even more sense now. Son #1's saxamaphone teacher has her students practicing that song night after night after night. It's been confirmed: that song WILL drive you nuts even in 20 minute increments. Calgon take me away.
I got no friends 'cause they read the papers
They can't be seen with me
Monday, February 14, 2011
Lessons Learned
What I learned over the weekend:
- When little boys say they're "okay," they're not
- You should never take sick boys snowboarding
- If you do take sick boys snowboarding, you should have sickness bags in your car
- Said sickness bags should be easily accessible (vs. in the trunk)
- When you remind little boys that your car is new and ask if you need to pull over, you should pull over regardless of their response
- When little boys change their minds and state that they're feeling a bit sick, they mean it
- The timeframe between starting to ask mom to pull over and puking is approximately one-tenth of one second in duration (rendering a complete sentence obsolete)
- Gatorade-laden vomit isn't nearly as stinky or chunky as other types
- Gatorade-laden vomit washes out of new car upholstery and snow gear fairly easy
- Some days, it's good to be back at work
Thursday, February 10, 2011
In December
Following is a story, entitled "In December," that Son #1 wrote not-so-coincidentally
last December. I really love his choice of words. (Since when are marshmallows friends? They're more likely to say nasty things behind your back, as far as I'm concerned. Jerks.) But seriously, I've never been able to write this well -- much less in the fifth grade. So stinkin' cute.
(Another aside: I now know how he found Santa's wrapping paper in my closet. He sniffed it out!)
Time for a new semester of the test of life . . .
last December. I really love his choice of words. (Since when are marshmallows friends? They're more likely to say nasty things behind your back, as far as I'm concerned. Jerks.) But seriously, I've never been able to write this well -- much less in the fifth grade. So stinkin' cute.
(Another aside: I now know how he found Santa's wrapping paper in my closet. He sniffed it out!)
Time for a new semester of the test of life . . .
Monday, February 7, 2011
The Night Sweats Revisited
Bored and playing around. Sick of the black with polka dots but this is too girlie girl for me.
The Voice of Truth
The weekend is over again. How does this keep happening?! Acupuncture? Check. Swimming? Check. Life by Keith Richards? Check. Superbowl fun? Check.
At the end of the typical weekend drive-a-thon, I ended up at my mom's church last night. (Note #1: Kevin, you can stop reading right now. Note #2: Mom, sorry for not calling. Hopefully you went earlier! Came home from Bristol, dropped the snowboard gear in the garage and kept going.) Sometimes I am overtaken with emotion during church services. Yesterday was one of those days. (Glad you weren't with me?) A young soloist, maybe high school aged, sang the Voice of Truth during communion. She looked and sounded like an angel.
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.
Later Jennings, celebrating the Packers' win, cameras everywhere, confetti flying, says to the FOX interviewer, "To God be the glory."
(Yeah, I hear ya hon. God hates the Steelers.) Even though I know that most of us cannot stand when famous people thank God during awards shows or game day wins, it always takes me by surprise. And I love it. As we say, somewhat robotically, in church week after week, "It is right to give Him thanks and praise." I don't gotta problem with that.
At the end of the typical weekend drive-a-thon, I ended up at my mom's church last night. (Note #1: Kevin, you can stop reading right now. Note #2: Mom, sorry for not calling. Hopefully you went earlier! Came home from Bristol, dropped the snowboard gear in the garage and kept going.) Sometimes I am overtaken with emotion during church services. Yesterday was one of those days. (Glad you weren't with me?) A young soloist, maybe high school aged, sang the Voice of Truth during communion. She looked and sounded like an angel.
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.
Later Jennings, celebrating the Packers' win, cameras everywhere, confetti flying, says to the FOX interviewer, "To God be the glory."
(Yeah, I hear ya hon. God hates the Steelers.) Even though I know that most of us cannot stand when famous people thank God during awards shows or game day wins, it always takes me by surprise. And I love it. As we say, somewhat robotically, in church week after week, "It is right to give Him thanks and praise." I don't gotta problem with that.
Friday, February 4, 2011
When I Live My Dream
Years ago, I had a series of recurring dreams in which I was hanging out with Robert De Niro. In my dreams, we were always close friends. He would be sitting in a chair, wearing glasses, reading a book under a lamp while I lounged on the couch writing in my journal. I'm not sure we ever spoke. We were just comfortable together.
One morning in the late 90's, there was a report on the radio that De Niro was allegedly involved in a prostitution raid in Paris (note: never proven). For a split second upon hearing the news, I thought "That's impossible, he was with me last night." And a second later, I realized that my dream life was merging with reality.
Good Lord. That's probably how crazy people, like the chick who was arrested for stalking David Letterman (who, coincidentally, lived with my not-really-my-cousin Clare at the time), become insane. It could have been me. Poor Bobby.
Last night, I woke up in a bed, under a green blanket, with Albert Brooks. We were joking and laughing a lot. Later we met up with John Travolta for gin and tonics. (Do Scientologists even drink?) Then I ended up in a limo with Kelly Preston, Jennifer Aniston and some other famous chick (maybe Nicole Kidman but I hope not). We were driving around, putting on bright red lipstick and talking about whether to go out in Rochester or not. May cause a huge stir and not be fun at all, right? It's tough to be famous sometimes.
Then I woke up . . .
One morning in the late 90's, there was a report on the radio that De Niro was allegedly involved in a prostitution raid in Paris (note: never proven). For a split second upon hearing the news, I thought "That's impossible, he was with me last night." And a second later, I realized that my dream life was merging with reality.
Good Lord. That's probably how crazy people, like the chick who was arrested for stalking David Letterman (who, coincidentally, lived with my not-really-my-cousin Clare at the time), become insane. It could have been me. Poor Bobby.
Last night, I woke up in a bed, under a green blanket, with Albert Brooks. We were joking and laughing a lot. Later we met up with John Travolta for gin and tonics. (Do Scientologists even drink?) Then I ended up in a limo with Kelly Preston, Jennifer Aniston and some other famous chick (maybe Nicole Kidman but I hope not). We were driving around, putting on bright red lipstick and talking about whether to go out in Rochester or not. May cause a huge stir and not be fun at all, right? It's tough to be famous sometimes.
Then I woke up . . .
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