A Day Without Goals

What a great day to sleep in and read the New York Times: A Day Without Goals. Love the pun. What a cutie.

Read the book The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work by Alain de Botton yesterday. This snippet, about a day in the life of employees at a multinational accountancy, struck me as particularly poignant.

These achievements will no doubt lose some of their significance with the perspective of time. Three years from now, the diary of the afternoon of the twenty-ninth of July will have become almost unintelligible, when it had once been sharply divided into pressing hour-long increments, devoted to appointments with colleagues whose very names and faces will have grown indistinct.

Sad but true. If I try to remember what was so important that I never made it to girls' weekend in the Hamptons late August two summers ago, I cannot for the life of me begin to imagine. But it certainly was seemingly critical at the time.

Ah well, must go to bed on time tonight so I can awaken early, go swimming and be in the office by 7:30 a.m. so I can meet my pressing deadlines, in billable increments, for clients whose very names and faces will grow indistinct soon.

That's life.

Stop Disencouraging Me

Last year, Son #2's teacher and her third grade class were the nationwide Scholastic Book Grand Prize winners in the non-fiction category for a book they wrote and illustrated, Rejoice! Poetry Celebrating Life in the Amazon Rainforest.

As such, Son #2 is convinced his class will win it again this year.

Son #2: When we win, will you buy the book for me?

Me: Absolutely, but keep in mind, Mrs. Kwit's class won last year. Winning two years in a row may be unheard of.

Son #2: Mama, you're being very disencouraging.

I love it when he coins a new word! More importantly, I love it when he teaches me a lesson. I need to be less disencouraging and possibly more reencouraging.

Always look on the bright side of life.

In a Nutshell: Simple Book Reviews

It's so difficult to be back behind my desk after such a fabulous week (Thanks Mom!) of 88 degree weather, sunshine, rum punch, swimming, snuggling, ping pong, learning to scuba dive (in a pool!), attempting to play tennis with little kids and stuffing our faces with food. Must go right back.

Can you drive to Barbados?

Instead, I must find peace at home.

At the end of mass last weekend, my mom's priest gave an announcement that they were selling the book My Life with the Saints for $10. Strange, that's exactly the recommended reading from Coffee Toast Milk Jam. My mom bought two! Can't wait to start reading tonight.

In preparation, for whatever reason extremely foreign to my normal behavior, I decided I shouldn't start another book until I had finished the three I was working on. So I did. Following are my two-second book reviews.

Reading Jesus by Mary Gordon: Interesting take on reading the Gospels from a Catholic who had never picked them up before. The author poses a lot of great questions about seemingly contradictory Bible passages; however, a little more probing prior to publishing her book may have answered some of the questions. I ain't no Biblical scholar but some of them seemed fairly easy to comprehend. For example, in thinking about the Prodigal Son's brother who gets screwed out of his possessions (including his fatted calf) when his drinking/whoring brother returns home and their dad throws a big party, she cries "unfair." Exactly. But she doesn't fully explore the greater meaning of a Father celebrating the lost son's return vs. not celebrating (but still loving and honoring with the remaining inheritance) the diligent son who, in turn, has no love in his heart -- even for his brother -- and is performing familial duties perfunctorily (i.e., who embodies legalism vs. passion).

In a nutshell: Short read, interesting observations, but really not worth running out to buy.

Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert: Not even remotely written in the same vein as her hit Eat, Pray, Love but I really enjoyed this book. As someone who a) has pondered the rationale of marriage for more years than I've been married (i.e., I never really understood the need for it prior to getting married) and b) agreed to get married without any real understanding of what being married entailed, I couldn't help wishing that someone had written this book in the early nineties. It is a well researched, well documented treatise on "holy" matrimony including the history of marriage, with some multicultural references and a few "what works/what doesn't" statistics thrown in for good measure. The author's writing style suits me well so, for me, it was a page turner even if the subject matter is a bit dry at times and somewhat irrelevant to many of us.

In a nutshell: Unless you really care about the history of marriage and/or are considering getting married and want to ponder the subject a little more deeply, why bother?

All We Wanted Was Everything by Janelle Brown: A beach read. No more/no less. Given that I don't live in a world of IPOs, wealth, extravagance, country clubs, etc., I didn't relate well to the characters. And although I finished reading it I feel certain that, had I not, I wouldn't have missed a thing.

In a nutshell: Don't believe the hype.



All in all, a bit of a bust. Onward now to My Life with the Saints.

Free Range Telephone Poles

How is it possible that I'm back in this office so quickly? Why can't every weekend be filled with fun and candy? Like double cherry pie? Like disco lemonade?

First off, I read a book that the hubby borrowed from the library entitled Year of the Cock: The Remarkable True Account of a Married Man Who Left His Wife and Paid the Price. A total page turner! And by page turner, I mean that you can flip through, without reading, about 100 pages of absolute jibber jabber where this dude is pathologically obsessed with his penis. Constantly standing in front of the mirror, measuring, tugging, etc. and describing it all in exhaustive detail. Thanks but no thanks. While the "cock" reference is perfectly in sync with the Chinese zodiac, I really wish there was a Year of the Douchebag: The Lame but True Account of a Total Dip Shit Who Lost His Mind, Wife, Palms, Young/Hot Girlfriends and Any Sense of Decorum. With all that said, this tale confirms that men with small penises do, in fact, buy Porsches. Ew.

Beyond that, the weekend was filled with taking Son #1 to swimming class and sitting poolside for an additional hour while he played water polo with the other kids, creating cute little Halloween pumpkin crafts (I'm so stinkin' domestic!!), handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters as my ninja and alien boys went door-to-door collecting even more lard-ass-inducing loot, going to church and going on a hike with the Cub Scouts at the Cumming Nature Center where I felt like I was fully immersed in an Audubon painting. Specifically this Hudson River School painting that I stumbled upon but with fewer leaves and more beaver lodges.

What I learned? That prior to the obsolescence of land lines, entire forests were planted to farm telephone poles. And they're breathtaking now.

(Photo from the Finger Lakes Visitors Connection via Ontario County.)

What else I learned? That GPS is completely unreliable. (Note: I already discovered this on my way to D.C. and my way home from Saranac Lake but this time was the worst.) It told me to take a left on a non-existent street. Just trees to the left. Trees to the right. I was also guided deep into a continuous cycle/circle of U-turns. It later led me up a gravel driveway that ended at a house and proceeded to tell me to take a left. My father did that while drunk many years ago and his car wound up in our living room -- so I decided not to follow in his footsteps. I didn't know this family and they might not appreciate it as much as we did at the time.

Anyhoo, nothing says "leadership" and "parenting 101" quite like driving 700 miles an hour on winding, country roads and bellowing expletives while a little scout sits quietly in the backseat occasionally piping in with comments like, "Wow mama! That was a sharp turn!" as he slid sideways. Thank God for seat belts. And for troop meetings that start notoriously late.

All of this leads up to today: Little Monkey's eighth birthday! Stock tip of the week: before the official birthday party next weekend, buy shares of GameStop and all things Tony Hawk. If last night's family party was any indication, there's a whole lot of dollars being invested in these brands.

Once again, happiness prevails.

My Day of Atonement

Years ago, after the hubby had his wisdom teeth out, I rented Beaches and some other horrible chick flick like Fried Green Tomatoes. Kick 'em when he's down, I say. He's never quite forgiven me.

I finally atoned for that sin during Yom Kippur by getting sick, staying home for two days, reading a boring book and watching three films -- all of which left more to be desired. The worst of the lot was Adrift in Manhattan starring Heather Graham. The only thing that could have saved me from interminable boredom during this "drama" was if I were adrift in Manhattans but alas I'm deep in the heart of my pseudo-Lenten, non-drinking period. Next up was Grace is Gone with my main man John Cusack. Not bad; not great. Touchingly so so.

Hands down, the best movie of the three was Burn After Reading which was disappointingly not up to par with other Coen Brothers films. But here's what I really want to know: how did they get John Malkovich to play the part of the jilted agent/husband? Did he read the script before signing on? He, of course, was fantastic (as he typically is) but his character spent the entire film saying and/or asking "What the f*&^?" in a million different, highly expressive ways. I'm not sure he had many (if any) other lines but he delivered each WTF with a new, fresh intonation while stressing different words. Impressive. I guess that's acting. The hubby's guess is that he needed a cash infusion to renovate his kitchen.

Oh well. I think it's high time to put my movie picking to rest and let others select films for me from now on. It's no wonder I'm not allowed to touch the remote.

Mini-weekend: Day 14

Sunshine. High in the mid-80s. What's not to like?

Instead of accomplishing anything constructive today, I took the opportunity to read the book play written by Stuart Brown, M.D. For someone seeking greater happiness in life, I'm a big proponent of elevating the status of play in our culture.

From a "play personality" perspective, I clearly belong in the "explorer" category. Not only do I love to travel, even if it's just shuttling the kids to D.C. for the weekend, I also enjoy seeking new perspectives in myself. This possibly explains why my bible study is so important to me, why I'm such an avid reader and why, stress levels aside, I enjoy the variety and constant learning found in management consulting. It also explains why I'm willing to engage in many of the activities my kids ask me to do. Normally, I wouldn't be the first to sign up for ice skating . . .

So how can I proactively bring more play into my daily life? I need to pay attention to the times when I'm so lost in an activity that I lose track of time -- and then I need to actively seek more of those activities. Writing, swimming, painting, dancing, reading, hanging with the family and going out with girlfriends. Upon brief reflection, however, I think I'm doing a pretty good job of play already!

No wonder my house is such a mess.

When the working day is done
Oh girls they wanna have fun
Oh girls just wanna have fun!

Killing Me Softly

I just finished reading Drinking Problems at the Fountain of Youth. Ugh. The topic of aging is SO blinkin' depressing. Especially when (to misquote Roberta Flack or Lauryn Hill depending on your age-related frame of reference) every single chapter is "singing my life with her words." Yet, somehow, Beth Teitell's writing style makes the read enjoyable. Who else shares in gory detail fun-filled stories such as her morning microdermabrasing-cleansing-clarifying-restoring-reversing-rejuvenating-regenerating-refining-replenishing-renewing-brightening-tightening-toning-lifting-lightening-hydrating-protecting-defending-defining-defying-correcting-concealing-smoothing-plumping-minimizing routine?

To make matters worse: I'm still a soap and water girl who uses an inexpensive moisturizer. This may explain a lot. Argh.

Here are a few of the many tidbits that made me laugh (nervously):

• Age is the new fat
  
• Fighting wrinkles is like gambling; the house always wins
• Every wrinkle your friend freezes, every jowl she tightens, every crease she plumps, only throws your own imperfections into greater relief
• The dearth of stores called "Forever 51" is sort of a tip-off (when shedding light on our lack of fashion options)

So if you want to read a witty set of essays on botox, facelifts, posture, clothing, pores, wrinkles, crows feet, hair color, makeup and how to look "natural" in three hours or less, this may be the book for you. For me, it was like passing a trainwreck: I wanted to turn away but I couldn't.

With that, I came across a quote from Paul McCartney yesterday that made me feel better. "Imagination grows by exercise, and contrary to common belief, is more powerful in the mature than in the young."

Sure I'm getting droopy but maybe, just maybe, my creativity will soar. I'll gladly take that over looking 21 forever.

Yes Sway

If you're looking for a beach read that's business-related (really, and who isn't?), I just finished Sway: The Irresistable Pull of Irrational Behavior by Ori and Rom Brafman. Loved it.

It's an interesting, smart, thought-provoking, page turner filled with research-backed stories that explain how and why, among other things, well educated doctors can send a child home to die, seasoned pilots can cause deadly air disasters, otherwise intelligent students at Harvard would pay over $200 for a twenty dollar bill, the University of Florida Gators rose to the top, etc.

In the midst of the compelling behavioral anecdotes are a number of "lessons learned" that can easily be applied to our day-to-day lives when making pricing decisions, communicating with clients, developing incentive programs, and so on.

And I now know how to effectively get men to call me. Where was this book twenty years ago?!

Mea Culpa

I ordered a work-related book from Amazon on June 26. Since the dollar amount was so close to the "free shipping" minimum, I ordered another small book to qualify. When I looked at the estimated arrival date, it stated July 8. I immediately thought, "that's impossible." I could walk there by then. They must be setting low expectations and planning to exceed them . . . wrong.

Three days later, the "shipment has left seller facility and is in transit" (Warrendale PA)

Three more days later, "arrival scan" (Warrendale PA -- same town! Traveling by rickshaw?)

Three additional days later, "in transit" followed immediately by "undeliverable"

Whaaaaaaaaaat? I checked my order and, sure enough, I had my old zip code on the shipping address from our previous office which is, by the by, two feet up the road.

My question: Wouldn't it be cheaper for the USPS to do a simple zip code lookup and deliver it to my office than to ship it back to Amazon? I know I screwed up but come on. Aren't they the official keepers of all things zip code related? What the ?

If I were Amazon and shipping a gazillion packages through the U.S. Postal Service, I would demand better service. Now, according to an email from their customer service team, I will be getting a full refund for the returned book.

Good! Because I just ordered it from Barnes and Noble and it will be ready for pickup later this week.

Best Friends Forever

I just finished reading the Christian fiction book The Shack which came highly recommended by someone I trust implicitly. Not (at all) my cup of tea -- crappy writing, bad fiction, too new agey -- but it's an easy read so, even though I wanted to end my misery immediately, I felt compelled to keep reading. I'm somewhat glad that I did given that there were a couple of golden nuggets that did make me stop and think.

One point that the author made about friendship was especially poignant for me. In it, he says that with friends there is an "expectancy" of being together, of laughing and talking. It's a gift. But when it becomes an "expectation," it's more legalistic.

"You are now expected to perform in a way that meets my expectations.
Our living friendship rapidly deteriorates into a dead thing
with rules and requirements.
It is no longer about you and me,
but about what friends are supposed to do,
or the responsibilities of a good friend."

I loved this analogy. Sure, he was talking about our relationship with God but on a more human scale I've been living it and it doesn't feel good.

For the past few years, one of my best friends from my high school and college years rarely returned my calls. We had an absolute blast whenever we were together (typically in a foursome that another friend arranged) but, outside of our group dinners, I felt like she couldn't have cared less what was going on in my life.

I actually brought it up one night but it only served to make it worse. Whereas I truly didn't want to be that chick who you have call out of "expectation," I did think our friendship was deeper and I was feeling sorry for myself. Sadly, the only thing that changed was that she now prefaced every greeting with "I'm so sorry I haven't returned your calls; I've been really busy." Interesting, because I've been working 80 hours/week . . .

As my girlfriend Melinda would say, "Don't write her off as a friend; just re-write the friendship contract." I couldn't agree more. I really love being with that group of friends so why not give up the charade? Our "best friend-ness" was in the 80s -- I need to simply enjoy her company when I can during this millennium. So last May, after hearing her apologize one time too many, I decided to completely let her off the hook. I would stop calling her and simply spend time with her whenever she called.

One year later . . . not one call.

I remember thinking last September, "OMG it's been four months and she has never once called me!" Over the past year, my feelings have gone from utter disbelief to hurt to sadness and finally the real acceptance that I was merely feigning this time last year. It is what it is.

Last night, we all got together briefly to celebrate another friend's birthday. She and I split the bill and as we drove home, she pulled her car up alongside mine. "I just realized you paid for the hummus I'm taking home for my son!" D'oh! She then said, "I'll mail you the money." Mail? She lives less than five minutes from my house.

Thankfully, I can now laugh -- sincerely laugh -- about it.

I called out from my car, "Dude, don't mail me the money. We can go out again!" And then I shouted as I drove away laughing. "FYI: I stopped calling you a year ago and decided to wait for you to call me. Pick up the friggin' phone!" She was incredulous. The comical part: she had never once noticed. So much for kidding myself about how people may like being in my company!

Anyway, I don't think it's time to erase the second "F" in BFF; but, it is time to recognize that, like the song from Friends, some friends really will be there for you when the rain starts to pour. And others are simply one whole heck of a lot of fun to be with.

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.