Sunday, April 29, 2012

Pretty in Pink





My favorite rose bush bloomed. 

One of the things I was going to miss when we moved from Virginia to California was tending to my rose bushes. Luckily, the new house has 4 rose bushes. Two have dusty purple blooms, one has an orange-y red bloom (nicknamed the firecracker rose) and the last has hot pink ones. 

I am all about the bright pink roses. There is something so vibrant and fun about them. They have always been my favorite rose, and I have used pictures of them, in some variant, as an online avatar for many years. I always think ofSteel Magnolias and the Shelby character. "Pink is mah signature color."

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Lost & Found


The really close friends I have, I made in childhood, the closest of which, I met in 6th grade.  Funny when you think of things like that, as my son is now in 6th grade, and I know he won’t have those same kinds of close friends.

This particular friend and I got into all sorts of mischief growing up.  Nothing criminal, just the kinds of things that get you grounded.  Sometimes I got caught and grounded, sometimes it was her turn, and sometimes we would screw up so badly that we were both grounded at the same time. 

We were in high school, probably senior year if my memory serves me well enough.  There was a guy she on-again, off-again dated during high school.  Her parents did not approve of him, and when she saw him, whether I was with her or not, they thought she was with me.  I was the forbidden relationship beard.

This particular night, I was with her, playing able-bodied assistant as the other gal on a double-date.  As the evening wore on, the guys had said they needed to check something out, but didn’t say what town we were going to.  So we drove. 

These guys were dumb, but not quite as dumb as they looked.  At some point they finally decide to fess up that we are lost.   This point comes as we realize that I am late for curfew.    I do not break curfew.  If you knew my dad, you would understand that statement.

That being said, I grew up in a house where communication was key.  My parents brought us up to be independent, but with the knowledge that if we need them, just ask.  They were always supportive that way.  Go out and make your own mistakes, but never hesitate to ask for help when needed.

We see a sign that says we are in Butler, but this does not help as we all proclaim, “Where the hell is Butler?”   So a freaking out chick in the backseat finally overtakes the testosterone and they stop at a Burger King on the highway so I can call home.  Thankfully, my Mom picks up and tell her what has been going on and that we are lost.  She asks me where I am, which I reply “somewhere called Butler in a Burger King off the highway.”  God bless her soul, she knows exactly where I am. 

From the telephone receiver I hear, “Turn around, see that highway in front of you?  It is Route 23.  Get back in the car; make a left on to the highway.  Take that to Route 46 east, and take that to the Parkway South.  Get your butt home as soon as you can, your Dad is asleep, doesn’t know you aren’t home yet and if you are lucky it can stay that way!”

Guys come out of men’s room, we all pile in to the car and off we go.  We follow my Mom’s directions and get home in no time.  I arrive to still sleeping Dad, and keep the skin on my butt as a reward. 

My friend, well, the whole ride she was saying “don’t worry, you won’t get in trouble it will be fine. “ She gets home, and gets grounded.

To this day, we still say, “Where the hell is Butler?”


21 Suggestions For Success

I found this on the internet years ago, and it still rings true.




21 SUGGESTIONS FOR SUCCESS


1. Marry the right person. This one decision will determine 90% of your happiness or misery.

2. Work at something you enjoy and that’s worthy of your time and talent.

3. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.

4. Become the most positive and enthusiastic person you know.

5. Be forgiving of yourself and others.

6. Be generous.

7. Have a grateful heart.

8. Persistence . . . persistence . . . persistence.

9. Discipline yourself to save money on even the most modest salary.

10. Treat everyone you meet like you want to be treated.

11. Commit yourself to constant improvement.

12. Commit yourself to quality.

13. Understand that happiness is not based on possessions, power, or prestige, but on relationships with people you love and respect.

14. Be loyal.

15. Be honest.

16. Be a self-starter.

17. Be decisive even if it means you’ll sometimes be wrong.

18. Stop blaming others. Take responsibility for every aspect of your life.

19. Be bold and courageous. When you look back on your life, you’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did.

20. Take good care of those you love.

21. Don't do anything that wouldn't make your Mom proud.


Saturday, April 21, 2012

I Stumbled

Picture ref: http://www.vggallery.com/painting/p_0779.htm   





I stumbled, and fell.
When I got up and looked around,
there was no one in sight.
I thought I saw you in the distance,
but it was only your shadow,
walking into the night.
I have felt this feeling before, I thought.
Time has not erased what some happiness bought.
Fleeting glimpses of what could have been.
If only I remembered, what I know now, what I knew then.
So now, in the still, the quiet, the alone,
I have found what was lost, my heart, my soul.
Little pieces of them scattered, tattered and torn,
Some looking brand new, some showing signs of being worn.
With pail in hand, I walk through the field,
picking up the pieces, old and new, til my task is through.
Longest of walks, loves labor lost in hand,
back to regain a sense of who I am.
For as a woman, strong, true and proud,
the hardest task is yet to unfold,
to regain the sense of one’s own soul,
to find what was lost a long time ago.
To know who we are, what we think, where we go.
The journey is long, prepared well as we are,
From this step, I go, quite unsure but aware,
That once was lost, will be found, should I be willing to share.

Friday, April 20, 2012

You From Jersey? Me Too!



Say what you will about people from Jersey, but there is a bond that can bridge even the roughest of times. It is even a touchstone during difficult business negotiations.

Today, I was able to diffuse a potential problem at work, between a coworker and a customer in a decision making role, by playing the Jersey card. I had a customer call in with a legitimate complaint. I asked for an appropriate amount of time to research the problem and return her call with a viable solution.

Upon learning I could not improve the situation, I called the customer back to relay the information. Prior to delivering what I knew to be unpalatable, I was able to find some common background and deliver the negative news to more receptive ears.

Sometimes, a little Jersey, goes a long way. 

Stuff My Son Says

Him: Mom, why do some women wear so much make-up?

Me: Some women wear it to feel better about themselves, but some really need it.

Him: Hmmm, how do you know the difference?

Me: Whether they use a brush or a spatula.

Him: Huh?

Me: If it looks like them, just better, then it's a brush. If they look, well, scary, then it's a spatula.

Him: Clowns are scary. Do they use spatulas?

Me: Oy vey!





Thursday, April 12, 2012

Sometimes Ignore is Your Friend


Sometimes I post things that make me giggle.

Sometimes I post things that make me gasp.

Sometimes I post things that make me shake my head.

Sometimes I post things that are uplifting, have a positive message, and are meant as support. When I post those types of things, there are always some people who have to come rain on the parade.  One person in particular always seems to swoop down with his negativity.  

I post those types of things with the hope that maybe just one person will read them, and decide today is the day they can change their situation in life.  We have all been down in life, we have all been at crossroads, and while we already know what the answers are, sometimes what we needed was a push.

So, to the gentleman (and I use that term quite broadly),  I see the comments you make on these posts.  I do not block you, as I suspect that may be just what you are trying to achieve.   Instead, I choose to just ignore you.  Why?  Because when it comes to negative people, ignore is my friend.




Monday, April 9, 2012

The Frayed End of the Knot (Part two - the end of a tragic tale)


Why do people take their own lives?  What point of desperation must you come, that the belief there is no other alternative becomes plausible?  Why do people turn away when help is offered and then believe there is nothing and no one that can help them out of their situation?
There are such people, we read about them every day, sometimes we even know them.  Today is such a day for me, and it is a first.  One, which I would have been happy to put off for eternity.
Here was a guy who, yes, had screwed up a good portion of his adult life.  He had moments of absolute brilliance, and moments of utter chaos.  In the short time I knew him he was arrogant, offensive, obtuse, profane, disgusting, and all things one would associate with someone fighting a battle with addiction.  He was also kind, understanding, a good listener, generous, and had a huge soft spot for animals and children; his cute little daughter was the light of his life.
When I met him, he was arrogant and now looking back was between low points of addiction episodes.  It was not that he wasn’t abusing but quite the opposite; he was highly functioning at the time.  That was probably the source of the arrogance.  He knew everything, no one knew better than he when it came to anything concerning the daily running of the business.  He resented my presence, daily.  He didn’t want anyone watching over him at least that is what I was doing in his eyes.
We went through the first cycle of ups and downs when he threw out vendors (who it turns out later he was trying to extort), tried to get back together with an ex with whom he has a daughter, and came to its first of many climaxes, with a car accident.  No one knows if the story he told of his side of the accident was true or not, and it is irrelevant as we know now, almost everything was a lie.
Almost a month to the day, he had another accident, but this time, he said that they took him to the hospital.  Come to find out months later, he was arrested on suspicion of DUI.  This time he came away with back pain, and started taking who knows what pills.  Things escalated and he became barely functional.  We all tried to help in various ways, but to no avail, this was a downward spiral that could only hit bottom before an ascent could be made.
It culminated in hysterical rants and unfounded accusations of coworkers stealing his pills that the doctor had prescribed for his back pain.  Wild phone calls and texts to the entire staff and owner, and a final meltdown in which he showed up for work so incapacitated he rammed into the building with his car.  When we had the largest and strongest of our staff try to take his keys from him and get him to hospital for help, he fought them off and drove away, only to return screaming and yelling, quitting his job in the process.
He had sobered up enough to land another position in our industry and subsequently started calling not only the owner but staff members, including myself, begging for his old job back.  He wound up coming back, being gone only 3 weeks.  In my opinion, it was bad judgment to bring him back after what had transpired and what we had learned, but it not my business and therefore I do not get to make that decision.
He came back a reformed man, or so he said.  Saw the error of his ways, vowed he was clean, not only for himself, but for his baby daughter whom he loved more than anything else in the world.  This part is true; he did love her more than anything else in the world.  It was my honest to goodness hope that the strength of that love would make him better, make him keep his word, make him realize that there were more important things in life than getting high to forget the crappy parts of his life.
He really did make an effort to be a better person.  At least the person he showed everyone.  I think that was a good part of the problem.  He learned to be a better functioning addict.
He made it his goal to be a good dad and a better coworker.  He showed a sense of humility and a human side he had not previously.  Right up until the time he screwed up publicly, again.
He tried to extort money from a customer.  I do not make allegations against the dead lightly.  The customer documented it and when questioned repeated his story verbatim.  There was no choice once presented with further evidence of pocketing other proceeds than to let him go, again.  This time there would be no third times’ a charm.  In what was a very humane gesture by the owner, he was only fired, no charges were ever brought.  I have to say, I agreed with that 100%, you never kick a man when he is already down and bleeding.
Then things got bad.  Not bad as in hey he was already some sort of addict, but bad as in false claims of having been injured on the job and filing workmen’s comp after the fact, bad.  Things must have turned ugly for him after that, I do not know as he did not take anyone’s call.
One of the guys got a Happy Thanksgiving text from him.  Just one line, no reply when wished the same in return.  No one knew where he was or what he was doing for work, just that he no longer worked in the industry.
Then today came.  I walked in to work, to have one of my coworkers walk up to me and tell me he was dead.  He knew scant details only.  I immediately went in search of more information.  What others knew was also sketchy.  He was dead, 2 or 3 gunshots, he was home, and an autopsy was being performed as they weren’t sure if it was homicide or suicide.
Tonight we find out the final chapter in a sad and all too common story.  Someone at the end of their rope, facing foreclosure and no source of income, decides that there is no solution but to end their misery by performing life’s most selfish act.  No one knows what the other details were about offers of help, offers of employment, status of addiction, and status of love life, as they are not important.
What is important, and what is the lesson and the takeaway is that, that baby will never remember her Daddy.  She will never know the good side some of us got to see.  She will not have that Daddy’s girl bond with her father.  She will grow up with questions, questions that no one can ever answer to the satisfaction of making her whole again.  If there is one answer I could give her, it would be yes, your Daddy loved you with all his heart and you were the light of his life.

Catch and Release (Part one of a tragic tale)


In life there are those that sit on the sidelines and those that get in for the big play.  I have been having a moral dilemma for a while now in dealing with a co-worker who is having personal issues that have spilled in to the workplace.
On the surface it looks very cut and dry.  They broke up with their ex that they had been 2nd flinging it with, had two subsequent car accidents a month apart, and now had a problem with pain and pain management pills.
Unfortunately being embroiled in the situation, it goes deeper I think and that is the dilemma.  There are anger management issues that have arisen in their dealings with customers, reaching an apex when the police had to be called in after a customer assaulted him and he had to restrain the customer until authorities arrived.  There are issues with coming to work in an altered state while on prescription pain management medications that have impaired their judgment.
There are conflicting stories around every bend with this person and credible evidence is becoming harder and harder to find.  An underlying issue of the lasting effects of a concussion cloud matters as we are not sure if the violent mood swings are a lasting after effect or signs of an addiction.
There are lost days, lost parcels of time in memory, wildly inaccurate stories that are easily verifiable, and now culminating with accusations of co-workers stealing pain management medications from their desk.  I have no proof either way as to whether they were stolen from the desk or in an altered state, either lost or taken in an abusive pattern.
To compound the situation further, the owner of our business is an absentee owner and has to rely on our observations and facts gathered to make judgment calls.  I don’t have a knowledge base to understand properly what I am seeing play out on a daily basis.  I know what an impaired person looks and sounds like and that is what I have to base daily decisions on.  I know this person in a rational state and that is what I have to base opinion on.  What I do not know is are these lasting effects, are these signs of a personality disorder, do I think this person can become violent and put co-workers or customers in danger?
This person is an ex law enforcement professional, owns weapons, knows jujitsu, and scares the crap out of me when I have witnessed the outbursts.  Yes, I have felt threatened by their behavior, and yes, I have contemplated just walking away from the whole situation.
What I have done on days that this person was obviously impaired, is to try to step-in in a non-confrontational way.  I have sought out assistance from larger male co-workers and the owner to get this person safely home and off the road.  This has not helped.  This person refuses assistance, and is stuck in a spiral which becomes obvious when anyone tries to step in.
I have tried to get in the game and help in various ways; I have sat on the sidelines trying to be a cheerleader to those who are in for the big plays.  Neither has worked.  What I know is that only when this person is ready to accept the help, will they finally take it.  Until then the best we can all do is stay close with the fireman’s net and catch them when they fall.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Sitting There in the Sand





Sitting there in the sand
Toes outstretched on the beach
The lap of the ocean’s wave
Just beyond your reach
And you sit and ponder
All those little life questions
All the things you wondered
Such a long, long time ago
What is it I want
Who do I want to be
What do I want to make of myself
Is this all that I can be
And the memories come flooding back
As you sit there
In the dying embers of the sun
Of all you wanted
All you dreamed
All you were
How do you recapture
All the dreams you left behind
Leaving only shadows
And blurry sketches in your mind
For we cannot walk on water
Cannot portend the future
On what’s happened in the past
Our destiny is not written
In a block of stone
It is as fragile as the shoreline
Being changed with every wave
Only time will give the answers
On the paths that we have made
And just when you think
You’ve reached the end
And all you want to do is sink
You find yourself not so alone
As another shadow joins your own
A hand is slowly twined in yours
Another soul to ask aloud
And search for answers that you seek
Sitting there in the sand
Toes outstretched on the beach
The lap of the ocean’s wave
Just beyond your reach

Early Adoption Failure




I am an early adopter, sometimes.  It depends on the product and the platform.
Take for instance new dinner ideas.  Working mom arrives home nightly to husband and kid already home for an hour.  Kid is busy doing homework, husband has walked the dog and is catching up on news, and everyone is hungry and ready for dinner.  Of course the catchy commercial for a product that will help me make dinner in a snap catches my eye, it is supposed to.  They made it to speak to me, and millions of women like me all across America.  Let us help you make your life easier.
So like millions of other women, on my weekly shopping trip in the mega-supermarket, I go in search of this revolutionary new product.  Voila!  I find it, not by careful searching, but by the gaggle of women standing there with the product in their hands, reading the label for secrets to making their lives easier.
I walk over nonchalantly, grab a tub of the miracle cure, and just put it in my basket.  Don’t want to look like I don’t already know of its properties.  This is not my greatest idea.  This one comes to backfire on me when I take it out of the chill chest to put into Saturday night’s dinner.  I finally read which flavor I grabbed and how it is applied in a recipe.  First thought, disaster!
No way is preteen going to eat a dish with this, but we always teach that you have to at least try something before you can say you don’t like it.  We also teach that unless I make something completely inedible (which happens on a fair amount of occasions), you need to eat what is put in front of you.
It is in those dinner conversations that one or both of us wind up channeling our parents.  Things like,”if I didn’t eat what my mom made for dinner I had to eat it anyway, so will you.”  A classic, “don’t you know there are starving children in the world who don’t have a hot meal to eat?”  The ever popular, “whatever you don’t eat now will be waiting for you for breakfast.”
That being said, last night’s dinner conversation was one that could have been had in any typical household in America.  Any typical household that has children.
We all sit down, I put the experiment on the table, and low and behold from the seat to my right I hear, “WHAT is that, I’m not eating that!”  Now, mind you, there are no toxic fumes emanating from the dish in green smoky curls, nothing moving, and certainly nothing with tentacles.  With that said, the other half grabs the serving spoons and starts dishing out the concoction.
Small, almost semi-adult takes a look, a sniff, and proclaims he doesn’t like it.  Ah, time to interject a classic from the repertoire.  “Dude, I had to eat what my mom made for dinner, and so do you, so at least try it before you start to complain.”  Fork spears food on plate, fork enters mouth, mouth starts to curl, and mouth opens to wide view of half-macerated food and the sounds of gagging.
At the same time, two adult faces pretty much look like younger third face.  This look is quickly replaced with a smile.  Two sets of eyes glance in each other’s direction.  Non-verbal communication begins.  One set says, "okay, so it’s not the best of experiments but it’s made, it’s hot and it’s got good protein."  The other set of eyes replies, "yeah okay, and besides I am not in the mood to go out and get us a pizza."
"See kiddo, it’s not that bad, let’s eat."  Protestations begin, bargaining and requesting for alternate foods commence.  Accepting defeat once again on a failed experiment, but not being in the mood to be reminded of it, the words come out of my mouth before thinking.
“There is more to life than pizza and chicken nuggets, so eat your dinner kiddo.  I know it’s not great, but it is all there is.  I promise I won’t be making this again, and you are only going to have it eat it this one time, so stop complaining and start eating!”
So much for being an early adopter.

Fence Envy



They say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.  What if, it’s just an optical illusion caused by the sun’s rays?  I would bet if you jumped the fence, once your feet were firmly on the ground, you would realize that you landed in a mud puddle surrounded by the same brown grass you just left.
An interesting discussion was had between three old friends.  One unmarried, one married 7 years, and the last married 18 years.  The conversation was of half-empty, half-full glasses throughout.  One thing became clear, fence envy is alive and well, thriving for all to see.
One side of the fence had a beautifully manicured lawn, immaculate roses, and tulips growing in a row, pristine garden furniture and birds dipping beaks at a feeder.  On the opposite side, there was patchy grass, toppled trellises, half-grown daffodils, and furniture that looked as if Goodwill gladly dropped it at the homeowner’s doorstep.  Sadly, the first yard had no one to play in it and the second yard a vacation was needed from small tramping feet.  One yard longed for the laughter of play dates and lemonade, while the other longed for a cup of herbal tea, a good book, and silence.
In each of the houses there were king sized beds in the master suite.  Each had only one occupant nightly, one begrudgingly, the other gladly.  One had silence enough to make an ear bleed spontaneously; the other had blissful silence for slumber.  While one slept with arms aching to hold and finding only a pillow, another set of arms find comfort in just a pillow.  In one of the rooms, the alarm clocks ring each morning is as routine as brushing your teeth, while in one room, the alarm clock loses the battle daily to pitter-patter.
In one garage sat a brand new sports car, dealership scent still heavy on the leather interior, floor mats with car maker logos spotless and perfectly positioned.  All cup holders still in factory condition and integrated navigation unit set for the latest concert venue and after-hours hot spot.  Another garage held a mini-van, getting a bit long-in-the-tooth, but still giving its all.  The cup holders long since broken, flip down video screens stuck in the down position, and stains from last year’s trip to Hershey Park still smelling of Reece’s Pieces.   In one vehicle, the strains of smooth jazz fill the inner chamber for the daily audience of one.   Sing-song chants, an occasional fit and squeals of laughter fill the other, no radio necessary, except for the one playing in the head of the driver.
The drivers, interestingly enough, though similar, are worlds apart.  On a leather wrapped steering wheel are manicured fingers, sparkly ring purchased with just a bit of mad money, freshly pressed blouse tucked into nicely creased slacks, hair done just last week from the salon, no roots here.  Somewhere in town is a faded steering wheel held by hand with chipped nails, not a hint of polish to be seen for months.  Fly away stands of gray hairs tucked under the brown ones in a quick pony and isn’t that one of the husband’s big shirts over a worn pair of Lee’s?
While the other side of the fence is nice to visit, do we really want to live there?  The general feeling is one of longing, missing out and questioning of decisions, but these are fleeting and thankfully easily forgotten.  While the single may feel a pang when they hear the kids on the other side of the fence outside playing, would they really want handprints on the walls and Popsicle sticks in the garden?  Don’t they like sleeping to whatever time they decide on a weekend morning? Isn’t it nice to not know the words to every Justin Bieber song and be blissfully unaware of anyone named Hannah Montana?
How about the other gals?  I am sure they would love to have a regular manicure that didn’t include pink sparkly princess polish, quiet for more time than it takes to shower, just one day of sleeping in, and a car that didn’t reek of Cheerios and milk.  Reading a book in less than a year is a novel idea along with taking in an occasional play, maybe a ladies lunch day?
Let’s face it, while we all may envy from afar, and one person’s tale of woe is another’s fantasy, we wouldn’t give up what we have for all the tea in china.  So let the sun play its tricks, allow flights of fancy to give us hope that there are flowers and trees and a cold glass of lemonade there, but in the end, climbing over the fence will only get you full of mud and looking for the garden gate.


Saturday, April 7, 2012

Mirror Mirror on the Wall




At some point, we have all received one of those “People of Walmart” emails.  You know the one.  It has picture after picture of shoppers in all manner of dress and under each picture has a clever comment.  You sit and read the email, scrolling down picture after picture looking, wondering and reading the ad-lib.
Admit it, you have even laughed at a few of them.  It is human nature, just like slowing down on the highway to look at a car wreck.  It is the nature of human curiosity, the ability to say on social media (today’s version of the office water cooler), “you are never going to believe what I saw!”
What if, unlike the car accident, these “shoppers” are merely victims of an unfortunate cosmic event, the mirror-less human?  These poor souls wander around the Earth, unaware of something called a mirror.  It is this ingenious invention that allows one that final second of self-approval before wandering out of their home.
Just like fur-bearing creatures in nature, this invention allows humans to self-regulate.  Instead of body temperature, we can do that last check of; does this tank top really go with that micro-mini skirt sized one size fits most?  We can make sure that the pair of cut offs with the hole in the crotch is strategically placed for maximum ventilation.  Heaven forbid we didn’t check that the ruffled socks could be seen above the cuff line of the fake fur boots!  Who among us has not put on that fuchsia sweater over the turquoise Camisole and wondered, should I really be wearing an orange peek-a-boo bra with this?  Thankfully, we own a mirror.
We lived through the 60’s of free love, long hair, fringe and love beads.  Evolved through the 70’s with the bell bottoms, Huckapoo printed shirts, Afros and disco balls.  Settled into the 80’s with our stone washed denim, leg warmers and chunky off-set belts.  Reveled in the 90’s live free attitude of chunky shoes, grunge clothing and hair to match.
With our new millennium now into its second decade, we have all found a sense of fashion that suits us best.  We all take our own version of fashion risks, should the mirror-less be mocked for theirs?  While we may shun pantie lines while wearing skin-tight nude colored leggings, these people should be applauded for being the risk takers that they are.  Bravo, for choosing to not wear a bra and letting them hang free out of the bottom of your 3X shirt that reads “Can’t touch this”.   If the clothing manufacturers make a pair of boy-shorts that read “Baby” in one size fits everything with two legs, then you go girl!  Wear them loud and proud.
Next time you go walking through one of these establishments and come upon one of these rebels in gold lame tank and matching boots on a Saturday afternoon, remember, you too could be mirror-less.

Don't Talk to Strangers



My husband is constantly amazed by the fact I will talk to anyone, anywhere, and at any time.  When we lived in Virginia, he would hate to go out to the store with me.  Inevitably, we would run into someone who would say hi to us, and he would give me that side-long glance that said, "tell me you know this person."
For as jaded an area as Jersey is to grow up in, somehow I came away with that strange ability to talk to complete strangers.  Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t go up to the guy in grimy overcoat with that tell-tale look in his eye as if he is doing an Aqualung impression.  Yes, I will raise my hand and proudly say yes, I talk to strangers.  I know our mothers always said  don’t talk to strangers, we teach our children from a young age the same lesson, and children of the 80’s even heard it from Rick Springfield.
Maybe I am the odd duck, maybe I should listen to those voices in my head of better judgment, and maybe one of these days it will backfire on me.  In the meantime, does it really hurt anyone to start-up conversations with a random anyone?
How many times have you been stuck in line at the store the third person in, and suddenly the cashier runs out of bags?  The first thought in your head, why I always get in the wrong line.  You look up and number two in line looks back at you, and they have that knowing look in their eyes.  The one that says they just had the same thought as you.  Do we really live in that cold of a society that you can’t say something to that person to acknowledge the shared moment?
You open the door to the mall at the same moment a harried mom of two is wrangling the stroller in one hand and a runaway toddler in the other.  What is wrong with holding the door an extra second to allow her to get through and use your free hand to help her guide that stroller?  When she gives you that thank-you look through red-rimmed almost teary eyes, who does it hurt to say, let me help you, we have all been where you are and it’s not easy.
Most of us go to the same market week in and week out, and if you go on the same day each week, you are bound to get the same cashier multiple times.  You two are stuck there, face to face for 10 minutes while your order is rung up and bagged.  Who does it hurt to make conversation and make that person feel appreciated?  Do you know how many inconsiderate people come through their line every day not bothering to look up or acknowledge them?
So yes, I talk to people.  I know the guy behind the fish counter & the meat counter at the Safeway.  I know the gals who do intake and pick-up at the CVS counter.  I know the guy in the bakery department at the supermarket too, how do you think I am able to get my family’s favorite Hawaiian bread when the store shelves are empty?  He goes in the back and gets me a few frozen loaves so I can keep a stash in the freezer.  I say good morning to the homeless guy that walks down Mission Boulevard every morning too.    Who couldn’t use some recognition now and again?  Is the fact he is homeless make him less worthy?
Next time you pass someone on the street, are stuck in an elevator with a bunch of strangers, see a mother struggling, or get in the wrong line again at the store, remember, it’s okay to talk to strangers.  They are only a stranger until you say hello.

Friday, April 6, 2012

With a little help from your friends




Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.  What an example that put in our little sponge-like brains.  Watching the movie as an adult, it has a much different meaning than it did 30-something years ago.
As a wide-eyed 7-year-old, it was the stuff of fantasies and dreams.  A pretty girl gets treated mean by an ugly-hearted Queen, finds woodland creatures for support, stumbles upon 7 dwarfs who treat her like a princess and when she is tricked into eating the poison apple by the mean old witch, is saved by her Prince Charming on a white horse.
An adult sees a pampered princess who runs away from her problems and goes crazy in the woods and starts talking to animals.  She stumbles upon a cottage and in her psychosis decides that what she needs to do in order to validate her feelings of loneliness and inadequacy, is to clean this house left a mess by 7 strange bachelors.  Possibly one of them will appreciate the fact she can perform menial labor and find her worthy.   What she finds are 7 odd men who are so happy to have a domestic, they dote attention on her after finding her asleep on the job in their beds.
Even after the warnings by the bachelor brood of how the Queen can take many forms and will be coming after her, what does she do while baking a pie to win Grumpy's heart?  Does she smarten up and realize that she can’t live by beauty alone, but must start to toughen up and trust instinct?  No, she invites in the first stranger who comes along, the Queen disguised as an old woman, takes an apple from her, and eats it.   For a brunette, she sure doesn’t have much in the way of smarts.
Poor, disheartened dwarfs.  All they can do is mourn their short-lived luck to have a live-in who works for room & board and isn’t terrible on the eyes.  They build a glass casket and place her on a pedestal in the woods.  Not only does she sleep the sleep of death, but when her Prince Charming arrives and stirs her from her slumber with a kiss, she awakens with not a hair out-of-place or morning breath.
So as she rides off into the sunset and a sure marriage to her hero and savior, all one can think is, man is that Prince lucky.  She can cook, clean, sew, and isn’t afraid to try new things.  He is a bit wary though, she has been living with 7 guys, and can he live up to the hype?  Poor Prince Charming, sloppy 8th’s for him.
Come to think of it, the Wizard of Oz isn’t much of help either.  There is another girl who runs away from her problems, consorts with a dirty old man she finds eating hot dogs and selling false dreams, gets caught in a storm, frightens her family, has hallucinogenic dreams, and finally realizes that home isn’t so bad after all.
If those two weren’t bad enough at screwing up our little psyches, look at Bambi.  The poor little deer has to bear losing its mommy and growing up without the motherly wisdom.  Thanks Walt Disney for that little life lesson at a tender young age.
All in all, it’s a wonder we aren’t laying in bed with the covers drawn over our heads, sucking our thumbs.  The lessons that formed our outlook on fantasies, love and the realities around us, showed us that above all, people are out to get us, we are alone from a young age, and if we sleep long enough, we will awake to Prince Charming and a happily ever after.  Reality teaches us that with the support of good friends we can get through anything, surrounded by those good friends we are never alone in our journey, and while princes come and go, a true friend is forever.

Mars, Venus and a Touch of Grey



Sometimes, men are from Mars and frequently, women are from Venus.  They most definitely speak different languages.  Men are pretty direct.  They use few words, don’t think too much before they speak, and can be easily understood.  Thinking is black or white, very little gray.  The gray is earned and it’s usually on their temples, from trying to figure out the three million shades of gray that women use in their thought processes and speech patterns.
Take the break up for instance.  Men with some maturity will actually do it face to face, still using few words, but get the point across rather well.  Men with little maturity simply stop calling.  Women on the other hand will tell you face to face, although most men wind up wishing we did just stop calling.  Men, trying to decipher the words women use to tell them how they feel, are most akin to a blind man who has lost his seeing eye dog on the streets of Manhattan.  Hopelessly lost in a sea of words instead of people, and hidden meanings instead of a Braille keypad on an ATM.
Women’s words are subterfuge when breaking up with a man.  Confusion abounds in men faced with this for one good reason.  We don’t mean what we are saying, we don’t know what we are saying, and unless you have the pocket version of the “How to speak Venusian”, there is no way to avoid the landmines.
Here are a few key phrases of Venusian that you can keep tucked away in your mental library for that rainy day.
It’s not you, it’s me.  This means that she liked your company and you made her laugh now and again.  You just aren’t the guy for her.  She is looking for someone who doesn’t treat her well.  She wants a bad boy and someone from whom she is seeking attention, not someone who gives it willingly.  Your kindness and understanding are taken as a weakness to her, plain vanilla.  She is looking for Tabasco on fire.
I’m just not ready for a relationship.  The missing ending to that sentence is, with you.  You may be right for her in years to come, but now, she is more interested in someone who ignites what she perceives as her dimmed passion.  Chances are you were the rebound and while you are looking for serious, sorry Charlie, she is looking for anything but.  Don’t worry pal, she will come to regret it in years to come.
wouldn't want to ruin a great friendship.  You are the guy pal, the one she can bounce things off of, try out a gentle flirt with, get tons of flattery from, but in the end, she really does think of you as a friend with an extra appendage.   Just like a great black dress, perfect summer sandals, and a great bag that you just can’t quite afford, you are an accessory a gal just can’t live without.
Give me your number and I will call/text you.  Classic turnabout is fair play.  She really doesn't want you to have her number, for fear you will use it and she doesn’t want to have to turn you down over the phone multiple times.  You are the let me sleep on it and see if I am interested tomorrow guy.  In other words, if nothing better comes along, she will text you on Thursday to see if you want to take her out Friday night.  Write it off as just another experience and move on brother.
I think of you like a brother.  Speaking of brothers, that is how this gal thinks of you, nothing more, and nothing less.  While you can spill your guts about every topic to her and she willingly gives out advice and understanding, she won’t.  She will talk about almost everything, everything but the intimate couple stuff that a guy needs to get to know in the getting to know you stage.  She will complain about the newest failed relationship she had, but not all the details.  No way is this gal giving you the ammunition to think of her in that way.
You deserve better.  This is chick speak for “I'm a total perfectionist and someday that may come back to bite me, but I want to keep looking”.  This is her parting nice shot.  In her mind she is letting you down gently.  She cares for you and would never want to hurt you, but in her heart, you just aren’t who she sees herself settling down with.   One day she will come down to earth, as she will learn, there are no perfect men hiding up in the clouds.
I think we need some space.  Run.  Run quickly in the other direction.  Right down to the free clinic and get a test.  This Mustang Sally already has another bronco in her stable and if she hasn’t taken him on a test ride yet, she is this close.  She asks you for space, give her free range cowboy.  You deserve a better filly.
So men, take a tip from an old Venusian, don’t try and read between the lines, learn the lines.  In time, say 30 or 40 years, you will be glad you did.

Missing the A



In this world there are a few times in life when instead of looking forward, you find yourself looking back.  When you look back, and then forward again, what you see is framed by either a would-a, could-a, or a should-a.  Are our memories better or worse for the –a?
Most people upon looking back remember things much more fondly and with a rosier glow than when the events actually happened.  A lot of the time it’s a memory of how we saw it in our mind’s eye, not how it actually was.  That moment when you should have said something, he could have reached out, you would have done something different.  Replayed years later, the past is changed by tricks of the mind.  Sometimes it is changed for the better, sometimes for the worse.
Nothing stays the same, and if you could put yourself back into the alternate ending, you might be surprised at who you are today.  To quote, “we are the sum of our experiences” and “life is what you make it”.  Look in that mirror.  You are fabulous.  The person you see looking back at you is only that way because of the decisions made in the past.
So what if not all those decisions were made by you.  Big deal that you turned right when you should have turned left, or just left all together.  We are made whole by our experiences, good or bad.
You think the breakup and walking away was hard then?  Look how doing that made you resilient.  Think you should have taken that blank check and how it could have changed your life then?  The sound morals you teach your child today come from that.  Would have come out of the closet when you were ready instead of being outed?  Your strength and pride you wear daily come from enduring that.
Once in a while we get the opportunity to ponder the what-ifs.  While it’s nice to go back and visit, but there is no place like home.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Saturdays With Latte


Saturday, that special day when the mall becomes a haven for Stride Rites and Steve Maddens.  Everywhere you turn there are strollers and toddlers and teens.  The escalators are filled with mothers chanting “no, no Jimmy, don’t touch the railing, it’s full of nasty germs”.  The food court is a vast wasteland of tables of fathers trying to deliver bad fast food to 4 children from 3 different food stands.  Grandma babysitting the kids at the table, while Mom tries to find one food stand that sells organic French fries.
As a casual observer, there you sit on the bench under the overly tall Ficus tree, thanking god you never had kids.  While sipping your vente fat-free double latte, a feeling starts.  Are you lucky that you aren’t lugging that too-hip stroller out of the SUV on a Saturday for a jaunt around the mega mall?  Your life isn’t easier because you don’t have to find a potty, NOW?
Life for you is easier, you surmise, since you are free to come and go at will.  No multiple schedules to check, no babysitters to hire, no grandparents to beg to watch them for a two-day jaunt to the Bahamas.  Maybe.  Maybe you are missing out on some secret.  Maybe you aren’t experiencing your life to the fullest since you aren’t passing down generations of family wisdom.  No one to teach the family lore of Crazy Uncle John and how he got out of WWI wearing a dress and a wig.
As you rise from your suburban oasis in search of garbage receptacle for your post-consumer-waste recyclable coffee cup, your foot becomes inexplicably entangled in an immovable object.  You look down and to your amazement there is a two-year old boy, grabbing tightly to your ankle and wrinkling your sharply creased “wrinkle-free” chinos.  The face smiling up at you, eyes shining brightly, sudden pangs at your heartstrings, a feeling of what-if.  Children, to bounce on your knee, to teach how to skip a rock, shoot marbles, to build a tree house for.
Okay, so maybe there is something to this after all.  The tale of the biological clock ticking isn’t a myth.  How long is too long to wait though?  Have you missed the window, will you be using a walker to get to their high school graduation?  Those lucky people who found someone early enough to start the family, get it off the ground and give it wings, and enjoy their lives filled with the sound of laughter of children and grandchildren.  Will you ever be one of them?
You look back down at this bundle of joy, miracle of nature, as you feel your eyes start to wet.  The little face looks up at you, smiles, and then you see the edges of the smile move, curl, and open.  The wail, the horrible, blood curdling screams emanating from what was once an awe-inspiring face.  A mother rushes over, red-faced and embarrassed, trying urgently to pry little fingers from a vice-like grasp around your leg.  The begging begins, and when the screams below you get louder, the bribery starts.
Finally, your leg is freed and like a deer whose ear is nicked by the hunter’s errant shot, you scamper away, thankful to be able to lick your wounds.  Later that evening, sitting around the table top with friends sipping pomegranate martinis, you tell your tale of almost capture to anyone that will listen.  Commiseration begins, and you all thank your lucky star that isn’t you on a daily basis, appreciating your fabulous single life a little more than you did at dawn.   Gone are your thoughts of the next generation, your biological clock, and the bouncing on your knee.  Gone is the vision of your earlier encounter, fading with every sip of fruity fabulousness.  What you didn’t see was the mother, who as you walked away, would have traded places with you in a heartbeat, if only for one Saturday of single life in the mall.

Average Relationship Myths, Debunked


A widely held theory in today’s society is that even smart people (those with keen business savvy & of mid to high level intelligence) make mistakes in relationships.  They even list the top 7 of them and give insightful ideas on how to make sure you (the poor average slob) don’t make them.
Well I have news for them, us average slobs have our own take on the 7 top mistakes.
Number one, splitting the housework 50/50 is a no-no.  Not only is it a no-no, it is living life in fantasy land to think you could ever get a 50/50 split.  Those of us in the “know”, know better.  You are lucky if your part doesn’t consist of taking out the trash once a month.  Grocery shopping?  If you would like your pantry stocked with nuts, beer, and cans of chili, go for it.  The only thing green they will buy is guacamole.
Number two, waiting until you are in the mood to have sex.  We know this.  If we waited until we were in the mood to do it, the after 30 market for contraceptives would die a quick and painless death.  Who is in the mood after doing 90% of the housework?
Number three, assuming a rough patch is the end of the world.  Rough patches are routine, it’s the special amazing days that would signal the end of the world for most.  Two consecutive days of smooth are the sign of impending Armageddon.  If it gets up to three we are calling the doctor’s office to see if their latest angiogram showed they only had days to live.
Number four, staying up to resolve an argument, even if it takes all night.  They may be smart, but us average folks know, if it gets that late and the point isn’t made, what it means to us is we get the whole bed that night.  Why lose sleep over something that will just get re-argued in a few days, when you could have 8 hours of blissful slumber and not wake up to trumpet calls under the sheet.
Number five, trying to mind read – or expecting your partner to do so.  We gave up on that fantasy when we learned that their idea of a bad day was shooting par on the golf course and reliving every shot in their head for the next eight hours.  They stare vacantly into space during dinner a few times, and we don’t need a house to fall on our heads anymore.  It’s either sex or sports, period.  The earlier in life you learn this lesson, the less gray hairs you will get before 40.
Number six, putting off kind gestures.  This is an anomaly.  The kindest gesture we know of is space.  Not the stratosphere kind, although there are days we wish it to be that expansive, but the separate parts of the house kind.  We have gotten past cute notes stuck to the refrigerator door, flowers for no reason and the garbage going to the curb on its own.   Sometimes the best gesture is none at all.
Number seven, underestimating the power of small changes.  Picture 2 am, stumbling to the bathroom, reaching out to put the seat down, and it already is.  Going to gather the laundry and finding all the dirty socks already in the hamper.  Going to the freezer to take some ice and finding the trays full.  These are a few of my favorite thing.
Next time someone wants to write an article about real relationships, all they need to do is ask someone average.  They will be surprised to learn they can learn a lot.