No More Hooey!

Have you ever had a job where you love the actual work you do -- but for some reason, you come home at night at just bitch bitch bitch about all the things that are wrong at work?   I feel like that has been the story of my life.  I am a pretty upbeat and positive person, and I try to stay focused on the great things we're accomplishing at work, but inevitably, when dinner time rolls around and the family starts talking about the highs and lows of our day, we linger a bit too long on Mommy's lows -- which really stinks, because I LOVE MY JOB. 


Well, after all these years, I think I may have figured out why this keeps happening to me.  I'm a result-oriented person living in a clock-watching world.  And here's the kicker -- I don't even own a watch.

I've always known I was result-oriented -- I mean, afterall, it's one of the bullet points under the "Professional Profile" of my resume :-) ... I just didn't know how it sucked the life out of me to work with clock watchers.  But as I'm reading this book, Why Work Sucks, it's all starting to make sense to me.

All I can say is God bless Andy Levine from Sixth Man for mentioning this book at a recent conference he spoke at.  I'm pretty sure I would have taken one look at the cover (and title) of this book and written it off as a bunch of hooey.  But even though I'm only on chapter 3, I really believe it's going to change my life.  In fact, I think it already has. 

Just for the record, the full title of the book is Why Work Sucks and How to Fix It: No Schedules, No Meetings, No Joke--the Simple Change That Can Make Your Job Terrific.  If you have ever felt like you needed some help dealing with the people you work with who measure your worth by the number of hours you're at your desk every day, or the number of meetings you attend -- instead of the value you bring to the organization -- you really really have to read it.

I know it might not be fully implementable if you're not the "big boss" of an organization -- but I think there are elements we can all apply to our lives.  And there is no doubt there is a truth to this book that should make everyone stop and think about how to work smarter in every aspect of their life.

OK...I'm rambling...and there is no point to that.  Get the book.  Read it.  Live it.

I'm off to make things happen!

What a Difference A Day Makes

I woke yesterday morning to yet another glorious sunrise. The way the color swept across the sky and rose up over the trees was truly magnificent. Despite the chill in the air on the frosty winter morning, I couldn't help but feel the warmth from the heavens.



Then, just twenty-four hours later, a completely different view from the same vantage point -- equally glorious, but a different sort of warmth. Perhaps a heaven-sent message of purity, grace, hope -- and a gentle reminder to slow down and enjoy life in the coming year.



Best wishes for a healthy, happy and safe New Year.

Santa Claus, Where Are You?

If you're looking for a posting about phenomenal shopping deals, or starting Christmas shopping in July, you've come to the wrong place. The truth is, if I wrote about Christmas shopping in July it would be a rant -- and I really try to keep my rants to a minimum. No, this post really doesn't have much to do with Christmas. It's actually just another one of those realizations I've had -- an "ah ha moment" -- and now seems the perfect day to share.

Every year I sit back on December 26 and wonder how I managed to get it all done in those few weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s not just me though, the whole world seems to go into overdrive at the holidays – buzzing here, buzzing there. We shop, decorate, wrap, cook, send greeting cards, visit family, visit Santa, get our nails done, bake cookies, attend parties, throw parties, volunteer for those less fortunate, attend our kids’ choral concerts….the list goes on and on.

The month of December is truly amazing – and personally, I always give the credit to Santa Claus. I mean, it isn’t humanly possible otherwise, so it must be Santa, right?

But here’s my question, where, exactly, does Santa go from January through November? Why couldn’t he maybe help out a little during the year, instead of leaving me to spin my wheels all day and get nothing done? What’s different about the month of December?

I thought about this question a lot in January, and I realized that for starters, in December I know exactly what I'm working towards and precisely what I need to do to get it done.

Ah ha...goals.

Of course. It makes sense that when we know where we're going, we can figure out how to get there.

Armed with that nugget of wisdom, in January I laid out a master plan for 2009. This was to be a year of personal growth for me. A year when I would find time for my passions. I'd plow through the stacks of books that have piled up on my bookshelf. I'd do more knitting and scrapbooking, I'd really "dig into" my gardening. I'd take time to explore different things that I've been interested in but have never really taken the time to learn. 2009 was to be "my year."

So here it is -- July 1st -- a great day to check in and revisit those personal goals, right?

Well, the good news is that I was able to locate my list. The bad news is, apparently even with a plan, Santa Claus doesn't like to help out (at least not from January to July).

In all seriousness, initially I was kind of disappointed when I reviewed my progress towards my goals. There was very little that I could check off as even "in progress," let alone "complete." But in asking myself the question, "Why haven't I completed more?" I realized that there are so many things that I have accomplished that I never even considered when I wrote my goals.

Nowhere on the list had I considered flexing my creative writing muscles and starting a blog -- yet I'm faithfully maintaining two! Nowhere had I considered working on my photography, or learning new software programs, or making new friends. Yet these are all things that I have done already this year. I am very happy for those accomplishments.

But still I maintain that Santa Claus has been checked out so far this year. I haven't done anything as amazing as what I can do at Christmastime. So once again, I find myself asking the question, what's different about December? And in asking that question, today I had yet another "ah ha moment."

Santa isn't just about goals - he's also about discipline. He's about planning the work, and working the plan. Call it consistency, sticktoitiveness or productivity, call on Nike's "Just do it" campaign. Santa Claus knows what needs to get done, and he makes it happen.

Later today I'll be updating my goals for this year, because truthfully some of the things that seemed so important to me in January, are a little less important to me now. Sure, I love to knit, and I'd like to try to knit something different than the one and only thing I know how to make (a Prayer Shawl), but I also love to write. I love to read the books on my shelf, but I take equal pleasure in reading the incredible blogs written by so many talented friends I've made in the past few months.

Yes, I'll be doing a mid-year adjustment to my goals, and that's a good thing -- after all, that's part of finding my way. But rest assured, before the week is done, I will have nailed down some core disciplines that I want and need to be a part of my life if I want to accomplish my goals.

Oh yes Santa, I will see you before Thanksgiving. How much rest do you need anyway?

My Compass

My oldest child (and only daughter) will be graduating from high school in less than two weeks. I know it sounds trite, but I'm not exactly sure where the years went.

Last month we attended the orientation program for the college she'll be attending in the fall. As we were put through the paces of the busy weekend, I couldn't help but remember my own college orientation and the ensuing experience.

From start to finish, college was a time of learning and personal growth. An unforgettable chapter of my life where I was pushed to learn more, be more, do more than I ever imagined. I made lifelong friends (the kind that are more like family than friends), and I have journals and photo albums overflowing with stories from "the good old days."

The most treasured memories, however, aren't the ones that you have to read in a diary -- they are the ones that stay with you every day. They are the memories that define you. The life lessons that make you who you are. I am blessed to have such memories as a result of being a part of a sorority.

Over the years, there were many "rah-rah" good times with an amazing group of women -- but those are not the memories that shaped me. My everyday blessing comes from the beautiful words that are:

 

The Symphony of Alpha Chi Omega

To see beauty
even in the common things of life,
to shed the light of love and friendship
round me;
to keep my life in tune with the world
that I shall make no
discords
in the harmony of life;
to strike on the lyre of the universe
only the notes of happiness,
of joy, of peace;
to appreciate every
little service rendered;
to see and appreciate all that is noble in another,
be her badge what it may;
and to let my lyre send forth the chords
of love, unselfishness, sincerity.

This is to be my symphony.
~Celia McClure

It's been 20+ years since college, and in many ways the idea of sorority life is completely incomprehensible to me now, yet these words still linger in my mind. Beautiful words to live by. Beautiful words that inspire me. An internal compass that always points me in the right direction.

I have no idea what every day blessings will come from the next chapter of my daughter's life. I can only hope that the chapter is defined by limitless opportunity, challenges to grow both personally and intellectually, abundant happiness -- and her own internal compass that will always steer her home.

I love you Amy! Every day you give me a million reasons to be incredibly proud.

From Generation to Generation

When I was a little girl, there was always something magical about going to my Gramma’s house. My Gram was the kind of person whose warmth just radiated wherever she went. Just being around her made you feel good. Her home was warm and welcoming, her cooking and baking was phenomenal (and she always did it so effortlessly) and she just seemed to enjoy the little things in life – like tending to her garden and being a good friend to her neighbors.


I have countless memories of visiting and staying with my mother’s parents. Some are so vivid it is as if it happened yesterday. I remember being terrified to go down into her basement alone, but loving sliding down the “firemen’s pole” to get there when Gram was down there. I remember going up into her attic and admiring my mother’s wedding dress – and occasionally being allowed to try it on. I remember walking with her down the big hill on her street to go to the post office, and then to Garden State Farms to get the freshest, coldest milk I’d ever tasted.



I remember staying up on New Year’s Eve to watch the ball drop and listen to Guy Lombardo sing Auld Lang Syn. Just before midnight Gram would fill a plate with her amazing Christmas cookies and make huge ice cream floats with cream soda and vanilla ice cream, and at midnight we’d dance around the sun parlor and sing. I’d go to bed shortly after midnight and sleep until noon the next day, and when I’d wake up, Gram would let me have “coffee” (half coffee, half milk with about 3 spoonfuls of sugar) out of the demitasse cup of my choice. She’d make French toast covered with cinnamon and sugar and drenched with warm maple syrup. (Thinking back on that I have to laugh -- Gram was just pumping me up with sugar before returning me to my parents after they’d been out celebrating on New Year’s Eve. Maybe that was her way of making sure they didn’t celebrate too much! )


I could write a book about my Gram – but I think you get the point. In my eyes, she was just a phenomenal woman, who brought joy to every life she touched. When she died during my junior year of college, it was the first time I really felt the sorrow that comes from losing someone you love and truly adore.

Gram & me

I’ve spent the past 20+ years of my life trying to be someone my Gram would be proud of. I try (albeit I’m not always successful) to keep my attitude aligned with how I remember hers to be – ever-positive, ever-generous, ever-loving. I am so far from “there” – but I keep trying just the same. At times when I’m feeling confused about something, I look up to the heavens and I ask my Gram how she would handle it -- and do you know what? She usually finds a way to send me an answer. I guess she just can’t stop helping.

So, I’ve told you an awful lot about my very special grandmother, but that is hardly a story that warrants the title of From Generation to Generation. So what’s missing?



What’s missing, is a glimpse at two other phenomenal females in my life -- my mother and my daughter.

My Mom
I’ve already introduced you to my Mom in my Patchwork Pillows post a few weeks ago. The thing I really didn’t realize growing up, is that my Mom is an awful lot like my Gram. She spends every day of her life just giving. Giving. Giving. Giving. She gives hugs, praise, gifts, love, and she always – always – has time for her family and friends.

Growing up, she sacrificed so much for my siblings and me. She was always there – for every sporting event, every play, every recital – every day, she was there. She helped me with every assignment that I successfully put off until the eleventh hour, and unlike me with my own kids, she never complained and never lost her patience (at least not that I knew).

As a mother of three teenagers myself, I now see my Mom in a completely different light. The truth is, I could sit here all day and never find the right words to describe just how good a person my Mom is. She is gentle, kind, loving, optimistic, upbeat, generous, nurturing….the list could go on and on all day.

My Daughter
My daughter, Amy, a “next-generation” gentle soul, really summed it up the best. After celebrating Easter at my parents’ house a few weeks ago, we were in the car together and she turned to me and said, “Do you know what I realized last week on Easter? Mom-Mom is just the cutest little woman in the whole world. I was watching her on Easter, and while everyone was busy doing their thing – there was Mom-Mom, just puttering around, smiling, and making sure that everyone was happy and comfortable. I just love her.”

Amy's recognition and appreciation of my mother warmed my soul, and was very reminiscent of my feelings of admiration towards my Gram. It made me very proud to know that my sweet daughter was attuned to that kindness. What followed later that week, however, left me speechless.

Amy made another comment following a get-together with some friends. She said, “You know what I realized, Mom? Someday I’m going to be the cutest woman in the world.”

“Oh really?” I said, “How’s that?”

“Well, you know how they say that as we get older, we become a lot like our mothers? Well, I was watching you last night, and you reminded me of Mom-Mom – just staying positive and smiling, and making sure everyone was happy and comfortable. It’s happening to you, and it’s going to happen to me. Someday, because of Mom-Mom, I’ll be the cutest little woman in the world.”

Talk about a great gift from your daughter.


Who knows exactly how far back we can trace the line of kind-hearted, smiling women in our family? All I know is that whether I’m looking back and remembering my Gram, or trying to find the words to describe my mother – or even looking to the future and the amazing young woman my daughter has become, I can’t feel anything but honored and humbled to be a part of this family.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Patchwork Pillows

I realized today that patchwork pillows are really just art for the artistically challenged.

When I was in third grade, my grammar school had an art show – it was like a science fair for the artistically blessed. Unfortunately, I was not one of those people. I couldn’t even get all the crayons back in the box, let alone make snowflake garland or fold an origami tea set. Participation in the art show was not optional, and I upon receiving the assignment, I immediately envisioned all the parents and teachers snickering as they walked past my pathetic display. I knew that unless they let me submit a haiku, I was doomed.

In the weeks leading up to the show, I lived in denial about my required participation. I had convinced myself that if I didn’t talk about it, I could will it away. No such luck. On the night before my project was due, I sheepishly went to my mother with the assignment, prepared to take the wrath for my ill-preparedness. Fortunately my Mom was (and still is) the kindest, most forgiving mom in the universe, so she didn’t dwell for too long on my superior ability to procrastinate, but instead cut to the quick and started figuring out how to get an art show-worthy project done inside four hours.

Unlike me, my mother is incredibly gifted artistically. She is also incredibly honorable. So unfortunately for me, when I suggested that I re-sign one of her oil paintings, or blow the dust off one her handmade dried flower arrangements (she even used to grow the flowers herself, then dry them), she wouldn’t go for it. Instead she reminded me of the importance of working to the best of my ability, using my God-given talents, and doing my own work (a lesson I am so blessed to have learned).

“So you want me to fail,” I thought?

But failing was the furthest thing from her mind. Instead she took off up the stairs and started digging through the storage closet in her bedroom. She had nearly vanished amidst the garment bags and the Christmas wrapping when I heard her yell, “I found it!” With that she tossed a black garbage bag onto the floor of her room.

One of my mother’s many artistic talents was her ability to sew, and the bag was overflowing with remnants and scraps of every fabric she had ever worked with in her 24 years of marriage. I looked at her blankly. I didn’t know the first thing about sewing, and with three and a half hours ‘til bedtime, it was not the time to learn.

“You’re making a patchwork pillow,” she told me, “start picking out fabrics.”

Still confused, I emptied the content of the bag on the floor and started looking at all the fabrics. There was every color and texture imaginable -- florals, stripes, checks, plaids, denim, corduroy, taffeta, lace, velvet, eyelet, pastels, and jewel tones. Before we even did a thing with it, this pile of fabric looked like a work of art. My mother was a genius – even I could do this.

I started pulling out the fabrics that I liked, and laying them side by side on the floor, moving them around to see which fabrics looked nicest next to each other. My mom showed me how to cut the perfect little squares, and pin them together in the layout that I liked. Once I had the patchwork pinned together, she would sew it on the machine, add the solid back panel, and then I could stuff it and hand stitch the small seam to finish the pillow.

I ended up picking out ten different fabrics in all. Each one representing a special occasion my mother had made something for throughout the years. Among the swatches were fabrics used for prom dresses, Easter dresses, Halloween costumes and much more. The backing was a sturdy fabric that she used to make curtains in our family room. When it was all finished the pillow told a story of many happy memories for our family.

After each square that she joined together, my mom showed me how beautifully it was all coming together, and the whole pillow was completed with time to spare before bedtime. I felt badly that my mom had done the sewing, but she assured me that it was “the creation of the patchwork layout” that was the art – the sewing was just the mechanics. My mother had found the perfect outlet for the artistically challenged.

My patchwork pillow didn’t win any awards at the art show, but I didn’t hear anyone snickering as they walked by my display.

Thirty-some years later I’ve realized that life is a lot like a patchwork pillow. Every experience is its own piece of fabric, joined together to create a special little work of art with intricate texture and dimension, held together by a sturdy backing, and filled with a stuffing that you never really see – but it is what makes this hodge podge of fabric a pillow.

Yes, I do believe life is a lot like a patchwork pillow.

Trust me -- the glass is half full - The Boston Globe

Ahh...how nice to know there are actually health benefits to having a positive outlook on life!

Trust me -- the glass is half full - The Boston Globe

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Nothing's Worse than a Bad Banana

I know you know exactly what I mean. You see a bunch of bananas and they look like they're going to be phenomenal -- seemingly a perfect degree of ripeness, no bruises to speak of, not too hard, not too soft. Then you take a bite...and YUCK. It's flavorless and a little cardboard-like to eat. It's not necessarily a rotten banana -- but it's disappointing because it's not what you thought it was going to be.

I had one of those bananas today -- and despite my urge to throw it in the trash, I suffered through because I didn't want to waste it (plus I needed to eat some fruit). Afterwards though, I got to thinking, why didn't I drizzle some chocolate on it, or slice it up into my yogurt, or even add a dollop of whipped cream? There were any number of things that I could have done to make that bad banana a little more palatable -- but I didn't.

I may not have enjoyed that little banana very much today -- but believe it or not, it did get me thinking about life (if you haven't figured it out yet, pretty much everything makes me think about life and my place in it).

Disappointments are a fact of life for all of us, and though there's little we can do to prepare for them, we can choose how we're going to react to them. It's all about attitude.

So what do you do when you get a bad banana?

Are you the type to take a bite then pitch it if it's not what you expected? Do you suffer through even though you're not enjoying it? Or are you resourceful enough to compensate for its lack of flavor by combining it with peanut butter, or whipped cream, or yogurt, or chocolate (yum)?

I know how I handled the bad banana today -- but next time I'm reaching for the chocolate.

Every day is a choice. Just be happy.

Farewell Country Home

When the mailman came yesterday, he delivered the usual stack of junk mail and bills, and two monthly magazines. I promptly handed the bills over to Jeff, pitched the junk mail, and tore open the plastic wrap. (By the way, since when do magazines need to be mailed in plastic??)

The first magazine will remain anonymous, because the name doesn’t really matter. It’s a fashion magazine that I’ve been receiving for months now – though I never ordered it, and I most definitely didn’t pay for it. Needless to say, the only guilt I feel when I throw it away (often unopened) is the regret over the trees that came down to make it. I’m sure it’s a good magazine, but the truth is, fashion magazines have just never been my thing (no surprise to the people who know me) – that is, unless they’re about home fashion. Those I read cover to cover, and keep for years.

Needless to say, you can imagine how heartbroken I was when I opened the plastic on magazine #2 – Country Home – and read that this was to be their last issue. I re-read the letter ten times, hoping that the message would somehow change. No luck.

I wouldn’t say that my home is necessarily “country” – so in theory it shouldn’t matter all that much to me. But the thing is, this magazine has provided simple inspiration to me for as long as I can remember. The common theme over the years has been about surrounding yourself with whatever it is you love, and celebrating life. That’s not a theme that’s about style – that’s about values. Knowing what you value and love, and taking time to celebrate it – that is the core of “The Good Life.”

So even in these difficult economic times, stay focused on the positives. Remember to celebrate those things that you value. Love your spouse. Hug your children. Call a friend. Show your support to an organization you believe in. Say a prayer.

Every day is a choice… choose The Good Life.