Category: humor

anxiety, discretion, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Is It A Women’s Thing?

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We were gone for four days.  Four days, a mere three and a half hours away by car.  We try to do this every year – a long weekend with our kids, away from all the requirements of life as we define them when focused on our daily routines.  In the mountains, we are faced with intermittent connectivity, one tv (somewhat inaccessible) and nothing but the breeze and the vistas demanding our attention.

We played board games.

We talked with each other.

We napped (not together).

The guys golfed; my daughter-in-law and I read, spa’ed, and pondered nothing more serious than what to eat for lunch.

And I got the snippets that sustain memories and my heart…My son upstairs in the loft, while downstairs I could hear him sigh in his sleep.   He used to do that when he was a little boy.  Just a sigh out of the arms of Morpheus, tender and calm.  Listening to the melody of the kids caught up in unguarded laughter, oblivious to the delight it evoked in me.  Missing the one couple who didn’t make the trip this year.  Stepping out on the deck in the middle of the night and whispering thank you’s to the sky, so abundantly lit with stars that I was left breathless.   Another memory to include in the passage of time.

And then we got home.  And I become certifiable.

What is it?  Why do I feel completely obsessed with ensuring that the nest be properly feathered after such an abbreviated absence?  Get to the supermarket and refill the coffers (we were gone four days, there was only one woman here hangin’ with the Sirs – how much food was missing?  Not much), buy milk, extra coffee, juice, fruit…Laundry – after all, we must have sullied loads of clothes while spending a long weekend dressed in nothing but shorts and t-shirts.  Sheets?  Changed – though no one slept in our bed.  Quick trip to PetSmart for a treat for the Sirs who had to endure the indignity of being completely spoiled and coddled while we were gone.

One should never be her own therapist, for I am already scouring the DSM-V for my diagnosis.

anxiety, friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Oyez! Oyez!

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Let’s just say it’s been a week and leave it at that.  No wait – let’s just say that it’s been a week and I’ve been hacked and my laptop, iPad and iPhone are engaging in acts of such exaggerated non-compliance that I am comparing them to any adolescent who takes pride in exhibiting high levels of snark.

I could go on – but honestly you get the point.   And yes, I am sitting here in my family room engaging in a modified happy dance that it is Friday.  And maybe all of this stuff will get fixed today (these are technical terms I know).

But I can’t leave the week this way.  Sir Bogey has opened his eyes, showing us the bright little gleam that suggests brilliance and wit.  If my understanding of royal baby development is correct, he actually may begin to scoot around with a skosh of intent in a few days.  Happy Friday all…

p:wM3

 

humor, love

A Royal Birth

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While the world has been waiting to hear of the birth of the future Queen or King of England, there have been very exciting happenings here at the castle.

The Knights have been in deep discussions with the King about the prospect of adding another member to the Round Table.  The King was initially quite indisposed to the idea – let’s just say he exercised vigorous veto power.  Our kingdom didn’t need more royalty, the round table seated everyone comfortably.  Then the Sirs assumed a position that could not be debated – they made room for one more.

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I will say, that I spent a fair amount of time convincing the King that this was a good idea.  True, he called me ‘relentless’, ‘one-tracked’ and thankfully, ‘cute’.  I also received tremendous support from the Regal In-Laws, who prevailed upon their son to be a bit less stubborn when faced with his beloved’s meager request for one more knight..

So without further ado – please meet Sir Bogart – known around the palace as Bogey.  His name is a testament to the King’s love of golf and my insistence that any Knight that joins our round table be above par.  For they are all in my view, way above average.  

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Bogey won’t be ready to come home until late August, but in the interim, we will be visiting him and taking pictures to forward along.  Given the enormity of this announcement, I frankly think that Wills and Kate’s baby is now a second page story  (at least in Vienna, VA).

 

anxiety, humor, life lessons, mindfulness

My Friday Lament

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I want to be young again, but I really don’t want to re-live all the lousy stuff that occurs in the normal course of growing up.

I want to be old enough to fully accept that ‘legacy’ has nothing to do with what I did for a living, but what I did with my life – and that it mattered.

I want to find my waist again.

I want my waist not to matter as much as the shape of my soul.

I’d like to have no regrets, yet I regret that I think one can’t live without them.

I want to be remembered despite not having any wish or intent to go anywhere which would prompt people to miss me.

I wonder when I’m going to feel like I’m making my mark, yet delight in doing nothing but watching two fawns practice leaping in my backyard.

I miss the sounds and smells and demands and affection of having little boys, though my sons as adults delight me as no other adults can.

The rain is welcome, despite my wish for the sun.

In my head I’m far younger than the mirror suggests.  I find that a little insulting, and adds still more dissonance.

I want to read and read every book, blog, essay that grabs my curiosity and still take time to relish every sentence that I love.

I want to travel more and still cocoon at home.

I want to dare more though I’ve never been known for  being particularly intrepid.

Nobody gets everything in life; yet everything in life is not worth having.

The ebb and flow of extremes.  The push and pull of our hearts and minds.  It’s ok to grapple with this confusion, I tell myself.  It’s that insistent feeling I have that somehow, we’re supposed to ‘know’ by now.  The irritation I feel when I find that when pressed, I really have no clue – and the smile on my face as I realize that I’ll likely never get off this swing, so while I’m on it I’m just going to see how high I can go.

humor, life lessons

Sometimes I Just Say ‘Duh’

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“Patience, grasshopper,” said Maia.  “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I always thought that was ‘Good things come to those who do the wave,”  said Simon.  “No wonder I’ve been so confused all my life.” —  Cassandra Clare

Ah Simon, whoever you are – I have a feeling we’d be thisclose.  Look, I know I’m of reasonable intelligence, arguably well-educated (but for some semesters which I can’t seem to remember involving any books – or classes for that matter), culturally curious. I delight in the rare occasions when I can throw out a $.75 word correctly.

But boy, some days I feel like I’ve just guzzled a six-pack of stupid and there’s nothing I can do about it, except shrug, burp and laugh.  It’s as if my brain decides that logical or coherent thought is not all it’s cracked up to be and takes its leave – with no notice.  I clean the house and do the laundry before the housekeeper comes and try to use as much bleach and ammonia as possible so that the house smells clean before she arrives.  I spend minutes staring in my closet trying to figure out what to wear.  Um…I’m not working full time anymore.  I wear shorts and t-shirts.  And I’m hangin’ around the house today – why is this a concern for me?  Honestly, the Sirs are so wonderful they think I look fabulous regardless – even when I first wake-up.

On days like this, if my body is in a flare (as it is today), rather than take it easy, I start packing up clothes for AmVets, or rearranging cookbooks while standing precariously on the kitchen counter.  I will walk the dogs just as the sky opens up (you’d think the darkness that descends in advance of the deluge would give me a clue).  Andy comes over to give me a kiss good-bye while saying “See you later”, and I ask “are you leaving now?”  I spend a fair amount of time telling myself I’m just a blithering idiot.

And I laugh – a lot.  I am totally okay with my days-of-stupid.  I’ve been living with them for a long time.  Perhaps there are just days when you have to take a little break from thinking.  And I’ve decided that it isn’t a wasted day – on the contrary, it’s a day well-spent in silliness.  Some adults have forgotten the delight in the doofy – I for one can’t remember a time without it.  Wishing you all a day of giggles of your own design.

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humor, inspiration, life lessons, love

So Much Still To Learn

mimijk

My in-laws left today after a few days visit with us here in VA.  Our time together was relaxed and laugh-filled, much conversation and time to enjoy each other’s company.  And I sit here reflecting on what I learned while they were here.

Pop is 87 and his beloved is six years his junior.  They met when she was 16 years old.  He was an ex-GI, recently graduated from NYU.  She was a beautiful girl with a very protective father.  When Pop’s friend first told him about her, he told him to give her a nickel and tell her to call him when she was older.  Love finds its way – they married three years later.

The number of times they say “I love you” in a day exceeds the number of digits on my body (even if I include my eyes, ears, nose, etc – and yes, I know they’re not digits).  We downloaded a bunch of songs on Pop’s new iPad (Louis Prima is a kick; Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong) – and he told me about a theater in the Bronx where he would go to and pay fifty cents to hear these masters perform.  I suggested that now they had music to dance to – he told me they already do.  I think they will keep dancing whether or not the iPad is charged.With the Kindle app, he’s got the ordering process down and has some reading to get him started.  And yet please don’t think that I was the teacher while they were here.  There’s a reason why the family calls him “The Coach”.

Their life together is changing.  Age does that.  Memory doesn’t serve my mother-in-law in the way we all wish it would.  There are new challenges, frustrations, adjustments that the most flexible among us would be hard-pressed to adopt.  And they are taking life one moment at a time – and laughing along the way.  Their laughter is intimate; it’s an inside joke that none of us need to get.  It is tender to watch;  an element of the character of deep love.  There are no classes offered on grace, so you only get to learn it by seeing it.  These days were a lesson in grace.  And the enormous power of love that can thrive for over sixty years.

“To know how to grow old is the master-work of wisdom, and one of the most difficult chapters in the art of living.” — Henri Amiel

I’m not rushing time, it has a speed of its own which is already too fast for my liking.  I am however, appreciative of the wisdom that comes with time, savoring the lessons one can learn from those who are cherishing every moment.  Thank you both – this is for you..

discretion, friendship, humor, life lessons, mindfulness, motivation, Uncategorized, work life

How We Carry The Day

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Another early morning finds me sitting in the office atrium, catching up on the day’s rhythm, seeing if I can match the beat.  The energy is too slow, involving shuffling instead of stepping, a resignation in the bend of the head.  Clearly I am not going to be a helpful dance partner.  I need to carry the day differently…which propels me towards an entirely different train of thought.  How to carry the day.

Should it be carried gently as a sleeping baby in your arms, held with acute awareness of its inestimable preciousness?  Or with abandon?  Tossing the day up in the air with delight, watching it return to your hands gleefully anticipating the breathlessness of being thrown higher again and again.

Perhaps it should be carried over your shoulder, as one carries shirts fresh from the dry cleaner?  Protected in plastic that provides the security that they will make it home spotless and pressed (assuming you don’t fall into a puddle).

Do you hold the day like a briefcase – holding so tightly to the handle that your fingers ache, secure that no one will be able to take it from you?

Or

Like a well-worn handbag held casually and almost mindlessly – its weight comfortable in your hand, its contents familiar (save for the occasional forgotten lipstick and dollar bill at the very bottom of the bag).

How do you carry the day?

Held tightly against you like a cell phone to your ear, doing all you can to make sure that no one can hear what you are attending to?  Protectively guarding your privacy despite being in the middle of all this humanity??

Do you carry the day with confidence or trepidation?  Delight or dread?  Is it one more parcel to hold along with too many others to effectively juggle?  Do you push it away as a stroller or a shopping cart, keeping control of the direction by keeping a certain distance between you and it?  Is it pulled along like a rolling suitcase, casually unaware of its contents (for after all it is always behind you).

Do you balance the day like an overly full cup of coffee that is thisclose to spilling over, taking mincing, tentative steps to avert sartorial disaster?

I suppose different days require different handling.  Today my  arms are at my sides, keeping questionable rhythm with my feet.  Today perhaps the day itself will carry me.

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discretion, humor, inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness, training, work life

A View From The Lobby

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Whenever I have a meeting – of any kind – I’m early.  It’s my definition of being on time.  I was facilitating a meeting yesterday morning, and with the rain pummeling the house, I decided to give myself more than enough time to get downtown.  What does one do then with an hour to kill?  Head into the open, skylit atrium with a cup of coffee, review your notes and then watch the world go by.  Another olio from yours truly…

Rather than look like I’m just sitting there ogling people, I make notes, raising my eyes subtly to take in the action (Actually, I like to think I look surreptitious – I have a hunch I’m not so graceful).

–  A guy walks by wearing a grey cap, striped sweater, wire-rimmed glasses…he looks like he could be a student at GW, but for the absence of a backpack.  He’s so intently texting that he slams right into the corner of one of the metal (heavy, wrought iron) chairs.  Unfortunately, said corner  is of a particular delicate height and I wince for him.  He lets out a “oooph” – a restrained exclamation if ever I heard one, and gingerly walked into the coffee shop.  Those of us sitting nearby all look up with sympathy and even a little amusement (that’s what you get when you don’t watch when you walk and text).  Ok, the women look more amused then the men.

–  The skylights which are supposed to welcome all the natural light look like they are bearing the traces of a really good cry.  It’s that kind of day.

–  Beige lady – I swear this is a beige lady.  Beige hair, outfit, shoes, necklace, purse…urban camouflage.  Her posture is perfect, her strides are long and her heels strike the floor with emphasis.  She covers a lot of ground with maximum efficiency.  A person on a mission, confident, hyped, ready.  She comes out of the coffee shop holding two Red Bulls.  I feel for the people with whom she’s working today.

–  Choices, choices..a man in biking shorts and a heavy sweat (or rain-soaked) checks out his options at the coffee shop.  Grabs a yogurt.  Puts it back.  A box of Special K.  Shakes his head and places it back on the shelf.  Granola bar?  Uh uh.  This is a small Au Bon Pain, there are limited choices.  He looks conflicted.  Ah!! He grabs a an apple turnover. I like this guy.

–  Cross-body bags with cross-body briefcases is not a great look.  People look like pack animals heading up Everest.  And the puce thermal lunch bag?  Um, I vote ‘no’.

–  Why does no one smile?  I must be missing the memo.  This feels like a very unhappy place, with questionable elan (but this is DC after all, we don’t pride ourselves on elan or fashion sense – or any sense at all for that matter).  I am on a crusade to get people to smile.  I consciously smile at everyone – the garage attendant, the vanilla-outfitted girl who passes my table with vacant eyes, the maintenance person who traverses the perimeter of the atrium scrupulously checking for…something.

I’m not talking maniacal smiles here – just a small smile that someone could choose to ignore or return without fear of a Jack-Nicholson-in-‘The Shining’ reaction.  So far I’m 5 for 6…wait, 6 for 7 – not bad.  Each moves along in his/her own moment, which is totally cool.  I’m not looking to create memories here.  I just want to break this wall of impassivity – see if there’s any light behind those shuttered eyes, as if there is too much risk in letting someone see any emotion at all.

And I want to know all their stories – where do you work?  Do you like what you do?  What’s on your mind this morning?  House?  Condo?  Tent?  Pets?  Kids?  Partners?  What could change this moment from one that has merely passed to one that is fantastic?  Are your shoulders bowed from the weight of your backpack or the weight of your woes?

Why fuchsia lipstick?

They need music here – something to lift these sagging commuter spirits,  to imbue the morning with the hint of the possible, the funny, the sublime or even the stuff that really matters.  Time for me to head to the elevator with the guy who looks like Stubby Kaye when he was in “Guys & Dolls”.

humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

For The Boys

mimijk

Mother’s Day is Sunday.  When my mom was alive, this was a day feted like few others.  Dad would have it no other way, for he knew how much it meant to her.  We’d stand by her bedroom door waiting for her to come out, give her a cape made out of a sheet, a scepter (which in actuality was one of our batons) – even the dog had a ‘Happy Mother’s Day‘ sign around his neck.  Coffee first – always.  Then gifts and cards (she felt cards were a critical component of the whole thing).  In retrospect, we took the Hallmark holiday to almost ridiculous levels.  As teenagers, Deb  and I would roll our eyes at the theatrics involved – Dad reminding us repeatedly to make sure that she not be disappointed by any failure of our memories, the Queen for a Day spectacle expanding in scope as we got older.  As dad’s health began to fail, we just celebrated her as much as we could – though nothing really compensated for what she was losing.

I come at this though from a different place.  Boys perhaps are different – more muted in their expressions, though arguably more consistent.  And this is really about them.  Whether they read this or not is moot; it is for them in absentia.

If it wasn’t for the boys, I wouldn’t be one of those women for whom Mother’s Day is intended.  My boys.  Really, the appreciation should be directed their way.  They are not perfect; I have no illusions.  They are however the perfect sons for me.  They each came equipped with unique characteristics that amaze, delight, occasionally frustrate and always, always reinforce my wonder that I got so lucky.  So blessed.  I wish I could still hold them in my lap, yet I also love hearing their expanding world views.  I can touch their heads and remember them nestled in the crook of my neck, and then blink and re-focus on a conversation about work, current events, the Stanley Cup.  I crave them – I aways have.  And though I knew from the time I was able to toddle that I wanted to be a mom, I never knew I would be a  mom to men who I like as much as I adore.   Their love is nutritious – even though I’m  not sure what the RDA is.   All I know is that when I’m with them, I am the better part of me.  I look at them with occasional disbelief – these men, as boys were mine.  These men allowed me to be a mom.  And as convoluted as it may sound,  Mother’s Day celebrates them.  They are my greatest treasures, my heart, my soul.  They are my history and I am watching them travel into their futures.  And to take a line from my dad, “more loved [they] cannot be”.  Thank you for being the sons I always wanted, and becoming the remarkable men that you are.

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discretion, friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Observations From Starbucks – A Wednesday Olio

mimijk

Sometimes you just need a venti, skim cappuccino.  Sit down, listen to the music,  silently intercept the conversational volleys around you.  Look like you’re working on your laptop while inventing stories about the people waiting in line.  ‘Not very nice of you Mim’, you say?  No worries, I reprimand myself in between thoughts.  It’s how I roll.

Redesigned logo used from 2011-present.
Redesigned logo used from 2011-present. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

OMG – that’s Helen Mirren!!  What is she doing in my neighborhood Starbucks???  She is magnificent, what a cool gravitas surrounds her as she regards a message on her iPhone with bemusement.  I swear it’s her.  I applaud my fellow humankind as we sublimate our collective desire to swarm, leaving her to be among the people.  It is interesting to me though that no one else seems to be sneaking peeks.  Wait…is she chewing gum while drinking her latte?  With her mouth open?  Helen!  Oh no she isn’t.  Yup she is.  Sticking the end of a ballpoint pen in her ear and scratching.  Her pinky isn’t raised.  I can hear her snapping her gum.  I get it – this most definitely is not a Helen Mirren sighting.  Damn – I was so sure.

Young woman in line with her shoulders slumped, hair covering her face as if she would give anything to be invisible.  She’s lovely actually, and dressed in black on a gorgeous spring day does not serve as a cloak of invisibility.  The blue lipstick doesn’t either – it actually looks like she’s been caught inflagrante delicti with a Smurf.  It’s that same blue.  I have to get this visual out of my head as soon as possible – it’s both funny and mildly gross.  And if this involves two consenting adults and no one is getting hurt…

Interesting meeting going on at the only table that seats four.  Three guys, one girl – all dressed in the new sartorial category “business casual”.  The young men are in khakis, three variations of the color beige and button down shirts – two blue, one white.  The woman wears a scarf wrapped twice around her neck in the fashionable way that conceals any spots on the front of your shirt.  Blue skirt, blue tights, flats. I look at them not looking at each other and smile – they all look so young, so intense.  I have yet to see one of them look up from their respective laptops, and I wonder why I’m so sure they know each other other than their matching outfits.  One guy gets up to get a refill and says to someone at the table – “I just texted you”.  Really?  I am inclined to sit here until they leave just to see if they acknowledge each other in real time as they move towards the door.  I’m inclined, but my time here is limited.

If a woman is standing in line and the seam in the back of her very-very-very tight skirt has gone off-center, do you tell her?  She’s got too much going on with the whole look not to care.  I think she is dressing to impress and she certainly leaves an impression.  I can’t imagine that she just threw herself together this morning. Her hair is sprayed to natural perfection (yes, it’s an oxymoron – get it?), eyelashes curled and mascara-ed, blush applied and blended right at the ‘apples’ of her cheeks as fashion magazines suggest.  I should tell her…no I can’t.  As I sit here in my chic gym clothes, I look like a really credible source to comment on the seam placement of her skirt.  Nope – I’m letting it go.

I see an older couple who work out at the gym when I do – we say a quick ‘hi’ as I begin to head out.  I look up just in time to see him kissing the top of her head as she leans her body into his.  The best takeaway from Starbucks this morning – all other thoughts just fade away and I carry their love in one hand and my coffee in the other.  Happy Wednesday everyone.

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anxiety, discretion, humor, inspiration, leadership, life lessons, mindfulness, training, work life

Overthinking

mimijk

“Child, child, do you not see?  For each of us comes a time when we must be more than we are” — Lloyd Alexander

Well the last few weeks have brought with them a frenetic level of activity reminiscent of earlier chapters in my life.  Facilitating training sessions at two law firms; attending a national convention where I will be moderating a panel  on effective communication between leaders in practice offices and their counterparts at ‘headquarters’; discussions on employee engagement at another company and then back to another professional services firm to chair forums on a number of issues all rolling up under the header of ‘organizational dynamics’.  Ok, stop yawning – I find this stuff pretty fascinating, and the people I meet as a result, even more interesting and engaging.  It’s the people – I’m just so damn drawn to the people.

So somewhere around the end of May or June, things may slow down a bit once more. Some things haven’t changed – the more I have to do, the less I sleep and the more I perseverate.  For those of you who have not been ‘gifted’  with this talent, I’ll describe it quickly.  It starts with a benign thought, like “I hope I can pull all this together in time”, and from there it blossoms into a profusion of peripatetic petals (it is spring and Cherry Blossom time here in DC after all) that fall all over my mind, covering the synapses, neurons and pathways with layer upon layer of resistant ground cover.  Thought loses all rhyme or reason, and I spend an inordinate amount of time getting in my own way.  Do I know that I really should get out the leaf blower?  Of course I do – I’m just too busy looking at the magnificent mess I have created.

Now this talent of mine exists in direct counterpoint with another ability that I really do have about many, many issues.  When my sons were younger, they maintained their rooms as temples to the God Of Who Cares.  Somehow the word ‘messy’ really doesn’t do their efforts justice – neither does ‘unhygienic’.  Once a week, I would expect them to make some effort to return their rooms into something livable, for I really didn’t want them contracting some weird bacteria that is only found in the Amazon and the soles of filthy socks.  Their disregard drove Andy crazy – he’s  the kind of guy who feels that everything has a place and there’s a place for everything – and if not, toss it out.  So as he would get increasingly exorcised, I would become calmer.  And my mantra through those years was “If this is going to bother you in five years honey, then I will invest in this issue with all the emotional energy I can summon.  But if this isn’t going to matter five years hence, then I’m letting it go”.

Hypocrite – thy name is Mimi.

You see I really believe that little mantra – I do.  I just don’t apply it with as much conviction when it comes to my own efforts.  So in short – I become my own pain in the butt.  Somebody needs something from me – ok, let’s jump into hyper-drive, over-think it and deliver with everything I’ve got.  And then collapse and chastise myself for all that excess worry and emotional self-flagellation.  Oh, and then start the whole process again…because after all, this is different.  It’s about someone else’s needs.  I have to be better this time, right?

Last night though – somewhere between Carson Daly and the 2:30AM news on ABC – a memory came to the fore and I think as a result, I am going to try to teach my foolish self what I already know.

Years ago, after one back surgery or another, I lost the use of my arms.  Truly.  I could raise one arm high enough to bring a utensil to my lips, the other only far enough to scratch an inch near my waist.  The surgeon wasn’t alarmed (of course, they weren’t his arms) – neurological effrontery can make for some pretty lousy retribution.  I was petrified.  All of a sudden elements of daily self-care were elusive to me.  Andy would wash and dry my hair (with enormous affection and limited expertise – we will not conjure any thoughts of how I looked during this time), I drank coffee through a straw, modifications were made.  The doctor was sure my range of motion would return – he had no doubt, so I believed him.  My anxiety became more reflective of the ‘when’ not the ‘if’, and immediately became more manageable.  In five years, this would not be an issue for me – I knew that.  My thoughts became less frantic, I began to clear away the disorderly mess that had become my thought process.  And yes, the doctor knew what he was talking about.

Which brings me back to this moment.  In five years it will matter to me that I gave my best to others – period.  I won’t get there by letting my worry trump my determination.  Let me re-phrase – I may get there, but I will be have depleted essential elements of the thoughts I need to be happy.  Today, I’m going to follow the advice of Steve Martin – “I’ve got to keep breathing.  It’ll be the worst business mistake if I don’t”.

I hope this makes you smile – and if by chance you identify with any of this – I hope it helps you breathe.