One minute everything is fine, and the next you feel a bit flushed, cheeks tingling, ears getting warm. It doesn't take long for the heatwave to wash all the way to your toes, and then your head spontaneously bursts into flames. No, wait. It's just a hot flash. And the fun has only started.
Sensing the increased temperature, your sweat glands kick into gear,and with the pressure of a fire hose, sweat pours out of your body. Ladies may "glisten," but you, my friend, are sweating like a pig. You soak through your bra in mere minutes and start to wonder if when you stand up you'll look like you wet your pants. Your entire body is now trying to either put out the fire or drown you.
If you're anything like me, getting too hot has the convenient side effect of nausea, too, so you're in the nearest bathroom running cold water over your wrists, dabbing at the sweat with a lukewarm paper towel and praying you don't toss your cookies. This never happens when you're at home -- one of the few places it might be appropriate or at least acceptable for you to throw off your clothes and turn on the nearest fan.
With soaked clothes and dripping hair, your body slowly realizes it may have overreacted, and you realize you are close to hypothermia. In just 10 minutes, you've ruined your hair and makeup, your clothes look slept in and you're so uncomfortable the next person that looks at you funny might end up missing teeth. So I say what the fuck ... go have a glass of wine and call it a day. Who cares if it's only 10:30am. The way you look no one will ask any questions.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
3 years ago today
There were only 2 hours left in my 32nd birthday when I got the call.
Joe and I had spent the day white water rafting. When we got home, I had 32 roses waiting from my mom. My Nana had gone in to have her dialysis port moved from her arm to her clavicle. The procedure was successful. The family had gone home, and Joe and I were getting in bed 700 miles away.
No phone call that comes after 10pm is ever good. It was 11:01pm when my phone rang. My youngest sister was on the other line. Everyone was headed back to the hospital because Nana had died. Everything had been fine one second; she'd been joking with her nurses. Then she was gone.
Nana was technically my step-grandmother. She and Dado are my (step)dad's parents, but like my dad, they've always treated my sister and me as if we were there own. Nana actually treated us better than one of our real grandmothers who disowned me -- the last grandchild she had speaking to her -- several years ago.
For several years, Nana had been ill. She'd had numerous heart surgeries. Diabetes came along. She'd had so many procedures and pain was a constant in her life. She was never bitter though and never lost her faith. She remained gracious until the very end.
Nana was above all else, a lady. She didn't shout and wasn't ostentatious. She had a deep voice and the most beautiful silvery gray hair. She could play the piano. I loved to hear her play Danny Boy. She took care of her "four boys" (Dado plus three) and delighted in her first natural grandchild and namesake, Sara Katherine, as well as Halle, her second granddaughter, who came along a few years later. The last time I talked to her, she told me a story about her first trip to New York City. She lived a long, full life, and even though she wasn't surrounded by family when she died, she'd been joking with her nurses. She literally died laughing. Can't ask for much more than that.
I hope one day I can have Nana's grace. I hope she knew how much I loved her and how much it meant to me to be her granddaughter, too.
Joe and I had spent the day white water rafting. When we got home, I had 32 roses waiting from my mom. My Nana had gone in to have her dialysis port moved from her arm to her clavicle. The procedure was successful. The family had gone home, and Joe and I were getting in bed 700 miles away.
No phone call that comes after 10pm is ever good. It was 11:01pm when my phone rang. My youngest sister was on the other line. Everyone was headed back to the hospital because Nana had died. Everything had been fine one second; she'd been joking with her nurses. Then she was gone.
Nana was technically my step-grandmother. She and Dado are my (step)dad's parents, but like my dad, they've always treated my sister and me as if we were there own. Nana actually treated us better than one of our real grandmothers who disowned me -- the last grandchild she had speaking to her -- several years ago.
For several years, Nana had been ill. She'd had numerous heart surgeries. Diabetes came along. She'd had so many procedures and pain was a constant in her life. She was never bitter though and never lost her faith. She remained gracious until the very end.
Nana was above all else, a lady. She didn't shout and wasn't ostentatious. She had a deep voice and the most beautiful silvery gray hair. She could play the piano. I loved to hear her play Danny Boy. She took care of her "four boys" (Dado plus three) and delighted in her first natural grandchild and namesake, Sara Katherine, as well as Halle, her second granddaughter, who came along a few years later. The last time I talked to her, she told me a story about her first trip to New York City. She lived a long, full life, and even though she wasn't surrounded by family when she died, she'd been joking with her nurses. She literally died laughing. Can't ask for much more than that.
I hope one day I can have Nana's grace. I hope she knew how much I loved her and how much it meant to me to be her granddaughter, too.
Monday, July 26, 2010
A public service
Ever wondered if any of those As Seen on TV products work? I have to admit that for most of my life I have been fascinated with the crazy commercials and demonstrations. I'm a naturally suspicious person. I'm a big believer that if something looks too good to be true it probably is.
Well, I've found out about a few As Seen on TV items, and as a public service, I'm going to let you guys in on the secrets I've found.
Pedipaws claims to be a fast, gentle and easy way to trim your pet's nails. Anyone with a dog or cat that objects to having their nails trimmed would jump at the chance to make it easier. Our 18 lb. bundle of terror turns into a bona fide rabid beast when anyone tries to cut his nails. Watching the commercial, I was convinced those pets were drugged or lobotomized before the demo was shot. Even if there is a dog out there who would so willingly submit to this demonstration, I was sure that no cat would!
I saw Pedipaws in CVS one day while waiting for a prescription. It was only $20, so I figured what the hell. If it worked, it would be more than worth the cost.
I followed the instructions to let Henry become accustomed to the "wand" for a few days before even turning it on. We eased into things to make sure the dog wouldn't freak out. Well, we needn't have worried. Pedipaws wouldn't have filed MY nails, much less my dogs.
Pedipaws = massive #FAIL. If you want to trim your dog's nails, do yourself a favor and buy a Dremel. If you want to do your cat's nails ... you're braver than me.
However badly named, the Sliding Robots came in really handy recently, and not just as coasters. Hubby and I have both injured our backs, so when we bought new bedroom furniture and had to have the old furniture out of the way before the deliverymen came.
The old furniture is incredibly heavy, solid cherry. It's older than me, and definitely looks its age. It survived my college days and more moves than I care to count. We needed to move it one more time to the guest room, but sliding it across our hardwood floors was not an option. I remembered seeing the Sliding Robots, again, at CVS while I was waiting for another prescription. Maybe a refill of the first one, who knows.
Anyway, I got these home figuring $5 was worth a shot to save me a few weeks of physical therapy if I tried to move the dresser. It was well worth it. These things worked like a charm. Hubby easily slid the dresser into the next room without any help from me and not a scratch on the floors. I don't know if these will last very long or anything else, but for $5, I give the Sliding Robots a thumbs up.
Hubby and I have a great love for our dog Henry. His barking tests the boundaries of that love on a daily basis. For being only 18 lbs., he has the bark of a doberman. He's an anxious little man who is extremely territorial. Anything he sees out the window is his. It's not just his yard. It's his street, and anyone walking down it, is trespassing. Our house can be really noisy.
We've tried various types of training, pulling the blinds and anything else we come across. The logical answer is to treat the anxiety, but hubby nor I are ready to start medicating the dog. One of us on anti-anxiety meds in the house is enough. Anyway, someone suggested or we came across online, not sure which, something called a Thundershirt. It's supposed to help calm your dog naturally.
I'm not sure the designers of Thundershirt had the proportions of a dachshund in mind when they created the shirt. He wears a small, but his stubby little legs make it easy for the shirt to twist and he can pretty quickly get out of it. As stubborn as Henry is, we don't expect anything to work immediately or like magic. So far there might be some mild calming effects, but it's been nothing dramatic. I wonder at times if he's not more distracted by trying to get out of the shirt than the things to bark at. We'll see.
There is great anticipation among some friends of mine as to whether this one in particular will work. I bought Bark Off while wandering the "As Seen on TV" aisle at CVS. It was $10, and if it works, I'll consider it the biggest ROI I've ever gotten on any money I've ever spent.
There is a degree of blind faith on this one, as the device does not emit any sound audible by humans. It must be doing something though because right after he barks Henry gets a funny look on his face and checks to see if his boy parts are still where they're supposed to be. It's actually quite hilarious.
It definitely doesn't seem to hurt him, but it gets his attention. He can't figure out where the noise is coming from. I've been trying to add a "hush" or other such admonishment when he starts barking, so he'll equate my command with the need to be quiet even if the device isn't on.
So far, I'd say Bark Off has potential. I've noticed an impact on how much Henry barks. He's never going to be a quiet dog, but if we can get through an evening without a nervous breakdown from all the noise, life will be much better! I'll be sure to report back on the outcome.
Well, I've found out about a few As Seen on TV items, and as a public service, I'm going to let you guys in on the secrets I've found.
Pedipaws claims to be a fast, gentle and easy way to trim your pet's nails. Anyone with a dog or cat that objects to having their nails trimmed would jump at the chance to make it easier. Our 18 lb. bundle of terror turns into a bona fide rabid beast when anyone tries to cut his nails. Watching the commercial, I was convinced those pets were drugged or lobotomized before the demo was shot. Even if there is a dog out there who would so willingly submit to this demonstration, I was sure that no cat would!I saw Pedipaws in CVS one day while waiting for a prescription. It was only $20, so I figured what the hell. If it worked, it would be more than worth the cost.
I followed the instructions to let Henry become accustomed to the "wand" for a few days before even turning it on. We eased into things to make sure the dog wouldn't freak out. Well, we needn't have worried. Pedipaws wouldn't have filed MY nails, much less my dogs.
Pedipaws = massive #FAIL. If you want to trim your dog's nails, do yourself a favor and buy a Dremel. If you want to do your cat's nails ... you're braver than me.
However badly named, the Sliding Robots came in really handy recently, and not just as coasters. Hubby and I have both injured our backs, so when we bought new bedroom furniture and had to have the old furniture out of the way before the deliverymen came. The old furniture is incredibly heavy, solid cherry. It's older than me, and definitely looks its age. It survived my college days and more moves than I care to count. We needed to move it one more time to the guest room, but sliding it across our hardwood floors was not an option. I remembered seeing the Sliding Robots, again, at CVS while I was waiting for another prescription. Maybe a refill of the first one, who knows.Anyway, I got these home figuring $5 was worth a shot to save me a few weeks of physical therapy if I tried to move the dresser. It was well worth it. These things worked like a charm. Hubby easily slid the dresser into the next room without any help from me and not a scratch on the floors. I don't know if these will last very long or anything else, but for $5, I give the Sliding Robots a thumbs up.
Hubby and I have a great love for our dog Henry. His barking tests the boundaries of that love on a daily basis. For being only 18 lbs., he has the bark of a doberman. He's an anxious little man who is extremely territorial. Anything he sees out the window is his. It's not just his yard. It's his street, and anyone walking down it, is trespassing. Our house can be really noisy.
We've tried various types of training, pulling the blinds and anything else we come across. The logical answer is to treat the anxiety, but hubby nor I are ready to start medicating the dog. One of us on anti-anxiety meds in the house is enough. Anyway, someone suggested or we came across online, not sure which, something called a Thundershirt. It's supposed to help calm your dog naturally.I'm not sure the designers of Thundershirt had the proportions of a dachshund in mind when they created the shirt. He wears a small, but his stubby little legs make it easy for the shirt to twist and he can pretty quickly get out of it. As stubborn as Henry is, we don't expect anything to work immediately or like magic. So far there might be some mild calming effects, but it's been nothing dramatic. I wonder at times if he's not more distracted by trying to get out of the shirt than the things to bark at. We'll see.
There is great anticipation among some friends of mine as to whether this one in particular will work. I bought Bark Off while wandering the "As Seen on TV" aisle at CVS. It was $10, and if it works, I'll consider it the biggest ROI I've ever gotten on any money I've ever spent.There is a degree of blind faith on this one, as the device does not emit any sound audible by humans. It must be doing something though because right after he barks Henry gets a funny look on his face and checks to see if his boy parts are still where they're supposed to be. It's actually quite hilarious.
It definitely doesn't seem to hurt him, but it gets his attention. He can't figure out where the noise is coming from. I've been trying to add a "hush" or other such admonishment when he starts barking, so he'll equate my command with the need to be quiet even if the device isn't on.
So far, I'd say Bark Off has potential. I've noticed an impact on how much Henry barks. He's never going to be a quiet dog, but if we can get through an evening without a nervous breakdown from all the noise, life will be much better! I'll be sure to report back on the outcome.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Bigger isn't always better
I’m knitting, I hope, a toy for two of the cutest little girls you’ll ever lay your eyes on. This will eventually be a stuffed caterpillar. Until this past Sunday, it was barely more than a knot that was giving me a headache.
Sunday, I went to Knit Happens in Alexandria to see if one, they could show me once and for all how to knit into the front and back of a stitch, and two, tell me a better way to knit in the round in such a very tiny, tiny circle.
I have pretty big hands for a woman, but my fine motor skills are second to none. I knit more with my fingers than my hands, so the 7″ double-pointed needles were really getting in my way. I couldn’t keep the needles or the yarn out of my way.
The nice ladies at Knit Happens showed me these double pointed needles — only 3.5″ long, and my troubles went away. With the smaller needles I can knit on four instead of three which keeps my stitches more even and makes the transition as I go around smoother.
Bigger isn’t always better. Lesson learned. Now, if only I’d counted my stitches correctly!
Saturday, June 26, 2010
No reason to hide
There wasn't an exact date, more an approximate time. A little nudge here, some advice there, some so-called development, and here I am. No where. I'll explain what I mean by that, but first, a little context.
I've always been very open about the fact that I have clinical depression. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and I am not unstable or fragile or any other bullshit other people assume. Very simply, the chemical composition of my brain is not like others', and I have to work a little harder to find my happy place.
On and off since I was eighteen, I've taken medicine and done therapy to alter the way my brain works. Not everyone can even admit they have an issue with depression, much less go to the extents I have to learn about it -- and me. I am what's referred to as a "child of trauma." My dad died when I was two and a half years old. This would alter anyone, but modern neuroscience is just starting to find out how those like me are shaped not just mentally and emotionally, but also physically or physiologically, by those traumas. But I am no neuroscientist, nor is that the point of my story.
In addition to having a different chemical composition in my brain, I'm also what I've heard referred to as "high radar" -- someone who is exceptionally perceptive of the world and people around them. I can't really explain it, and the fact is unless you're the same way, you probably won't understand anyway. The best I can do is to say I see and sense things that aren't obvious or apparent. I listen to my gut, and I have one hell of a bullshit detector.
Back to my original thought line, I've shown a great deal of promise within my organization. I'm talented at what I do, have a wild ability to figure things out and an insatiable need to learn new things. I was doing really well when I first got to my company. I got awards and bonuses and a promotion quite quickly. I continued my good work and was asked to work with upper management on projects way above my pay grade. I was in an ideal situation for my set of strengths and needs.
As I said earlier, there's not a date I can put on this, but about three years ago, all levels of management within my company started to want to help me develop into the next generation of company leaders. I was given extra feedback and opportunities to help in this endeavor. All of which I much appreciated and took every chance I had to grow.
There are subtleties to being effective in corporate management. These subtleties have never been lost on me, but I often saw them as unnecessary. Why not just say what you mean and mean what you say? Playing politics just wasn't my strong suit. I don't use euphemisms. I don't tip toe around the subject or sugar coat things. You'll notice that above I said, "My dad died ..." Died being my point. I don't say he "passed away" or anything like that. He died. Period. Now, I have learned that it's better say my sister "could find something more flattering to wear" rather than "That dress makes your ass look big." I get the need for diplomacy, I just have to try harder at it when it comes to more subtle situations.
For instance, I recently asked at a meeting of high-level management if someone could help me understand their thinking that led to a particular plan. I thought I was being incredibly diplomatic. My tone was inquisitive, respectful and open. All but one person thought I was raising a valid and well-thought out question. The person I asked got defensive and has been an ass to me every time I've dealt with him since. I guess it's a good thing I was trying to be diplomatic since saying "this makes no fucking sense" would have probably gotten me killed on the spot. Even to have simply said, "I don't understand," would have been offensive, so I was more subtle. So much for that.
Anyway, my point is that I would not have been offended had someone said they didn't understand. It's simple direct and tells me I need to be more clear or explain more/better. I prefer this method of communication. I also don't take it personally. Just because someone doesn't get my point doesn't mean they're calling me an idiot or saying I didn't come up with a good point or that I can't communicate. I just means that person did not understand the way I presented it. We're not all on the same page all the time, and not everyone thinks the same way. That's what makes communication such an art.
I am direct. I try to always be respectful and kind, but as a former boss used to say about me, "She tells it like it is." Is that such a bad thing? If I'm being respectful and kind while being direct does it mean I'm the problem? Well, all the advice and development and supposed growth I've been going through would have me thinking, yes, I'm flawed and need improvement in this area. So much so that I've altered so much of myself that I don't know who the hell I am anymore. It ends here and now. I AM DONE.
Few people are fond of uncertainty, and for someone as logical as I am, it can become unsettling after a while. Logically, if 2+2=4, then 2+2 should always equal 4. In the past few years, I've had various people telling me 2+2 equals 5 or 6 or, hell, even 44 depending on the case, and I've tried to believe them because they are my superiors, more experienced and mostly well-respected.
The incongruity of what I've been told and tried to believe has put me off balance and subsequently put my world out of whack. I am out of sorts because I've looked at the sky in the middle of a clear day and tried to tell myself it's green when I know damn well it's blue. I have become a very unhappy person, so much so my depression has reared its ugly head and sent me into a tailspin.
To put it as plainly and simply as I can, DAMMIT, there is nothing wrong with me!!!
I refuse to believe that something is wrong with me or my communication skills because a few people get their feelings hurt or their egos bruised so easily. I will no longer hide my confidence because others are not. I will not play dumb to make other people feel better.
I am smart, and I am confident -- not because I believe myself to always be right or the smartest person in the room, but because I am not afraid to be wrong!
I will always do everything in my power to be kind, compassionate, respectful and professional. These are the right things to do, and I will make it my life-long mission to make these attributes the mantras I live by. I will try to keep an open mind and to not be stubborn. I will listen as much, if not more, than I talk.
I will also promise that there will be times when I fail at this mission. I am human and it is a condition of being so that dictates that I am not and cannot be perfect. I am going to fail, and that doesn't make me a bad person.
When I was a kid, it was a cardinal sin in my house to say you hated someone, especially if that someone was my mother or sister, and heaven help you if you let it slip. One afternoon on our way home from school, my best friend's youngest brother got really angry at his brother and screamed, "I HATE YOU!!!" with everything he had in his little heart. I immediately said, "Oh, Daniel, you don't mean that. You're just mad. You don't hate your brother." I think part of me was trying to protect him from some parental wrath I would have expected. Instead, his mother said, "No, it's OK. Right now, he is mad at his brother, and he's feeling hatred towards him. It's OK that he feels that way right now. It's human."
I was dumbfounded -- and a little confused. It was an early example of what "development" can do. Ha!
The fact is that humans have emotions, and even the most controlled of us, let them get the best of us occasionally. We can be hot-headed. (Unfortunately, some of us come by hot-headed more easily than others!) We all have limits, and though we need to push ourselves to be cool, others will push our limits. It may result in an eye roll or an exasperated sigh or on the rare occasion a "go to hell." I have those moments. If you're honest with yourself, so do you.
I freely admit when I'm coaching others that I have my moments. I'd like for the people who coach me to do the same. We all try to avoid it, and we should say sorry when it happens, but to act like someone shouldn't be human, shouldn't have times when their limits are reached, is dishonest.
I have been lied to, and it has warped my sense of self. I hid figuratively and literally. Today, I took one small step to correct this mistake. I unprotected my tweets. I'd hidden them because I was made to feel I had something to hide or at the very least censor. Those are my thoughts, for better or worse, and I might say, "I hate you!" in a heated moment, but it doesn't make me a bad person. It doesn't have to be censored. People reading it just have to take it for what it is. There are a lot of other things to read on the Web if you don't like it.
Maybe telling some of the more thin-skinned people they need to stop taking things personally isn't what they want hear, and maybe there are better ways to say it. I'd at least like to get credit for not calling them pansies and telling them to put their big-girl panties on.
So be on notice. I am direct. It is nothing personal. Take what I say for what it is. Or get over it. I'm not hiding anymore.
I've always been very open about the fact that I have clinical depression. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and I am not unstable or fragile or any other bullshit other people assume. Very simply, the chemical composition of my brain is not like others', and I have to work a little harder to find my happy place.
On and off since I was eighteen, I've taken medicine and done therapy to alter the way my brain works. Not everyone can even admit they have an issue with depression, much less go to the extents I have to learn about it -- and me. I am what's referred to as a "child of trauma." My dad died when I was two and a half years old. This would alter anyone, but modern neuroscience is just starting to find out how those like me are shaped not just mentally and emotionally, but also physically or physiologically, by those traumas. But I am no neuroscientist, nor is that the point of my story.
In addition to having a different chemical composition in my brain, I'm also what I've heard referred to as "high radar" -- someone who is exceptionally perceptive of the world and people around them. I can't really explain it, and the fact is unless you're the same way, you probably won't understand anyway. The best I can do is to say I see and sense things that aren't obvious or apparent. I listen to my gut, and I have one hell of a bullshit detector.
Back to my original thought line, I've shown a great deal of promise within my organization. I'm talented at what I do, have a wild ability to figure things out and an insatiable need to learn new things. I was doing really well when I first got to my company. I got awards and bonuses and a promotion quite quickly. I continued my good work and was asked to work with upper management on projects way above my pay grade. I was in an ideal situation for my set of strengths and needs.
As I said earlier, there's not a date I can put on this, but about three years ago, all levels of management within my company started to want to help me develop into the next generation of company leaders. I was given extra feedback and opportunities to help in this endeavor. All of which I much appreciated and took every chance I had to grow.
There are subtleties to being effective in corporate management. These subtleties have never been lost on me, but I often saw them as unnecessary. Why not just say what you mean and mean what you say? Playing politics just wasn't my strong suit. I don't use euphemisms. I don't tip toe around the subject or sugar coat things. You'll notice that above I said, "My dad died ..." Died being my point. I don't say he "passed away" or anything like that. He died. Period. Now, I have learned that it's better say my sister "could find something more flattering to wear" rather than "That dress makes your ass look big." I get the need for diplomacy, I just have to try harder at it when it comes to more subtle situations.
For instance, I recently asked at a meeting of high-level management if someone could help me understand their thinking that led to a particular plan. I thought I was being incredibly diplomatic. My tone was inquisitive, respectful and open. All but one person thought I was raising a valid and well-thought out question. The person I asked got defensive and has been an ass to me every time I've dealt with him since. I guess it's a good thing I was trying to be diplomatic since saying "this makes no fucking sense" would have probably gotten me killed on the spot. Even to have simply said, "I don't understand," would have been offensive, so I was more subtle. So much for that.
Anyway, my point is that I would not have been offended had someone said they didn't understand. It's simple direct and tells me I need to be more clear or explain more/better. I prefer this method of communication. I also don't take it personally. Just because someone doesn't get my point doesn't mean they're calling me an idiot or saying I didn't come up with a good point or that I can't communicate. I just means that person did not understand the way I presented it. We're not all on the same page all the time, and not everyone thinks the same way. That's what makes communication such an art.
I am direct. I try to always be respectful and kind, but as a former boss used to say about me, "She tells it like it is." Is that such a bad thing? If I'm being respectful and kind while being direct does it mean I'm the problem? Well, all the advice and development and supposed growth I've been going through would have me thinking, yes, I'm flawed and need improvement in this area. So much so that I've altered so much of myself that I don't know who the hell I am anymore. It ends here and now. I AM DONE.
Few people are fond of uncertainty, and for someone as logical as I am, it can become unsettling after a while. Logically, if 2+2=4, then 2+2 should always equal 4. In the past few years, I've had various people telling me 2+2 equals 5 or 6 or, hell, even 44 depending on the case, and I've tried to believe them because they are my superiors, more experienced and mostly well-respected.
The incongruity of what I've been told and tried to believe has put me off balance and subsequently put my world out of whack. I am out of sorts because I've looked at the sky in the middle of a clear day and tried to tell myself it's green when I know damn well it's blue. I have become a very unhappy person, so much so my depression has reared its ugly head and sent me into a tailspin.
To put it as plainly and simply as I can, DAMMIT, there is nothing wrong with me!!!
I refuse to believe that something is wrong with me or my communication skills because a few people get their feelings hurt or their egos bruised so easily. I will no longer hide my confidence because others are not. I will not play dumb to make other people feel better.
I am smart, and I am confident -- not because I believe myself to always be right or the smartest person in the room, but because I am not afraid to be wrong!
I will always do everything in my power to be kind, compassionate, respectful and professional. These are the right things to do, and I will make it my life-long mission to make these attributes the mantras I live by. I will try to keep an open mind and to not be stubborn. I will listen as much, if not more, than I talk.
I will also promise that there will be times when I fail at this mission. I am human and it is a condition of being so that dictates that I am not and cannot be perfect. I am going to fail, and that doesn't make me a bad person.
When I was a kid, it was a cardinal sin in my house to say you hated someone, especially if that someone was my mother or sister, and heaven help you if you let it slip. One afternoon on our way home from school, my best friend's youngest brother got really angry at his brother and screamed, "I HATE YOU!!!" with everything he had in his little heart. I immediately said, "Oh, Daniel, you don't mean that. You're just mad. You don't hate your brother." I think part of me was trying to protect him from some parental wrath I would have expected. Instead, his mother said, "No, it's OK. Right now, he is mad at his brother, and he's feeling hatred towards him. It's OK that he feels that way right now. It's human."
I was dumbfounded -- and a little confused. It was an early example of what "development" can do. Ha!
The fact is that humans have emotions, and even the most controlled of us, let them get the best of us occasionally. We can be hot-headed. (Unfortunately, some of us come by hot-headed more easily than others!) We all have limits, and though we need to push ourselves to be cool, others will push our limits. It may result in an eye roll or an exasperated sigh or on the rare occasion a "go to hell." I have those moments. If you're honest with yourself, so do you.
I freely admit when I'm coaching others that I have my moments. I'd like for the people who coach me to do the same. We all try to avoid it, and we should say sorry when it happens, but to act like someone shouldn't be human, shouldn't have times when their limits are reached, is dishonest.
I have been lied to, and it has warped my sense of self. I hid figuratively and literally. Today, I took one small step to correct this mistake. I unprotected my tweets. I'd hidden them because I was made to feel I had something to hide or at the very least censor. Those are my thoughts, for better or worse, and I might say, "I hate you!" in a heated moment, but it doesn't make me a bad person. It doesn't have to be censored. People reading it just have to take it for what it is. There are a lot of other things to read on the Web if you don't like it.
Maybe telling some of the more thin-skinned people they need to stop taking things personally isn't what they want hear, and maybe there are better ways to say it. I'd at least like to get credit for not calling them pansies and telling them to put their big-girl panties on.
So be on notice. I am direct. It is nothing personal. Take what I say for what it is. Or get over it. I'm not hiding anymore.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
5 things that make my week better
1. Dominos Cheesy Bread
I think when God changed the dew into manna it was actually Dominos Cheesy Bread. It cures what ails ya. Guaranteed. (Anyone who corrects my biblical reference is fired.)
2. My physical therapist
Her name is Dr. Olya Morgen, and she practices at Active Spine and Sport in Arlington, VA. She is magic. Her combo of Active Release Technique (ART) and chiropractic has worked out kinks I've had for 15 years.
3. NCIS
My favorite show on TV. I love it. My husband does not, but he lets me dominate the DVR with my reruns. (I'd put Hubby on this list, but I way more than like him!) He can't really blame me. My mom had a huge crush on Mark Harmon my entire childhood.
4. Thursday Next
A childhood friend saw my plea for recommendations for new books to read and turned me on to the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde. Part detective novel, part satire, part comedy, Fforde blends his original stories with characters and references to all parts of the literary world.
5. Edy's Lemonade Fruit Bars
Mmmm.
I don't know about you, but I'm feeling better already.
I think when God changed the dew into manna it was actually Dominos Cheesy Bread. It cures what ails ya. Guaranteed. (Anyone who corrects my biblical reference is fired.)
2. My physical therapist
Her name is Dr. Olya Morgen, and she practices at Active Spine and Sport in Arlington, VA. She is magic. Her combo of Active Release Technique (ART) and chiropractic has worked out kinks I've had for 15 years.
3. NCIS
My favorite show on TV. I love it. My husband does not, but he lets me dominate the DVR with my reruns. (I'd put Hubby on this list, but I way more than like him!) He can't really blame me. My mom had a huge crush on Mark Harmon my entire childhood.
4. Thursday Next
A childhood friend saw my plea for recommendations for new books to read and turned me on to the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde. Part detective novel, part satire, part comedy, Fforde blends his original stories with characters and references to all parts of the literary world.
5. Edy's Lemonade Fruit Bars
Mmmm.
I don't know about you, but I'm feeling better already.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Play with me
My dog makes me laugh for a lot of reasons. He's a unique little man. One way he makes me smile is the way he plays. He's a smart dog, so we've bought every kind of toy to help keep him engaged -- and not chewing up our entire house. Some times, he runs around with this toy in his mouth just for the joy of feeling the wind flap through his ears. He'll do this at full speed for about 10 minutes before collapsing in his water bowl. My favorite is when he comes up to me with one of his "biffs" (that's Henry-speak for "toy") with a longing look in his eye. Maybe I want to throw it? Maybe a little tug? Some times, he just wants me to hold it while he chews. I thought Henry was just making his game more interesting by making me want his toy.
As soon as I act like I want his toy, the game is on! Ears perked, tail wagging, Henry is ready. Maybe it's the human in me that imagined the game being like "keep away" or "I've got something you don't." A little good-natured competition. Today, as I held the rope end of his favorite biff, Henry chewing on the rubber end, I realized it was something much simpler.
Henry didn't want me to tease him or throw it or tug. He just wanted to share. He wanted me to play with him. It was that simple. Only a human could make it out to be something like keep away or assert that a thing is only worth possessing if someone else wants it, too.
If we're honest though, we want to share, too. We want to share our experiences, our time. Whether it's an exchange of pleasantries or a hug or a nice long talk or just the touch of a hand. Too often we're those petty, jealous humans. The ones that like to keep our toys to ourselves and not share, to disconnect and hide behind our techno walls.
Henry found a whole new way to make me smile today. He really is one smart dog. He taught this human to be more like a dog and look for simple ways to share. He showed me how simple it can be to connect to another living being. Share.
Would you like to play?
Henry didn't want me to tease him or throw it or tug. He just wanted to share. He wanted me to play with him. It was that simple. Only a human could make it out to be something like keep away or assert that a thing is only worth possessing if someone else wants it, too.
If we're honest though, we want to share, too. We want to share our experiences, our time. Whether it's an exchange of pleasantries or a hug or a nice long talk or just the touch of a hand. Too often we're those petty, jealous humans. The ones that like to keep our toys to ourselves and not share, to disconnect and hide behind our techno walls.
Henry found a whole new way to make me smile today. He really is one smart dog. He taught this human to be more like a dog and look for simple ways to share. He showed me how simple it can be to connect to another living being. Share.
Would you like to play?
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