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Do You Make Your Bed?
If you know me at all, you know I tend to lean towards the OCD side. I’ve never been diagnosed or anything, but my uber-organized ways, along with my love of office supplies, and constant desire to be surrounded by cleanliness, is ample evidence of my tendency.
One of the ways this comes out is by making my bed each and every morning. Even if I don’t have time to do any other cleaning in the morning, I make my bed before leaving the house. There’s just something luxurious feeling about getting into a made bed at night. The sheets are smooth without any wrinkles or evidence of last night’s tossing and turning or sleeplessness. Making my bed also keeps cat hair off my sheets because Sammy and Zoey love to nap on my bed during the day. If it’s unmade, they’ll climb through the sheets and blankets and usually leave their toys buried in my bed for me to find later.
Thanks to the teachings of my mom when I was little, I’m a pretty big stickler for how my bed gets made. Each morning when I was growing up, my mom and I made the beds at our house together. She taught me how to properly make a bed, removing the wrinkles, creating hospital corners, and making certain the bed looked perfect. Those lessons have served me well into adulthood and I firmly believe that making your bed is a sign of good breeding.
A few days ago, I came across a blog that I’ve fallen in love with called Faded Velvet. Donna, the woman who writes it, also owns an antique/vintage store of the same name in Hartville, Ohio. It’s a good thing she’s in Ohio because if she were located here, I swear I’d go broke in her store. Take a look. You’ll see exactly what I’m talking about. Anyway, she wrote a fabulous blog post titled “Make Your Bed!” Clearly, this is a woman after my own heart. In her post, she walks readers through step by step of the proper way to make a bed. Donna’s post spoke straight to my soul and got the OCD in me all atwitter.
Thank you Donna for reminding the world of the simple pleasures in life and how to properly make a bed. Too many people don’t know, but thanks to your tutorial, all excuses are now out the window.
Go read Donna’s post, make your bed, and then call your mom and tell her you made your bed today. She’ll be proud of you.
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National Day of Unplugging, Oil Pulling, Pinterest, & Spaghetti Squash
Last Friday I wrote a post about my plans to participate in the National Day of Unplugging from sundown on Friday through sundown on Saturday. I was going to give up my electronic devices – iPhone, iPod, and laptop – for 24 hours.
At exactly 5:48 p.m, as the sun went down, I shut down my devices without any concern as to how I would make it through the next 24 hours. Good Lord was I naive.
My evening started out slowly with making dinner, cleaning the kitchen, you know typical housekeeping stuff. After dinner, I did some reading, put together my a laundry sorter/hamper, took a shower, and decided to hit the hay early about 10:00 p.m.. Ya, I live the glam life. Try not to be jealous. Unfortunately, I couldn’t sleep so around midnight, I decided to watch a movie . . . on my phone. Oops.
Saturday morning arrived way too early and I woke up with a pretty bad migraine that didn’t bode well for the rest of my day.
First thing, however, I tried oil pulling. I used coconut oil and after a false start with a teaspoon of solid coconut oil, I decided that it would be best to liquify it by zapping it in the microwave for about 30 seconds. I cannot emphasize this enough: Do not try to do oil pulling with solid coconut oil. You will gag. Trust me. My second attempt at oil pulling was much more successful and I was able to swish it around my mouth for seven minutes and only took a couple of minutes to lose the coconut taste and for me to get used to the texture. While I swished, I emptied and loaded the dishwasher. Once I finished with the dishes, I spit the oil into the garbage because you should never spit it into the sink to avoid clogs. Running my tongue over my teeth, as I walked to the mirror, I was surprised by how smooth my teeth felt. I was equally surprised by how clean my teeth looked in the mirror a few moments later. Having only tried oil pulling once, I can’t say that I experienced any of the health benefits people have reported, but I can say that I will definitely try it again. Additionally, I would be remiss if I did not tell you that it’s my belief that oil pulling is not a magic elixir. You must still have good oral health habits (i.e., brushing and flossing), but from what I’ve read, it’s not going to do any harm. New Experience 192 Done.After making some lunch, I decided to go back to bed because I was feeling pretty miserable. Sammy and Zoey joined me because they know the healing powers of kitty snuggles. Before falling back to sleep, I did check my text messages and email, although I didn’t respond to anything. Oops #2.
I woke up from my nap around 5:30 yesterday afternoon, just as the sun was getting ready to set. My headache was mostly gone, so I decided to bake a spaghetti squash and use it as “noodles” for spaghetti. I’d never had spaghetti squash before and was thrilled with how delicious and easy it was to make. I used a recipe I found at Whole Foods that recommended baking the squash for 30 to 35 minutes. The squash came out a little crunchy, which wasn’t bad, but in the future I’ll follow my friend Carolyn’s advice and cook it for closer to an hour. New Experience 196 Done.
Once the sun went down at 5:49 p.m. on Saturday, I quickly hopped back online and caught up on everything I missed. I also checked in with a friend who also unplugged for 24 hours. He said he had a very easy time unplugging and didn’t even think about checking email or Facebook and wasn’t tempted to answer his phone. Lucky him.
After a Twitter chat with my friend Carolyn regarding spaghetti squash, I joined Pinterest in order to trade healthy recipes with friends. I have no idea why I waited so long to join Pinterest and am confident that Carolyn created a monster in suggesting I do it. In addition to the Healthy Recipes board, I’ve also added boards called Baking, Beauty, Happiness, Home Decor, Home Maintenance, I May or May Not Be a Crazy Cat Lady, and Watervale. You can check out my Pinterest boards here. New Experience 195 Done.
Although I cheated a little by checking my email and text messages and watching a movie on my phone, I feel like National Day of Unplugging was a success for me and plan to start doing it monthly. I’m not exactly sure what it will look like and whether it will be for a 24-hour period, whether I’ll start disconnecting earlier every day, or whether I’ll challenge myself to do a full weekend, but I enjoyed reading and just having some quiet time to be alone with my thoughts. I noticed that I felt a bit isolated, which I believe comes from the fact that I live alone and did not have any plans for Saturday. I also noticed that I felt cut-off from what was happening in the world, which I definitely didn’t enjoy.
The next time I unplug, I’ll make sure I have plans with other people so I don’t so feel as isolated and cut-off from the world as I did yesterday. I think that would have made an enormous difference. National Day of Unplugging, New Experience 198 Done.
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Why I Can’t Lean In to Ban Bossy
In the middle of the day yesterday, my Twitterfeed blew up with tweets containing the hashtag #banbossy and a Facebook friend of mine posted a cryptic message saying a rich white person wanted to ban the word bossy. Because I was offline most of the day, I had no idea what all this talk about banning the word bossy was about.
And then it hit me.
Sheryl Sandberg, author of Lean In and Chief Operating Officer of Facebook, had what’s become a line heard around the world from her book: “I want every little girl who’s told she’s bossy to be told instead that she has leadership skills.” Her Lean In organization and the Girl Scouts have teamed up to ban the use of the word bossy and demonstrate being a leader instead.
When Lean In came out and I saw interviews with Sheryl, I remember feeling icky every time I heard her repeat that line. It bothered me deep down in my gut. It bothered me so much that I’ve never been able to make it more than halfway through Sheryl’s book.
Let me be clear, I am not in favor of shaming or bullying anyone. I believe it’s imperative that we build girls (and boys) up every chance we get. And I hate the words bossy and “Little Miss Bossy” and “bossy pants” and many other derivatives of all of it. I hate them partly because once upon a time, they were used to describe me.
But here’s what gets me. We cannot simply replace “bossy” with “leader.” They are not synonymous.
According to Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary, “bossy” means “inclined to domineer, dictatorial.” It further defines “bossy” as “fond of ordering people around” and lists “authoritarian, authoritative, autocratic (also autocratical), despotic, dictatorial, domineering, imperious, masterful, overbearing, peremptory, tyrannical (also tyrannic), tyrannous” are synonyms for “bossy.”
Do you see what’s not part of the definition or listed as a synonym for “bossy”?
Leadership skills.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked for quite a few people (both men and women) who in my 20+ year career who are “bossy,” but I’ve worked for very few people who actually have “leadership skills.”
What are “leadership skills?” I didn’t find a definition of the phrase in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, but I did find a great discussion about the topic on Yahoo Answers. My favorite is by a man using the pseudonym Rev. TomCat.
The best leaders are those who can lead and direct without misuse of their power. They must be able to inspire others in a direction or greater good. They must be strong enough to stand firm in decision making and leading others without an egotistical attitude. A great team leader will encourage others to brain storm and contribute to the whole. They also lead by example and intelligently. They are also good listeners. Charisma helps a team leader.
I don’t see “bossy” anywhere in this explanation of “leadership skills.”
The fact is that some people are bossy. Let’s call a spade a spade because it does no one any good to tell someone they’ve got “leadership skills” when in fact that person is acting like a Class A Jackass, which is my own personal definition of “bossy.” By completely eliminating the word “bossy” from our vocabulary and using “leadership skills” as a synonym, we diminish the meaning of “leadership skills” and elevate and praise insufferable behavior.
Going back to my own experiences being called “bossy,” it would have done me no good at all if I’d simply been told I was demonstrating leadership skills because I’d have grown up believing that my overbearing ways were acceptable in the workplace and they absolutely are not acceptable and it doesn’t matter if you’re male or female. We can’t just ban bossy and think we’ve fixed a problem.
I’d rather see us teach kids how to have actual “leadership skills” so that no one grows up to be “bossy.” That’s a conversation I want to be part of – eliminating the word because no one acts in that manner. Simply banning “bossy” without changing behavior is something I just can’t lean in to.
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A Day in the Life of Little Merry Sunshine
Do you ever have “those” days? You know, those days when you’re kind of feeling a little blue? Where the blue feeling may or may not be based in what’s actually happening in the world, but where you’re only focussing on things that make you feel that way? Don’t lie. I know I’m not the only one.
I’ve been in that space for the last couple of days. It honestly not justified by the reality of my world, but I’ve been a little too focused on what I don’t have, namely a job, and not at all focused on all the awesomeness that is my life.
And then the last 45 minutes happened and that all changed. This is the story of the actual last 36 hours of my life. A day in the life of Little Merry Sunshine, if you will.
After a completely sleepless night, early yesterday morning I checked Facebook and saw a post from the “I Grew Up in Tarpon Springs (Florida)” group asking for a roofer. My mom’s first cousin has been a roofer in that area for at least 50 years and his dad was a roofer before that. He did the roofing on my Nana’s house in Crystal Beach and I was eager to refer him. I clicked on the comments and was thrilled to see that a couple of people who I don’t know and don’t think I’m related to, had already beat me to it! It was lovely to see all the love for my distant family member.
Later in the day, I went back to the group to see if anyone else had recommended my mom’s cousin. Imagine my surprise when not only were there a bunch of other recommendations for his business, but a man posted recommending the my distant cousin and saying he was the nephew of the roofer. I immediately shot off a Facebook message to the man introducing myself and saying that we must be related. He wrote me back and it turns out that his mom is my mom’s first cousin as well because his mom and the roofer are siblings. What that means is that his grandfather and my grandfather were brothers. How fun is that to bump into a cousin you didn’t know you had in a random Facebook group?!
Late last night, my dear friend Brooke from Washington D.C. sent me a note saying to put March 12-16, 2015 on my calendar because she and her awesome hubby Kevin will be in Chicago for a basketball tournament. I think it’s some NCAA thing. Anyway, we’ve been talking about it back and forth today and she said I can go to a game with them. That’s fantastic because I’ve never been to a college basketball game. I can’t wait. It’s going on the list of new experiences for 2014-15.
Out of the blue this afternoon a friend posted an article about LinkedIn on my Facebook wall with the comment that although she believes I’m a guru at all that it talked about, she thought I’d enjoy the article. Guru. I’m a guru. The only question is how do I incorporate that into my LinkedIn profile.
I had a couple of errands to run this afternoon and I went out with flip flops on. Sure, it was a questionable life choice in weather that I don’t think actually cracked 50 and my toes desperately need a pedicure, but it felt wonderful. Oh, I didn’t wear a coat either. I felt naked.
While out and about, I stopped by my mailbox where I found a package from my friend Tim’s mom in Oregon. I didn’t know she had my address and couldn’t imagine what she’d be sending me. Like a little kid on Christmas morning, I ripped open the package to find a sweet note saying she hoped I enjoyed the enclosed Christmas ornaments from St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. A year or so ago, she posted on Facebook that she was headed to Memphis for a St. Jude’s event because she’s very involved with the hospital. I commented on her post that I was personally grateful for her support of St. Jude’s because of all they’d done for my cousin when he had Leukemia in the 1970s and that he was the child in their logo. Here are the ornaments and the note.
St. Jude’s Christmas Oranaments featuring my cousin A few minutes later, I received a text message from my friend Linda in Frankfort, Michigan. It was an incredibly cute video of her dog Myah and Myah’s friend Sydney talking to me. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s totally adorable. Click the link. I can’t figure out how to actually embed the video. One thing is for certain, the pic of Sammy and Zoey is on its way.
Then my most recent blog post about guns was tweeted out to the world by ChicagoNow. Gotta love the love.
Pro tip: Do NOT hide your guns in your socks http://t.co/54i1deBjad
— ChicagoNow (@ChicagoNow) March 7, 2014
Finally, I received a job offer. Well, maybe. It was an offer for work that was left in response to a comment I made on post by a local media outlet from a stranger in New York offering me a “great work from home oportunity (sic).” So ya know, that may not be completely legit.
But look at all I have to be grateful for today. The last 36 hours of my life reminds me to remain focused on the good things that happen each day because they are all around me. And I’m certain your day is as full of goodness of mine.
I’ll see you on Sunday. I’m off to celebrate National Day of Unplugging.
UPDATE: I don’t know how I missed this, but one of the most delightful things that happened was on Thursday afternoon after my blog post about looking for a theme song. I was driving on the Edens and listening to NPR and a fascinating story about a man named Ed Walker, who is the host of The Big Broadcast, which airs on Sunday evenings on WAMU, the NPR station in Washington DC. The Big Broadcast is a show of old-time radio programs. All of the sudden I recognized a song that came on as part of the story and I began singing along with an enormous smile on my face. What was the song? A Bushel and a Peck, of course. As I sang, I knew that Nana was speaking to me. When the song was over, I looked up to the Heavens and said, “I hear your message Nana. I love you a bushel and a peck too. And I still miss you.”
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Do Not Hide Your Guns in Your Socks
I just saw a story on ABC7 Chicago about a woman sorting clothes at a thrift who was killed when a gun fell out of a sock. It absolutely breaks my heart that something so easily preventable just ended a woman’s life.
It also breaks my life because this happened to me a couple of years ago at Nana’s house.
Cleaning out anyone’s home after their death is an emotional undertaking and this was no exception. I won’t tell you exactly how long it took for us to do this, but let’s just say that it required multiple trips to Florida. It was a big task.
I think this was my third trip, so a lot had been done. We were at the point where we had taken out the things we wanted, sent items that should go to my uncle and cousins, and were now taking things to charity. I was in Nana’s bedroom working on her closet when I reached up to grab a pillow off the top shelf. Rather than grab a step stool, I was on my tip toes because I thought the only thing on the shelf was the pillow.
I was wrong.
As the pillow slid off the shelf, a separate pillow case fell and landed on my foot. After screaming in pain, I reached down to pick up the item and was surprised by just how heavy and oddly shaped it was. My mom walked into the room just in time to see me unwrap a handgun.
We stood there looking at each other in stunned silence. Neither of us knew that Nana owned a handgun, much less kept it hidden in a pillow case and plastic zipped bag under a pillow on the top shelf of her closet.
I was fortunate because the gun was not loaded. The bullets were in an envelope in the plastic bag with the gun, but not actually in the gun. At least Nana did something right. Both Mom and I are certain that Nana had long ago forgotten about the gun because she was meticulous in telling us about everything she owned and where it was all located. She was so meticulous in fact, that she had an inventory of her most prized possessions, their history as she understood it, any appraisals she had, and a list of items she’d loaned out. The gun was not on any of the lists.
This could have been a horrible accident that resulted in my death or serious injury, but I got lucky and didn’t even have any broken bones from the weight of the gun landing on my foot. Unfortunately that can’t be said for the woman at the thrift store today. I’m very sorry for her family because this could have been easily prevented. Without knowing the details, I’m guessing that just like Nana forgot the gun was in her closet and then she died, someone forgot they had wrapped a gun in a sock.
Three important lessons stand out to me from both of these incidents: First, always keep guns unloaded and locked in a gun safe. Doing so will safe lives. Second, when you’re going through someone else’s belongings after their death or even purging your own closets, retrieve items from shelves with care. Third, always check every item carefully before turning them over to charity, tossing them in a garage sale, or throwing them out.
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Could You Unplug for 24 Hours?
Could you unplug for 24 hours? No, this is not a rhetorical question. I’m completely serious.
A few days ago, my friend Anthony posted a story from Fox Chicago about something called the National Day of Unplugging. Without knowing anymore than it meant taking a pledge to turn off all electronic devices for 24-hours from sundown on Friday, March 7th through sundown on Saturday, March 8th, I said “Sign me up!”
No. I had not thought about what that really means. In fact, my initial thought was that it simply meant not using my cell phone for 24 hours. Simple, I thought. I can do that. I’ve got iMessages on my laptop to stay in touch with my friends on iPhones and I can communicate with my mom via Facebook. No. Big. Deal.
It wasn’t until a day later when I realized that the National Day of Unplugging is about more than just my cell phone. It’s about my iPhone, my laptop, and iPod. Clearly, I hadn’t fully thought about what I’d gotten myself into.
The more I thought about it, however, the more I realized this made sense and I felt more committed to taking this 24-hour pledge. The National Day of Unplugging comes from The Sabbath Manifesto which is derived from the ancient practice of reserving one day per week to rest, relax, spend time with loved ones, reflect, and worship. My familiarity with this concept comes from The Book of Genesis and the Ten Commandments found in Exodus. I have friends who do this every week and I really admire the commitment they’ve made to this practice.
I’ve talked about the National Day of Unplugging to some friends this week and without hesitation, the reaction is the same: “But you don’t have a landline phone. How will you go completely offline? What if there’s an emergency?” Again, I hadn’t thought about this, but I found there is a very simple solution. Actually, there are two simple solutions.
First, my iPhone has a nifty feature called “Do Not Disturb.” It can be found in Settings. Do Not Disturb turns off all notifications during hours I set every day. I currently use it from 10:00 p.m. through 6:30a.m. daily, but today I’ll turn it on just before sundown and turn it off just after sundown tomorrow. When using Do Not Disturb, I can choose to receive call notifications from my Favorites, which includes a couple of members of my immediate family and my inner circle of friends. Yes, I know that I have three immediate family members and I’m going to enjoy letting them figure out which two are in my favorites and who didn’t make the cut. If there’s a true emergency, I will be able to be reached.
Second, for the 24 hours starting at dusk today, my brother Dave is in charge of all emergencies. I’m confident that he’ll be just fine and able to handle anything that comes his way.
So how will I spend the next 24 hours? That’s easy:
- I’m going to do laundry
- I’ll give Sammy and Zoey some extra love
- I’m going to try oil pulling (New Experience #192)
- I may read a book
- I’ll probably do some spring cleaning at my house
- If I get the spring cleaning done, I’ll put together my futon (New Experience #138)
- I’m going to sleep for 8 hours
- I may swim
It’s only 24 hours, so I don’t want to be too ambitious with how I’ll spend my time.
I’ll be back on Saturday night or Sunday morning to let you know how I survived. And if you don’t hear from me by Sunday afternoon, please send a rescue party.
Will you join me for the National Day of Unplugging? What could you do if you did?
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What’s Your Theme Song?
Yesterday, the intrepid ChicagoNow leader, Jimmy Greenfield, posted a question to all the bloggers that I thought was delightful and made me wonder why I’d never thought of it before, given how much I like music and how many times I’ve written about music on Little Merry Sunshine.
The question was “What’s your blog’s theme song?”
So many choices and so little time. I could only choose one song. Initially, I thought of A Bushel and a Peck because Nana always said “I love you a bushel and a peck” to us, but it just didn’t quite fit. Then I thought about something from the 1959 musical Little Mary Sunshine. That didn’t quite fit either. So I kept exploring the Googles.
Without much effort, I stumbled upon a song that I honestly can’t believe I haven’t discovered before now. It’s a song called Little Mary Sunshine. Perfect, right? Who knew?
Imagine my shock when I gave it a listen and watched the video only to discover that the song, from the 1998 musical satire Reefer Madness, is about smoking marijuana and how it turns the very virginal Mary into a sexually aggressive dominatrix who treats men like filthy slaves. Yep. Well, that could not be further from who I am and what Little Merry Sunshine is about. I’ve got a healthy sense of humor and it gave me a hearty laugh, so I posted it to the discussion thread saying “this song may or may not be the Little Merry Sunshine theme song.”
Give the song a listen and tell me what you think.
Or watch this version of it, which is even more NSFW.
What’s the real story behind how my blog got its name Little Merry Sunshine? Glad you asked.
As long as I can remember, my mom called me her “Little Merry Sunshine” and tells me that it originated because of what a happy baby and toddler I was. I rarely had meltdowns; although when I did, I’ve heard they were epic. I was always cheerful and smiling. I supposedly even slept with a smile on my face.
Fast forward 35 years or so and I decided to write a blog focussed on the good things happening in the world because I was tired of all the negativity I saw in the news and on the internet. The name Little Merry Sunshine came to me naturally because it encapsulated that idea. I had no idea it had a much different meaning associated with it that didn’t quite align with who I am and what I’m about. Given that I’ve been familiar with the 1959 musical for awhile, I’m surprised it took me so long to discover the song from Reefer Madness.
It’s okay though. It gave me a good laugh yesterday when I needed one. And that’s what my Little Merry Sunshine is all about.
If you were to choose an actual theme song for Little Merry Sunshine, what would it be?
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Fear Didn’t Stop Me In My 20s and Won’t Stop Me In My 40s
Tonight’s monthly ChicagoNow Blogapalooza topic just came out and my initial thought was, “Huh? I’m pretty sure I’ve covered this before and don’t know that I’ve got anything else to say on it.” My second thought was “And THAT’s why I need to accept the challenge.”
What’s the topic? “Write about fear, or lack thereof, and the role it has played in any aspect of your life.” So here goes.
Twenty-one years ago I was in the second semester of my senior year at Lake Forest College when I found myself standing at a reception with the Board of Trustees. As I was making small talk with a number of my classmates and a few trustees, one trustee asked the question every college senior gets asked at least a million times during their second semester. “So what are your plans after graduation?”
My heart was in my throat as my classmates went around and shared their lofty plans of law school, medical school, traveling through Europe for a year, and a job at fancy Wall Street firm. The guy standing next to me said he was going to pack up his Jeep, drive to Washington D.C., and get himself a job. Then it was my turn. I gave the answer I’d rehearsed for months. I planned to accept the paralegal job I’d been offered at a white-shoe Chicago law firm and move into the city. After a year or two, I’d head to law school.
That cocktail party changed my life.
Standing there listening to my classmates speak of the adventures that awaited them and for days afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking about my classmate going to D.C. If a bubble had appeared over my head as he spoke, it would have read, “Huh. He’s not exactly the smartest guy I know and he thinks he can make it in D.C. If he can do that, SO CAN I!” In my opinion, his plan had one major flaw. He was waiting to find a job until after graduation.
Spring Break was just a few weeks away and I had no plans. I called the airlines, redeemed a free ticket I had, found a hotel on DuPont Circle that I could afford, bought a guide book, and prettied up my resume. I packed a couple of business suits and off I went to a city where I knew no one, had no contacts for prospective jobs, and had only visited once when I was 13, almost a decade earlier.
I had one week. One week to find a job that would start shortly after graduation.
Looking back, I suppose that fear should have entered my mind, but it didn’t. This was a few years before the internet, so I didn’t even have that to help me research companies. At that time, career services was almost non-existent at Lake Forest (note: It’s incredibly robust now and provides incredible guidance to students starting on day one and even to alumni.), so I received no assistance there. I was so naive that I didn’t know what that I should be scared or that I was doing something out of the ordinary. As far as I was concerned, this was how everyone got jobs.
Once I arrived in D.C., I immediately began to pound the pavement. I visited NOW, Planned Parenthood, my Congressman’s office, and more places than I can remember all these years later. I spoke with anyone who’d speak with me. I spoke with so many people I ran out of resumes and had to find a Kinko’s to make additional copies.
In between all of my spur of the moment interviews, I visited all the typical tourist stops: Arlington National Cemetery, the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, the Smithsonian Museums and National Zoo, the Jefferson Memorial, the Supreme Court, the Sewall-Belmont House & Museum, the Capitol, and the White House. I’d managed to score some gallery tickets for the House and Senate and one of the VIP White House tours. I also attended a breakfast with my Senators, Paul Simon and Carol Moseley-Braun.
Towards the end of the week, I had a wonderful meeting with a woman who worked at the headquarters of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. This was less than two years after the famous Anita Hill testimony in the Clarence Thomas Supreme Court Confirmation Hearings and shortly after the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act and the EEOC was front and still front and center. Or at least it was in my feminist mind. The woman told me that she wasn’t hiring, but she thought she knew some people who were and said she’d be happy to pass along my resume.
I returned home a few days later without a job, but with incredible new interviewing and networking skills. I could work a room like no one’s business and talk my way past any receptionist in order to speak with anyone who’d give me and my resume five minutes.
Maybe two weeks later my phone rang early one morning as I was rushing to get ready for an 8:30 a.m. class. On the other end of the line was Tulio Diaz, the Director of the Washington Field Office of the EEOC. He’d received my resume from the woman I’d met with while I was in D.C. and he was calling to offer me an internship for the summer.
I said yes without thinking about any logistics or even about the job in Chicago I’d already accepted because I believed that I’d made much of my dream come true and I would work out those pesky details.
Eight weeks later on Memorial Day I moved to Washington, D.C. where I spent my twenties and never once experienced fear or let being scared and unsure hold me back.
Somewhere along the line I developed fear. I don’t know where it came from or why, but I suppose I it’s about time I took a lesson from my 22-year-old self and quit being scared.
So tonight I declare once and for all I’m no longer afraid. I’m getting out of my own way and going after exactly what I want in life. I jumped off a cliff a couple of weeks ago, but have been a little paralyzed and terrified to take the next steps. I’m done with that. To paraphrase President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s first inaugural address, “the only thing I have left to fear is fear itself.” And that’s nothing.
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Happy Birthday Sammy and Zoey
Sammy and Zoey are my kittens and they turn two today. The following conversation may or may not have actually happened.
Zoey: Mommy, because it’s our birthday will you tell us the story about when we became a Forever Family?
Me: Of course, Zoey. I’d be happy to tell you that story. Why don’t you and Sammy come snuggle with me?
Sammy: Will you rub my tummy while you tell the story?
Me: Don’t I always?
Sammy (purring): Yes, you do. That’s why you’re the best Mommy.
Me: On February 24, 2012, your Cat Mommy gave birth to three beautiful kittens – the two of you and a brother – in Chicago. Your Mommy, whom it is believed was a feral cat, loved you very much. Shortly after you were born, she lost her life protecting the three of you from a mean predator. Later that day, you were all found and taken in by some nice people at Illinois Animal Rescue and you went to live with a very nice Foster Family in Libertyville until a Forever Family could be found.
Your Foster Family loved you very much. As I recall, they had three children and a mommy who each showered you with lots of affection. They had lots of toys for you, took you to the vet, taught you how to use the litter box and constantly played with you. Even though they loved you a bushel and a peck, it was their hope that the three of you would be adopted into a Forever Family together.
Zoey: You’re spending a lot of time on the back story, Mommy. How did WE become a Forever Family?
Me: I’m getting there, but you need to remember that without the back story, we wouldn’t be a Forever Family.
How could anyone resist these two cuties? As I was saying, your Foster Family loved you beyond words, but they knew they could not be your Forever Family. When you were about 9-weeks-old, they placed adoption notices about you on Petfinder.com. I was on the site just taking a stroll and seeing what sort of kitties were available. Believe me when I tell you that I didn’t think I was ready to adopt at that moment.
Sammy: Why not Mommy? Weren’t we cute enough?
Me: Of course you were cute enough, Sammy! I didn’t think I was ready because my former cats, Betsey and Ross, had died just five weeks earlier and I was still very deep in mourning for them. I couldn’t quite see myself being a mommy again so soon. I knew that I wanted to be a mommy someday, but I didn’t think I was ready just yet.
But then I saw the two of you. And you stole my heart. I knew in an instant that I had to meet you. Without much thought about my sadness and whether I was “ready” or not, I completed the application and within a couple of hours, I received a phone call from your Foster Mommy and we scheduled a time for me to meet you.
Your Uncle Christopher joined me for our meeting. It was on a Wednesday after work. You were both teeny tiny bundles of energy and showed off your extreme athletic abilities running and jumping and climbing on furniture. I just watched in awe, still a bit nervous and telling myself I was simply window shopping.
Zoey: Window shopping? What does that mean?
Me: Window shopping is when you’re just looking, but you have no plans to make a purchase.
Sammy: You weren’t sure you wanted us?
I was done when Zoey crawled over to me and fell asleep against my thigh. Me: No. Well, yes. I guess the answer is that I was nervous and scared, but those feelings were about me, not you. I was worried that I was becoming a mommy again too soon and that I was disrespecting the memory of Betsey and Ross by adopting you so soon. But then Zoey adopted me and I was done.
Sammy: What did I do Mommy?
Me: Sammy, you were a little skittish. You kept running under the sofa while Zoey slept. Finally, Uncle Christopher caught you and you let us take this picture of you.
Now let me be clear: From the moment I began my “window shopping” on Petfinder, I was certain that if I was going to become a mommy again, I had to have a brother and sister who were litter mates and they needed to be kittens. Although I knew that lots of older cats needed homes, I was settled on wanting newborns.
As I played with you, I learned that you were born on February 24th, exactly one month before Betsey and Ross died. I remember thinking that there’s an old adage about when one life ends, another begins and I felt that it was a sign from them. They were telling me that they passed away when they did because they knew you were out there needing a Forever Family and that I could give that to you. My decision was made.
There were a few paperwork matters that had to be finalized before I could bring you home and I had to get kitten food, litter and toys. Plus, I had to kitten proof my house so that you wouldn’t get hurt when you came home.
I brought you home on Sunday, May 13, 2012. I became your Mommy and we became a Forever Family on Mother’s Day.
We’ve been a very happy family for almost two years and I can’t begin to express how much joy you both bring me each day. You constantly surprise me with your antics, but not with your capacity to love me and each other.
I’ve heard it said many times that people rescue pets, but I believe it’s the other way around. You rescued me at least as much as I rescued you when you helped me emerge from my depression. I love that almost two years later, you greet me at the front door each day when I return and you both sleep with me each night. I love that you are always curious and playful and never mean.
Zoey: What happened to our other brother?
Me: He was adopted by a very nice man on the same day we became a Forever Family. That man picked him out before I met you, so I didn’t have the chance to adopt all three of you. I would have though.
Sammy: So today is our birthday.
Me: Yes, today you turn two in people years, but that is actually 24 cat years. And, no, that does not mean that you can drive or have wine. Sorry. Did you know that today is your friend Livie’s birthday? She’s 8-years-old today.
Sammy and Zoey: Happy Birthday Livie! Maybe next year we can have a joint party!
Me: Happy 2nd Birthday Sammy and Zoey and Happy 8th Birthday Olivia!
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When is an Olympics Gold Medal not an Olympics Gold Medal?
As we near the end of the Winter Olympics, I’m reminded of one of my favorite stories about my brother Dave. Yes, Dave of the Herpes story fame. No, Dave doesn’t have Herpes. Read the story.
Dave is a little more than three years younger than me and probably a million times smarter than me, which is saying something because I am pretty smart. In spite of his wicked smarts, Dave had a very difficult time reading as a child. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize that the Superkids Reading Program that was taught at his school, but was not taught when I went through just a few years before him, wasn’t taught to him in a way he could understand. Or more simply, his learning style was different than the one-size-fits-all reading curriculum of the late 1970s and early 1980s.
I’m not criticizing Superkids; I’m sure it’s been successful for many many children since 1978 when it was developed. It just didn’t work for Dave because he learned differently and, as a result, reading was a constant struggle. Even though our parents read to us constantly, we had far more books than toys, and our mom was a remedial reading teacher, Dave was slower to develop reading skills than other kids his age. Fortunately, our mom worked with him and tailored lessons to fit his learning style that finally allowed him to break through his inability to read.
I share this backstory, not to criticize my brother, but to give you the background for how this fits into the Olympics. In fact, no one respects my brother more than I do. I’m constantly in awe of how smart he is and how he fought to overcome his early reading struggles. All these years later, you’d never know of his difficulties and I believe you too would be impressed by how brilliant he is.
After a number of years of struggle and tears and extra lessons by our incredibly patient mom, Dave finally broke through and began reading. Although it remained a struggle, he could read and that was something to be celebrated. Because of his difficulties, however, he hated reading.
One day in fourth grade, Dave came home from school super excited and just bouncing off the walls. He proudly announced at dinner that, in conjunction (my word, not his at age 9) with the Winter Olympics that were happening, his school was holding the Reading Olympics and that the person who read the most books in each grade would win an Olympic Gold Medal. And he had decided that he would win.
My parents were on the floor with shock. No one had ever seen him excited about reading, but Dave was a pretty competitive and anything that got him excited about reading was viewed as a very happy turn of events for everyone.
Dave spent the next month or so reading everything he could get his hands on. He dutifully recorded the books he read on his Reading Olympics Form and my parents signed off, certifying that he’d read each book himself. I’m fairly certain he had no idea how many books the other kids read; he just kept reading. One thing I’ve always known about Dave is that when he sets his mind to something, he achieves it.
Finally, the big day arrived. A school assembly was scheduled for the afternoon and, with heightened anticipation, each class made its way into the multi-purpose room (aka the gym, the lunchroom, and the theater, so you know, it had that special sweaty gym clothes scent). Some parents even lined the outer perimeter to see if their little genius won a prize. Of course, our parents were both in the audience proud as they could be of Dave. It didn’t really matter to them whether he won a prize or not; they were too proud of his new love of reading to focus on anything else.
Starting with the kindergarten class, awards were passed out and cheers erupted. Sitting on pins and needles, Dave anxiously waited for the fourth grade to be called. He was certain that he’d won an Olympic Gold Medal and he couldn’t wait to collect his valuable prize. After what probably seemed like an eternity, the fourth grade classes were called to the front and the Bronze and Silver Medal winners were announced.
A hushed silence fell over the multi-purpose room and, for Dave, I’m sure time stood still. With our parents standing against the wall in the back, the Gold Medal Winner was announced . . . . Dave Gardner. Mom and Dad couldn’t have been prouder. Their son, who just a couple of years earlier had not even been reading at grade level, was now the Reading Olympics Gold Medal Winner for the fourth grade.
Dave was jumping with joy. His excitement could not be contained.
And then the principal presented his with his Olympic Gold Medal.
Dave took one look at it and said loudly, “This isn’t GOLD! It’s PLASTIC!”
He came home from school that day mad as I’ve ever seen him. Mom tried her best to spin his award as symbolic and that his true award was his new love of reading, but how do you explain that to a 9-year-old? Dave had been told he would receive an Olympic Gold Medal and they’d bait-and-switched him. He threw that Gold Medal in the garbage along with the Certificate of Achievement documenting his award. Mom fished them both out of the trash and hung them both in Dave’s closet, which is where they remain to this day.
In the aftermath of the Reading Olympics, Dave avoided reading at all costs and he deception of the Gold Medal that wasn’t gold stayed with him for years. Fortunately, he eventually outgrew that and he now reads more than anyone I’ve ever known. His tastes in literature today are typically intellectual and non-fiction and devours books that challenge his beliefs and open his mind to new ways of thinking.
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Jessica L Gardner 