I'm finally the reward!

The reason grandparents and grandchildren get along so well is that they have a common enemy.

Sam Levenson

Having grandchildren rocks. They're always glad to see you. They give you great hugs and they happily go home to Mom and Dad when you're too tired to play with them anymore. Yes, I thought I was in Grammy (like the award!) Nirvana with just those aspects alone. But, last week, I discovered an even finer perk of Grandmotherhood.

I became the reward!

Almost-three-year-old Kaydi was scheduled for a Grammy (like the award!) playdate and I had some fine activities in the works. The plan was for me to pick Kaydi up from preschool at 2:30 sharp and then party the night away (although quite honestly, she's way more of a party girl than I am). However, I received an early morning phone call from my daughter Bethany who relayed in a very fed-up voice, that Kaydi had pitched a royal fit that morning, refusing to get dressed, throwing her shoes, etc. (You know--the histrionics that we Grandmothers consider our cosmic revenge against our daughters who put us through the angst-filled teen years!)

Apparently there was no stopping the fit, (I must digress here to point out that Kaydi raises fit-throwing to an art form!) so after an hour or so of this nonsense, Mom and Dad finally administered the one punishment sure to have an impact. They took away the Grammy visit! This of course generated more fit-pitching, but Beth and Jason held firm and the snivelling Kaydi was unceremoniously dropped off at school with admonishments that Grammy (like the award!) would not be there to rescue her come 2:30. Bummer.

Granted, I was disappointed by the punishment, but understanding of its need. This turned to glee when the 180 degree nature of this event registered in my brain. How the tides have turned! I remember when my kids were being disciplined as children, that I was the punishment! Staying at home being grounded with Mom hanging around the house was usually ample punishment to deflect most rule infractions. Ewww...a fate worse than death!

But now....I am the reward. I'm what gets taken away when the child misbehaves. I am the good thing, the whipped cream on top of the hot chocolate, the day at the amusement park, the PRIZE!!!!

Heh...heh...heh....having grandchildren is so good for the ego!

P.S. For those of you dying to know the outcome, Kaydi woke up the next day talking about how she was being very careful "not to throw a fit" (her words) to insure a visit to Grammy's (like the award!) house later that day. Her objective was accomplshed and a fun time was had by all.

Thank you, thank you

Gratitude helps you to grow and expand; gratitude brings joy and laughter into your life and into the lives of all those around you.

Eileen Caddy

It's Monday morning and that means its time to write my thank-you notes to all the couples I've married over the past week. It's one of my favorite parts of the week. I think that showing appreciation is as gratifying to the one who gives it as it is to the one who receives it. I craft every hand-written note with care, remembering each couple's particular ceremony--the nuances and the highlights that made their public expression of love memorable and unique. Then I thank them for the honor of performing their ceremony. As I affix the stamps onto the envelopes, I sometimes feel a twinge of sadness that this is most likely the last contact I will have with these couples. It's a momentary flash, however, for I know my life has been enriched for having known them--if only for a few months.

My mother was big on having us write thank-yous. Every January it was an arduous task to sit down and write the many thank-yous to the aunts and uncles who'd remembered me at Christmastime. When it came my time to be a mom, I put my daughters through the same drill. I've not given it much thought until recently, but I am now seeing the importance of keeping gratitude front and center in my life. I find myself being grateful for the oddest things--things I've taken for granted in the past. Thinks like mangoes and a pillow that your head fits into just perfectly and a man in my life who does the dishes without being asked, and a car that starts up in cold weather and the potential for joy inherent in every day. And, although I know its a terrible cliche and I'm sounding like a Geritol commercial--as I grow older, each and every day, I am grateful for my health.

If you'd like to inject more gratitude into your life, it's pretty simple. just notice. Write it down in a journal, tick them off in your head before you go to sleep. Or you can do as my friend Barbara does and keep a stack of blank thank you notes in your purse or car and write them out on the spot to folks who give you excellent customer service or just make your day in some way. Whatever it takes--just plan to be surprised at how infectious gratitude can be. You'll notice more and more things to appreciate.

If you need help from an outside source, visit Go Gratitude for ideas and inspiration. Among other things, they promote the value of having a grateful heart as helping you to feel better instantly, enjoy supportive and synergistic exciting relationships, increase your prosperity and abundance, experience vibrant health, know peace of mind, supercharge your creative juices, magnetize the realization of your dreams and goals, and make a profound difference in the lives of many people.

Wowza! And all for free!

Seeing

It is the gift of seeing the life around them clearly and vividly, as something that is exciting in its own right. It is an innate gift, varying in intensity with the individual's temperament and environment.

Bill Brandt

I have a line in one set of my opening words that goes like this: "When we love, we see things other people do not see. We see beneath the surface, to the qualities which make our beloved special and unique. To see with loving eyes, is to know inner beauty. And to be loved is to be seen, and known, as we are known to no other."

Those who love truly do see things differently. And I'm not speaking solely of romantic love. To be passionate about anything means we have a knack for "seeing things that others do not see". My Jeremy, a talented photographer, sees colors and nuances in the world that escape me. On a trip to Wyoming earlier this summer, I saw nothing but brown, dried-up grass on rolling hills. Jeremy, on the other hand, was enthralled by the subtlety and blending of colors; he noticed how the light played upon the earth. He was entranced; I was looking for the next rest area.

Notice the photo to the right. Taken on a trip to Red Feather Lakes, Jeremy and I were seated outside our cabin when he admonished me not to move, grabbed his camera and started snapping away about two inches from my nose. He saw, in the reflection of my sunglasses, an image that most would not see. Now when I look at the photo, the first thing I see is his reflection. That is as it should be. When you love, you see things that others do not see.

My couples are always amazed at how quickly I can ad lib when something unexpected comes up at their wedding ceremony. I've had wedding party members faint, flower girls get stung by bees, grooms sob uncontrollably when reciting their vows, Unity Candles that blow out in the wind and of course there's the unpredictable Colorado weather. All is handled with humor and aplomb. I see things that others do not see, so it flows. Put me in another social situation where I do not have that knack and you'll find my responses somewhat less ingenious, to be sure.

I think that's the reality with anything in life. To excel at something--be it a relationship, a role, a career, an entrepreneurial endeavor, or a hobby--we need to see things that others do not see. Maybe that's the acid test of what business you should start. What is it you see that others do not? Can you determine the faint hint of nutmeg in a banana bread? Do you look at a car engine and get an immediate feeling of what is wrong? Walk into a drab room and envision how it will be transformed with a bit of paint and some window treatments? Can you make numbers dance on the page? Entice unruly children to cooperate? Review a piece of writing and instantly spot grammatical errors?

What do you see?

Reflections on a hole

Victory belongs to the most persevering.

Napoleon Bonaparte

I've done it. I have conquered my arch rival. Smote my enemy and emerged victorious! (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you need to skip down and read yesterday's blog entry.

Yes, finally today after nearly two weeks of battle, the concrete slab was extricated. Picture it! I approach my enemy with stealth and determination, grateful that Mother Nature was on my side. A torrential downpour during the night softened (and muddied to the extreme!) the earth, assisting my excavation strategy. I circle my adversary, seeking its Achilles heel. Finding none, I resort to my trusty trowel and the scraping process begins yet again. Probably no more than a 1/4 to 1/2 cup at a time. My hands bloody in no time and my sneakers are mired in wet mud--giving me a Hermann Munster look. (Very attractive!). I glance at my watch and vow to give this travesty no more than 20 minutes. As I'm working, I hear the unmistakable thump and thud of cars colliding and I look up to see a three-car chain reaction accident. I pause momentarily to see if anyone is hurt and when I see three heads emerge from the vehicles, all talking on cell phones, I go back to my task. (This is not as callous as it sounds--there is generally one collision outside my door on a weekly basis; one learns to assess the extent of the damage and go about one's business. Besides, this one was little more than a fender-bender.)

My progress is slow. (Is the suspense not killing you???). I resign myself that this is not going to be my day of victory after all and pick up my crowbar rather dispiritedly for one last blow. Clang! I hit it so hard that sparks fly. Was that movement? I strike again. It lists to one side. Scrambling down like my life depends on it, I tug. It wiggles. I heave. It tumbles. With one final thrust, I yank it out of the hole and drop it with an unceremonious thud to the ground. I toy with the idea of a victory dance, but then decide the accident victims--who were now bickering and casting aspersions on each other's character in the middle of the street--will not appreciate my glee. So I resort to the task of transplanting the cucumber plant that precipitated this arduous task.

Victory is sweet! So, here's what I've learned from my adventures in excavation:

1. Little efforts really do add up to success.
2. The hardest part of any task is staying in the trenches.
3. Sometimes, even when others offer to help, you just have to do it yourself.
4. Anger and frustration are great motivators.
5. Sometimes you have to get really muddy to affect change.
6. Woody Allen was right--success is achieved mostly just by showing up
7. A little manual labor never hurt anyone (but it's murder on your back!)
8. Just when things seem impossible, the Universe comes along and gives you an edge.
9. Some days its your turn to revel in success; some days it's your turn to get into a fender-bender. Hopefully in the end, you've had more days like the former rather than the latter.
10. Oftentimes its the little victories that make life sweet

And a Time to Every Purpose Under Heaven

This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have a new exercise routine--sort of. For the past week and a half, I get up, put on my walking shorts, kiss my honey good-bye and head out for a 40 minute jaunt. That part isn't new. What is new is that when I return from my morning constitutional, I've been digging a hole. I am sick of the hole, yet I can't seem to bring the task to completion.

I've been stalled of late. (If you are a faithful reader, you will know that as my presence from this blog has been conspicuously non-existent). It's not a crisis; it's just annoying as hell. In almost all areas of my life, I am simply spinning my wheels. My checkbook...stalled. My healthy eating plan....mired. My exercise plan (other than the one above, which I will get back to in this entry, I promise.)...floundering. The plethora of projects for my business...ground to a halt. It's not for lack of effort. Everyday I attempt each task, yet my progress is slow--virtually nonexistent to my impatient soul.

Even my vegetable and herb garden is sluggish this year. This is partly due to operator error. I am a city girl at heart so the mechanics of growing and harvesting sometimes elude me. The other part is that I've been too busy slogging my way through the quagmire that is my life, so most days, all the poor things get are a 5-minute squirt with the hose and a promise to fertilize, prune and tenderly care for "tomorrow". I don't think they believe me; my tomato plants stubbornly refuse to yield anything more than marble-sized fruit and my basil is being flat-out rebellious.

In a magnanimous gesture of horticultural goodwill, I deemed it necessary to transplant my cucumber plant from its too-small pot into a spot in the ground. I know, I know....you're not supposed to plant cucumbers in a pot--they need room to spread. Okay, so chalk that up to this summer's lesson. So, I started to dig--thinking this was at most a 10-minute task. Wrong! With the third thrust of my shovel, I hit rock. I tried again....and again. Hoping for a buried treasure chest, I began to excavate an unsightly clump of concrete, which Jeremy promptly identified as an old footing for a fence post. So much for treasure. Having been informed by a reliable (?) source that the offending obstruction would be no more than 12-18 inches deep, I began to excavate. It's become a 10-day project (and counting). It's also become a metaphor for my life of late. Every day, I go out and dig around a little more, using a shovel, a trowel, my hands and lately a crow bar. My back and knees can only handle about 30 minutes of it at a time, so I end up digging down only an inch or two every day. It's probably at 12-14 inches. Still, it does not budge. It leers up at me, reminding me of the resolute Moorish castles I saw in Spain. They may partially crumble and lean precariously, but those babies aren't going anywhere anytime soon!

It has become my nemesis and my obsession. Like the other areas of my life, it taunts me as I chip away, chip away, chip away with seemingly no result other than a sore back and bloddied knuckles. Yet I know logically that if I persevere, the darn thing has to have a bottom somewhere. (Although, my emotional side is convinced that I will see a citizen of China pop his head through this hole before I ever get to the base of the concrete!) I realize that with my hole, as well as everything in life, it's what you do today that gives tomorrow's results (or maybe next month's or next year's). It's hard. Sometimes your hands get bloodied, your patience gets tested, your heart gets broken, and things just take too darn long. But that's how it goes. As the song goes, there is a time to sow and a time to reap. A time to plug away and a time to rejoice in success. You can't have one without the other.

And so we dig....

I'll keep you posted!

Did you find everything YOU wanted today?

If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide.

Mohandas Gandhi

I just returned home from my first visit to the new Highlands Sunflower Market. They did not disappoint with their wide aisles, wholesome food, lower prices and courteous staff. I overheard one customer remark that it reminded him of "an old fashioned country store" and I agree--although I hadn't noticed that until he said it. It brings pleasure back to shopping and makes easier my resolve to shop locally (see my blog entry of 3/29/07). It's big enough to have an expansive variety, but small enough to feel inviting and to navigate in a reasonable amount of time.

Want to know the thing I liked most about this new natural food market? The pleasure, the absolute unadulterated delight of getting up to the register only to have the clerk smile and wish me a friendly hello. And that was it! No, "May I have your membership card?" (those foul things!), no calling the supervisor for an override and most important, he didn't ask me if I'd found "everything I was looking for today." Hallelujah! What is up with that remark anyway? Is there anyone in their right mind who would be so foolish at that point (and with 12 people waiting in line behind him or her) as to voice that they need yet another item or items? Whenever I am asked that question, I generally give a vague smile with a "Mmmmmm" and let it go at that. I refuse to answer such an inane question, although I have yet to have the guts to lambaste the asker (who has probably been so directed by the ever-present--except when you need that darned override--supervisor to pose such a ridiculous question).

But once...oh just once, when being asked, if I've found everything I wanted today, I'd love to pull out my incomplete shopping list, frown at it ever so slightly and then proclaim, "Actually, I still need two cans of Dinty Moore, some leeks, three-quarters of a pound of deli turkey (thin sliced--why don't you fetch me a sample while you're at it?) and do you stock organic cottage cheese (small curd only)?" And should the hapless clerk happen to be a male, I think it would be the nail in the coffin to add--preferably in a loud voice as he is walking away to gather the requested items--"Oh yes and some Panti-Liners--the ones with the wings!"


Ah.....but that would not be kind. Funny, perhaps, but not kind. And we must never tread on the feelings of others in the quest for a good chuckle. So I will do the bulk of my shopping at my new local market and for the times that I need to venture into that other world of "paper or plastic," I will just fantasize...and smile. I will, however, be so glad when that ubiquitous phrase goes into oblivion along with its predecessors, 'Would you like to Supersize?" "Wassup?" and "You go, Girl!"

You CAN get what you want...if you can figure out what it is!

Do you want to know who you are? Don't ask. Act! Action will delineate and define you.

Thomas Jefferson

More and more lately, I am becoming aware of so many things that I do just “because”. Because it’s expected, because it’s the way I’ve always done it, or because I’ve never stopped to think about it. It’s mind-boggling. I thought I hopped off the societal pressure bus around the time that I stopped going to confession, gave up trying to straighten my hair and realized that I would never be a Carol Brady mom. I never succumbed to college all-nighters, never acquired a taste for beer; and I don’t do the 9 to 5 thing. As Rudolph and his dentist-wannabe sidekick, Hermey, proclaimed, “I’m independent!”

Ha! With age comes self-awareness and the best I can say is that I’m working on it. Take dinnertime. When Jeremy and I first set up house together, I had cozy fantasies of sitting around the table eating gourmet dinners accompanied by good wine. I was sure that’s what I wanted. Working from home and with a love for cooking, as well as deriving immense pleasure from sharing the events of the day with the man I love—who wouldn’t relish that prospect? It lasted about a month before it was pointed out to me that more often than not the love of my life was coming home to a litany of complaints about how I can’t get it all done, how everyone wants a piece of me and there’s not enough hours in the day. And hey, by the way, I’m packing on the pounds and I’m getting sick of doing dishes at 8:00 p.m. so could you come home earlier please? Oh yeah—every man’s fantasy home life! In an “ah-ha” moment, I realized that I dislike stopping work every day at 4:00 to think about dinner, and actually prefer a large meal at midday with a snack in the evening. My supportive honey contained his exasperation and let me know that was just fine, so now we often share our day’s stories over bowls of corn flakes. It works for us, but what a gyration to get there!

Everyone loves the idea of a large cozy B&B, complete with meeting new friends, sipping wine around the fire with fellow travelers and joining them for a hearty, jovial breakfast before going off to the day’s activities. How romantic! I was a huge B&B proponent. Loved them! Stayed in them all the time! You know what? I was delusional. I am so not a B&B gal. I work with the public for a living. And yes, while I love chatting with my clients on a daily basis, when I go away, I want to get away; to spend time with Jeremy alone for the most part. I like fruit and cheese for breakfast, not eggs and something that once oinked and I’m more than a little uncomfortable sitting next to the couple that I overheard having an argument (or worse!) through the paper-thin walls the night before.

In the beginning of our relationship, I spent many a Sunday afternoon pedaling and panting up hills behind Jeremy struggling valiantly to keep up with him. Why? Because I’d told him in our original get-to-know you dates that I loved to bicycle. And I do…on my comfort bike around the neighborhoods of Denver. I forgot to specify that there is a quantum leap between that type of biking and donning form-fitting outfits that do not flatter and setting out for a 30 to 40 mile day-long trek. Oops! Silly me. No bother, thought I, I’ll get in shape and I will like it. I like spending time with him, I reasoned, so how hard can it be? I’m here to tell you, it can be very, very hard! I did come up with some very creative excuses along the way in order to avoid the dreaded bike-a-thon Sundays. I convinced myself I enjoyed them. And I did…when they were over. I finally admitted to myself and to him that this was not my cup of tea. I think Jeremy was relieved. Now we cruise the neighborhoods together and when he wants a more rigorous ride, he happily pedals off solo. When he comes home, I slap a bowl of cornflakes in front of him and it’s all good.

But the best one of all came this past weekend. We decided to celebrate Jeremy’s birthday with a long weekend of camping and boating on Lake Glendo in Wyoming. “But Mom,” Alyssa pointed out, “you hate camping!” I took issue with this—I do not hate camping. I simply had some negative camping experiences and some very poor camping partners in the past. I love camping! So, Jeremy began assembling the camping equipment three days before we left, while I was in charge of food. I planned the menus, shopped, dug out the coolers and arranged for all the spices, utensils and assorted gastronomic accouterments. A lot of work, thought I, but it’s okay, because I love camping!

We had to leave at 7:00 a.m. to beat the heat, but that’s okay, because I love camping, so it was worth it. We schlepped the bikes, the tent, the hiking gear, the propane stove and the charcoal grill so we’d have all the comforts of home. Arrived at Glendo in perfect time, found a delightful site with lots of shade and privacy and set up camp. Went down to the beach.. Ah! Idyllic. Then we returned from the beach and saw the sign that told us that we’d set up camp in a site marked “for day use only”. How we missed the sign I will never know (no wonder it was so private!), but it meant an additional two hours to tear down our temporary home, scout out another site and re-set up shop. Phew! Okay, no one to blame but ourselves. This new site was pretty buggy, but that was to be expected. We made a lovely dinner, brushing away the flies. We took a romantic walk on the beach and agreed this was paradise. We loved camping. Back at the site, we smeared mosquito repellent over the sunscreen and slid into our sleeping bag in the back of the van, propping the door open for some air. Did I mention it was pretty warm? Then the party began. A loud party. At the next campsite. By 11:15, I meandered over and asked the 30 or so fairly inebriated participants to keep it down and pleasantly reminded them of the 10:00 quiet time rule. They apologized sarcastically and I beat a hasty retreat. At 1:00, Jeremy bellowed a slightly less cordial request to lower the noise level, prompting a response not fit for a family newspaper. I think they stopped around 3:00 a.m.

We woke early, slapped on more layers of sunscreen and mosquito repellant. By now, we were just about slithering off the seats in the car, but we spent a lovely day on the lake—just the two of us. It was grand. We returned to the campsite in the late afternoon, praying the partiers would have left. No such luck. The bugs were relentless and the cottonwoods were shedding, adding a thick layer of fur to our lotion-covered skin. Note to readers: do not go camping unless you are very solid in your relationship because it’s not pretty!

I suspect both of us were putting forth a concerted effort not to complain. Finally, in a sheepish voice, Jeremy whispered, “You know, if we wanted, we could pack up tonight and go stay in the hotel up the road. It might be…..” I never heard the rest of his words, as I’d sprinted across the campsite and dismantled the tent by then. Taking this as acquiescence (he’s quick that way!), he pitched in and three hours later, we were showered and de-sunscreened, contently munching on Sara Lee pound cake and watching a Seinfeld rerun. If only we could camp, Jeremy reasoned and eliminate the dirt, heat, bugs, partiers and the schlepping, we’d have it made. I wholeheartedly agreed. Okay, we’re done with camping. We’re made for each other.

And so now I am liberated! I don’t even need a 12-step program. I admit to such untrendy things as taking baths instead of showers, liking to be asleep by 10 p.m., I’m not really a dog lover and I sometimes wear pants with an elastic waist. I’d rather have a plain cup of tea than a frappe-cappuccino-latte something or other. I think $10 a bottle wine can be quite good. And speaking of wine, most of the time, I’d rather have it at home on my cozy couch than in a crowded noisy bar—even if it is happy hour and the drinks are 2-for-1. I’d rather read a good book than watch reality T.V. And don’t even get me started on extended family gatherings. You really should try it—go ahead and redefine what you like to do--it’s like adolescence all over again, only without the acne.