Friday, May 27, 2005

Too Busy To Live

That's the title of a book.

Picked it up today in the course of my job...reading through it while at the doctor's office -- to make the most of the wait, you know. Heaven forbid that I spend those few minutes doing nothing, contemplating anything other than work and clients and making the "best use of my time." Must redeem the time...

I doubt that it was coincidence that I was visiting the doctor because my blood pressure is off the charts high again...and there I sit with a book in my hands describing a culture that has us so consumed with busy-ness that we are not living. We equate "motion & activity" with "productivity & fulfillment"...and it couldn't be further from the truth.

As I sat there in the doctor's waiting room, waiting to go outline my list of afflictions & maladies that are interfering with my "busy-ness," I realized that my health wasn't actually interfering with my life...but that my life was interfering with my health.

My name was called not too long after getting through the first few pages, and I weighed & had my BP checked (incredibly high, I might add), and as the nurse left...I picked back up the book. Must redeem the time...

So as I scanned through the pages (of course, I'm not really reading the book, just scanning it so that I can understand its premise and suggested solutions) I realized that this book is not FOR my work..it is ABOUT my life.

That's as far as I got...the doctor came in and I unrolled the never-ending list of all the things that don't function as they should...the things that make my life uncomfortable...the things that keep me from being more productive and fulfilled...

Must redeem the time...

I've come back to work to finish up my tasks for the afternoon...confirming that I will in fact be leaving early Tuesday morning for a whirlwind trip to the Northeast...which means an early morning trip to the dry cleaners tomorrow. That doesn't sound like THAT big of a deal, unless you realize that we have had tomorrow marked on the calendar for months...it is the first morning we've had to sleep in...turn off the alarm clock...have nowhere to go, and nothing to do. Oh yes, except get the clothes to the dry cleaners by 8am so that they will be ready tomorrow afternoon.

Let me stop here and plainly say that this is not a complaint, but merely an observation...a narrative of the day.

There is nothing wrong with rising early and getting stuff done...there is a certain excitement about going on a trip to a new place and meeting new people...I enjoy being a contributor to my office and being called upon to help out with projects...I am thankful for a husband who supports and encourages what I do, and is happy that I am happy doing what I do.

But I have to wonder...thinking about the events of the day...what can I cut out? What is under MY control to phase out and simplify my life? With a husband, and two kids, and a full time job, much of what I do is either for my job...or in response to my husband's job...or taking my kids to their activities. So really, I am not just keeping one person's schedule, I am keeping the schedule of 4 people!

So when time is available, I try to fit in the other things that have been pushed to the side. The things that didn't make the 'first cut' of the schedule...

Must redeem the time...

So at what point do all the activities we engage in provide us sanctuary? And at what point do we simply become too busy to live?

In the long run, what does it really mean to redeem the time?

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Enjoying the View

It's May 19th.

Not a wedding anniversary. No birthdays at our house. Not the last day of school.
Yet, it is probably one of the most significant days in the life of our 6-year-old.

May 19th. Theatrical release date for Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith.
This is the day that we have had marked on the calendar for months...the catalyst for learning the power of "CountDown" and counting backwards. The benchmark by which all other things have been timed for the last few weeks.

He went to bed last night...and not even the Force could allow him to see the final installment, as it wasn't in theaters, and even a six-year-old could grasp the concept of it not having hit the big screen yet. Little did I know that there was a reason behind that peaceful night-night time. He awoke this morning, convinced that he would be missing school in order to be one of the first to see it today.

Shattered.

His little world was completely shattered when I explained that our tickets are for Sunday. That he would not be missing school today to see a movie. (He has perfect attendance, after all, which is a feat considering all the weekend malladies we've had...but have been spared illness or injury M-F for an entire school year.) Anyway, somehow he had wrapped it around his little sweet brain that all the rest of the world would fall away today and that he would be among the throngs of people going to see Star Wars on opening day. (You have to admit, this is a kid who goes full throttle!)

After the tears...and some mommy hugs...and assurance that we do, in fact, already have tickets for Sunday, we got dressed and made our way to school. Once he was there, my husband and I took out the "VADER" poster we had gotten him and hung it above his bed. Just a little token to remind him that what is important to him is important to us. (My husband even commented that he might have to get one of those posters for his office...a show of solidarity, of course.)

As I have passed my son's room today and glanced at the poster...and the Millenium Falcon...and the Darth Vader helmet with the voice changer...and the Tie Fighter...and the light sabers...and all the other Star Wars toys that delight him...(and the Annakin Skywalker costume that he puts on each night as we mark one more day off the calendar...) I smile because while he is big enough to know what is going on, he is young enough to be completely immersed in the dream and drama of fanaticism.

No one has told him yet that he will become preoccupied with the bills.
Getting to bed early so he can go to work the next day.
That good and evil in the world isn't as obvious as the color of the light saber.
That Han Solos don't always show up, and not everyone will have an Obe Won Kenobi to mentor them.
That laundry will pile up if he doesn't do it.
That payday is the difference between doing something now and later.
That fantasies are for kids...

Nope, for now, he gets to completely immerse himself in the delight of his little world. The completion of the Star Wars franchise. The completion of the story. He gets to put the missing puzzle piece in his storyline.

And as I watch his unbridled joy and excitement...
I find myself experience unbridled joy while I simply enjoy the view.

And then I go back to put in another load of laundry.

The Power of One

I recently went on a business trip, and learned firsthand "the power of one."

I was in my little hotel at Venice Beach, thirsty for my quota of soda. (Those who know me, know that I seldom am seen without a fizzy beverage in hand.) I reached into my wallet to grab a $1, but for some unknown reason (I know it now), I grabbed a $20 and decided to get change at the desk.

As I walked down the stairs and rounded the corner, the front desk clerk and another gentleman (I am assuming a guest) stopped their discussion abruptly, and the only word I heard was "Jesus." They both stared, in a silence that could have woken the neighbors. I approached the desk and asked for change.

The clerk broke his silence by looking at the other man and saying "She's a Christian...let's ask her."

Well, my there was a lump in my throat, and I couldn't imagine what question was going to be posed to me. I am neither qualified nor inclined to get into theological discussions, as my knowledge in that area leaves much to be desired. Without going into all the details (that's a whole other blog in itself...) the question was about marriage. This desk clerk had suffered a terrible blow and was clearly in pain over the state of his marriage. I offered some encouraging words -- the only things I could say that wouldn't be patronizing and assuming since I knew very little about the situation. His eyes filled with tears, he grabbed my hand, and said "Thank you...God sent you to me just now." Ahh, the power of that $1 bill.

The next day, we had a couple of meetings to attend before trying to catch a 1:00pm flight home. At noon, the other lady on our trip and I were concerned that we would not make it to LAX in time. We still needed to get gas, return the rental and then check in. But our male counterpart assured us that there was plenty of time...we were needlessly in a rush. So we made our stops, got to the airport and waited in line for the self check-in. Our unhurried man friend went 1st. Waiting for the next available check-in screen, my lady traveling friend and I went next...only to find out that we were literally 1 minute late to check in for our flight and would have to wait 1 hour to catch the next one. (I kid you not -- the policy at LAX is to be there at least 40 minutes in advance or they will give away your seats...we checked in 39 minutes before the flight...1 minute late.)

So we waved our male friend away on his 1:00pm flight, and she and I had a nice lunch together. And as our flight time approached, we meandered to the gate...only to wait. And wait..and wait. Inexplicably, our flight was not boarding even though we were scheduled to DEPART at 1:45...it was now 1:55 and we had not even gotten ON the plane.

Our groups were called and we walked down the tunnel to board...only to be stopped again. No explanation. Just standing in the walkway exchanging puzzled glances with the strangers around us.

Again, we move forward, and as we enter the main cabin, there is a small African American boy -- whom we would later learn was only 4 years old -- crying in a seat and talking to one of the pilots.

We managed to put our bags away and take our seats, when a male flight attendant saw the boy and ushered him back to his REAL seat...directly behind my friend.

He cried...he wailed...he slithered out of his seat...shrieking that he wanted his mother.

I turned around in my seat to talk to him, and couldn't understand him when I asked his name. I eventually learned it was Jonathan. I coaxed and cajoled...hastening him to buckle his seat belt. I might as well have been commanding a cat to sit for as much good as it did.

Shortly, his fated seat partner arrived carrying a Burger King bag and drink. Jonathan immediately appropriated it and tore into the bag. My motherly instinct kicked in and I promptly told him that it didn't belong to him -- it belonged to this man, and it is his lunch.

Again, to no avail, my words fell on deaf ears...and the Burger King meal was vanquished in short order. I reached into my bag and grabbed a granola bar I had stashed for the trip, and as I turned around to offer it, I saw that the other passengers looking on had taken their snacks and were handing it to him as well. (Let's all pray he likes fruit & granola!)

Well, suffice it to say that Jonathan will get his own blog entry as well -- once I recover from the recurring nightmares! But right now, we will get back to the power of one...

One hour after our scheduled departure, the flight attendant in FIRST class calls me to the front of the plane. It was to ask my opinion on whether or not we could actually take off due to the state of our youngest passenger. Well good grief! I had no idea how to answer that question...and then I told them to be sure and make an announcement to let everyone know that I was not the reason for the late departure! :)

Eventually, we started taxiing down the runway. (And mind you, the state of Jonathan will be discussed at length, but remember that this is a small child, flying alone, screaming and throwing and hitting everyone around him.)

And the flight began...in the air.

I wish I could insert the word "one" in here...but I can't. It was, in fact, a 3 hour flight. Actually, it was a 2.5 hr flight, as we were told later that the pilot was making record time...no worries about fuel conservation when it came to getting Jonathan to his final destination.

As the flight went on, the man next to him and I got dirty looks from those who didn't understand that we weren't with this child..we had just been cosmically assigned to him. We also got looks of sympathy or bewilderment.

At ONE point, I told the gentleman next to Jonathan that I would trade places so he could have a rest. (By this time, his nice custom-made business shirt was covered in milk chocolate.) And I ventured out to take Jonathan to the lav at the back of the plane.

It was then, that ONE comment made all the difference about how I looked at Jonathan. A lady explained that she had talked to Jonathan's mom in the airport. He was flying alone at such a young age because it was a court order resulting from a custody battle. The delay at the beginning was because she had escorted him onto the plane, and was prying herself out of his clutches. He knew he was going to see daddy, but he had no idea it was a ONE way trip.

Jonathan and I walked back to our seats, and we talked the remainder of the trip about his home, his mom, his older brother. We talked about Texas and California. We learned some manners and he exercised them by saying Thank You to the man who had sat with him...I'm Sorry to the flight attendants to whom earlier he had been disrespectful... It was ONE thing that I could do to connect with this little guy, and when he saw the smiles on the recipients faces...he extended his please & thank you & I'm sorry to a broader circle of folks around us. He began to smile as they began to soften in recognition of his efforts.

And then we landed at DFW. They asked for everyone staying at DFW to remain on board so that those who were late or trying to find alternate connecting flights (since we were so late) could make their way out ahead of us.

I sat with Jonathan, and as the people walked by, I remember ONE lady leaning down and saying "You're an Angel."

And I remember ONE man stopping in the aisle, and staring a stare that would only send me to one very hot place if looks indeed could do that. At first I wanted to explain that I wasn't WITH him...that I wasn't responsible for this behavior. But then I realized that this little guy had had no advocate on this plane except for me and the man who originally sat by him. So I sat silently and absorbed his stare. Glad that I could take it on, instead of alternately being directly at a very afraid and excited little boy.

We exited the plane, and I went on to baggage claim...reminding Jonathan that we LIKE California...but that we LOVE Texas. (It's a standing joke at our house about my incurable patriotism toward The Lone Star State...even though I married a Californian.) I doubt that I will ever see him or his dad or any of the other people on that plane again. Our journey together was limited to that ONE flight.

Yeah, it was only ONE TRIP...
but it was made significant by a $1 bill,
then ONE minute,
followed by ONE hour,
and ONE kid.

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Funny Business

I'm a funny person.
Not like a clown or anything...although I have been known to clown around.
And I spent last year getting paid to be funny...so I guess that makes me a comedienne.
I'm not sure what makes me funny, but universally I am told that I am.
And witty. (Errr, make that "whitty") Although my brother has always called me "Whitless."
But it's always a weird feeling when someone says, "Hey -- say something funny." Because it just doesn't work that way.

I've always been the funny person in the office.
The jokester. The prankster. The clever card writer and surprise party thrower.
The clever turn of a phrase...er.

Not anymore.

I have found myself working with some real lunatics! I mean, I work in an office that keeps me constantly in stitches. First and foremost, I work with the nicest and most kind-hearted people I know of. It is a team. And, well, that atmosphere lends itself to allowing one to be herself (or himself.) And I guess we all just happen to be comics-in-training.

We play jokes on one another. We leave insane voicemails. We have silly catch phrases. We sit and tell stories and recount crazy conversations. I verbally abuse the person sitting next to me (in a nice way, of course -- we are good friends)...and we laugh.

Goodness gracious -- how does anyone get anything done? I don't know, but we do. I probably work harder at this job than I have at any job I can recall. We're a small office, and we run cover for one another when we are stretched further than we can handle -- whether it be because of travel for another client, or a large project, or just complete machine malfunction (which happens sometimes.)

The people I work with are probably the most professional folks I have worked with, too. They take their jobs very seriously...but themselves, not so much. You see, we work in a business where our job is to make someone else look good...and if all goes well, we're like middleware. We're like the BEA Systems of our industry, so to speak. No one even knows we were there...we're a cog in the machine.

Anyway, back to the office. I compare and contrast my office now to past offices, and the big main difference that I see is that we are allowed to have fun. I am allowed to enjoy being there. My last office job seemed the exact opposite...the more I enjoyed my day, the more dour the office got. I had a friend there, and she and I could liven up the worst of days, and quite frankly we were probably two of the most productive people there. Willing to help others...coming in early...staying late when needed... But it just seemed like there was no room for levity. Levity was a sign that work wasn't getting done, and I'm just not sure what school of management that train of thought comes from. Whatever happened to "Happy employees are productice employees"? I still keep in touch with the boss from there - and he's a fun guy...so I chalk that one up to corporate culture that stems from something much deeper than a local office. But that's a blog for another day...

Anyway, business is funny that way.
But the business I work for?
Well, it's just plain funny.

Sittin' on the Blog of the Day...

(Sitting on) The Dock of the Bay

Sittin' in the mornin' sun
I'll be sittin' when the evenin' come
Watching the ships roll in
And then I watch 'em roll away again,
yeah, I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time

I left my home in Georgia
Headed for the 'Frisco bay'
Cause I've had nothing to live for
And look like nothin's gonna come my way
So I'm just gonna sit on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time

Look like nothing's gonna change
Everything still remains the same
I can't do what ten people tell me to do
So I guess I'll remain the same, yes
Sittin' here resting my bones
And this loneliness won't leave me alone
It's two thousand miles I roamed
Just to make this dock my home

Now, I'm just gonna sit at the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Oooo-wee, sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time

For some unknown reason, I can NOT get this song out of my head. And I can't settle on whether or not I think it is a sad song or a glad song. There is some implied despair when he talks about nothing to live for, but there is also a sense of contentment about just sitting and watching the ships and the tide...that he has found an end to his roaming (2 thousand miles' worth!)...and then there is that haunting happy-go-lucky whistle at the end.

Is it about resignation that nothing will ever go right? Or is it about the deep breath of freedom that we can exhale when we take leave from the expectations placed on us from everyone else, follow our dreams, and we enjoy the simple beauty of the morning sun...and the rhythmic roll of the water...and just wastin' time instead of letting time waste us...

Otis Redding wrote this song 3 days before he died in a plane crash.

What's Good for the Goose...

My homeroom teacher in sixth grade was Mrs. Walton. She was a Math teacher. Taught six periods of Math -- nothing more, nothing less. That was back in 1978...so almost 30 years ago. The name of the school was Baker-Koonce. She doesn't teach anymore, so you can't really go to her classroom to visit and confirm it for yourself, but anyone who was there at the time would tell you that was how it was. Check out the yearbook...ask my classmates...

A few years later I realized that while I was good at math, I really excelled in English and Language Arts. That's where my passion was...where I really understood what was going on...where my heart was.

I continued to make good grades in math, but my efforts and my energy were spent on poetry, and literature, and diagramming sentences...grammar. Math just really didn't do it for me anymore. The thought of proofs and equations and formulas didn't motivate me...they didn't resonate with my soul. They were not part of the fabric of who I am.

I loved my ninth grade English teacher (eventually...even after she called me caustic and facetious)...and met the challenges of my subsequent English teachers with ferve and enthusiasm. In fact, I went on to major in areas of communication with a minor in English. I simply couldn't get enough of it.

I think of all the people who shaped my life...who gave me the freedoms to explore Language Arts and to pursue that as an interest and as a career. I remember Mrs. Milam in the fourth grade...Mrs Williams in the 7th and 8th grades...my professors in college. And I look back with special fondness to how Mrs Walton launched all that for me...she was a Language Arts teacher after all.

What? It works for our society in America, but I can't apply it to my own life? I don't happen to like the facts and they aren't convenient, so I have changed them to fit my current viewpoint. She taught math, but doesn't fit in nicely to my story about Language Arts...she had to use words to describe math...and she insisted that we write our "math sentences" correctly...so that's akin to Language Arts. She wasn't really a math teacher...that was just her forum to express her language curriculum.

If it works for the USA, then it works for me.

Friday, May 06, 2005

OK, OK -- I really DO have a cat!

OK, unlike the earlier post, this one really is about a feline.
And I really do have a cat.
Well, actually we have two...for now.

Our cat for keeps is Hazel. Her full name is Hazelnut Francesca Shiner ***** (last name kept secret for those of you who are smart enough to associate it with my name.) But we just call her Hazel...and she seems to like that just fine. She's not terribly pretentious, and the entire name doesn't roll off the tongue like "Hazel."

I'll just lay it out here for you...I am not one of those 'crazy cat people.' (No offense intended for those people who ARE one of those 'crazy cat people.') I think animals should be treated humanely, but I haven't dedicated my life to 5K marathons for feral rescue centers and don't join protests for this or that animal cause.

So long as we have that straight. Back to my story.

Hazel came to live with us 2 years ago. My former cat had died a couple of years prior to that, and it took me awhile to feel like I could bring another cat to live with us. So I headed to Operation Kindness (a no-kill shelter) to 'interview' prospective cats. Because our kids were small at the time, and because I had had my previous cat for 9 years, I had some specifications that I wanted to adhere to. They were as follows: 1) Must be declawed; 2) Must not have bobbed tail -- bobbed tails freak me out; 3) Must be ok with kids. And so the interview process started. I went back to the 'cat room' and began to sort through cats, looking at their profiles, asking about their temperments, trying to interact with them to determine which one would be a good fit.

I kid you not, 2 hours later I think I had looked at every file card on every cat there. And so I sat on the bench and was resigning myself to the fact that this was not the trip where I would find a new kitty cat to come home with me. Then up jumped this sweet little tortie -- sat right on the bench beside me and nestled into the side of my leg.

I asked the volunteer who this kitty was -- had I not seen her?
"Ah, that's Shiner. She's kinda the house cat here -- been here almost a year and no one seems too interested in her."

Shiner leaned in further, and her purring was at a dull roar.

"You wouldn't like her. She has all four claws, and well...her tail..."

Now there's a dilemma. She already had two strikes against her. Claws and that dratted bobbed tail that freaks me out. But she continued to love on me and her motor just kept going. Well, another half hour later, I had signed the papers and adopted "Shiner" to come home with me. As a family, we wanted to come up with a more suitable name, and given her coffee coloring, we went through a list of coffee related names, settling on Hazelnut...and calling her Hazel for short. (Francesca was added because I felt like she needed something royal since she had had such a rotten past. She had come to the shelter beaten up, broken tail and pregnant with a litter.)

Hazel has been with us ever since. Never using her claws, and always acting like a little lady. And even the bobbed tail cracks us up because it 'twitters' back and forth when she is hungry and her food bowl is unacceptably empty.

She was...is...the perfect cat.

February 26th, I woke up in the middle of the night knowing that something was wrong. Hazel had not come to sleep above my head on my pillow, as was customary each night. So at 3am (I guess it is technically the 27th at this time), I began to tear the house upside down looking for my sweet Hazel...but alas, she was nowhere to be found. I tried to go back to sleep, but I knew that she had somehow gotten out of the house.

The next morning we made flyers with her picture, and I walked up and down the streets posting her picture and looking for her. (Oh yeah, I had a broken foot and was walking around with a cast/boot on.) For the next several days, I would sit outside at night and just softly call her name thinking she might come home. No sign of her. And the tears would just flow at the thought of her or the mention of her name. She was my lap cat, and her loss was like an emotional amputation. I hadn't realized how attached to her I was until she was gone.

Did I mention that I am not one of those crazy cat people? I did? OK, I'll continue.

I emailed every shelter, and I visited our city shelter every other day -- as those who go to the city shelter...well, let's just say that they check in but they don't check out unless they are adopted or claimed. And three weeks later, I had to go out of town for business for the week.

Then, at the end of the week, I got a hysterical call from DH who had seen our sweet Hazel in the alley! To make a long story not so excruciatingly long, he trapped her (one month after her disappearance) and Hazel has been home ever since.

I guess this really isn't that compelling to anyone else. I just happened to be sitting here looking at her lounged on the bed, as if nothing had ever happened. She caught me looking at her, then yawned, closed her eyes and rolled over on her side to take a little cat nap.

And I smiled.

I have a cat.

I have a cat...

This post has absolutely nothing to do with a cat. If you are looking for feline whitdom, read no further. I repeat...this is not about a cat.

What the heck?

I am just sitting here laughing because that phrase is actually an inside joke among my girlfriends. It would take too long to go into, but suffice it to say that one of them is a flight attendant and that was a bizarre explanation she got on a flight when asking a first class passenger why she had taken EVERYTHING from the food tray. (I know, it makes absolutely no sense, and that's what makes it funny.)

I've got another one -- "Shut Up! I'm in control here." Aren't you just rolling on the floor laughing? No? Oh, I guess you weren't there for that story either.

Ok, ok...here's one..."I think I need some punch!"

Alright, it is clear that I have completely lost you now. See, all those are part of some inside jokes among my friends and my co-workers. And a person needs only to utter one of those words, and we all crack up...without further explanation because we know what the joke is.

I wonder how many people around us think that we've gone stark raving mad when we launch into our antics. We have been known to get strange looks at restaurants when we all get together and start giggling and then revert back to all the inside jokes that are thrown out at well-placed intervals. We've shut down a restaurant or two only to go outside on the patio and continue until the wait staff is going home for the night. We were celebrating a birthday last weekend in an Italian restaurant and every group at tables around us commented as they left -- usually referring to one of random inside jokes that must have kept them bamboozled all during their linguini while they tried to figure out the origin. Our waiter came over before we left to hug the birthday girl and to comment on what a happy group we were -- that we were fun.
(You have to keep in mind -- we're old! The birthday girl was 50 -- and everyone knows that grown-ups have less and less fun with each year. **she removes tongue from cheek**)

I think the thing I like most about inside jokes (not the mean kind that are done at someone's expense) is that they remind us that we have a shared history with the people we are laughing with. They remind us of another time that we have been together and laughed...and that we are on a journey. It summons up the memory of the pleasure of being real with one another, and many times the jokes are just laughing at ourselves...of something silly we did.

I have also found that they can provide levity when brought out at the proper time...during a time of grief to recall a happy memory...during a time of frustration to remind us that we shouldn't take ourselves too seriously...during a time of doubt to bolster our resolve.

So take a few minutes to think about the personal inside jokes that you share with friends or family and then enjoy how it makes you feel to trot them out when you are together.

Dog chair brush comb hat!
(that's a joke)

To The Cheap Seats...

My daughter plays softball, and I have to tell you that in the grand scheme of things, I could really care less about baseball and all forms thereof. But there is something exciting about a bunch of 8-yr-olds playing their little hearts out and cheering for one another! The parents have all become friends, and we bite our nails and cheer each other on and comment on the progress of the girls (and, let's be honest, the partiality of the umps at times!)

As they get up to bat, the girls in the dugout have cheers that they yell...things like "She's a Home Run Hitter, and You're Never Gonna Get Her!" And then of course, all the parents and spectators have their own things they yell to encourage...one of mine happens to be "To the cheap seats, Katie, to the cheap seats!" The parents all laugh, and we get tickled that I say that because a) the girls have no clue what I am talking about; and b) there aren't any seats in the outfield; and c) technically, WE are in the cheap seats, and hitting the ball toward us would be a foul.

But the girls know to expect my voice booming out as they go to home plate something like this: "Big hit Rachel! Big hit! To the cheap seats...hit it to the cheap seats!" They all know that's one of my trademark lines and that each will hear it as they take their place to receive the next pitch.

Now for those of you who are scratching your head wondering what in the world I am talking about, this is a reference to the set-up of a big league baseball stadium. The cheaper seats are usually out behind center-field, well beyond where most hits would ever land. So my signature "yell" is to tell the girls to hit it further than most.

But I was thinking about that encouragement for everyday life. Think about it...aren't there people on the fringes of life who get the rare treat...the rare "ball in the stands" moment when a cool and memorable thing happens to them. And I began to wonder how often I placed my efforts and my goals to land where most everything else lands...and about the fringe people in my life or in my circle of influence who would be blessed by my efforts extending a little further to them. They sit on the outskirts of society or interaction because they are stretched either by resources or for time, and are relegated to "the cheap seats." How many times could I have gone for a Big Hit! Big Hit! and reached out to touch some people who may otherwise have been too far out to reach out and "catch the ball."

So I don't have an answer for that yet because I have only begun to think about it. But I challenge you, too, to think about the big swings you take in life. Are you aiming for the cheap seats, or playing to the crowd? If you could hit it further...would you?

So think of me next time you are "up to bat" -- Big hit, Blogger..big hit. To the cheap seats!

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Post ... Toasted

Well, I've already done it.
I've edited myself.
Pulled a post before it ever saw the light of day.
Post...toasted.

I had vaguely sketched out an incident in which someone took credit for something I did. And did so in front of a group of people who knew that I had done the heavy lifting on the thing in question. I never named names, but I became so worried that someone might actually visit my blog and realize what the nature of the crime was! (It would have been exciting to have someone visit, but not under those circumstances!)

Anyway, I wrote the post...put it up...and then minutes later pulled it. Is that cowardice or good judgment?

The whole point of the "Post That Almost Was" was to talk about why I didn't call the person on the carpet when they took credit for my good deed. Was it because I didn't want to embarrass that person? Or was it because there was a little smug satisfaction in watching my friends shrink back in horror that this person could do such a thing knowing that I was present to hear their claims and then know that internally that person had to be struggling with some guilt and remorse over it!

Well, I don't know which it was. But, did I save that person from embarrassment? Absolutely. Did I get a charge out of the exchanged looks amongst ourselves as the ploy continued? But of course. Do I think that person has even given it a second thought as to what a plagiaristic knot-head they sounded like taking credit for something they clearly didn't do? Not a chance.

BUT, regardless of my motivations...I saved myself from sounding petty. I saved myself from saying something sarcastic or caustic (who me?) that I would have regretted. I saved myself from damaging a relationship (whether or not it is worth salvaging is another story, but you get my point -- the point being that I am not in the business of going around the busting people over the head with their own thoughtless actions...well, most of the time, anyway.) I'm just wondering how many times I have done that and will do that in my life...initially act on less than admirable motivation, but in the end do myself and the other person a bigger favor in the final analysis.

OK, so you kinda get the story without all the tell-tell details. And just think...had I posted last night as originally planned, I wouldn't have come across askthepope.blogspot.com and wouldn't be able to ask for forgiveness... Bless me Father for I have spinned.

So let's toast a post in the good sense -- Cheers to Joey Ratz! Long live the Pope!

There. Post...toasted!

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Blah, Blah, Blah Blog

Talked to a friend last night...he and his wife have been out of the country celebrating their momentous birthdays for the year -- both of them turning 50. I wished them both a happy day...after much ribbing.

Sat at softball practice last night talking to other parents about our kids and sports and how the girls have remained close friends even though they all go to different schools. We reminisced about how much they have changed over the past years.

Later last night, I tickled my son before he went to bed, and then made that **erk** "farting" noise on his tummy because it makes him laugh hysterically. We giggled and hugged and played and just laughed.

Then sat at the edge of his and my daughter's beds as they said their prayers for the evening. I listened as they talked about the things that are important to them and the things that pluck their heart strings.

Those are the moments that make the world keep turning.

Then I sat in on a live webcast about blogs to learn more about how they can benefit/harm our clients at work and blah, blah, blah, blah...blog. Perhaps I am simply not high-minded enough to get engaged in that conversation, but I continuously found myself drifting off to do real work. To work on a release for a client...to contact a venue for an event...to respond to an email...to make a quick phone call...and I found the whole conversation among blog experts to be incredibly lackluster. Perhaps it is because it attempted to take some of the chemistry out of it.

If I had to characterize the conversation, it was about how companies need to pay attention to the market...well, hmmm, isn't that what they have supposed to be doing for awhile? I know that's a simplistic remark, but many of the things that were said are what I would consider common sense. Among them...1) Don't lie...2) Tell the truth...3) If you make a mistake, admit it...4) Be prepared to answer question about things that you purport to know.

Am I crazy or is that just good common sense for living, much more so for business? And especially in communications.

"Don't lie" and "Tell the truth" on the surface seem to be the same thing, but I think there is a little bit of a difference, if you will humor my delving into semantics.

"Don't lie" has to do with an act of commission. So don't purposely say something that is not true. Example: I go to my doctor and tell him that I had a salad and a grilled chicken breast for dinner last night, when in fact I had neither -- I had a big cheeseburger and fries.

"Tell the truth" can be associated with an act of omission. So don't say a half-truth and let the other person come to a reasonable conclusion that you know is not correct or complete. Example: I go to my doctor and tell him that I had a salad and a grilled chicken breast for dinner last night, when in fact I had both those things AND a big cheeseburger and fries.

Now in the second instance, I didn't lie... but neither did I tell the truth.

Okay, I have digressed. The whole point of this post was to say that so many times we get so incredibly caught up and waste our mental energy in the business world by coming up with these seemingly earthshattering concepts that in reality are things that shouldn't even have to be mentioned...much less be made a central part of a discussion on how to communicate in the public square.

Does anyone else not find it saddening that we really must say not to lie...AND to tell the truth?

So, back to the conversations and incidents that I mentioned at the beginning of the blog. Talking with friends, playing with my kids, and listening to the honest prayers of my children are the conversations that shape our lives. Those are the ones where our hearts are revealed and we experience relationships at their truest forms.

Should a company care about what I have to say? Yep...if they want my business. Should they have to have someone tell them to be honest when communicating on the web? I hope not, but apparently behavior on the blogs thus far warrants that it be mentioned. Apparently there are parallel conversations going on in society. The real ones...that happen between people who love and care about one another. And then a second conversation that is characaterized by deceipt and manipulation.

Must I really say now which conversation I would rather be a part of?

When my kids say their prayers at night, do I have to remind them to be honest? I hope not. But after this web conference today, it certainly makes me want to re examine how I model my prayer life...am I honest? Do I tell the truth? Do I tell the whole truth? Do I mischaracterize things?

I know what you're saying...Blah, blah, blah, blog.