Familiar Intersections

As someone who has no sense of direction, I am quite familiar with the gut reaction of ‘this doesn’t feel right’ accompanied by 'I have no clue which way to turn.' There are two things that alleviate that stress – seeing a familiar landmark or asking for help.  In these electronic days, getting that help is much easier than it used to be, but MapQuest and GPS do not overcome the frustration of feeling lost or give one back the time that has been spent going in circles.

Perhaps, like me, you are at a difficult intersection.  We have all been at Indecision and Stuck, or Rock and Hard Place, or Mad and Hurt.  What or who is your GPS when you are in need of directions from those crossroads?

Me?  I tend to get very quiet and still and stand on each corner for a while, looking up and down all paths.  Then, having stood alone and having assessed every corner, I will tell my close friends where I am.  Sometimes I present a snapshot of the place.  Other times I may share the whole trip that got me to that point.  What I need from my GPS friends can vary from ‘just listen to me’ to ‘have you ever been at this crossroads?’ to ‘please help me navigate these particular streets.’

We humans are not alone in these experiences.  The trees I saw at the arboretum this weekend are distressed having spent the summer at Heat and Drought.  As I was writing this, the sparrows and doves on my balcony found themselves at what for them is a very routine intersection – Eat or Be Eaten.  They all suddenly took flight.  It is common for them to fly off in a flurry of feathers for no reason that I can see.  This time, a few moments after they few away, a falcon landed on my railing. 

There are people I know whose current intersections include Cancer and Cancer or Pain and Suffering. When I see them I know that my challenge, awful and hard as it may be, pales in comparison.  Finally, I also know that one day soon I’ll travel to Joy and Delight because I’ve been on the highway long enough to know that those places do exist.

Whatever intersection you face this week, whether familiar or some new place, you will be able to do something to clear the route with the support of your GPS friends.   And, if your map is currently clear at the moment and you are helping someone else interpret the road signs, remember their path is unique and the best you can do is ride shotgun.

Marilyn

The Colors of Onions

“Make new friends but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold.”  Maybe you, too, sang this tune around a campfire, enjoying camaraderie and s’mores at the end of an activity-filled day.  My Scout leaders were trying to instill some sense of loyalty and life lesson through the words of a simple song, but as 7, 8 or 9-year olds, our friendship feelings were easily hurt and our BFF changed frequently.  

We have different circles of friends who, like an onion, represent different layers of closeness.  Acquaintance is a lovely word as is colleague; they each have important role in our lives.  But silver and gold are the core.  Most people I know have assembled a core family-of-the-heart because they are separated from their blood family by miles or lack of deep connection. 

These silver and gold family-of-the-heart friends are the handful of people to whom we reveal our true selves and are still loved.  This group can include family-of-origin folks and people we rarely see but who would be there in a minute if we needed them.   To me family-of-the-heart also means that we share some core values but challenge one another in our thinking and that we laugh at many of the same things.  We travel with these friends on journeys of fun and learning and through the difficult internal explorations of pain and discovery.

In the last few years I’ve lost 4 of my family-of-the-heart members; two died, one suddenly and the other after months of pain, discomfort and frustration.  The loss of the other two came from a different kind of death, the kind where they remove themselves from your life.  As they closed the door on our friendship we hurt and lost one another but the grief is the same – they once were there and now they are gone. 

One silver friend says that in her experience these people may come back.  Perhaps.  

My oldest golden friend is from college and lives a couple of hours away.  Another one close-by is busy with her class reunion.  She’s still connected to people from elementary school.  That's sterling.  The circles do undergo some natural changes.   Major transitions such as marriage, divorce, or career paths cause shifts. One friend recently met someone special and is working on the delicate balance of gold and a whole new bracelet of silver while another is talking a major across-the-country move.

You never know where a new friend will be found or what that friendship will lead to.  In spring I attended a wedding that was silver of sorts; the bride was 74 and the groom, 85.  Music was their original connection and they called themselves ‘concert friends.’  The friendship blossomed and now a new family exists.   

Whether silver or gold, I treasure my family-of-the-heart.  To those reading this musing, thank you for who you are and all you bring to my life. 

Why not check in with your own precious metals?   Some may need a bit of polishing.

Marilyn

The World is Getting Smaller

Remember those dreaded 500 word essays?  The kind where someone asked the teacher, “Can we count ‘a’ and ‘the’?”

One third grade homework assignment was an essay on ‘the world is getting smaller.’  I remember being nervous and a little scared because I didn’t understand the topic.  What the heck did ‘the world is getting smaller’ mean to an 8-year-old in the 1950’s?  Was the world shrinking?  Was I supposed to do something to help fix it?

After school I went upstairs, sat at my desk, and kept writing the heading over and over. I suppose I was hoping for inspiration.  There was a window over my desk and one time when I looked up I saw a plane that had just taken off from the Greater Buffalo International Airport.  Suddenly something about the topic clicked and I had things to write about. 

This came to mind because Friday was the last day of work for three young people in our office.  Two summer interns completed their term.  One was headed off to India and then to his home in Dubai.  The other is going to South Korea to be with her family.  The third had been a colleague for as long as I’ve been there.  Bukie was our AmeriCorps VISTA.  Her year of service was finished, and, as much as we’d love to have her stay, she’s getting ready to spend some time in her homeland, Nigeria.  Our third intern will be with us one more week and he just got back from 10 days in Kenya.

My first airplane trip was the day after high school graduation.  My friend Sue and I had jobs at a camp in the Catskills outside of Schenectady.  We got on an American Airlines propeller plane, took off, and in many ways, I never looked back.  Nine years later my first big vacation was to California and included my first jet ride.   

Back in third grade, as I figured out how the world was getting smaller – at least in ways that an 8-year-old could understand – I completed the essay, diligently counted the words, lined up the 2 pages of paper and carefully turned over the top left corner so the pages would stay together.  There is something to be said for having lived in the decades when we were the pilgrims experiencing and helping the world getting smaller.    For so many of today’s youth this small world is at their fingertips.  Travel is just part of their norm and that’s terrific.  Travel builds bridges between cultures, expands one’s horizon, and opens worlds of possibilities.

Looking back, that assignment actually made my world bigger, but today, the topic makes me more nervous on levels that in third grade I didn’t even know existed.

Marilyn

Situation Normal

It’s been a week of gripes, surprises, and joys.  If I kept a journal these would be some of the entries.

Monday

·         Itchy eye.  Not going to wear contact today, which probably doesn’t matter much since I’m still wearing reading glasses most of the time anyway.  Don’t think this experiment is working.

Female quite fascinating

·         Elevator not working.  First time that has happened in 9 years.
·         Close to finishing major project.
·         Elevator working when I got home from the health club.

They watch out for each other

·         After a couple of weeks of steady attendance, the cardinals finally came when a camera was handy and when there was enough light!



 Tuesday
·         Got to open the windows for a little while today.
·         Elevator out again. 
·         Forgot coupon for 40% off at Michael’s.
·         Used the phrase ‘you guys’ when leaving a message.  I hate that phrase, stopped to correct myself and then nearly forgot why I had called.

Quaker parrot/monk parakeet

Wednesday

Looking back to my balcony

·  Just about ready to leave for work.  Walked into living room to close the drapes and there were my surprise visitors!  Some of the monk parakeets that started a colony in Hyde Park decades ago have migrated to Berwyn.  I’ve only seen them around the library.  Four of them were on my balcony.  But my movement in the house spooked them.  Luckily, they only went to the utility wires over the alley.  Hope they come back now that they’ve discovered this restaurant!

·         Catch up coffee with friend and another dear friend starts new job today.
·         Project not so near finished.  Major revisions not incorporated.  Were my directions not clear?



Thursday

Thursday night moon rising

·         Opened new bag of bird seed and left it on the kitchen counter as I watered the balcony plants and put out the morning's seed.  The bag toppled over… seed everywhere, in the cat’s water dish, food tray, under the stove. 


Friday


Friday sunrise

·         Very light traffic on the way to work.  In the office in 18 minutes.

Saturday

·         Oak Park book sale.  Trying a few new authors for 50¢.
·         Cleaned out pantry.  Cake mix that expired in 2009 was the oldest.  Still finding birdseed. Threw out 3 bags of stuff.  Moved on to other stuff an have 2 bags for Goodwill.

Sunday

·         Kane County Flea Market.  So great to be outdoors and now in the evening listening to the cicadas instead of the air conditioner.

Monday

·         Today marks the last week of work for a delightful colleague.  Mixed feelings.  Would so love to have her stay, excited for her to go and follow her dream to live in her homeland, Nigeria.

A rountine week.  Situation normal for me.  You?

Marilyn

When the Experts are Wrong

In the mid-1970s, AT&T was still a regulated monopoly. Bell Labs was the creative research arm, Western Electric manufactured their products, and the Baby Bells sold the wares and cared for the public.  The designers introduced a new phone system, the 770.  As industry and engineering experts they thought companies would be anxious to upgrade to a slick console switchboard, trading in their old-fashioned cords, and enjoy the features that came with changing from rotary to touchtone phones.  The problem was that the 770 was terrible.  Consumers didn’t like it and we who sold, customized, installed, and trained it were disappointed. 

The experts screwed up.  They were stuck in the paradigm that AT&T was the only game in town and that we could tell customers what they wanted and needed.  But times were changing.  Competition in telecommunications was new and others were starting to produce flashy, reliable and modern systems.  January 1, 1984 marked the breakup of the Bell System, and many people thought the experts were wrong to do so, but look at the amazing things that have happened in the communications and telecommunications arena. 

Who were the experts in 1985 that convinced Coke to change its formula?  That was a strategy, branding, and marketing nightmare.

One summer day in 1987 my mother and I were out for a lady’s lunch.  As we enjoyed a cold drink, a salad and some warm rolls in a little tea room outside of Buffalo, she suddenly said, “You know, until the day I die, I’ll regret throwing out your ‘blankey.’  The book said it was the right thing to do, but I hated doing it.”

Now that’s a conversation shocker.  On so many levels.

Aunt Lizzy made this quilt
that hangs in my front hall

Until the day my mother just mentioned there was a handmade piece of quilt about the size of a pillowcase that I hugged as I went to sleep.  It wasn’t anything I carried around, just my comfort object to curl up with. The great-aunts had made it along with other quilts and it had been in my mother’s hope chest for 20 years before it became my blankey.  Presumably there had been one that had been in my brother’s crib.

“You found it the first time I took it away,” she continued.  “You went searching and found it in the Good Will bag in the basement. So then I knew I couldn’t save it and had to really throw it away.  You sobbed every night for weeks.  But the book said at 5 years old you should be able to go to sleep without it.  I wish I’d never paid attention to that chapter in the book!”

The experts were wrong.  On so many levels.  I appreciate that my mother acknowledged that and treasure that she shared her regret.  Do you have an ‘experts were wrong’ story?

As a society, as consumers, we’ve been told a lot, even molded a lot by what experts say.  Too often when we look to the experts in behavior, emotions, culture, finance, we let them have their sway rather than listening to our guts. Certainly there are times we need experts and need to follow their direction.  But our collective and personal histories tell us that experts can be wrong. Let’s have the courage to ignore the experts when what they are saying is not right for us. 

Let’s keep our blankeys. 

Marilyn

An Invention Through the Ages

One pleasant May evening in 1962, my mother and I were at the kitchen sink doing the supper dishes and watched as my dad screwed a hook about six feet off the ground into the trunk of the large elm tree.  Then he climbed a step ladder and tied a sturdy string in the middle of a branch.  At the end of the string was a metal ring about the size of the lid of a soup can.  We were puzzled as he stood back and handled the ring as though it was a horseshoe, taking careful aim toward the hook.  He let the ring go and it headed toward the hook, but it wasn’t close.  In fact, it was apparent it would never be close, so back up the ladder he went.  After a couple more tries and string adjustments, when he tossed the ring, it landed on the hook.  “Hey, Toots, come on out! Loey [his nickname of my mother’s name ‘Lois’], come look at this!”

Thus, the game of ‘Noose’ was born.  That simple game accounted for countless hours of outdoor fun for friends and family and made for a lively intergenerational activity.  I think that the name of the game was lost over the years and someone would simply say, “Let’s go toss the ring” and people would line up for their turn either as an individual or to help their team.  When we moved the folks into an apartment in 1982, the family couldn’t leave the elements of ‘noose’ behind, so out came the hook and down came the ring and string. 

What I didn’t appreciate at the time or realize until recently was that my father was marking, in his own creative way, a transition.  In my toddler and elementary school years, our pattern was that early evening time was for dad and me.  From teaching me to ride a bike to learning to catch and throw a ball, it was our time.  When I was old enough we graduated to badminton and then croquet.   

But, my folks were in their 40’s when I was born, and while I was aware they were older than my friends’ parents, I didn’t realize all that meant.  What ‘noose’ meant on that summer evening was that he no longer wanted to or maybe even could routinely run around with a racquet after a little plastic birdie or do a lot of bending over and swinging a mallet.

My dad was a simple, quiet and gifted man who loved to work with his hands.  He played drums in speakeasies during the 1920’s and played the guitar and piano by ear.  In the early 1950’s he took an adult education class in oil painting and everyone in the family has one of his lovely pictures.  He had a woodworking room in the basement where he made frames, tables, and a lectern for church.  I never saw him read a book because his hands were busy with other things.

So, whether he dreamed up ‘noose’ as he was driving his New York Telephone repair truck, saw something similar and modified it, or copied the idea exactly, I’ll never know.  I didn’t ask.  All I knew was that my dad had invented something fun, easy and that we could do together.  Sometimes my mother joined us, but usually on weekday evenings, it was just my dad and me.  We didn’t talk much – after all, we had just had a meal and caught up on what had happened during our days.  What mattered was simply sharing time.

George Bernard Shaw said, “We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” I think my nephew in Indiana has the original hook and ring and my niece in Ohio has the game set up in her yard.  Ralph’s legacy continues, not just in art, in love of music, but in his game of noose.  And, in showing me there are graceful ways to mark a transition and serving as a role model, even when long gone.

Marilyn

Lessons on Blogging and Life

Friends,

Someone has probably done a serious study on this and I'll bet a comic has a stand-up routine, but here are some random thoughts I had the other day.  I would love to hear what you would change or add!

Marilyn

	BLOGGING	LIFE
	Purpose
	Every blog starts off with a purpose.  From serious to frivolous, bloggers search to find their online role.	Everyone needs a purpose to which they are committed.  Purpose creates community. We're all here for a reason.
	It takes all kinds
	The internet opened up the whole world and makes it easy to connect to like-minded or very different-minded people around the globe.  This can enhance, expand and threaten us.	"Variety's the very spice of life that gives it all its flavor" is visible today in the work-place, families, playgrounds, neighborhoods, and parking lots.  This can enhance, expand and scare us.
	It needs tending
	Successful bloggers understand that the readers, the platform, and the blog page itself need regular attention and that sometimes you need to shake things up.	There may be times in life when it is ok to glide along for awhile, but we need to remember that each aspect of our life needs our undivided attention periodically.
	Things change… and they probably should
	Blogs evolve over time.  They can sometimes totally change course or simply get better, going to the next level of development or sophistication.  And, just when a blogger gets comfortable, along comes a new aspect of the internet, things like vlogging (video blogs).	One's purpose shifts, even if there is a faith-based foundation.  People adopt a new focus throughout the natural or sudden transitions of life.  We go from playground to school to career; from BFF's in the sandbox to college roommates to partners; from work to designing meaningful encore years.
	Packaging matters
	How a blog looks needs to match its purpose and reflect the creator.  That look and feel can engage readers, even a following, or it can detract from the message and ultimately turn people off.	As much as we would like to say it isn't so, appearance, understanding and utilizing norms or even trends to one's advantage can make the difference in whether one is successful along the road to one's purpose.
	Not everyone will 'get it'
	Not every reader will understand the point(s) a blogger is trying to make.  No reader will 'get it' all of the time.  This is good and can lead to dialogue.	Not everyone within one's circle understands us all of the time and in fact, people may clash.  This is healthy and parties can  'agree to disagree.'
	It's not fair
	Some very skilled, consistent, thought-provoking blogs get ignored while a cute kitty can become an overnight sensation.	Daily we learn lessons and see things that remind us that life is not fair. As hard as we work for equity - and we must continue to do so - there will still be injustices.
	It’s better when shared
	Putting something out into the cloud feels so much better when you know that it's been seen.  Better still is some type of acknowledge-ment that leads to a connection.	From cave drawings to eblasts, we are storytellers and communicators.  We want others to know, and  yes, even more, to understand us.  And, it's best when it's a two-way street.