Gone, but not forgotten.

Stormy and I had said goodbye and stopped blogging. But, after the new year, she told me she missed it and was going to post once in a while. I knew that I would also be writing at least one. I had something to say. I needed to say goodbye to my dad in writing. Well, at least try.

My dad, Bruno, had interstitial lung disease. I hate starting with that because it certainly isn’t what defined him. But it was what took him from me too soon. Some would say that I should be grateful since he lived 10 years past his diagnosis; normal life expectancy is only three-to-five years from that point. Though, if you knew my dad, you wouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t follow the norm.

My dad was stubborn, opinionated, competitive, and if you asked him, he was always right! This may have served him well battling the disease. Though, it could also have been his Achilles’s heel. We have seen dice, a ski, and a Monopoly board all go flying when things weren’t going his way

That may sound bad to an outsider. (“Gasp,” he threw the dice at his youngest daughter’s head when he was losing.) To clarify, he didn’t throw them hard, and Kristin was rolling with unbelievable luck. We played games for hours on end with Dad—from when Kristin was so little, she had to use a tinfoil container to hold the cards. Games were always for money and it was always serious. That is what made it fun!

We never stopped playing games. Just months ago we were still sitting at the table playing games. No dice were thrown, and Kristin now had a martini instead of tinfoil in front of her. This time my daughter sat at the table, too. As when we were little, she learned the pure joy of joining the adults late into the night, seeing them get sillier as they continued to pour drinks, and gambling and laughing along with them. I am so glad my daughter experienced what was so special but hard to explain about those memories. She still giggles and recalls stories of Grandpa teasing her when he was winning or getting annoyed when he was losing. She loved being with him and those simple game nights will stick with her.

Dad was fun. With my parents being divorced, Dad did get the luxury of being the “fun” dad. Parents didn’t share time back them. He lived in different state, and we would visit or meet him in Wabasha at the river when he was home to visit his parents. Though we didn’t see him a lot, the times we did were vacations and quality.

Besides fun, dad was mischievous. He loved to tease and found great pleasure in getting under your skin. His brother Mark can attest to this as a long-time passion of his. Nothing brought a grin to his face like when he was sharing his plot to “get someone.” Nothing was sacred in his plans. This was one of the things my son loved about him. Grandpa was naughty. When Grandpa took him to Mark’s in Florida for a special guys fishing trip, I received a photo of my 12-year-old son sipping on a martini with them. I should have known not to have lectured Dad about being careful with boats and drinking with my son along! My son loved that his grandpa would dare send an inappropriate photo to his mom and learned how fun it was to be an insider in one of Grandpa’s pranks. I can’t believe I am going to say this, but I will even miss the nights battling about politics, because as much as he believed in his position, I know some of his pleasure was just from getting such a rise out of me.

What sticks with me the most, though, through all the memories is that he gave me a safe place to not be perfect. I never felt I disappointed him, even at the times I fully earned it. He just simply adored me. it’s hard to lose someone in your life who regards you as perfect despite your imperfections.

I am thankful for every additional year we had Dad with us. I know he fought to stay around for us even though many of those years were a struggle for him. What I am most thankful to my dad for is giving me my stepmom, Shari. I don’t really remember Dad without Shari. My parents divorced when we were so little that I only have a couple of faint memories of them together. All of my vivid memories with Dad include Shari. She loved us from the beginning, and we loved her. We are family. This January, Shari, Kristin and I went out to celebrate their 41st wedding anniversary. A milestone Dad wasn’t able to make.

I want to share all the memories swirling in my head. The things that make me laugh. The late nights, times on the river, days on the ski slopes, or the hangovers we shared. Dad made everything fun. We would watch a movie together and he would whisper, “Let’s go sneak ice cream now that Shari is asleep.” I was in my 40s. Shari didn’t care if we had ice cream. But, the act of pretending we needed to sneak and tiptoeing around while attempting to stifle our laughs is an example of the fun dad brought to everyday situations.

When dad did finally succumb to the disease, he transitioned fast. He was never a patient man. Shari called my sister and me to get there as soon as we could. Within six hours of me being there Dad told Shari it was time. He wanted to die at home on his own terms.

I will save all the details of those last days for the memories of those who were there. But I will say, he went out leaving a Bruno story. Things didn’t go as planned. In general, we were told he would peacefully go to sleep after we turned off the oxygen. We had morphine to help him if he got agitated. Well, morphine seemed to make him a super her0 and a man who lived on 24-hour oxygen 24/7 seemed unaffected when unplugged. After many hours, plus three times of turning oxygen off….and back on…. and some surprising Pulp Fiction-like awakenings, we knew the three of us couldn’t do it. We had to transfer him to hospice. He needed more help to get through his final moments. and so did we. Over all he was agreeable to going to hospice, of course he had to grumble in the ambulance about how they took the bumps. If you ever drove in a car with Dad, you wouldn’t expect him to not complain about the way someone else was driving.

Shortening the story of the up and downs at the hospice, after about 24 hours they finally got Dad medicated to a peaceful place. The three of us took a quick break before the next step which was for the hospice workers to turn down his oxygen with us beside him – just family this time, without his nurses. We took a quick break to change and eat to prepare for what they thought could be a long night, and of course the jerk instead chooses to quickly die on full oxygen fifteen minutes after we left.

Since that time, I feel I am in a surreal world. Something so drastic has changed but everything else around me just goes on as normal. I am not fully functioning as a parent, wife, or friend, but instead I’m just trying to figure out my way. I know things will start to settle again. But in this new world, I am enjoying things that once seemed so small and unimportant. I am not letting little things bug me. I am also just doing what I want and not caring if it isn’t always what everyone expects. I don’t care because I have more important things on my mind. A friend told me to enjoy this part of the roller coaster: “It is the dead dad pass.”

I’m sorry I can’t write a true eulogy for you Dad. This was very random. There are just too many memories to sort out. Too many raw feelings to get through. I still need to figure out living in this world with a hole I didn’t have before. Or as Kristin said, an anchor that is gone. I want you to know that you will never be forgotten. I know you were so much more than a dad. You have so many friends carrying their own memories in your honor. To me though, you were just my perfect dad. Not a perfect dad. But perfect for me. You will continue to live on in me, Kristin, Shari, Mark, your grandkids and all your friends. You gave us all so many moments to hang on to.

Here is my toast to you:

I love you so much. I miss you. My heart hurts. But…I am so thankful you are no longer struggling to breathe. Shari, Kristin, Mark and I will be okay. We have each other. We will take care of each other. We have our Bruno bubble together. You certainly made sure to super glue that bond on your way out. 😉

Thank you for the love, the laughs and even the crazy traits I am stuck with. Most of all for the love you surrounded me with. The love you gave me was bigger than just you…Grandma and Grandpa…Mark and Shari. I never was, and never will be, lacking in that. I’m so proud to be a Procopio and your daughter.

In your memory, my goal is to remember to breathe deeply and enjoy the moments. And, of course, get into mischief once in a while.

I love you Dad. Cheers.

 

Bruno Salvatore Procopio: 1945 – 2018

 

To everything there is a season…

Sometime last summer while walking with KitKat, I asked a question that had been on both our minds, “Do you think it’s time to kill the blog?” The first year we launched this blog, we posted 47 times. This past year, we barely mustered up three. It’s not for lack of desire or even lack of material. It’s just that… things…change. When KitKat took a new job at a start-up and had little time to write, I picked up the slack. I didn’t mind it, as I enjoy writing and I had the time to do so. Then I started a new job myself, and suddenly I was spending all my free time working. In addition, my elderly parents were requiring more of my time. Suddenly, what had been an escape started to feel like an obligation.

My personal goal with this blog was always growth. I wanted to learn more about the blogosphere and my own discipline of writing. I also wanted to work out some personal issues through my writing. I feel like I did both of those things successfully. In many ways, I feel like I’m a completely different person than I was in 2013 when we launched this thing. And so it’s fulfilled its purpose.

bryant-mcgill-ending-new-beginning-7twaI believe “to everything there is a season” and that we’re entering a new season—older and wiser. I’m adjusting to my new job, but I know it’s going to continue to take a lot of my time in 2018. My beloved father passed away on Christmas Eve and I know that I’ll need to spend more time helping my mom this year as well. So, it’s time to end this chapter, but I have no regrets about either starting this blog or ending it. I’ve learned a lot along the way…about myself and about KitKat. I hope you’ve enjoyed our occasional rants and raves and that you keep in touch. Although we’re killing the blog, we may keep the FB page going for longer. Just to keep in touch. Peace!

Too much happy can make you another kind of S.A.D.

I’ve relapsed. It’s Sunday and I’m sitting on my balcony, drinking my morning coffee, lost inside my own thoughts. I’m still in my pajamas at 11 a.m. and it’s exactly what my “condition” calls for.

summer-should-get-a-speeding-ticket-quote-1Most of you have heard of “Seasonal Affective Disorder” (S.A.D.) which Wikipedia defines as “a mood disorder subset in which people who have normal mental health throughout most of the year exhibit depressive symptoms at the same time each year, most commonly in the winter.” Anyone who lives in Minnesota is well-acquainted with this condition and people who live in the South have at least heard of it.

However, there’s a corresponding condition that’s been afflicting me since the days first started growing longer and that’s Seasonal Affective Disorder’s unruly cousin who settles in during the school break—“Summer Anxiety Dysfunction.”

This is brought on by the acute awareness that there are approximately only 15 weekends of potentially beautiful weather in which to pack a year’s worth of summer socializing. People start looking at their calendars in early May to plot potential gatherings: Which weekend should we have the barbecue? Which weekend should we do the pool party? Which weekend do we invite our friends to the cabin? Which weekend do we go boating?

Next, layer in the family commitments: Graduations, weddings, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day—and in my case Lucky’s, Oskar’s and my birthday. Our wedding anniversary (30 years!), my mother turning 90 and ending the summer with my parents’ 70th wedding anniversary.

As if this isn’t complicated enough, there are other events to be considered. Festivals, for example. In Minnesota, there are one or more town/city festivals every weekend, as well as art fairs, beer tastings, outdoor movies/theater/concerts-in-the-park and farmer’s markets.

And if you’ve got kids at home like KitKat, you can add in scheduling around sports tournaments and summer camps.

While these activities are mostly fun and I enjoy them, as an introvert, I reach a point where all the activity is enough to send me to my “quiet place” with a drink in hand.

At this mid-way point in the summer, I’ve already attended the following:

  • Edina Art Fair
  • Graduation open house
  • Stone Arch Bridge Festival
  • Back-to-the-50s car show
  • Shakespeare in the park
  • Fourth of July pool party with friends
  • Several boating outings
  • Cabin weekend with sister
  • More meals on a restaurant patio than I can count
  • Farmer’s market
  • Biking
  • Paddleboarding

And today, if I can motivate myself, I hope to go to:

  • Wine Meets Art at the St. Croix Vineyards
  • a concert and picnic at Lake Harriet

Then, this coming week, I’m looking at:

  • An anniversary dinner w/Oskar
  • Lumberjack Days in Stillwater
  • Yoga in the park
  • Aquatennial fireworks with KitKat

… and I’m still hoping to squeeze in yet this summer:

  • Getting my Vespa out
  • Lumberjack Days
  • Anniversary trip “up north”
  • Girls outing with my relatives
  • Getting KitKat and her hubby out on our boat
  • Uptown Art Fair
  • More paddleboarding
  • More biking
  • Outdoor worship in the park
  • State Fair
  • Renaissance Festival
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My Sweet Ride… Due to circumstances I can’t quite explain, I’ve only ridden this 3x over the last two summers. 😦

Whew! When you combine my weekend activities with a demanding new “day job” you can see why I’m exhausted…which brings me to my current relapse. Last weekend, we took Lucky up to see Blossom and then headed to my sister’s cabin. The girls came out and spent the day with us and there was much boating, tubing, paddling and sunning… After all that activity, I was spent… I. Was. Spent.

Consequently, while dragging myself through  the work week, I couldn’t conjure up one ounce of energy to plan anything for THIS weekend, even though the forecast was for a beautiful couple of days. Yesterday dawned as the nicest Saturday for boating yet, but we didn’t have anyone lined up to go out with us, so Oskar and I just had a lazy outing on our own—we stopped at my brother’s beach and sat in lawn chairs at the edge of the river and soaked in the sun. It was glorious.

Then we came home, had a drink on the balcony and headed out for yet-another dinner on an outdoor patio. Afterward, we came home and watched a movie. It was just what the doctor ordered.

It goes against my Type A nature to occasionally let a summer day drift by in that way, but I don’t want to be so busy planning my summer that I miss enjoying it.IMG_3312

And, in compiling the bulleted lists above, it’s clear that I’m pretty blessed and have a lot of fun things to look forward to—should I choose to do them. But I also know that if I call a time-out to regroup, that’s okay, too. Sometimes a little laziness is good for what ails you.

What got you here, won’t get you there…

In my last blog, I mentioned that I had started a new job and referenced a quote my daughter had sent me. In part, it said, “Let go of the idea that you must always be who you have always been.” When I read that again today, it stuck me as interesting, because it’s directly tied to the title of this post.

Incidentally, the latter is the title of a book by Marshall Goldsmith. I suspect it’s a good book, but I will confess that I usually only read the cover fly and first chapter of business books. I can usually distill the key message from that (“Who Moved My Cheese?” = People don’t like change. Boom.) And then I move on to something else.

(Incidentally, several people have made a business out of that very skill. I should have capitalized on that sooner.)

The premise of the book from which I took my title is basically referencing the Peter Principle. The fact that you may have had solid skills that contributed to your success at one level in your career may become irrelevant as you move up the next rung on the ladder. I was explaining this concept to a former employee when I left my last position, and the truth of it has smacked me in the face multiple times since I started in my new role.

She’s come undone
She didn’t know what she was headed for
And when I found what she was headed for
It was too late
It’s too late
She’s gone too far
She’s lost the sun
She’s come undone
Undun –  The Guess Who

I’ve been in Marketing for ages, and I’ve led marketing teams and have been the lead marketer in the organization—all at previous times. But each of those instances evolved in a way where I knew solidly what I was doing.

With my new job, I became the lead of an existing (and somewhat dysfunctional) system. Lots of new people in a matrixed organization. I love the company. The people are friendly and competent, but the company itself is in a growth-plus-plus-plus mode in a booming industry and all of that adds up to a very frenetic pace and high expectations that I am struggling to adjust to.

Let me be clear, here, I have never been a laid-back coworker. You can ask KitKat or any of my former colleagues. I work very hard and intensely with little time for chit-chat around the water cooler and I usually skip lunch or grab a handful of nuts while reviewing something. That’s my natural work mode and although I’ve sometimes been criticized for not being “social” enough, it’s worked well for me. When I shut down from working, turn it all off and enjoy the other aspects of my life.

When I started my new role, there was a several month backlog of work to be done and a couple of years’ worth of unmet expectations on top of that. I’ve been challenged to get on top of things and get some functioning processes in place. None of the marketing tasks have challenged me—after nearly 30 years, I should know what I’m doing—but the politics, expectations and lack of resources is much harder to navigate. Consequently, my work days are even more intense (to the point where I haven’t taken a lunch break since I started and am afraid to schedule overdue a doctor’s appointment due to it messing up work week). And I never shut off. Evenings and weekends, I’m either working or worrying about work. It’s not healthy and it’s not sustainable.

KitKat has been a tremendous help in reminding me that I’m still new and will get things under control once I better understand the company and its people, but I still have moments of despair that I’ve made a terrible mistake. She’s in a similar boat, but with school-age kids that need to be factored in to the picture as well. I admire her ability to carve out little moments for recharging with her friends.

UndoneThe situation actually reminds me of a post KitKat authored at one point, “Learning to Live in the Maybe”…although that’s not the lesson before me. My lesson is “Learning to Live with the Undone.”

This is not an easy thing for a Type A control freak. Marketing by nature is a discipline where you are never “done”…. Your work is only limited by your imagination and skill and time—not dollars and people. You can always crank out another social media post or write another case study. Even an organization with ZERO budget can do SOME marketing if they have a clever enough staff. That’s why I have always been attracted to it and I’ve always been okay that there was more I could be doing. But that’s different then leaving IMPORTANT things UNDONE. And that’s what I need to embrace now.

In my new role, I need to focus on getting the CRITICAL things done and anything else is gravy. I also need to remind myself that I’m doing the best I can and “happiness matters.”

I had often thought about this comment with respect to President Obama (not our current Commander in Cheeto, who I believe has no real regard for the importance of the office). I always thought that it would be challenging to be the President, with so much at stake and so many issues to work on and to be able to enforce ANY type of work/life balance. I admired the way that Obama was able to be such an effective president without sacrificing his health or family (although, like most presidents, he left office with considerably more gray hair). And I’ll extend this admiration to other past leaders from both parties—men who, I believe, were dedicated to doing what they think was best for our country, even if I may have disagreed with them on individual policy decisions from time to time. It’s a tough gig.

worklifeNow, I don’t have the responsibility of the Free World on my shoulders (although I’m sure I could do a better job of it than the Cheeto), but for me and my world, it’s a similar balancing act. Will I rise to the occasion or let it bury me. What got me here won’t get me there—I need a new set of skills. I need to develop them and see what I’m made of. I still have confidence that I can do that, but I need the support of KitKat, my family and others to remind me that if I’m doing my best, that’s pretty damn good—and I deserve to take a day off once in a while.

We’ll see what the future holds—I hope the next time I write you about work I’ll have a better handle on my work/life balance, but I know that’s easier said than done.

 

 

 

 

 

Stormy rises from the ashes of her own expectations

When KitKat and I launched this blog four years ago, we decided on a posting cadence of biweekly, thinking that between the two of us, we could manage an update to this blog once a week. We met that goal for the first six months and it’s been downhill ever since.

We’re more than two months into the new year and I have yet to post my annual “New Year’s” post, brimming with optimism and resolve. Never fear, I HAVE made a few resolutions and have actually made a fairly drastic change in one aspect of my life: I’ve started a new job that is consuming my thoughts and free time.

This was a big deal for me. When I started at my last job, after leaving the company that KitKat and I worked at together, I thought I would stay there until I retire. With my husband’s Parkinson’s Disease, I was anticipating the need for a flexible work arrangement at some point as his condition required me to provide more assistance. I thought that by building some job equity with my company that they would be willing to work with me on a flexible arrangement when that time came. However, when Oskar’s surgery transformed our daily lives by giving us back his mobility, I realized that I had other options. Although I liked my coworkers and my job (well, most of them, most of the time), there was limited opportunity for me to advance.dreams_dont_scare

Early this year, I accepted a new job. The company and my role are interesting and I’m enjoying it (although fully aware I’m in the “honeymoon period”). But the best part about making the switch was remembering that it’s never too late to make a change. After interviewing, I felt a bit nervous—everything sounded good about the position, but it meant going from a comfortable situation where I knew what I was doing to something unknown. And that scared me a little. Then I decided if I was a bit scared, that was a sign that I should rise to the challenge and accept the job. And KitKat had bravely made a job change a few months earlier and encouraged me to make the leap. So I did.

The day I started, my daughter Lucky sent me a quote from her aunt’s Facebook wall, it read:

“There is no statute of limitations on starting over. Re-invent yourself every day. Be the girl who walks barefoot and listens to the blues. Tomorrow, wear a trench coat and speak fierce truths. Be a phoenix. Be ashes. Burn down. Resurrect. Let go of the idea that you must always be who you have always been.”

Then she added, “You’re about to rise from the ashes…” 😉

I loved that because I needed the reminder—and I loved that my daughter sees me as someone who can continue to evolve and grow, even at my “advanced age.” I think, ultimately, that’s the theme of this blog: KitKat and I reminding ourselves—and each other—that we can be whomever we choose and strive to be our best, truest version of ourselves, regardless of the other claims on us…by our families, our jobs and society as a whole. And encouraging others to be their best, truest selves.

That’s what I want for my children, and that’s what I want for myself. And even though it’s sometimes “easier said than done,” it’s ultimately worth it.

 

 

Our 100th post proves blogging is Easier Said Than Done…

Well, 2016 has been a surprising (for lack of a better term) year in general. We have faced heated controversy: Trump, Clinton, Standing Rock. We said goodbye to icons: Prince,  George Michaels, Carrie Fisher…followed the next day by her mom, Debbie Reynolds! International chaos: Brexit, Russia, Aleppo. Admittedly for many topics, I only know the quick blurbs I get out of my morning Skimm. But at least I can walk into the office and not be totally unaware of the day’s buzz. (Past years, I would avoid discussions till I had time to Google whatever current event was being discussed.) When the Things We Skimm’d in 2016 came out this year, I was proud I actually knew about each one. Thank you to my other crazy, busy friends who suggested the Skimm cheat.
There was another surprising 2016 tidbit—Stormy and I end this year with our 100th blog! Stormy is probably a bit nervous right now if we will hit this goal, as I wait till the 11th hour to get this out. Next time she starts a blog, she may want to choose her blog partner more carefully. Perhaps a retiree, or at least ensure it is someone who can at least manage to find time to read the news as a prerequisite. But now that she is tied to me and we are celebrating our 100th together, I want to share my blogging reflections.
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I am glad Stormy chose me. Corny as it sounds this blog has done a lot for me. It has served as self-help when I need it. I never journaled, though I believe in the idea of writing things you are grateful for or to self-reflect on your feelings. There just wasn’t time or motivation.This is my journal. Also, looking through these posts I realized I captured lots of moments in time and a lot of small memories that would have otherwise been fleeting.
 I do have an attention span. Four years may be the longest activity I ever took up. Usually my big ideas die after a few weeks or months. I have had a lot of stop and starts. Jewelry making. Writing a children’s book. Running. Selling toe rings. (actually a different phase than jewelry making). Hockey for me may also be trending into this pile.
I need to write as I am feeling it. My biggest struggle is having the time to write when a topic comes to my head. I have a lot of started blogs, where I jot down ideas but by the time I can take the time to sit and write it isn’t with me anymore. I am for sure a write-in-the-moment gal (and prefer when I can be a live-in-the-moment gal too). When I tell Stormy I have planned time to write, she never gets a thing. When I do, she usually gets a surprise text that I have one ready to post!
I can’t pick my favorite blog. I would say I still love reading about the “Bloggers.” Maybe because it is when it started and speaks to both of our personalities. I always look forward to new ones from Stormy. Usually I know some of her tendencies and they make me laugh (belly buttons and big bird) and I also usually learn something new. If forced to pick, maybe our joint ones like “True Confessions” on parenting. The joint ones illustrate what this blog is about and started for. Stormy and I sharing and supporting each other through the good and bad. We decided that it made us feel good to know we weren’t alone in being quirky and a bit messed up, maybe we would share our random thoughts online in case they connected with others.
I look forward to what will ignite next year’s posts.  My hope for the new year is to start making time to get back to posting more. I am getting more settled into my new job and hope to find my rhythm again. My posts are often inspired by moments with my friends and family. I can’t wait to see where 2017 takes us.
Cheers Stormy! I look forward to hitting our next milestone, as well as the laughs, cries, talks, drinks and chaos we share and write about until then.

Stormy looks back…

Back in the fall of 2012, I was toying with the idea of doing a blog. I had been thinking about it for several years because I like to write, but I was having trouble committing to a theme—and I knew I would have trouble committing to a schedule. I floated the idea by KitKat thinking a partner might help keep me accountable (and, as former colleagues, I knew her writing and work habits). I was actually a bit surprised when she seemed receptive to the idea. After all, my kids were mostly grown, but her children were in elementary school and her free time was (and still is) very scarce.

We spent a bit of time trying to determine what our theme should be (and as you can tell, it’s a pretty loose one) and tossing out some ideas for topics, a blog name and our nom de plumes. We decided that we’d try to follow a schedule of us each posting every-other-week. This would require us each to post twice a month—a rhythm we thought was achievable. We launched our blog with the new year in January of 2013.

68194-ben-franklin-quote-writingIn the four years since then, I’ve learned a lot—about writing, myself and KitKat. First of all, the writing. I’ve always liked to write and often thought that—as someone who liked to write—my goal would be to write a novel someday. After a couple of quickly failed attempts at that, I realized I do NOT have a novel living inside me. It’s simply not there. While I usually have a couple of impassioned rants lurking in my soul, there’s not a novel to be found. In fact, there may actually be a non-fiction book lurking in there somewhere—the jury is still out on that one—but definitely no novel. And that’s good to know. Therefore, the blog perfectly fulfills my current need for written self-expression without any larger purpose looming in the shadows.

I’ve learned a bit about blogging. This one is admittedly pretty rudimentary, but we are using the free WordPress option. I recently upgraded to a business account (Look ma, no more ads!), so you may see a few more bells and whistles on here in the months ahead. As a marketer, it’s helped me to understand the medium in a way that simply reading them wouldn’t do.

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Stormy’s Christmas present from her daughter Lucky.

Blogging as a means of global understanding. One of the fun surprises of our blog is seeing just how far our readership extends. We have readers in 54 countries—some of them countries I haven’t even heard of! I can’t help but wonder if they have actually read one of our posts—or stumbled on our blog by mistake. I like to think it’s the former, probably accompanied by a shaking of their head in disbelief about those crazy Americans.

My favorite blog: KitKat’s. KitKat and I have been friends for quite a while, but I still learn new things about her via her blog. For example, who would have guessed about her freakish cushion-equity obsession? At the same time, we’ve both discovered that sometimes the things that are weighing most heavily on our minds are the topics we can’t constructively write about. But whatever can’t be written can usually be hashed out over a walk or a drink (and thanks to our new Christmas bottle keepers, we can do both at once). My favorite blog of hers was probably the note to her daughter’s other two moms. Since we’re both parents of both adopted and biological kids, that’s a unique bond we share.

My favorite blog of my own. Occasionally, I’ll be looking to link to a previous post and stumble upon something I forgot I had written. It nearly always makes me laugh to remember whatever it was that moved me enough to make a post out of it. Some of them are pretty trivial, but I’m proud of others and find nearly all of them interesting in the journaling sense that KitKat mentioned—they allow me to relive a moment in time. I particularly like the New Year’s posts because they show so much optimism for the future. (Although it’s a little depressing to realize that I haven’t progressed much in all of my self-improvement efforts!) I’m sure the next time you hear from me, it’ll be about my latest attempts at perfection. 🙂

As my co-blogger mentioned, I too am better at coming up with ideas and starting things than following through. I’m equally surprised (yet delighted) that we’ve managed to keep it together for four years. That’s longer than many of the jobs we’ve both held! Most of all, I’ve enjoyed tackling this project together with KitKat who, despite her occasional episodes of writer’s block, is an excellent parter in crime. I’m excited to see what we come up with in Year Five.

We did it—100! Happy New Year’s to all our readers (or those who happened to accidentally land here) worldwide.  We hope you stick around for #101.

A Christmas wish for a better 2017

I’ve been thinking about two of my favorite Christmas movies during this uncertain post-election season. Now, it’s no secret that neither KitKat nor I were rooting for our President-Elect to win. In fact, we were both plunged into a depression that required a fair amount of co-counseling—and wine—to overcome. While neither of us is resigned to a Trump presidency, we realize that we need to find a way to cope during the next four years and this post is my attempt at that.

KitKat and I are both members of the not-so-secret secret group, “Pantsuit Nation,” that’s comprised of Hillary supporters (or at least, non-Trump supporters). And in the days since the election, it’s been interesting to note that a shared conviction that Trumplethinskin is a narcissistic, evil Cheeto doesn’t necessarily mean that those who oppose him are lockstep in all of their viewpoints. There has been a fair amount of finger-pointing, liberal angst, fear and—alongside the shame and blame—also some impressive conviction and positivity.

Which brings me to my two favorite Christmas movies… These are Frank Capra’s masterpiece, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and the musical “Scrooge,” based on Dickens’ classic, “A Christmas Carol.”

The first time I saw “It’s a Wonderful Life,” I was 21. I was at a party on Christmas Eve and sat riveted to the TV. This was partially due to my introvert nature, but also because of the movie itself—I was entranced by Jimmy Stewart’s performance. I still watch it every year and love the quirkiness of the plot: The bravery and loyalty of young George Bailey. The sauciness of Mary Hatch. The unbelievable engineering of a retractable dance floor in a high school in the 1920s. The integrity of a grown George Bailey who turns down an impressive salary from the film’s villain (but still holds onto the high-quality cigar given to him by the same)… I love George Bailey because to me he represents the millions of decent people who do the right thing day after day with no expectation of reward or fame.

However, I think the most remarkable thing about the film is the fact that—in a very un-Hollywood-like twist—the villain never gets his come-uppance! In the movie, dastardly Old Man Potter nearly gets George sent to prison for embezzlement—and although George is saved by the contributions of his many friends at the end of the film, there is no indication that Potter is ever identified as the culprit who took the missing money. There’s no denouement where Potter is indicted and sent to Sing Sing. To the contrary, we’re led to believe that he remains unrepentant, despite George’s tribulations, and life in Bedford Falls goes on much like before. Except with a renewed outlook for George Bailey.

And for some odd reason, I like that. I guess because it smacks of reality. The lesson here isn’t to do good because some day “the bad guys will get theirs.” It’s merely to do good for the sake of being good. And this brings me back to the “Pantsuit Nation.” There are numerous posts by people who have encountered hatred and prejudice merely for being themselves—black, gay, Muslim, women—and they’ve turned around and responded with love and forgiveness: The father and son who shoveled their racist neighbor’s driveway. The woman who bought coffee for the homophobe behind her at Starbuck’s. And dozens more examples of people responding to hatred with love. And in a country where the haters seem more emboldened than ever, this is what keeps me going. This is what gives me hope.

My other holiday favorite, “Scrooge,” appeals to me for a completely different reason. Everyone knows the story: Over the course of his visits from three ghosts, a crotchety old miser comes to the realization that he’s been living his life all wrong. Redemption is a powerful thing and none of us are beyond the need for it. But to me the best part of the movie isn’t the fact that Scrooge has a change of heart—it’s how readily his acquaintances accept and celebrate his new-found enlightenment. They don’t say, “Screw you, Ebenezer—I’m not going to forgive the time you charged me 20% on that loan!” Instead, they all embrace the new-and-improved, forgiving, kinder Scrooge and rejoice in his better-late-than-never humanity.

If our country could internalize these two lessons, it would be a game changer:

  • Combat hatred with kindness—everywhere you see it. There is nothing that will disarm a hater more quickly than being responded to with love.
  • Readily accept any person’s attempts to be “better,” whether they are seeking to understand another’s viewpoints or making a small gesture of reconciliation—accept it graciously.1970-song-tiny-tim

I’m not suggesting that we ignore or discount acts of hatred, prejudice or violence… It’s very important that we acknowledge these for what they are, but don’t let them be the last word. Let the last word be love.

God bless us, everyone!*

* Note: There is no disclaimer here. “Everyone” means everyone.