2016: Stormy’s year to “Choose Different”

On January 27, 2016 By StormyIn Attitude, Blogging, Getting older, Health/fitness, Hobbies, Relationships, Work/careers5 Comments

New Year’s and its related resolutions are a perennial theme for KitKat and me. (YES, we’ve been doing the blog long enough now to have “perennial themes”—and the fact that this blog started out as a resolution proves my point, I think…)

From vision boards to attitude adjustments, we’re both a bit obsessed with self-improvement. Or at least identifying our shortcomings on a regular basis (ha, ha). Seriously, with how much I think about these things, I should be perfect by now. But as you probably realize, thinking and doing are two different things.

While I can be decisive and even a little impulsive, and I sometimes abandon my efforts when they don’t yield immediate results, I’m also a big believer in adopting the approach of the tortoise over the hare—slow and steady wins the race—and over time, small incremental changes can have a large impact on my life. Case in point: the bachelor’s degree that took me 11 years to earn.

Most of the time, it’s just about the choices you make.

Back when KitKat and I worked together, I had a 2 p.m. pop habit. (I suppose I should explained to some of our unenlightened readers that “pop,” not “soda,” is the proper nickname for carbonated beverages like Pepsi, or in my case, Diet Coke.) Each workday at 2 p.m., I’d saunter down to the break room and stick my two quarters in our company-subsidized (boy, in those days we were livin’ large!) vending machine. You could almost set your clock by my daily pilgrimage.

When I left that job, I was unemployed for a while and quickly got over the need for my 2 p.m. caffeine jolt. However, on my first day with my current employer, I found myself in the breakroom at 2 p.m., dollar bill in hand (no subsidized vending machine there!) and as I was about to slide my money into the slot, I asked myself, “What am I doing?” Here I had successfully broken myself of a habit that was unhealthy and I nearly resumed it based on…what? A habit? A memory? I made a conscious decision NOT to buy the pop and have consumed very little since then—about 10 cans a year vs. the previous 60 or so.

This remembrance inspired my resolution for 2016. What could I accomplish by simply making different choices? I was reading Gretchen Rubin’s book “Better Than Before” about the process of creating and breaking habits—if you’re a self-improvement junkie it’s a must-read. Around the holidays I received her e-newsletter, which included an article about choosing a New Year’s theme instead of a resolution. This theme would consist of a word (or words) that would guide decisions for the upcoming year: “Health,” for example, or “Learn.”

As someone with new-found time on my hands after our recent downsizing, I wanted to get in touch with activities I wasn’t able to pursue when I was taking care of a house and three kids, so I originally was going to make “Discover” my theme for 2016. Then I realized that word wasn’t broad enough to encompass the other changes I wanted to incorporate into the year ahead, so I revised my theme to “Choose Different.” This has a few meanings for me: One is synonymous with “Discover”—because I still want to explore new interests. But “Choose Different” also reminds me to challenge my dysfunctional thinking patterns and alter behaviors that haven’t been serving me well.

Srsly? I chose a variation of an old Apple slogan for my New Year’s theme? How derivative!

We’re only three weeks in, but so far it’s yielding some positive results. One change I made was to force myself to be less of an introvert at work. It’s something I’ve told myself I needed to do a dozen times before, but a 360 review coupled with a tongue-lashing by a coworker friend convinced me I needed to make a change. Well, it hasn’t killed me and it IS improving some relationships at work, so I’ll keep plugging along until it feels natural. There are other examples as well, and I’m curious to see where this theme might take me in 2016. I guess that is one of the benefits of getting to 50. I can see the horizon ahead and know that even if I don’t get to my self-actualized destination overnight, I can become a better version of myself along the way…simply by making smarter choices most of the time. Are you making any changes in the new year? Please share in the comments…

Another Year, Another Goal

On January 2, 2016 By KitKatIn Attitude, Health/fitness, Hobbies, Uncategorized6 Comments

A more appropriate title may be, another year and hopefully a goal. I don’t mean my vision board goals, which I never even put together in 2015. The kind of goal I am working toward is achieved on the ice.

Though life hasn’t slowed down and I am behind with all my normal to-dos, I have spent the year with a feeling that I need more. That something was missing. (Perhaps the curse of ditching the vision board.) Not coming up with any good ideas, I decided instead to try out hockey.

The idea first formed this summer but came to fruition while I was working off some of the forced hockey parent volunteer time in the concession stand. (Stay away from the slushies. Anything that can stain your skin can’t be great for your stomach!) During my shift, another hockey mom working with me mentioned she has been playing hockey for the past three years. She had fallen for the game watching her son through the years and decided to give it a try herself. She found it one of the hardest and most thrilling things she has taken on – both physically and mentally challenging. That aroused my interest. She also assured me that there were all levels of play including the most basic beginner teams. The association does a formal assessment to place you anywhere from AAA to C3. C3 being a lower division than the lowest found in the kids league. That is where her team is ranked, and in fact she just got her first goal ever this year.

I started thinking that maybe I would try the summer clinics offered to women who wanted to play and then join a team next season. That night I went to the WHAM (Women’s Hockey Association of Minnesota) website and saw there was an upcoming assessment. Being impulsive and impatient is my nature, and with summer clinics so far out I decided why not just jump in feet first? I was sure I could figure it out. I had watched enough games. So with confidence, I registered myself even though I have never been on hockey skates. (It couldn’t be that different from being on figure skates?) The season was half over so I would be unlikely to get picked up by a team but I knew getting assessed would commit me to the following year and get me focused on a training plan. The next morning, to the dismay of my horrified son, I started trying on his old equipment and I was all set.

I was able to get three practices in at a local rink before the assessment. I used the time to try to learn to stop and skate backwards. I quickly found out that stopping in hockey skates is a totally different world from figure skates. I somewhat figured out stopping on one side, or more like turning myself into a half circle to slow me down. As for going backwards, I moved in that direction a little bit. I brushed it off that I would probably be offense at first anyway. I even started wondering if I possibly could make C2 level if I could score like I do in my son’s shooting room. I was having so much fun daydreaming, feeling proud and laughing at myself that I amused myself out of realizing how bad I was. You would think it would have been apparent to me with the comparison of the six year olds darting around the rink.

Then came assessment day. Recent college players down to … well down to me … gathered at Augsburg Ice Arena to show off our skills. The first half hour was skating, passing and shooting drills. All of which I failed miserably. The puck is much easier to shoot in the basement when both it and I are standing still versus crossing paths on the ice. And for the skating and stopping drills, they did not go well forwards or backwards. I was becoming concerned since the last half an hour was a scrimmage.

That is where I shined. Not in my skills, but in sweat and smiles. It was so fun hockey saying pretending to play. I didn’t really do anything but chase the puck around during my shifts and watch the good players actually move the puck and play. I also learned it is very difficult seeing out of that cage, which was a good excuse when I completely missed a puck right by me. But even as bad as I was, it was fun to hear the other skaters on my bench cheer me on. I also loved how each two minutes on the ice had me dying for my next two minutes on the bench to catch my breath. It was exhilarating.

That night ranking came out. My name was registered as a C3 player. Seeing my name on the list felt like I won an award. Granted everyone made the list and I was the lowest ranking possible. Still, I told all my family the good news and emailed my hockey mom/player friend that I did it and would take clinics in the summer so I could be on a team the following winter. Next thing I know, I get an email back asking me to join her team. They were short players lately at games since the whole team has overbooked lives like mine. If I was willing to dedicate myself to showing up and practicing as much as I could, they would take me on so I would be ready next season as they try to advance to C2 play. I registered as a USA hockey member and signed on!

Thus far I have had one practice and one game. At the practice I didn’t embarrass myself too badly. Though one of the coaches took me aside and tried to teach me crossovers. Which basically is a more efficient way of skating, but first he has his work cut out for him just teaching me to trust lifting one skate up and trusting the other to glide on its edge. I prefer both skates firmly planted on the ice and even better a stick in my hand for extra balance support.

The first game went well in the fact that we won. Another plus, was that I have watched enough games to understand offsides and icing so I didn’t get the whistle blown on us.

Playing left wing at my first game - and still staying upright! — Playing left wing at my first game – and still staying upright!

My plan though was to get one goal or at least one assist. It would be my thank you to the team for taking a chance on me. I skated as fast as I could and often I would hear the coach yell to me “that is your puck!” meaning it was up to me to do something. I would have my eyes on it and a deep desire to take it and skate up to the opponents’ net. My biggest motivation was seeing the other team’s player also approaching and knowing if I didn’t at least hit it away from her I would have to skate all the way back across the ice again.Well, the closest I got to a break away was falling across the ice on my face trying to reach for the puck. No fairytale ending here. Three days later I am still sore and I have a bruise on my chin. But I can’t wait to get out there again.

I have never played a team sport and am excited to learn about being part of a team. Even the locker room is foreign to me but I like listening to everyone’s chatter and then the silence as the coaches came in for a pregame strategy. (Not that I could follow or carry out the moves they marked up the board with.) I still feel like a kid hoping to fit in and become one of them soon. So far, all the players have been encouraging and forgiving. Plus having the coaches pull me aside on tips and mistakes, even yell at me on the ice, is what makes me feel most included. They actually think I can maybe contribute.

It is a totally new feeling to be so new to something. As my teammate said, “It is not often as adults we have an opportunity to start the learning curve so low.” Physically and mentally there is so much to learn. It is draining and thrilling to push myself in a direction I have never tried. It has also made me realize how good these 12 and 13 year old boys are. It makes me truly appreciate the strength, skill and grace they have. It may tone down my yelling “move your skates” and “get that puck” as they race down the ice.

Wish me luck in the playoffs! If I have nothing else to offer the team, I am competitive and hopefully that drive will help make up for my lack of skill and talent. I am hoping to report back that I finished my first season with one goal.

Living fearless

On December 15, 2015December 15, 2015 By StormyIn Attitude, Children, Faith, Parents2 Comments

Sometime in my early 30s, I had an epiphany about fear. I had wanted to adopt an orphaned child (not an infant) ever since I was a kid myself, but when I finally got to the stage in my life where I could afford the process, I had doubts. I already had two wonderful biological children and a happy marriage. What if I adopted a kid who was deeply troubled and screwed all of that up? This fear was holding me back.

Meanwhile, a guest speaker at church told us about a mission trip she had taken to work with Mother Teresa in India. I won’t describe the story that changed my perspective (I’m sure it would lose something in my retelling) but the upshot of it was I realized I needed to have faith in a good outcome and plunge ahead despite my fear.

Those of you who have met my daughter Blossom know that I was immeasurably blessed by my leap of faith.

A conscious choice to “Be not afraid”

Fast forward a few years to when my husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. A highly individualized illness, some people end up in a wheelchair in five years. Others still work for 15 or 20 years. About a quarter of those diagnosed end up with dementia. There was plenty to fear, but we made a conscious decision to not immerse ourselves too deeply in what “could be” and just focus on what he still could do in the here and now. So far, that decision has served us well, and we’ve been pleasantly surprised by the relatively slow progression of his disease.

I recently was alluding to some challenging family issues, mainly concentrated around my elderly parents, and I’ve determined that the source of these difficulties comes back to this same issue: Fear. My mother is living in fear more and more as she gets older. It’s causing her world to contract and leaving her confused and angry. It’s challenging for her adult children because the fear colors her perception—and our concern about her well-being is interpreted as attempts to take away her freedom.

We have nothing to fear but fear itself… and daycare costs

There are many times our lives require us to overcome our fear in order to move to the next phase: Going away to college, moving out on your own, interviewing for a job, asking someone on a date, proposing marriage, deciding to bring a child into the world, letting your children strike off on their own, learning to trust your adult children, learning to trust that things will work out, and finally trusting that, even when death is inevitable, God is by your side.

Having a baby is a common example. Many young couples fear the responsibility of parenting. With news articles estimating that it will cost a quarter of a million dollars to raise a newborn to age 18, it’s no wonder. Yet most of us plow ahead anyway—adjusting our lifestyles along the way—and consider ourselves the richer for it (even while our bank account takes a nosedive). Which brings me to my next point:

Bad things still will happen on occasion…but you’ll be okay

Living a fearless life doesn’t mean that you’ll experience smooth sailing from that point on. Some of the things you fear may actually come to fruition. But there is power in forging ahead anyway and usually you’ll find that 1) Most of the time the thing you feared doesn’t actually happen, or 2) On the rare occasion the bad outcome occurs, you’ll cope with it the best you can, learn something in the process and feel even stronger when you emerge on the other side. And because you’re now living a fearless life, you’ll view these episodes as infrequent storm clouds in your otherwise sunny life.

quote-you-can-sway-a-thousand-men-by-appealing-to-their-prejudices-quicker-than-you-can-convince-robert-a-heinlein-41-65-49 Recent terrorist activity seems to have activated our society’s collective fear response and the result is ugly. The birth of this country was not a fear-based decision. Our forefathers (and mothers) had good reason to fear the quest for independence—after all, one man’s revolution is another man’s treason—but the shimmering ideal of a free nation was too enticing not to move forward despite their fears. Most of us lucky enough to be born in this country are here because we have ancestors that didn’t let fear stop them from leaving their homes behind in pursuit of a better life. As we watch our neighbors react to terrorist attacks by proposing fear-based restrictions on innocent people in the name of “protecting ’Merica” let’s remember that nothing could be LESS American.

A Charity Case or a Case for Charity?

On November 17, 2015November 17, 2015 By StormyIn Attitude, Blogging, Children, Home, Parents, Work/careers2 Comments

It’s a bad sign when KitKat asks me, “…any blog ideas?” which happened just this morning. If you look back at our postings, you can see that the longer gaps between posts are when we’re waiting on KitKat. Of course, this is justifiable because she has school-age kids and other obligations that keep her very busy. I have way more time to write. Usually, KitKat’s thrilled to have the blog-ball in my court because it gives her more time to work on her next post. But even she can tell I’m in a serious drought—and when she starts gently prodding me, I know it’s time to settle on a topic and get to work.

It’s not that life has been boring. On the contrary, there have been a lot of serious issues consuming my thoughts lately. However, both KitKat and I have noticed that the more something is on our mind, the harder it is to organize our thoughts on the topic and write about it. Consequently, you’re not going to hear about my challenges with my parents (although I’m sure that will be a future topic), or my thoughts on the recent terrorist activity in Paris (my brain will never be able to organize such a cowardly, inhumane act into a coherent post).

Paris_attack — There’s plenty of fodder for a blog post in this situation, but I can’t eloquently articulate this level of evil… I don’t think anyone can.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m an introvert and the worst part about that is it it’s easy for negativity to get stuck inside my head. That’s what’s been happening lately, and I know what I need to do in order to counter that: Turn negative inward thoughts into positive outward actions.

For the last couple of years, ever since my youngest flew the nest, I’ve been aware of a lack of purpose in my life. Raising three kids has been my primary activity for the last 26 years and now that they are largely independent, I’ve felt a void. I’ve been seeking out a volunteer opportunity where I could feel like I was doing something worthwhile and after a couple of false starts, joined a program that provides mentors to unemployed/underemployed women.

My first mentee match was unusual, to say the least. I looked up my match on LinkedIn before meeting her—a native of Zimbabwe, spoke multiple languages, won several scholarships, was working on an advanced degree, had previously been Miss Africa, and had started a couple of businesses and non-profits. I met her and we had a great conversation; however, I wasn’t sure how much I could help her. She was a force to be reckoned with and it was clear she would go far in life. In fact, she made me feel a bit inadequate about my own achievements: I had done far less with far more. We tried to coordinate our mentoring sessions but she had too much going on in her life to meet with me. (She was interested in public policy and had been chosen for an internship with the United Nations—seriously!) So while I was happy to have met such an ambitious young woman, I didn’t get much personal satisfaction from “helping” her.

Enter Ellen, my second match via the mentoring program. As with my previous match, I tried looking her up on LinkedIn beforehand, but there was no profile to be found. We met at a coffee shop. I was surprised to see that she was older than me. And then she told me her story. Her first son had died quickly of a brain tumor at the age of four and that sent her into an emotional tailspin (which anyone who’s a mother can understand). She became divorced and later became pregnant and had another son. She never married the boy’s father but supported him by cleaning houses. (After losing her first child, she wanted to make sure her schedule allowed her to be there for her son, as caring for him was her top priority.) Now her son had graduated from high school and she wanted to find a better paying job with benefits so she could start saving money for retirement.

Now here was someone I could help. We talked about how to translate the skills gained from her house-cleaning business into marketable experience—managing a staff, scheduling, selling her own cleaning products. We talked about online applicant tracking systems and how to best present your information to potential employers. (When I suggested that in addition to completing the online application, she also should attach a PDF of a nicely formatted version of her resume, she asked, “You mean put it on a floppy disk?” That’s when I knew I had my work cut out for me.)

At our next meeting, she excitedly told me about a job interview she had the next day. I told her what I knew about the company and helped her research the position online. I gave her tips on what to do/not do during the interview and stressed the importance of sending a thank you note afterward. Driving home, I thought about how the mentor/mentee relationship was benefitting both of us. Although I have been frustrated with my job of late, from Ellen’s perspective I was living the glamorous life—a well-paying job, an experienced team, global responsibility, fulfilling work—and I was reminded how fortunate I am to have all those things.

Meanwhile, I realized that the value I was bringing to Ellen wasn’t in the employment-seeking pearls of wisdom I was bestowing on her (those could be found in any job-hunting book), but in the faith and encouragement I was bringing her: From my vantage point, she was a strong woman who had overcome a lot of challenges and was willing to work hard. I believed in her success, but she needed encouragement.

At one point she said to me, “There’s no dignity in being a housecleaner” and I immediately disagreed: “You provided for you and your son by doing honest, hard work—there’s plenty of dignity in that!” And hearing it from me, she started to believe it as well.

I’m happy to report that Ellen got the job for which she was interviewing. While it’s starting at the bottom of the company and her shift begins at 3 a.m., she was thrilled to have benefits and hopes to work her way up to a customer service job with regular hours. With some help and support, I have no doubt she’ll get there.

And I gained something from the mentorship as well. I learned that getting out of my own head for a while is as restorative as any vacation—not to mention cheaper—and what I take for granted can make a difference for someone else.

Thank You Grandma – a “sort of” eulogy

On September 28, 2015 By KitKatIn Uncategorized1 Comment

In my last post I had mentioned a few lessons from my grandma. The post actually started as a lessons learned from both of my, let’s say “unique,” grandmas. But writing about both of these interesting ladies, who mean so much to me, was too big of a task to take on.

Well since my last post, my other grandma passed away. During a recent trip, I received a text that grandma fell and broke her hip and died an hour later during x-rays. She was battling dementia, so in many ways it was a blessing it went fast. I think she was ready to say goodbye awhile ago. I also know how lucky I was to have had 46 years with two grandmas (and hopefully many more with the remaining one).

My dad asked me to do a reading at the funeral. After finishing it up and getting ready to head down to the River where she lived to do my reading and say a final goodbye, I decided to post the reading. Not that I feel that others are interested in my random memories, but for a few other reasons:

Grandma liked being the center of attention. She would get a kick out of being on the Web.
During my writing, it hit me that I also am genetically predisposed to dementia. If that happens, maybe someone can pull up my blog and I can at least read about my past.
It lets me “cheat” a bit by reusing content I already wrote and I can now say “It is your turn, Stormy!” Let’s call it being efficient.

Thank You Grandma

I have never given a eulogy. I am not sure if there are “normal” requirements or expectations. I did try Google, the answer to everything. But anything I found sounded formulated, wasn’t personal, and didn’t sound like me nor like her. So, you are stuck with what I came up with on my own, which is simply sharing some memories. It may not be right (if there is a “right”) so bear with me…Grandma would have. She sat through countless shows, including costume changes, put on by my sister Kristin and me through the years. And always pretended to love them, no matter how awful the performance.

So much of my, and Kristin’s, childhood is wrapped in memories of grandma. We spent a lot of time there. With parents who were divorced and moved often, being at the cabin with grandma and grandpa was one of our few constant settings.

With a setting like this, how can you not love being at Grandma’s!

Now, if you know my grandma well, you can probably imagine she wasn’t the typical grandma characterized in storybooks. Though, she did bake the most incredible pies. Even when she got to the point where she didn’t have much else in her house when we came to visit (and we actually preferred she didn’t cook), she still would have a freshly baked fruit or pecan pie waiting for us. And yes dad, the pies for us continued long after she stopped having them waiting for her sons.

Grandma wasn’t always easygoing. Actually, she could be a bit difficult. The best way to describe it is that she acted like a child. Grandma spoke her mind, often without thinking. She liked things to be centered around her own needs. Often she would cut off her nose to spite her face, for example hiding in her bedroom pouting when she knew we would be leaving the next day versus just enjoying the day we actually had left. But on the flipside, that same childlike essence is what made her magical to her granddaughters. No other adult would sit on the floor playing paper dolls or Barbies. And really playing, not just the distracted act of playing that most adults do to keep kids occupied. She immersed herself in our play. In the mornings, we could crawl into her bed and entertain each other by taking turns making up silly stories with us three always as the star characters. She understood little girl fantasy play and made our pretend world better, whether by providing scarfs and fancy skirts (Kristin, remember the pink poodle skirt and black lace Flamenco one?) or by showing us how to use the radio on the wall as an intercom to improve our game of being Charlie’s Angels. At the sandbar, grandma would help us “plant trees” – which meant finding big sticks, poking them in the ground and watering them. I could go on and on, because for me, the majority of my memories as a little girl include grandma. I was happy there, and I knew I was loved. She gave me a stable place to revisit and build memories upon. And, she was fun.

As we got older, busier, and independent our visits became less frequent. But besides being a family gathering place for Dad, Shari and Mark, visiting grandma also continued to be our special girls’ place. My sister Kristin even held her bachelorette party there. Grandma and the girls celebrated at the Pioneer Club on karaoke night. I can still picture Grandma’s big smile and hear her laugh the next day as we teased her about the guy who tried to pick her up. Another time we brought our friend Elizabeth down to visit Grandma with us. We had a fashion show as Grandma pulled out all of her fantastic clothes. (The dress I have on is from that day and Elizabeth still wears a couple of pieces she adopted that day too.) One time, we sat in the basement looking at her old photos and teasing her about the comments she had written on them. How her legs were looking pudgy, or that is a bad angle for her versus anything about the cute baby that sat next to her. What I remember most about those times is all the laughter. We would always get each other laughing till our jaws hurt and tears rolled down our face. Grandma had a great laugh.

When I first faced I was losing Grandma, to age and dementia, I was playing three-handed pinochle with her and Kristin. We grew up with cards at the cabin, and my sister at four would use a tinfoil box to hold her cards. This time, however, in middle of the game, grandma stated that she had never played pinochle before. That was hard. I didn’t want her to forget me.

The times when Kristin and I were able to visit her in the hospital these past couple of years, anytime she would remember something about us girls–when we could get her to crack a smile about our past memories, or see interest pique at “girlie things” like the fake eyelashes we had on–those were the times I had my grandma back again.

During my Googling I did find a quote that stuck with me – “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment till it becomes a memory.”

Thank you, Grandma, for so many moments. I love you.

Lions and soldiers and refugees, Oh my!

On September 5, 2015September 6, 2015 By StormyIn Attitude3 Comments

This past week, my sister made the type of comparison that is becoming all too common, particularly on Facebook. She had posted an article about the crisis in Europe related to the overflow of Syrian refugees. A photo of a small child who drowned while his family was trying to flee to Greece had touched her heart and she was asking her FB friends where the outrage was for this situation—comparing it to a month earlier when a Minnesota dentist’s slaying of a beloved lion had sparked outrage in the FB community that went on for days and days.

I'm just as saddened by the death of what's-his-name with the cool spots. — I’m just as saddened by the death of what’s-his-name with the cool spots.

If you don’t live under a rock, you probably heard about Cecil the Lion. And if you live in Minnesota, like us, you literally couldn’t escape the story because it featured a local villain. My sister had gone to Dr. Palmer for dental work. My coworker lives in the same neighborhood and gave first-hand witness of how the vilified dentist was being stalked by the media around the clock. His crime was illegal trophy-hunting and when the story broke, it appeared that most Americans didn’t realize trophy hunting was a pretty common occurrence among a segment of hunters with the means to pursue it. I was a little perplexed at the sudden outrage myself. I don’t approve of trophy hunting, but it’s been going on for years. Was the game changer the fact that he killed a lion with a name? Why didn’t anyone protest over the 40+ animals (lion, rhino, polar bear, etc.), that he had shot earlier? Or how about the other rich “sportsmen” doing the exact same thing, legally, every day?

However, while I agree that my sister’s point was valid (i.e., that many Americans’ values are out of whack), she made a grave error in how she posed her concern. By drawing a comparison between the toddler’s death and the lion’s death, she actually diverted focus from the refugee situation—because commenters immediately started defending their outrage about Cecil the Lion.

The situation was a classic example of a scarcity mentality that seems to be taking root on Facebook. That is, living as though there is a scarcity of outrage, a scarcity of common sense, a scarcity of compassion. In other words, assuming you can have compassion for a lion OR for Syrian refugees, but not both. Applying a “This OR That” logic.

In this, she’s not alone, and there’s nowhere it’s more apparent than on Facebook. A few recent examples:

When the Supreme Court legalized gay marriage, the White House displayed some colored lights to celebrate the ruling. Immediately the posts criticizing the action started popping up: “Why didn’t the White House shine special lights on Veteran’s Day to acknowledge the sacrifice of our troops?!” Hey, that’s a nice idea, too. Let’s do that. But you don’t need to take away something nice for gay rights in order to do something nice for our military. You can do both!

Granted, not your typical American hero... — Granted, not your typical American hero…

Another example, Bruce Jenner’s transformation to Caitlyn Jenner and some articles that lauded her gender transformation as “brave”… The scarcity crowd immediately started posting photos of combat veterans and countering, “Caitlyn Jenner isn’t brave, these guys are brave!” Well, can’t they BOTH be brave? A different kind of braveness, to be sure, but really, can’t they both be considered brave for their respective actions? Why do we have to belittle one to applaud the other?

And don’t get me started on the whole Black Lives Matter/All Lives Matter/Cop Lives Matter issue. Of course they matter! They all do! But trying to raise awareness about serious issues facing the black community does not mean that those raising the issue are against cops* or dismiss the value of “other lives”… Those aren’t mutually exclusive positions and as Americans, we don’t have to subscribe to the notion of limiting “whose lives matter.” Or rationing how much outrage we can apply to an injustice. Or meting out the level of support we’re willing to give someone going through difficult times. It’s time that we stop these divisive arguments that diminish us as a society and embrace an abundance mentality.

Yes, it’s awful that Cecil was slaughtered AND yes, we should try and provide aid for refugees in Europe. Yes, it’s great that gay people can finally marry AND let’s give a little more recognition to the soldiers protecting our freedom. Yes, Caitlyn Jenner did a brave thing in acknowledging her inner struggle AND yes, let’s make sure our combat veterans have all the support and medical care they need when they return home. Let’s say yes to ensuring black people are treated fairly in the justice system AND yes to ensuring the safety of the cops who are doing their best to make that happen AND yes to protecting you and your loved ones as well.

Ultimately, all a scarcity mentality will get us is a shortage of everything we need as a society, because scarcity tends to feed upon itself until it eats away at everything good. Our ultimate redemption will only come in our ability to embrace an abundance mentality that says, YES. We have enough compassion for all—both This AND That!

*I acknowledge that there will always be some wingnuts who genuinely mean harm. My stance on that is to monitor them closely, but don’t fan the flames of their obsession.

A Flash of Summer

On August 21, 2015 By KitKatIn Attitude, Blogging, Family, Getting older, SummerLeave a comment

I knew that I was a bit behind on my blogging, but was astonished to discover that my last post was in April… A whole summer had passed! A quarter of a year since I last logged in, yet I had thought I was only about a month behind on my writing. Actually, this summer has flown by in all aspects. Where did it all go? Next week my kids return to school. Usually, I am ready to push my kids out the door and back into a routine. Instead, this summer it feels like we were short changed by at least a month. The kids haven’t even yet started their ritual of bugging me, and each other, from too many days with no real structure.

I know I did plenty these past few months. And I actually have about four different blog topics started to document some of the activities that passed during this time. Though, I still have to prove it to Stormy who kept hearing me say, “I have something to write about this week.” Yet, nothing ever fully materialized past my initial jotted notes. I’d get distracted with a game of catch in the front yard, a neighbor beckoning me over for a glass of wine on the porch, or time commitments of baseball games replacing the winter hockey schedule. Then suddenly, with an uncompleted list of planned summer activities and several unfinished blog drafts sitting in my to-do pile, summer is wrapping up.

Is this the start of what my grandma warned me about? How time would speed up and pretty soon I’d be looking back wondering where all the years have gone?

Grandma still is the last one to leave a party!

This observation came from the same grandma who gave me and my friends lessons on how to best hold your drink and appetizer while still socializing at a party. So she has earned my trust in passing on truly valuable nuggets of wisdom.

I am hoping that it is just a strange happenstance versus getting older that caused the summer time warp. As you may remember from a past birthday blog of mine, I am not taking the whole aging process graciously. I am not quite ready for even more “attributes” of getting older, so time speeding up is exactly what I don’t need.

Whatever the reason, this summer cruised by way too fast. Reflecting back on these past months, I can only remember flashes of memories, rather than a good summer story.

It had its simple pleasures – cabin trips, moms-and-kids staycation, family visits, and lots of outdoor time with good friends.

It has had its downers – breast cancer scares, parent’s health issues, and helping a friend through some intense life decisions and changes.
It has had its celebrations – my favorite being Stormy’s joint 50^th birthday/moving party (which included drunk dancing in her backyard and a text the next day asking if I had any recollection of how she broke her toe after too many drinks!)
It had its lessons learned – wiener dogs do bite, waterslides are fun, and if the pool at the club closes unexpectedly just pull out the baby pool, hose and Prosecco in the backyard.

I guess, overall, the summer has just been filled with living in the present. I took a break from wondering what is next. I have a habit of always trying to peek at the chapter ahead versus engrossing myself in the current story. Maybe creating this new way of living through one of my chapters is what also messed with my time perspective. (Again, trying to deny the aging theory.)

If I was summing up this chapter of my life, I would just say it was a relaxing time, enjoying simple things, and growing up a bit (not growing old!). I did purposely try to make some self improvements such as watching how I acted and reacted, taking deep breaths as needed, and making sure I did the things I thought were best for those I love (whether they realized it or not).

I wasn’t always successful at this new calm, “take-it-as-it-comes” self. Just this past Sunday while back-to-school shopping at Target, I had a random moment where my mind was surprisingly confronted again with how fast time really does go. How quickly life changes. I had to remind myself to breathe–there was a reason I was there at that moment–and to just focus. No regrets. No worrying what was missed. Trust that I am making the most of my time, even in those periods of time that seem to disappear in a blink.

My personality won’t lend itself to taking this mellow approach to life long term. I am already plotting my plans and goals with fall approaching. I am considering taking up playing on a mom’s hockey league. I have some lofty career aspirations I want to hit. Also, I have a personal physical goal that I hope will send some parts of me back in time. As time keeps passing and new life chapters unfold, I want to find the right mix of excitement and challenges while regularly adding in some contentment and just enjoying the present. If my grandma’s warning is true about looking back and wondering where all the time has passed, I want to make sure I have filled the time with a vast collection of stories to look back on. I already have some wonderful ones to keep my old mind happy and as a good place to revisit.

My next chapter: The kids head back to school and I head to New York (a setting for several favorite memories already). Maybe saying goodbye to summer won’t so bad with an interest in finding out what is ahead.

You never know exactly what will be next or what tale will unfold. That should be the fun part, the unknown. It makes the passage of time easier. At least that is what my Grandma told me over a recent phone call. She also reminded me, “Growing old isn’t for sissies.”

Stormy learns to “move it or lose it”…but mostly loses it.

On July 9, 2015July 11, 2016 By StormyIn Attitude, Getting older, Home, Relationships2 Comments

When you last heard from me, two months ago, I thought I was through the worst of moving…However, downsizing is a gift that keeps on giving. We had a month of overlap with our properties which allowed us to make a few updates, but also dragged out the “fun.” We’re not home free quite yet, but we’ve been through enough where I can see a shimmering oasis of calm ahead, and I’m driving toward it with single-minded dedication. Here are some things I learned along the way:

Moving is when you learn who your friends are – The physical act of moving was an exhausting one after 25 years of accumulation. A well-meaning friend suggested I hire someone to pack everything up, but that was impractical for my situation. Each item needed to be evaluated—something that movers couldn’t do: Should it go to the new place? Do the kids need it? Could any of my family use it? Should we donate it to charity? Is it garbage? Sometimes the answer came quickly: Of course my bunny collection is going with me. No, we don’t need the cassette tapes. But others were tricky: I love my curio cabinet and TV stand, but there’s no place to put them in the new unit. And—in a situation I’m guessing was not unique to us—we eventually ran out of time and began throwing things willy-nilly in boxes. (This explains why, at our new condo, I spotted a box whose labeled contents included “Wii box.” Not the Wii IN the box, mind you, but rather a box for a video game system we bought in 2008, that my youngest has since taken to college. Really? Moving a box for an obsolete and relocated gaming system? Really?) As I was lamenting all the work involved in this process, I was genuinely touched when several friends offered sincerely to help move, pack and unpack. There’s a joke about finding out who your real friends are when you need to move—but it’s a joke based in truth.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2u0sN9stbA

We all have too much stuff and the 80/20 rule generally applies – Attempting to unpack was a lesson in humility. Who needs all this stuff? I thought of an article I read where a photographer took photos of people with all of their possessions laid out beside them. I was embarrassed by the sheer volume of riches I take for granted. We were buried in boxes for a solid week and had to move some into a storage unit just so workmen could get at our floor to replace it. Yet, somehow we managed to find the really important stuff—and survive without the Belgian waffle maker or ice cream maker. I’ve tried to live by Thoreau’s mantra, “He who owns little is little owned,” but clearly I’ve failed. My stuff is dictating how I live right now. I’m totally owned.

Organization is expensive—but worth it – People have varying tolerances for clutter, but I’ve found the older I get, the less I can tolerate living in a mess. My brain jumps from thought to thought and I become mentally exhausted trying to find things. One day, I returned home to find that my husband had been unpacking and attempted to organize the kitchen. Here’s his idea of a good location for a pantry:

If you can guess what's up there... well then maybe YOU can make me dinner! — If you can guess what’s up there… well then maybe YOU can make me dinner!

Yes, it’s the cupboard above the refrigerator, where one usually stashes the roaster, the crockpot and other rarely used items. I had to text a photo of this to several girlfriends for sympathy and laughs before pulling out all the foodstuffs and relocating them to a more accessible location. (By the way, re-doing unpacking is even more annoying that regular unpacking.)

After four trips to The Container Store, I’m starting to bring order to my chaos, but at a price. That stuff ain’t cheap. But at least it matches, which brings me to another lesson:

Warning: Companies that make plastic totes are evil – That’s right, I’m talking to YOU Rubbermaid, Hefty, Sterlite… At one time, I had a vision of a perfect storage area with nicely matching totes, either clear or nicely labeled, but I’ve come to understand this Nirvana will never be realized unless I’m willing to buy all 20 totes at once. Why? Because companies that make totes change their design every two weeks. So if you buy a few at a time (like most normal people), the next time you go to buy them, they will be different—color, size, lids, something. (And good luck if you need to only replace a lid—it’s just not happenin’… Accept it and get on with your life.)

Summer is fleeting, take the time to enjoy it – The worst thing about moving in the summer is missing out on what is an already too-short season in Minnesota. Therefore, my husband and I have been trying to work in little bits of summer fun wherever we can: an impromptu boat outing, dinner on a rooftop patio, even listening to a local band performance while unpacking (our new home is next to a park, so we can hear music from the amphitheater when our windows are open). It was particularly inspiring when one of the bands started playing the theme from “Rocky.” Any daunting task seems more doable when accompanied by “Gonna Fly Now” performed by a live orchestra outside your window! … It’s a trade-off between wanting to make my current living situation more tolerable now and not wanting to wake up in my beautiful new home in September, wondering where my summer went. Somehow, I’ll find that balance, but it’s easier said than done.

Getting to “Sold”

On May 7, 2015June 29, 2015 By StormyIn Attitude, Getting older, Home, Marriage1 Comment

Dear Readers, It’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, but I don’t want you to think I’ve taken this absence lightly. We know our legions of followers depend on our dysfunctional tales to help them feel good about themselves, and KitKat and I are loath to disappoint. I want to take this moment to thank you for indulging me in my prolonged absence and assure you that the dry spell is nearly over. I hope that when you read what I’ve been up to, you can forgive me my negligence… And now, where has Stormy been the last three months?

Well, last year I mentioned that my husband and I were going to downsize. Part of this is just due to entering a new phase of our lives—our kids are grown and starting their own lives. At the same time, it’s also a concession to my husband’s Parkinson’s Disease. Twelve years into this disease, certain things have become difficult—and although he’s still able to do quite a bit when his meds are working, we’d both rather he didn’t have to spend his “quality time” doing routine household chores and yard work. After the holidays, we consulted with a realtor friend of my brother’s and decided we’d try to list our house in the spring. (In Minnesota, there’s a definite season to house-hunting and it peaks in April/May.)

Originally, I had a very pragmatic outlook to moving and told myself (and my husband) that we’d first focus on selling our house and then take our time finding the perfect new home. After all, we have a vacation condo (“urban cabin”) about 40 minutes away that we could live in temporarily if needed. Well, this strategy lasted about one week. I started thinking about the limitations involved in moving to our vacation condo—impossible for my husband to drive to his personal trainer appts., harder to see my elderly parents, farther away from other friends and relatives, longer drive to work—and decided I just wanted to get the process over with. (As I like to say, I’m fine with change—it’s changing, I can’t stand. Yet that’s the action verb that gets one to a new stage in life. It’s unavoidable—like death and taxes.)

I think that the power is the principle. The principle of moving forward, as though you have the confidence to move forward, eventually gives you confidence when you look back and see what you’ve done.

– Robert Downey, Jr.

It’s also a fact that I tend to become a little obsessed over things like this—as my husband could attest—and so I started poring over online listings looking for our new home. This process was both exciting and frustrating. After so many years in the same house, it was exhilarating to think, “I can have a big walk-in closet!” “I can have a big master bathroom!” But it was also discouraging to realize that my husband’s illness meant we couldn’t pursue some properties—like the cool old brownstone in St. Paul with tons of character that required the owners to walk a long flight of stairs to reach the house from the detached garage out back (a perilous journey in the winter for someone whose meds aren’t working).

In mid-March we went to an open house for a property that showed promise. It was in one of our favorite areas of town and, although it wasn’t perfect, it “ticked enough of the boxes” to warrant serious consideration. Unfortunately, there were two major problems for us. 1) They didn’t allow dogs and 2) We were about to leave for a week long trip for Mexico. I decided I would just relax, enjoy our vacation fully and reassess the condo situation once we returned (if the unit had not been sold by that time).

Ziplines in the jungle were a fun distraction from house-hunting.

However, during our vacation I found myself keeping one eye on the listing, and during the week a couple of additional properties popped up that were worth looking into as well. I was starting to feel more confident that we would ultimately find something that would work for us.

The morning after our vacation, I emailed our realtor three properties that we wanted to see. We wanted to go back to “the one that ticked the boxes” for a closer look, and there were two new places we wanted to check out. He responded that the two new ones were already off the market, but he’d scheduled a return visit to the condo we had seen before vacation. It seemed like a sign.

When we went back the second time, we took a closer look at the place and started talking about how we would redecorate, where we would put furniture and what we would do to make the condo “ours”…We were both able to envision ourselves living there fairly easily, but we still had the issue of our dog. I asked my youngest, college-age Blossom, whether she’d consider taking our elderly Westie. (In Pixie’s eyes, Blossom has always been her one true master.) And she graciously agreed to help us out her by taking on custody of her childhood companion. After that was settled, we made an offer on the condo that was under the asking price and were thrilled when the buyers accepted it quickly. One half of our journey was complete!

However, there was still the small detail of selling our house. So we dove headfirst into the arduous process of getting our house ready to list. This was no minor task. After 25 years, there were a myriad of small repairs needed: painting, pintucking our bricks, replacing fixtures and outlets, staining woodwork. Fixing the broken windows, quite literally. And cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning. (Our realtor recommended everything be “surgically clean,” which is a notch or two higher than my personal bar: “the illusion of clean.”)

Our realtor always lists on Fridays and holds an open house the first weekend—part of a strategy to generate interest quickly—so we set a personal deadline for listing our house. A week before our self-imposed deadline, we knew we wouldn’t make it. My ADD was kicking in, so if I had to go into a new room to find a paintbrush or tape, I’d be distracted by 10 other things that needed doing. This meant there were half-packed boxes and half-finished projects EVERYWHERE and the clutter was stressing me out, making it even harder to focus. There was still way too much to do. Moreover, we were both incredibly tired, and I hadn’t been feeling well either—but since we now had a closing date set for our new place, we were determined to push through and finish.

The Lean Mean Cleaning Machine (Will work for food!)

I sent a “HELP!” text to my two sisters who live closest and they both volunteered their services immediately. I’ve mentioned before that I have a challenging relationship with my mom—but my sisters make up for it in love and support. I know that I can call on them for anything and they’ll be there. Because most of them were already teenagers when I was born, they did a lot of the heavy lifting involved in raising me when I was little and served as great sounding boards when I was a teen/young adult myself. After buying my sisters a nice breakfast, I proceeded to work them like slaves the rest of the day. But by the end of the weekend, we finally turned a corner and I could see that we would in fact make our deadline. We were ecstatic to actually see the finish line ahead.

First thing Friday morning, I searched the Internet for our listing and there it was: For Sale. The professionally taken photos of the surgically clean rooms—completely devoid of any family photos or usual signs of life (like ironing boards and dirty laundry)—looked nothing to me like the house I had lived in all of these years. But it looked good, nonetheless. So much so that text messages for showing requests arrived all day and over the course of the first two days, there were about eight private showings in addition to the open house. By Sunday morning we had FIVE offers—the best one a full $20k over our asking price. Even better, when we received the paperwork for the offer, we discovered that the buyer was the son of one of my husband’s college buddies. It was the icing on the cake to know that our house was going to a young couple, just starting out, that seem to love it as much as we do.

This impending move has been weighing heavily on my mind for the last five years or longer. To have everything turn out better than I expected was a much-needed reminder that in this dog-eat-dog world, sometimes life throws you a bone and it’s best to just wag your tail and savor the sweet taste of success. 😉

Choose a Door

On April 17, 2015 By KitKatIn AttitudeLeave a comment

Well, it has been a while since my last entry. As Stormy posted on Facebook, “We’re just taking a ‘spring break’ from our blog.” It could be also described as a dry spell, but I like how she put a marketing spin on it.

There is a lot on my to-do-list that has been on hold lately. I seem to have lost some drive. I could blame it on kids, work or activities, but since hectic is my normal life my best guess is it is due to a lack of inspiration or just a temporary shut down. I even turned down going out on a Friday night to instead hang out in a quiet, childless house in my pajamas doing absolutely nothing. This is very unusual for me. I usually thrive on action and hate to miss out on any fun.

This inaction has my to-do-list rapidly growing, including some things which are now even months behind. To break this pattern, I have decided to force some action and just start ticking things off. Thank goodness for another Stormy Facebook post, “Interesting experiment… Which door would you pick?” that finally helped me get started. First item to complete: My next blog.

https://youtu.be/7DdM-4siaQw

I think Dove has done many great campaigns. But #choosebeautiful Dove campaign is my favorite. I played it a few times, fascinated at the visual stories. As a mom, I loved–and understood–the woman pulling her daughter through the beautiful door. I would do the same thing. It made me smile at the friends who direct each other to go through “beautiful.” Again, I could picture each of my girlfriends and how I know they are meant for that door. I would make them go through it even if they were hesitant. It also was fascinating to hear why women picked a door and their feelings after. Interestingly, as watched, I never pushed myself to decide which door I would/should go through.

When I sent the video in a group email to my mom and sisters, my mom immediately wrote back stating she would hope that she, and all of us, would choose the beautiful door. Faced with the direct comment, I honestly couldn’t answer that I would. (By the way, my dear sisters, I did notice you totally avoided choosing in your commentary.)

I wish I could say that I would walk proudly through the beautiful door alone. But the reality is that facing the doors alone, I know for certain I would enter the normal door. Admittedly feeling shitty about it afterward, but still believing I went through the one best meant for me. I can’t point to an exact reason why. Believe me, I would love to announce to the world, and myself, that the beautiful door was mine. I even tried thinking about all the beautiful things about me, and why I deserve to walk through that door. I know logically it is the “right” door to pick. I understand the power of walking through that door. But I just can’t claim that door as mine.

Hard not to feel beautiful wrapped in cousin laughter and love.

With that said, I know surrounded by my girlfriends I would walk through it, as I would with my mom and sisters beside me. Not just to push them through it. Not because of peer pressure. Simply, because that is how I feel when I am with them.

Certain people make you a better version of your self. Or maybe it’s a reflection of how they see you. Or just the light they add to you when near.

I would like to think that someday (or just some days), I would automatically choose the beautiful door on my own. Not just because I know it’s the right image to show my daughter. And certainly not because I think anything is wrong with normal. I embrace my imperfections, crazies, and stumbles as an interesting and important part of who I am. But I do believe it is important to feel truly beautiful at least sometimes while standing alone. This is a place where I could use some growth.

Which brings me to another item on my to-do list, my vision board (as mentioned, I am months behind on some things). Maybe this year I will fill it with things that help me achieve personal moments of beautiful both inside and out.

Cheers to Dove for making me think and inspiring me back into action. What door would you choose?