It's All Grist For The Mill

The Jan. 27 post, Chilled Into Unconsciousness, has been bugging me since I posted it Monday morning.

I missed the message with that piece and what really annoys me is: I knew it. There was a niggle in my mind about it that just wouldn’t go away.  A niggle that woke me up at 4:00 AM Monday, got me scribbling on the pad I keep by my bed and still I could not nail down the deeper point I was looking for: the point I was missing.

 I could have held Chilled back. I do have other options ready for posting, but for some reason I wanted Chilled out there. So out it went, not properly “browned and served.”

 Later that morning I was heading out in my car when WHAM! I realized exactly what it was I wanted to say about the Arctic Vortex and the “surprising” food in my fridge.

Too late.

 When I got home, hefting some Starbucks coffee, I wanted to DELETE the piece from the blog and from FB. I wanted to redo the ending. I had no idea if, or how that could be done. I assumed not.

But here’s the thing. How many times have we tried to say to someone, especially to those nearest and dear, something we felt was important, only to find that we had completely blown it? How many times have we thought later, I didn’t say that in the way I meant to. I left out what really matters to me. I will try again.”

And sometimes we do make another attempt and we fare better and other times? We quit on the whole thing, hoping that we haven’t botched it as badly as we thought, making the subject matter inconsequential in our minds so that we don’t have to pick up the pieces. We don’t have to try again.

With a blog, whatever I missed, it doesn’t matter, not even a tiny bit. But in significnt conversations with people we care about? It absolutely does. 

Chilled Into Unconsciousness

I’m a die-hard walker, walking most days approximately two miles in thirty minutes. I love to walk.

Previous winters I have had a faithful walking partner, a woman who is as nuts as I am, walking out in the wind and the snow, yaktrax on our boots, our faces slathered with Vaseline, our bodies bundled beyond recognition. We’d pick our way through icy patches, figuring if one of us went down the other could get her upright or at least call for help.

Two bad things have happened this winter: My walking companion moved to Maine and the Arctic Vortex has driven southward and gathered the north east—and much of the rest of the country--into its costly, icy grip. I’m not at all sure what the Arctic Vortex is, having never heard of it until this year, but it is seriously nasty.

 I can manage to walk without my friend; it’s not as much fun, not by a long shot, but I can manage.

But the Arctic Vortex? That’s another story. Below zero wind chills rip my face off and as a result, I am walking less. What’s worse, on the other side of the health equation, I am surprised to discover that I am eating more.

 I say “surprised” because it’s only recently that I have noticed foods appearing in my fridge and on my shelves that do not ordinarily inhabit my kitchen.

Where did that bag of Tate’s Double Chocolate Chip cookies come from? And the shining container of Quadratini, Dark Chocolate Bite Size Wafer Cookies?  I think the idea of “Bite Size” must have seemed safe to me when I snatched them up at Whole Foods, but bite size doesn’t help much if---as I did yesterday--you eat ten of them, one right after the other.

 And how did the rich and creamy Cold Fusion Cocoanut Gelato get into my freezer?

These are not good signs.

I’d like to think that, intuitively, like a bear, I am attempting to build a layer of fat against the relentless cold of this winter and that, of course, come spring, that layer will drop off, simply melt away, as I go frolicking along the sidewalks without having to guard against ice and without a choked-wrapped scarf around my face and nose.

 This is an illusion. The weight will not drop off. I know it won’t. Soon my jeans will fail to zip and I’ll have to join a gym—something I have never wanted to do.

It will all be the fault of the Arctic Vortex, a phenomenon, which, I feel strongly, should go back home where it belongs. 

We Are All Packing

Gun control is a huge issue. If I had my way, we wouldn’t be able to buy a BB gun without a wait time and a background check, never mind buying a Mossberg 930 shotgun that shoots 23 rounds in 3.73 seconds.  I realize that there are responsible people who own guns. I just want purchasing a gun to be at least as difficult as getting a driver’s license. We need to keep the gun control conversation going no matter how much heat it creates. Lives are at stake here.

Meanwhile, whether we own a gun or not, unknown to us, we are all packing. Every one of us carries childhood wounds inside us just waiting to grab onto present day situations. We are packing the sly internal derringer of sarcasm all the way to the AK 47 of rage. Our arsenal is fully at the ready should someone push our buttons, hurt our feelings, say or do the wrong thing--drive us crazy.  There’s a reason for the expression “shooting your mouth off.” We tend to fire back, hard and fast.

There’s a lot to be said for the counting-to-ten-slowly routine. We might be able to remain holstered if we did that. We might be able to disarm the situation instead of exacerbating it.

 So, as we argue for the control of guns in our country, let’s put away our own “guns” and think, instead, about being the peace we want to see in the world.

Make Today Our Dancing Day

The Me Generations have something to teach those of us who remember WW11.

The experts tell us that the Me Generations---by that I mean everyone who has grown up with a TV remote in hand—don’t do well with delayed gratification. Accustomed to pushing the right buttons and immediately finding what they want, the Me Generations tend to want what they want, and fast.

Never mind that their yen for instant gratification may interfere with successfully setting long-term goals, the fact is that the Senior Medicare group has much to learn from them.

Let’s wise up. Rationally assessed, we don’t have all that much delay time to fool around with.

My thought is that if we are wishing for a reunion with family or friends, or if we always wanted a good black coat, to take lessons in French, start a blog, or to travel to Greece, we had better get going.

Trained well by my mother, I’ve spent my life saving dresses, coats, candlesticks, perfume, and jewelry, even nice napkins, “for best.”

 Let’s get real. How often does “best” show up? I am done with that. I’m using and wearing my “best” every chance I get.

 Some of us are old enough and wise enough to realize that we are not immortal, something I gave no thought to in my forties, my fifties, even my early sixties, but now I get it.

And the ultimate truth is that none of us at any age know exactly how long we will be in this world, so let’s grab onto NOW and make today our dancing day!

Note from cecily s:

Thank you  for reading Life Opening up! I am very grateful that you take the time out of what I know are busy lives to do so. My plan is generally to post on Mondays and Thursdays. On the other hand, something might come over me to write and then write I will, regardless of what day it is. My deepest thanks to you all.

Disruptive Brand?

In the wake of the Governor Christie/Washington Bridge debacle, one CNN interview leapt out at me: that of the Brand Consultant, Martha Pease. Pease announced that Governor Christie is a “disruptive brand.”

Whoa! What does that mean? When I was in school we got sent to the principal’s office for being disruptive. Disruptive means to “throw into disorder,” “to impede the process.” We got punished for that kind of behavior.

Please understand that I know nothing about brand-speak. The only brands I recognize are Kelloggs and Smuckers, stuff like that. My older grandsons—of which there are three—a few years back, took to calling me “G Ma.” “It’s your brand,” one of them said, smiling. I liked the name but had no idea what he meant.

Is Governor Christie really disruptive? I realize that ultimately he holds the reins in what is an appalling breach of almost everything you can think of. But still?  Christie is a “disruptive” brand? Is it that Christie’s quintessential nature creates disruption? Is that what we are talking about?

Apparently so. Pease went on to explain that Apple also is a disruptive brand and that people love them for it. In brand-speak, disruptive brand means that you are a person or a business committed to changing things, to shaking things up and doing the unexpected. That sounds promising; breaking up old forms to create new ones: the positive aspect of disruption.

Gov. Christie’s brand is now “sullied” and “tarnished,” according to Pease, and he will have to work to shine it up again. “It will be hard to rewrite the narrative,” Pease says, as Christie struggles for distance.

Yes. Let’s see. Rewrite it so that those inter-office emails were never meant to be anything but a private joke? Rewrite it so that actually the jam-up was a good thing because . . . I cannot think of a “because,” but then I’m not a spin-doctor.  

 No matter how apt “disruptive brand” is for Governor Christie, having owned responsibility for excessively throwing things into confusion and disorder, he might do well to become a fresh brand, something like Clear-Minded-Organized-In-Charge-Executive.

I wonder if there is one word for that?

Lunch-January 14th, 2014

Lunch today in New York with two old friends not seen in years.

So long ago we shared a time and place.

What joy! The three of us laughing and hugging each other: strong, wrap-around hugs that don’t quit.

The three of us still at the table as the restaurant emptied out. We could no more leave than you can yank an unripe apple off a tree.

“Remember the time when . . .?” And we did, throwing our heads back, rocking with laughter.

“Fill me in on your kids, your life, and what’s new.”

And, praise God, the three of us at our various ages—me, by far the oldest, the two of them successful businesswomen--have something new going on. Something that makes our eyes shine.

Do not delay. “I meant to call” will give you nothing. It will not put a smile in your heart nor give a lift to your step. The time is now. Get in touch with those not-seen precious friends and family members who make you laugh, bolster your belief in life and in yourself.

Catching the train home everyone in Grand Central, all of those travelers, looked beautiful, each of them radiant reflections of the happiness sparking off my face.

Thank you! Thank you, Ina and Antonia.