While in the grocery store check-out line last night, I saw the cover of Oprah magazine which headlines, “100 Things That Are (Actually) Getting Better.”
You have got to be kidding me.
Now, I did not read the article, but it is a sad day in the United States when we have to buy a $5 magazine in order to recognize 100 good things in our lives. Let’s get some perspective here, people.
Yes, as a country, we are going through a tough time. My family has taken economic hits and made many adjustments in response to the times, as have Americans across the country. And while I realize that the foreclosure rate is at an all-time high, quite frankly, losing a house is a problem of people who are quite blessed. Only 12% of the world’s population even owns a home.
And yes, there is controversy about healthcare reform. But as Americans, most of us still have access to care. Phenomenal care. At The Children’s Hospitals and St. Judes, children are not denied care for inability to pay. This is the case at many hospitals. We have pretty good healthcare in the US, no matter how you look at it. Could it be better in some ways? Probably. But it is still better than what the majority of the earth’s population has available to them. Let’s not forget that. Had Peyton been born in a different country, or at a different time, she might not be with us today.
In the US, we also have: Clean water, food, clothes, shoes, vaccinations, public education, solid infrastructure, freedom of speech and religion, books, email, sunshine, friends, family, music, laughter, Superbowl parties and more. My list could go on and on and on. To way more than 100 things. I could type all day and never hit the end of the list. Sorry, Oprah.
Yes, we all have our down days. And I am not saying life is not stressful—some of the stuff is really hard; I get it. But when we start to feel like everything sucks and we have to look to Oprah for her “100 List” then there is a bigger hole inside that needs to be filled... Let’s all THANK GOD for what we do have and keep a healthy perspective on life. Recession or not. Political unrest, whatever…we all have great lives in the United States.
If you feel stuck, write a list of your blessings. And block out a chunk of time to do it. It will take a while…
Friday, February 5, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
“More Breathing Room…”
I forgot my cell phone at home today… for the second day in a row.
Hearing this staggering fact, several people asked, “HOW, HOW, HOW can you live without your cell phone????!!!!”
My response: Quite well, surprisingly.
Sure, while I was at work, I missed a couple texts and a few calls, but let’s not overlook the fact that I was still on my computer all day and I do have an office phone. (That means, for those who have forgotten the power of a land line, that I was reachable in case of an emergency.)
But the amazing thing was—driving home, I didn’t call anyone, didn’t glance at my email, and didn’t text anyone (of course, I wouldn’t have anyway with the no texting laws in Colorado…) What I did do, for a fleeting moment was wonder, “What will I do if my car breaks down??!!” And then I thought, “Hello, Celeste! You car has NEVER broken down, so I doubt it will happen today.”
And the rest of the drive was quiet. It Twilight Zone peaceful…and I loved it.
I think it is crazy that as a culture, we (and make no mistake, I am including myself here) are so addicted to these little boxes. Pete sits up in bed late at night reading emails and playing Scrabble with 22 friends across the country. I use my phone as an alarm clock in the morning—and then scan my inbox before my eyes even adjust to the daylight. Seriously, that’s me, head still on the pillow—blink, blink, blink—squinting and deleting spam email from Jos A. Bank, Express, and Family Labels.
Do you think old Alexander could ever have imagined this when he invented the telephone?
With phone in tow, I must admit, I keep in great contact with people: a quick text here—an email there—a phone call (or six) from friends. But it’s hard to turn off; I almost keep in too good of contact with people. If my friends, family, co-workers, boss, and husband all know I have my phone with me, then an immediate response is almost expected—and I don’t know about you, but I just can’t keep up.
A girl needs some time to breathe. So, I am in the pursuit of some serious breathing room.
The funny thing is, for several weeks, I have been pondering the plausibility of taking a regular day “on vacation” from my cell phone…and apparently, my subconscious agrees it’s a wonderful idea, as demonstrated by my Freudian Slip the last two days.
Now, a work day really is not ideal to leave my phone—what if I actually do blow a tire on the way home to meet the girls at the school bus???—but when could I do it? That is the question that has been stopping me, wheels stuck in the mud, for weeks. It seemed like at some point during everyday, I’d need my ol’ Rasberry. However, the last two days have helped me realize, no matter what day I pick, I’ll survive. People will live without my immediate response and I’ll be the better for it.
So, that’s it! I’m gonna start with Mondays—a home office writing day—and I’ll let you know how it goes.
(Ahem...If you weren’t paying close attention, that means if you need me on Mondays you better email me reeeeeaaaallllly early…cause, well, you know, a girl still needs an alarm clock…)
Hearing this staggering fact, several people asked, “HOW, HOW, HOW can you live without your cell phone????!!!!”
My response: Quite well, surprisingly.
Sure, while I was at work, I missed a couple texts and a few calls, but let’s not overlook the fact that I was still on my computer all day and I do have an office phone. (That means, for those who have forgotten the power of a land line, that I was reachable in case of an emergency.)
But the amazing thing was—driving home, I didn’t call anyone, didn’t glance at my email, and didn’t text anyone (of course, I wouldn’t have anyway with the no texting laws in Colorado…) What I did do, for a fleeting moment was wonder, “What will I do if my car breaks down??!!” And then I thought, “Hello, Celeste! You car has NEVER broken down, so I doubt it will happen today.”
And the rest of the drive was quiet. It Twilight Zone peaceful…and I loved it.
I think it is crazy that as a culture, we (and make no mistake, I am including myself here) are so addicted to these little boxes. Pete sits up in bed late at night reading emails and playing Scrabble with 22 friends across the country. I use my phone as an alarm clock in the morning—and then scan my inbox before my eyes even adjust to the daylight. Seriously, that’s me, head still on the pillow—blink, blink, blink—squinting and deleting spam email from Jos A. Bank, Express, and Family Labels.
Do you think old Alexander could ever have imagined this when he invented the telephone?
With phone in tow, I must admit, I keep in great contact with people: a quick text here—an email there—a phone call (or six) from friends. But it’s hard to turn off; I almost keep in too good of contact with people. If my friends, family, co-workers, boss, and husband all know I have my phone with me, then an immediate response is almost expected—and I don’t know about you, but I just can’t keep up.
A girl needs some time to breathe. So, I am in the pursuit of some serious breathing room.
The funny thing is, for several weeks, I have been pondering the plausibility of taking a regular day “on vacation” from my cell phone…and apparently, my subconscious agrees it’s a wonderful idea, as demonstrated by my Freudian Slip the last two days.
Now, a work day really is not ideal to leave my phone—what if I actually do blow a tire on the way home to meet the girls at the school bus???—but when could I do it? That is the question that has been stopping me, wheels stuck in the mud, for weeks. It seemed like at some point during everyday, I’d need my ol’ Rasberry. However, the last two days have helped me realize, no matter what day I pick, I’ll survive. People will live without my immediate response and I’ll be the better for it.
So, that’s it! I’m gonna start with Mondays—a home office writing day—and I’ll let you know how it goes.
(Ahem...If you weren’t paying close attention, that means if you need me on Mondays you better email me reeeeeaaaallllly early…cause, well, you know, a girl still needs an alarm clock…)
Saturday, January 30, 2010
More Late Night Parties...
I woke this morning with deep, dark circles under my eyes.
Why?
The truth is I didn’t get much sleep because I hosted a rager last night.
I hadn’t planned on it. I haven’t had such a wild party in years. Honestly, I’d envisioned a quiet evening—but the partygoers just showed up and took over. Literally.
And they were loud, rousting me from my slumber with a bevy of strange and wondrous sounds.
Aren’t you dying to know the scoop????
Well, as some of you know, we live in a neighborhood that is heavily wooded. Our property (just call it “Wild Kingdom”) is full of trees—and as such we witness an almost daily parade of critters from bunnies and squirrels to deer foxes, and coyotes.
But last night, with a full moon in the dusty sky, our house was undoubtedly surrounded by a parliament of owls.
Yes, a parliament. (I looked it up.)
What started as a single “hoot” became a “hoot, hoot, hoot” then a distant “hoooooooot,” with different owl calls coming in stereo from myriad directions, for HOURS throughout the night.
Now on occasion, I have heard owls—but I thought they, like the kids who sit solo at outlying lunch tables, were loners—and I definitely heard several in the mix last night. What was happening? It was a rare and mysterious.
So, after I grabbed my AM coffee, my next stop was Google.
According to an article, “Hoots Signal Beginning of Mating Season,” by Cody Gilbert, January and February is the time of year when owls, like the Great Horned Owl and the Great Gray Owl, “have their mind on starting a brood.” (Most birds wait till it warms up for some spring lovin’, but not owls.)
After further reading, I learned there are 18 species of owls in North America, and 13 have been documented in Colorado. Of these, the Great Horned is the most common—likely the same ones scattered throughout my trees last night.
Who knew?
As I sipped my coffee, in wonderment, I also learned that owls don’t generally migrate. That means that not only do I have resident partiers, but in a few months, we may have a little owlet infestation on our property. That is good news for the Palermo house.
Not only are they cute, but don’t forget they eat rodents, bugs, snakes and BATS.
Those are my kind of house guests! Wahoo! Party away! I’ll deal with the under eye circles.
So, “hoot, hoot!” I’m in pursuit of more knowledge about the wide spectrum of animals that live in Colorado—the species, their rituals and habits. I learned SO MUCH about owls this morning—prompted by a simple (though unusual) soiree at my place last night.
Why?
The truth is I didn’t get much sleep because I hosted a rager last night.
I hadn’t planned on it. I haven’t had such a wild party in years. Honestly, I’d envisioned a quiet evening—but the partygoers just showed up and took over. Literally.
And they were loud, rousting me from my slumber with a bevy of strange and wondrous sounds.
Aren’t you dying to know the scoop????
Well, as some of you know, we live in a neighborhood that is heavily wooded. Our property (just call it “Wild Kingdom”) is full of trees—and as such we witness an almost daily parade of critters from bunnies and squirrels to deer foxes, and coyotes.
But last night, with a full moon in the dusty sky, our house was undoubtedly surrounded by a parliament of owls.
Yes, a parliament. (I looked it up.)
What started as a single “hoot” became a “hoot, hoot, hoot” then a distant “hoooooooot,” with different owl calls coming in stereo from myriad directions, for HOURS throughout the night.
Now on occasion, I have heard owls—but I thought they, like the kids who sit solo at outlying lunch tables, were loners—and I definitely heard several in the mix last night. What was happening? It was a rare and mysterious.
So, after I grabbed my AM coffee, my next stop was Google.
According to an article, “Hoots Signal Beginning of Mating Season,” by Cody Gilbert, January and February is the time of year when owls, like the Great Horned Owl and the Great Gray Owl, “have their mind on starting a brood.” (Most birds wait till it warms up for some spring lovin’, but not owls.)
After further reading, I learned there are 18 species of owls in North America, and 13 have been documented in Colorado. Of these, the Great Horned is the most common—likely the same ones scattered throughout my trees last night.
Who knew?
As I sipped my coffee, in wonderment, I also learned that owls don’t generally migrate. That means that not only do I have resident partiers, but in a few months, we may have a little owlet infestation on our property. That is good news for the Palermo house.
Not only are they cute, but don’t forget they eat rodents, bugs, snakes and BATS.
Those are my kind of house guests! Wahoo! Party away! I’ll deal with the under eye circles.
So, “hoot, hoot!” I’m in pursuit of more knowledge about the wide spectrum of animals that live in Colorado—the species, their rituals and habits. I learned SO MUCH about owls this morning—prompted by a simple (though unusual) soiree at my place last night.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
“More Flexibility…”
First thing yesterday morning, my phone chimed the familiar “bing.” I had a text message. It was my dear friend, Tameka.
Since u have the girls 2nite what do u think about us just coming over 2 ur house and bringing takeout?
After literally weeks of back and forth with four busy friends trying to find a time for a girls night, I had finally said I couldn’t go—Pete had school; I had the girls. I couldn’t make it—They should go without me. My friends did not accept that response.
Why was I so surprised by their thoughtfulness? I wondered. That is what friends do.
Less than an hour later as I drove to work, my phone chimed again. “Bing!” Another text…this time, from my friend and co-worker, Nicole.
Extra hot, please.
What? I thought. What is she talking about?
?? I sent back.
Skinny vanilla latte, extra hot, please.
On occasion, when I stop for a latte, I pick one up for Nicole, but I hadn’t offered this morning. She must really need a coffee, I thought, chuckling…and after a minute I realized, and that is the kind of stuff friends do for each other. So, I stopped to get her (and me!) a coffee.
The events of the morning were good exercise for my brain. Somewhere over the years, I’ve gotten a little too quick to think, I can’t do that. That doesn’t fit my schedule. My brain has lost some of its flexibility, especially when it comes to fun and time for friends. And the fact is, while I do have responsibilities—I need to make time for my girlfriends. And we can make time for each other—whether it’s a couple minutes to place a call, send a text, or pick up a coffee—or a whole evening together over Thai takeout.
To make it work, we need to anticipate and respond to others’ needs with flexibility.
Why? Because that is what friends do.
My girl friends make my life deeper, richer, and way more fun. I am thankful that when I say I am too busy, they don’t give up on me. I am thankful they challenge me to be flexible and remind me that there is more to life that just day-to-day responsibility.
So I’m in pursuit of more flexibility and more time with friends….
Life is so much better that way! :)
Since u have the girls 2nite what do u think about us just coming over 2 ur house and bringing takeout?
After literally weeks of back and forth with four busy friends trying to find a time for a girls night, I had finally said I couldn’t go—Pete had school; I had the girls. I couldn’t make it—They should go without me. My friends did not accept that response.
Why was I so surprised by their thoughtfulness? I wondered. That is what friends do.
Less than an hour later as I drove to work, my phone chimed again. “Bing!” Another text…this time, from my friend and co-worker, Nicole.
Extra hot, please.
What? I thought. What is she talking about?
?? I sent back.
Skinny vanilla latte, extra hot, please.
On occasion, when I stop for a latte, I pick one up for Nicole, but I hadn’t offered this morning. She must really need a coffee, I thought, chuckling…and after a minute I realized, and that is the kind of stuff friends do for each other. So, I stopped to get her (and me!) a coffee.
The events of the morning were good exercise for my brain. Somewhere over the years, I’ve gotten a little too quick to think, I can’t do that. That doesn’t fit my schedule. My brain has lost some of its flexibility, especially when it comes to fun and time for friends. And the fact is, while I do have responsibilities—I need to make time for my girlfriends. And we can make time for each other—whether it’s a couple minutes to place a call, send a text, or pick up a coffee—or a whole evening together over Thai takeout.
To make it work, we need to anticipate and respond to others’ needs with flexibility.
Why? Because that is what friends do.
My girl friends make my life deeper, richer, and way more fun. I am thankful that when I say I am too busy, they don’t give up on me. I am thankful they challenge me to be flexible and remind me that there is more to life that just day-to-day responsibility.
So I’m in pursuit of more flexibility and more time with friends….
Life is so much better that way! :)
“More Generosity…”
I never thought I would be emotionally impacted by a cantaloupe. But I was today—bowled over, in fact. Almost moved to tears…by a cantaloupe.
The girls are off track from school right now, so we took them to work with us today. They spent the morning flitting from office to office, making inventions out of tape and paper cups and playing Connect Four in the youth room. Then about noon, Pete and I scooped them up for a quick lunch at Noodles. As we headed out, we saw Roger, a volunteer who oversees the Food Bank, unloading the NET truck.
“Check out all the fruits and vegetables,” Pete told me. A big load of produce had been donated by a local health food store and Roger was cheerfully unloading and organizing the bounty for Saturday’s outreach.
I jumped up onto the bumper and peered into the back of the truck, scanning the boxes of onions, tomatoes, crates of mangoes, and packages of arugula. Peyton and Morgan peeked in too.
“You girls like watermelon?” Roger asked them.
There is nothing they like better.
“YEEEESSSSS!” they exclaimed, with enthusiasm.
“Well, I have one watermelon….” Roger said, and to be honest, I'm not sure what else he said. I could hear him talking, likely explaining why he was giving it to us, but my brain was three counties away. We can’t take produce from the food bank, I thought. It feels like stealing from people who need it. But the deal was done. The girls smiled at Roger, who said he'd set it aside for us.
When we returned from lunch, Roger was still there, organizing the food, making sure things were just right.
“You girls, like cantaloupe?” he called out.
The girls chimed a universal, “Yessss!” And so two small melons were tucked into a box with the watermelon.
By mid-afternoon, meetings over, I decided to round up my monkeys and work from home for the rest of the day. As we left, we stopped to get the melons. Roger insisted on carrying them to my car. “Thanks, Roger!” the girls crooned, delighted with the treasures.
As we pulled into the garage, Morgan, eager with anticipation, asked, “Can I have some watermelon?”
“Sure,” I said.
Minutes later, as I lifted the weighty green gem out of the box, I noticed one end was dented a blackish-brown. I set it on the counter and lifted out a cantaloupe.
This little guy had seen better days as well. It was bruised and soft in spots, no doubt overlooked until given to our food bank. It was the sad kind of cantaloupe I would typically ignore, too. And I love cantaloupe; I love the sweet sticky smell and the vitamin profile. Yet, standing there in my kitchen, holding this Charlie Brown melon, I almost wanted to cry.
I put the cantaloupe in the fridge and cut away the bruised end of the watermelon. Then I cut a few thick, red slices for the girls. As I did so, I tasted it. It was borderline over-ripe. Had I purchased it, I might have been disappointed.
“This is delicious!” Morgan exclaimed, gobbling down a huge piece, juice dripping down her blue turtleneck onto her velvet pea-coat. Fresh watermelon mid-January and happy smiles. A beautiful sight.
The taste of love is always sweet.
The store gives excess produce to help those in need. Roger gives generously of his time for the same reason. Roger gave the melons to bless my daughters, but he blessed me as well. Receiving the melons reminded me how simple acts can make a big impact. It reminded me of how much more I have to give—of my resources, my time, and myself. (How easily we forget.) It reminded me that despite the tremendously urgent need worldwide—from Haiti to hungry people in my neighborhood—simply showing others love in spontaneous ways everyday makes the world a better place.
So, thanks to Roger, I'm in pursuit of becoming more generous. I'm looking to be more alert to what I can do for others and hoping to be a more positive example, like Roger.
I'm not sure the melons would have made it until the Saturday distribution. They most likely would have become completely spoiled and not been enjoyed by anyone. (I think Roger knew that, too.) Either way, the girls and I will be bringing some items for the food bank this week, blessing others the way we've been blessed, keeping the cycle of kindness moving forward…
I never thought I would be emotionally impacted by a cantaloupe. But I was today—bowled over, in fact. Almost moved to tears…by a cantaloupe.
The girls are off track from school right now, so we took them to work with us today. They spent the morning flitting from office to office, making inventions out of tape and paper cups and playing Connect Four in the youth room. Then about noon, Pete and I scooped them up for a quick lunch at Noodles. As we headed out, we saw Roger, a volunteer who oversees the Food Bank, unloading the NET truck.
“Check out all the fruits and vegetables,” Pete told me. A big load of produce had been donated by a local health food store and Roger was cheerfully unloading and organizing the bounty for Saturday’s outreach.
I jumped up onto the bumper and peered into the back of the truck, scanning the boxes of onions, tomatoes, crates of mangoes, and packages of arugula. Peyton and Morgan peeked in too.
“You girls like watermelon?” Roger asked them.
There is nothing they like better.
“YEEEESSSSS!” they exclaimed, with enthusiasm.
“Well, I have one watermelon….” Roger said, and to be honest, I'm not sure what else he said. I could hear him talking, likely explaining why he was giving it to us, but my brain was three counties away. We can’t take produce from the food bank, I thought. It feels like stealing from people who need it. But the deal was done. The girls smiled at Roger, who said he'd set it aside for us.
When we returned from lunch, Roger was still there, organizing the food, making sure things were just right.
“You girls, like cantaloupe?” he called out.
The girls chimed a universal, “Yessss!” And so two small melons were tucked into a box with the watermelon.
By mid-afternoon, meetings over, I decided to round up my monkeys and work from home for the rest of the day. As we left, we stopped to get the melons. Roger insisted on carrying them to my car. “Thanks, Roger!” the girls crooned, delighted with the treasures.
As we pulled into the garage, Morgan, eager with anticipation, asked, “Can I have some watermelon?”
“Sure,” I said.
Minutes later, as I lifted the weighty green gem out of the box, I noticed one end was dented a blackish-brown. I set it on the counter and lifted out a cantaloupe.
This little guy had seen better days as well. It was bruised and soft in spots, no doubt overlooked until given to our food bank. It was the sad kind of cantaloupe I would typically ignore, too. And I love cantaloupe; I love the sweet sticky smell and the vitamin profile. Yet, standing there in my kitchen, holding this Charlie Brown melon, I almost wanted to cry.
I put the cantaloupe in the fridge and cut away the bruised end of the watermelon. Then I cut a few thick, red slices for the girls. As I did so, I tasted it. It was borderline over-ripe. Had I purchased it, I might have been disappointed.
“This is delicious!” Morgan exclaimed, gobbling down a huge piece, juice dripping down her blue turtleneck onto her velvet pea-coat. Fresh watermelon mid-January and happy smiles. A beautiful sight.
The taste of love is always sweet.
The store gives excess produce to help those in need. Roger gives generously of his time for the same reason. Roger gave the melons to bless my daughters, but he blessed me as well. Receiving the melons reminded me how simple acts can make a big impact. It reminded me of how much more I have to give—of my resources, my time, and myself. (How easily we forget.) It reminded me that despite the tremendously urgent need worldwide—from Haiti to hungry people in my neighborhood—simply showing others love in spontaneous ways everyday makes the world a better place.
So, thanks to Roger, I'm in pursuit of becoming more generous. I'm looking to be more alert to what I can do for others and hoping to be a more positive example, like Roger.
I'm not sure the melons would have made it until the Saturday distribution. They most likely would have become completely spoiled and not been enjoyed by anyone. (I think Roger knew that, too.) Either way, the girls and I will be bringing some items for the food bank this week, blessing others the way we've been blessed, keeping the cycle of kindness moving forward…
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