A "Mute" Point

My daughter and I went to get pedicures last night. The place we go is a typical nail mill. Spacious, decked out in faux marble, tile, textured paint, long rows of pedi chairs, and a whole host of friendly, Asian staff walking around in pseudo doctor’s scrubs, as if the treatment you’re about to receive is more clinical than pleasurable. The price is right and it’s conveniently located to our home.

We were ushered to our massage chairs, foot baths already bubbling in anticipation. These aren’t you’re run-of-the-mill pedi chairs, either. The sides open like a car door, allowing you to enter bottom-first, swivel your legs around, then they close you up like a chivalrous suitor before beginning your service.

As I sat there reading a magazine and my daughter played on an iPad, both of us rhythmically bum-bum-bumping along as the chair massaged our backs, the serenity was broken by this:

“Well, what did you tell him? You know what I would have said? Well, what did she say…”

Across from us sat a fellow client, a lady in her late 40s to early 50s, chatting away on her cell phone while she got a pedicure. We all listened (involuntarily) to her entire conversation. Occasionally, she’d pause long enough to answer a question (“Is the water OK?” “Is this the color you picked?” “Can I scrape the bottom of your foot with this vegetable peeler?”), but always returned to whatever unlucky soul was on the other end of that phone.

Eventually, I leaned over to my wise-beyond-her-years and already-annoyed daughter and said, “don’t you ever do that. It’s rude. It’s rude to the worker and it’s rude to all of the other customers.” But she already knew that. I know I could take my laptop in and do some work. I could play a game on an iPad. I could catch up with a friend. But part of my experience is not having to do any of that. I read magazines (something I don’t normally get to do), I people watch, sometimes I close my eyes and lean back in the chair and pretend I’m an Egyptian princess. Wait, I didn’t mean to say that last one out loud.

My point is, if you’re somewhere like a nail salon to pamper yourself, go for the full experience. Allow yourself to relax and rejuvenate. And if you’re just not comfortable with that, at least allow me the chance to relax and rejuvenate. Now, where are my grapes, boy?!

Early Bird: Can Ya Dig It?

Have you ever noticed that the early bird doesn’t always get the worm? Or, maybe she does, but then as the morning progresses, she finds they’re offering worms “two-for-one” down the street. I have prided myself on almost always being ahead of the game. Sure, sometimes it about kills me, but it’s just something that goes along with my mad organizational skills and my OCD tendencies. I don’t like to be late.

If I’m going somewhere new, I map out my route, find an alternate route, and, time allowed, will drive there beforehand to make sure I know where I’m going.

If there’s a call for volunteers and I’m equipped and willing, my hand shoots up first. I found early on, in a high school government class, that those judging your performance seem a bit more willing to overlook minor mistakes, gaffes, and nervousness from the first responders. Those judging you seem more willing to extend grace to those who volunteer first and reserve more harsh critiques for those who follow.

But as life continues, I find more and more often that the early bird sometimes gets shafted. Have you ever made a purchase and find out the store ran a sale the next week or even the next day? Yep, that’s the shaft of which I speak. Have you bought a new cell phone or computer or car only to see the new model rolled out weeks later? Enjoy the shaft.  How about volunteering to help out at work or church or school and then they announce more (read: better) assignments have opened up and they’re all exponentially better than what you’re in for? Shaftety-shaft.

Now that I’m seeing a pattern, you’d think maybe I would relax my approach, go with the flow, chillax a little, but that’s not my way. No, I’ll still make every effort to be first in line for whatever lies ahead, even it means risking getting the short end of the shaft.

Dumb and Dumber

I saw a young kid smoking in traffic. No more than 16 or 17, they thought they were being so cool. “I’m driving and I’m puffing on this cancer stick…look at me.”

Now, I know I did (several, OK, countless) stupid things in my youth that I thought made me look like hot stuff and had quite the opposite effect. One that I’m willing to share is the period of time I wore two different-colored slouch socks that coordinated with my outfits. As you have probably guessed, that fashion statement didn’t take off. I looked ridiculous. Everyone knew it. In fact, towards the end, I knew it, too. And the only thing hot were my ankles.

But as I watched this youth, I thought, “how do kids not understand the health consequences?” That warning label means nothing to an invincible teen. No, instead it should say something like this:

WARNING:  Smoking makes you look like a doofus.

Maybe then they’d think twice. Probably not - we know youth is wasted on the young - but it’s worth a shot.

Time Out

I was listening to a news update on Ferguson, Missouri this morning in the car and President Obama was criticized for being on yet another vacation.  Now I’ve done a good job of remaining politically neutral on this site and hope to continue that. I will neither attack nor defend the president’s actions. Something I will defend is the notion of a vacation.

I feel the vacation pendulum has swung yet again, now against the notion that folks need a break. We had the factory days where workers toiled for 12+ hours, six days a week. Then we brought in unions and codes and realized that everyone needs a break now and then. With the 1980s came a resurgence in work ethic. People hustled about in their skirts and suits, new-fangled and unwieldy cell phones flopping against their sides in bags large enough to hold a Volkswagen. As the American public raced up that corporate ladder, we kicked the lazy 70s dust off our shoes and embraced Reaganomics and the Gordon Gekko approach to work. As the millennium came and went, technology improved to a point where a desk in an office was almost obsolete. Work could be done from just about anywhere, and was. (Have you ever heard a flush while on the phone with someone??) Now a mobile workforce can close deals and send reports while breastfeeding, ordering a latte, or having their oil changed.

Recently, though, I’ve noticed that there seems to be scrutiny and prejudice for those who need a little R&R. The president is not alone. In a staff meeting a few weeks ago, a young apprentice in our shop was heralded for having checked and responded to email while on a vacation.

I ran into a friend of mine a couple of weeks ago who shared that her supervisor was in a foul mood as she was called back early from a trip with her family to Chicago for a conference call! What?

The most recent stats from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics (March 2014) shows an unemployment rate of 6.7%. A good number of the 93.3% who are employed are either looking, thinking about looking, or should be looking (but don’t know that yet) for a new job. Those who have a good, solid job and are relatively happy are definitely in the minority. With companies downsizing and employers constantly looking for ways to cut costs, I can see how it would be easy to forego your own happiness in exchange for some level of brownie points with your superior.

Even God rested. He worked hard for six days and then took a break. Now I imagine, had the technology existed, He may have gotten a call or email on that seventh day. Something like “Uh, yeah, this is Bob from Maintenance. We’re getting calls from the North Arctic that the sun isn’t setting. We’re going to send dispatch to check it out, but just wanted to let you know that it’s not getting dark up there.”

All this to say, you’ve got to be good to yourself. There are basic principles you should know and live by:  

You only live once.

You only get one body (and mind) so take care of it.

We are all easily replaced. If you don’t think you are, shoot me an email.

So, give it your best, but don’t give it your all. Leave something for yourself, and your family. No one arrives at the Pearly Gates and thinks, “man, I wish I’d worked more and spent less time with my family, doing the things I enjoyed.”

Happy, Happy, Happy

There are just times when the world tries to steal your soul. It drags you down with disturbing news reports, each story a little more grim than the one before. I found myself drowning in a sea of ISIS terror, race car drivers, shootings, robberies, and a celebrity's suicide. Finally pulling myself up the ladder onto solid ground, I realized I had to think happy thoughts.

"Puppy, puppy, puppy."

I repeated these words. Try it. It's difficult to frown while saying the word "puppy" and it's darn near impossible to not crack a smile when you think of puppy breath.

Then I broke into my own version of the song "My Favorite Things" that went something like this:


Big puffy clouds against a bright, blue sky.
Getting in my parking spot on the first try.
Finding plastic wrap that actually clings.
These are a few of my favorite things.

Reading a book and smelling the pages.
Studying history and all of the ages.
A thick, chocolate milkshake with swirly, fudge rings.
These are a few o my favorite things.

When the news is bad.
And I'm feeling low.
I think happy thoughts and my heart sings.
I put on a smile and I make myself go.
While remembering my favorite things!


"The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to Him in song."
--Psalm 28:7

What Do We Have Here?

This year, my child has the distinction, if not the privilege, of being one of the later schools to start back. Some of her comrades will have started back as much as a week and a half before she does later this week. It’s been a challenging time in our home with two working parents and all of the summer camps already dried up and dusty, settling in for a restful off-season. This morning, I worked from home and then I took her to lunch before handing her off and returning to the office. As she sat across from me in a lunch restaurant, decked out in shorts and a t-shirt, our waitress had this somewhat accusatory and presumptuous exchange with her:

Betty*:  [Looking over her order pad at my lunch date’s attire and very presence] What? Did you decide not to go to school today?

My precious girl (MPG):  Umm…no. We haven’t started.

Betty:  You haven’t started?? Well, when do you go back??

MPG:  Thursday.

Betty:  Thursday?! Hmmph. Well…

Sitting here listening to this exchange, I had a couple of thoughts, the first shared by my daughter, after Betty made her exit, of course. “What’s it to you, Betty? Maybe she’s home schooled. Maybe she’s a genius and has already graduated. Maybe she was on the ground floor of a tech start up that went public when she was 8. Did you ever think of that, Betty?”

Then the tables turned and  it was I who became judgemental. “How dare you, Betty, unleash the Spanish Inquisition on my baby girl?”

Luckily, the restaurant was full and the service was slow so I was afforded the appropriate amount of time to ponder before Betty’s return. During this time of reflection, I realized the times I jumped to conclusions, making what was more-than-likely a wrong assumption.

I thought about how innocently my daughter handled it and what a kind heart she has. And it all made me realize how easy it is to jump to conclusions and how hard it is to know the whole story before taking that leap.

10 Years in 10 Minutes

Sunday, August 10, marks the 10-year anniversary of my Mom’s passing. 

After a full decade of being motherless, I can tell you the things I’ve missed:

•          Her dimpled smile
•         The unconditional love that that only your mother can bestow upon you
•         The little things she did to show she cared
•         The little things she did that drove me absolutely bonkers
•         Her advice

And I can tell you some of the things she missed:

• The May 2010 flood, dubbed a “100 Year Flood,” here in Nashville
• Devastating earthquakes in Haiti and Chile and Hurricane Katrina here at home
•  The deaths of ¾ of The Golden Girls, Christopher Reeve, Ronald Reagan, Estee Lauder, Ray Charles, Pope John Paul II, Johnny Carson, Rosa Parks, Peter Jennings, Gerald Ford, Saddam Hussein, Paul Newman, Walter Cronkite, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Osama Bin Laden, Elizabeth Taylor, Neil Armstrong, Dick Clark, Andy Griffith, Whitney Houston, Nelson Mandela, and James Gandolfini, just to name a few
• Michael Phelps and his crazy flipper feet, 10 Super Bowls, 10 World Cups, 10 NCAA Basketball Championships, 10 U.S. Opens, and 10 World Series
•  20 first-graders and 12 movie patrons dying in shooting sprees in Newton, Conn., and Aurora, Colo., respectively
• Cancer surpassing heart disease as the #1 cause of death of people under 85 years old in the U.S.
• George Bush’s second term
• The Twilight books and having to choose “Team Jacob” or “Team Edward”
• Another royal wedding in the U.K. and another royal birth
• The election of an African-American President of the United States
• The minimum wage in the U.S. rising from $5.15/hour to $7.25/hour
• Cost of a first class postage stamp rising from  37-cents to 49-cents
• Mash-ups, selfies, Paris Hilton/Kardashians/countless other non-celebrities, complete turnover in the late-night talk show circuit, and Weinergate.
• Her husband’s retirement
• Her child’s thirties
• The birth and first ten years of her granddaughter’s life

It’s not always been easy continuing to grow up and, now, raise a child of my own, without a Mom. I’m fortunate that I have solid TV show examples -- June Cleaver taught me to look my best, even when I’m vacuuming, and Carol Brady taught me to smile, even when the going gets tough, and, when all else fails to say, “oh, Mike.” 

I’m blessed to have a wonderful Daddy who has filled his new role as grandfather (or PieDaddy to my Baby Girl) beyond my wildest expectations. 

My baby is neither a Daddy’s Girl nor a Mama’s girl. She’s our girl. My husband equally bears both the burdens and the delights of parenting and always has. He’s been not just my life partner but my partner in life. 

And I can’t forget his parents, my in-laws. I’ve always thought of them as extended family but they got pulled in a little closer these last 10 years. I can always count on my mother-in-law for solid advice and sage wisdom.  

The last thing I’ll share is this…although I know Mom’s spirit resides in Heaven, I feel her presence with me every day. When I get in the car or walk through the kitchen and her favorite song (albeit quite annoying) – Cat Stevens’ Morning Has Broken – is on, I know she’s near. When I feel sad or scared or angry and feel a weightless hand on my shoulder and a sudden levity, I know she’s by my side. Mostly, now that I am one, I know, as a mother, that nothing – no man, not powers on this earth or beyond, or even death itself, would make me stop loving my child or come between us. I would find a way and I smile knowing she has, whether it’s a random blue bird chirping a morning solo, a grating song from the 70s on the radio, or just a sense that it’s all gonna be OK. 

And sometimes, it’s just a reflection in a dimpled smile.