tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61512868767290972862024-02-07T20:49:41.456-06:00Jeneration WhyJenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-90522342921765645622015-01-10T18:27:00.000-06:002015-01-10T18:33:41.035-06:00WWLDA group of us - cousins, second cousins, siblings, aunts and uncles - were assembled in my sister's basement for the Milwaukee version of Cousins Weekend. Somewhere in the course of normal conversation, my cousin's wife Brenda revealed the impossible: She was (accidentally, so she claims) growing dozens and dozens of mushrooms in her yard and garden that looked just like a penis. Waves of uncontrollable laughter ensued. Joke after joke was made about Brenda spending a little too much time out in the yard and asking why she was seen applying lipstick before tending to her flower beds. Each new person entering the basement meant that the the telling of a new and more embellished version of the story was required. It was, as they say, the gift that kept on giving.<br />
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I took a break from the nonsense to head upstairs where things were a little less raucous. There sat my Aunt Lois, quietly visiting with a couple of other family members and looking perfectly content. I asked how she was doing, and she said that hearing her family's laughter wafting up the stairs was all she ever hoped for. And you know what? It was. (Never mind that she would have been appalled at how un-ladylike our conversation was. That is beside the point.)<br />
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The kind of togetherness our family has doesn't just happen by accident. It is nurtured, cultivated, and harvested by skillful hearts - hearts like that of Aunt Lois. Hearts that love their family so much they remove all the seeds from the cubed watermelon in the fruit salad they have lovingly prepared for that day's feast. Who does that, you ask? Aunt Lois - that's who. It is a love so precious and so rare that it is truly like no other. <br />
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Tonight the news of Aunt Lois's serious health challenges have the whole family scared to bits, because she is the pillar we all gather around. My cousin and I keep checking in and riding waves of tears and laughter together. We are all thinking that we don't even have to stop and ask ourselves, "What Would Lois Do?" We already know - she would kneel down and faithfully pray. And so is just what we are doing. <br />
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-11931170872480286972015-01-05T20:23:00.000-06:002015-01-10T21:10:20.147-06:00The O.G. of the O.G.My friend Matt and I seriously love us some Olive Garden, and our friends like to poke and jab us about it. You know what, though? We don't care. We scoff at their ribbing and give each other a knowing shrug as if to say, "Haters love to hate." We are comfortable with basking in mediocrity.<br />
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So tonight was one of those famed O.G. nights, and there was a lot to catch up on. We had a new waitress and we had to bring her up to speed: 1) We need lots of extra vegetables in our salad; 2) It's funnier if you pretend to be our tour guide on the Tour of Italy; 3) We will ask you if you have ever known anyone to get married in an Olive Garden (because apparently this happens, who knew?) and 4) We also need lots of extra chocolate mints at the end of our meal. We are a demanding duo, but we do it with a smile so that makes it okay.<br />
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This particular evening we were chatting with our newbie waitress, and we mentioned that she had a lot to live up to if she was going to be counted among the likes of our favorite waiter, Maurice. Her eyes lit up and she said she knew Maurice, that he was in the restaurant tonight and that everyone was sad because he was moving to Florida. Given this utterly devastating news, we had her send Maurice over to the table right away. This was some serious business. <br />
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Just so everyone understands, Maurice is the kind of waiter you can banter with, and that is my favorite kind of wait staff of all. He is not stuffy or stodgy, and he goes above and beyond to make his customers happy. He is also, as the kids would say, "totes adorbs." He is probably twenty years too young for me, but even that hasn't put him outside the realm of possibility in my mind as a future love interest - he just that cool. Or I'm just that cougarish. Or whatever. I digress. My point is, Maurice is the man. We love him.<br />
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Tonight, Maurice made my night, my week, maybe even my month or year. Upon greeting us, he gave us big, genuine hugs and proceeded to tell us about this news that he is moving to Florida. He had been approached to go to the Orlando corporate flagship Olive Garden to be on a fast track for management. This was no surprise to me, because after all, the kid's got it. But then he said the most astounding thing. He said that a couple of months ago, there was a staff meeting of all the Olive Garden staff, and the managers read aloud a Yelp review that I (yes, me!) had written. The review was a mediocre review of Olive Garden (I mean really, it is Olive Garden) but a glowing review of Maurice. He said, "I'm a pretty tough guy, but when they read that to me and all the staff I thought I was going to cry." He said that restaurant reviews and comments come in on the corporate website all the time, but this was one of the first glowing reviews a staff person had received on Yelp, making it all the more noteworthy.<br />
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Maurice left our table and Matt and I looked at each other simply stunned. Matt remarked that my Yelp review - a review I wrote in jest as a dare from another friend - might have changed this guy's life. Now I can't say that for sure, because Maurice is pretty amazing in his own right and was going places on his own without any help from me. But someone else taking the time to notice his greatness and point it out? That probably didn't hurt.<br />
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And so, on the heels of yesterday's observations in <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2015/01/every-little-thing.html">Every Little Thing</a>, I must say this: Not only does every little thing we say matter, we must always remember that every little thing we say can be incredibly powerful, too. Maurice - our Original Gangster of the Olive Garden - just told me so.<br />
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For the slightly more curious, feel free to read my <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/olive-garden-italian-restaurant-greenfield">Yelp review</a>. <br />
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-31213421177471816272015-01-04T09:10:00.000-06:002015-01-04T09:11:02.731-06:00Every Little ThingI was talking to a fellow colleague recently, and he told a story about how he landed a job for which he didn't even yet meet the qualifications. He applied on a whim out of sheer desperation, as he was jobless and had a growing family to support. Much to his surprise, he got an interview and an almost immediate offer thereafter. He didn't fully understand what had happened until several months down the road. He learned well after the fact that someone at his new place of employment had remembered him from a connection years prior. He had been working as a Teaching Assistant at a local university, and she had called to express frustrations about the instructor for whom he was working. They had a ten minute phone conversation that he could barely remember years later. But apparently that ten minute conversation had been so comforting to the woman he now worked with, she had convinced the leader of her team he was a worthy hire - even without the proper credentials in place yet. <br />
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Wow.<br />
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What happened thereafter is that this individual was hired, he quickly proved himself to his peers, and he was on the track for promotions and many other professional accolades. Not only that, he confessed that he may have in fact landed himself in the most perfect place to match his professional skills and interests. When he was in the midst of his job search, he had applied for other jobs that were a better match, at least on paper, and had been outright rejected without so much as an interview. He was grateful in retrospect for those rejections, because he could not imagine being any more passionate or fulfilled than he was at his current job. <br />
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Double wow.<br />
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There were many things that struck me about his story. Certainly, there are lessons in karma and even the law of attraction in there, if you are into those sorts of things. But on a more practical level, this occurred to me: Every little thing we do matters. I would say this is true personally and professionally, and this man's story is a prime example. An interaction he had years prior - an interaction where he had nothing to gain and nothing to prove - would catapult him into a perfect opportunity years later. What if he had been hurried, dismissive, impatient or even distracted during that ten minute phone call? The trajectory of his life could have changed.<br />
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It's a lot of pressure to assume that every little thing matters, and yet it is not. As my very wise friend recently pointed out, it is the difference between resolution and habit. Good professionalism is a habit. My advice to you is this: Be kind. Be patient. Be flexible. Be helpful. Be courteous. And if you can't do all that, take pause until you can. You just never know how your choices will come back to you. Your consistently pleasant disposition may be the best insurance policy of all for your future.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-20607634039577558792015-01-01T16:57:00.002-06:002015-01-01T16:59:04.713-06:00Top Ten of Jen - 2014Life. I spend a lot of time thinking about it. Don't we all? I think that life is grand and complex, and I also think that it is comprised of thousands of tiny remarkable moments. This past year had a whole host of rich, invigorating, heart-warming moments. In no particular order, here are my ten favorite moments of 2014. <br />
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1) <b>Patio Perfection. </b>I declared 2014 to be "The Year of the Patio." This sounds a little more exciting than perhaps it actually was, but it included new furniture, new throw pillows, new planters and some professional landscaping. That was all well and good, but The Year of the Patio also served as host to a moment I loved. After a delicious dinner one night with five of my favorite people, we all sat together in quiet solitude and strung together the custom up-cycled strings of lights my brother-in-law David made to complete my vision of patio perfection. The assembly line quickly became a well-oiled machine and the lights were put together in very little time. Moments later, David and my friend Fern hung the lights on my house as I stood back to take it all in. I saw whimsy, bright colors and a patio that suited my taste. What I saw more than that, however, was a group of people I love deeply and who love me back, all working together to bring that moment's vision of happiness to life. I tell you, there is no better feeling one can have. <br />
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2) <b>A Ban Lifted. </b>In June something happened in Wisconsin that was long overdue and a wonderful development: the state's ban on gay marriage was lifted. The timing was impeccable because it occurred the day that Pride Fest was commencing. I was on the other side of the state when news came through that this had occurred, and I was instantly beside myself with joy. So many friends and people I hold dear would now have equal opportunity to marry - it was truly a beautiful thing. Later that same day, I learned that my friends Matt and Fernando had rushed to the courthouse and gotten married, much like many other couples in Wisconsin. Because I wasn't home at the time, I could not be there with them. So what I did instead was get on the road early that Sunday morning so I could make it back in time for the Pride parade. I knew Matt and Fern were walking in the parade and so I quietly waited for them, then ran out in the street to hug them when they made their way toward me. Surprising them to share in their joy and standing in the streets of Milwaukee hugging and crying was a most incredible feeling. It was as if the vibrational energy of our whole community had elevated as justice was served. Even though on so many fronts we still have far to go, I am so happy that I got to see this happen in my lifetime. <br />
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3) <b>BFF Time.</b> I spend time with my life-long best friend Mindy every year, usually more than once. This year was no different. We met up in the summer for a weekend of shenanigans, and I went to see her again in the fall when she needed me and I needed to be there for her in that moment. We spent a day dilly-dallying all over eastern Iowa and ultimately landed in our college town bar on the Saturday afternoon of what happened to be Homecoming weekend. We sat in a booth and drank cheap, crappy drinks. We shared our tales of woe and our vision for a happy life and everything in between. And at least four times during that hour long conversation, I laughed so hard I had to put my head down on the formica table and wipe away tears of laughter. It's just so amazing to have someone in your life who you can say anything to. Anything. At all. Does not matter how sassy or crass it is. I don't know what I've done to deserve this friendship or the freedom that comes with it, but it is one of my life's greatest blessings.<br />
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4) <b>Kissin' Cousins.</b> OK, we don't have kissing cousins in our family - at least not that I know of. But we do have an awesome group of family members who like to be together and we make a point to do it with some frequency. This year we resumed our annual Cousins Weekend in Spooner, Wisconsin. It is a tradition that we all love, and it incorporates a lot of hanging out, pontooning, getting sun-soaked, eating, laughing and storytelling. There was a precise moment of hilarity during this year's Cousins Weekend that is etched in my memory. My cousin Joel, my brother-in-law David and I were playing a rousing game of Qwirkle, which is a strategy game that involves matching shapes and colors. Joel and I were ramping up the smack-talking with one another and relishing each and every "Qwirkle-tunity." We were laughing so much that everyone in the vicinity joined in on the laughter and fun. It was wholesome and pure and everything I love about my family. More, please. I need more of that.<br />
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5) <b>Nashville Cats.</b> In July my sister, brother-in-law and I took a trip to Nashville to see our friends Kate and Eric. We have been to visit them several times, and each visit brings new adventure. This trip was no exception. We saw a bluegrass show at the Ryman Auditorium, went to the Johnny Cash Museum, went to Jack White's incredible record store, did some shopping, ate great meals and maybe one night drank (way) too much. The entire weekend, there were repeated reminders of my dad, who would have surely loved everything about Nashville. It was notable because the specific weekend we were there was the anniversary of his passing so many years ago. This all culminated for me when I stopped at a grocery store with Kate and Eric, and upon entering the store my dad's favorite song "Aimee" was playing on the radio. I had just experienced sign after sign after sign that Dad was with us and this one blew me away. I strolled through the store looking for ingredients for our dinner and periodically wiped away my tears. I miss that man every day, but he is always by my side. I was grateful for this reminder. <br />
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6) <b>A Challenge Met.</b> In January I decided I was going to set a new crazy challenge for myself: Write 52 blogs in 52 weeks. I was inspired by my friend Jan who has more than once now written 100 blogs in 100 days. I pretty much stayed on course with one blog per week, and found this relatively challenging, enlightening and very, very fun. The weeks I traveled or felt I had nothing to say got me a little behind, and then in November Jan came at me with yet another challenge: 30 blogs in 30 days. I was hesitant, but honestly I needed to make up some ground anyway. So I dug in, and met that challenge, too. It was haaaaaaaaaard. Not every day, but many days, and I think that pushing through that was in fact the beauty of it. I realized at the end of this exercise that I have more to say than perhaps I originally thought and that by writing with greater frequency, my storytelling and my writing skills improve significantly, as does my thoughtful observation of the world. The precise moment of meeting a big challenge - when I hit 52 in even less than 52 weeks - was a great feeling. Onto the next writing challenge...whatever shall it be? Stay tuned. <br />
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7) <b>A New-Old Friend.</b> In addition to the wonderful Mindy, I have another friend who has known me almost my whole life and is still part of my life to this day. Her name is Ellen, and she is beautiful, sassy, smart and funny. Even though we grew up in Iowa, Ellen and I both ended up living near Milwaukee. Even so, our lives were so full and so different, we typically only saw each other once or twice a year. All that changed this year, when Ellen went through a personally challenging time and we reconnected in an incredible way. There were dinners and overnights and parties that were all very fun. But my favorite moment with Ellen was one night when we were instant messaging one another. The conversation turned sassy (hard to believe, I know) and we were laughing so hard at each of our computers that Ellen claims she actually frightened her cat. As I pointed out to her some months later - sometimes when something bad happens, something wonderful happens at the exact same time. A renewed friendship with someone who knows your past is a glorious thing. Thanks, universe. (And Ellen.)<br />
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8) <b>One Happy Memory.</b> My sister and I made a commitment this year to take a trip using some money we had inherited from our step-mother earlier in the year. It was an unexpected windfall, and we were determined to create a happy memory with it. After months of planning, we set out for a ten day tour of the Pacific Northwest and our first stop was Vancouver, British Columbia. Vancouver is a stunning, cosmopolitan city and we loved everything about it. Our second night there, we set out to find some sushi which wasn't hard to do. After considerable research, we landed on a little hole in the wall restaurant called "Sushi Mart" with long, plain tables, fluorescent lights, counter service and zero ambiance. That being said, we had the opportunity to gorge ourselves on and incredible platter of sushi for less than $20. Even better, Jess and I had an incredible conversation about life, love and the pursuit of happiness. That's what this trip was all about, right there. Love, love, love.<br />
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9) <b>Two Happy Memories. </b>After Vancouver, Jess and I hopped on the train and made our way to Seattle, Washington. Quite unexpectedly, I loved this city. I mean I loved, loved, loved it. We met up with friends who were local to the area and our travel partner for the next leg of the trip, my friend Vance. One afternoon, we hit up the Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum. Glass is my favorite artistic medium, and Chihuly is the master to end all masters of it. There was a moment in the museum where we turned a corner to enter a new exhibit, and it was so stunning that I think it took my breath away. There was another moment at the same museum when Vance I returned at nightfall to see the outdoor garden exhibit in all its colorful lit-up glory and I'm pretty sure I was breathless again. I could spend days in this magical place.<br />
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10) <b>Three Happy Memories. </b>We left Seattle and made our way toward Portland, Oregon where plenty more fun with friends and family awaited us. But before we got to Portland, we spent a night on the Oregon coast in a sleepy little resort town named Manzanita. We went to the local grocery store and purchased bread, cheese, a couple bottles of pretty low-brow wine and some cheap plastic glasses to drink from. Jess ducked out early, but Vance and I sat at the beach for hours drinking, talking and mostly quietly taking in the powerful beauty of a rugged coastline and crashing waves. It was the kind of moment that has a way of making your life feel big and small at the same time. It was humbling and awe-inspiring, and precisely what my soul needed at that moment in time.<br />
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So for each precious moment I experienced in 2014 - some described in this blog and so many more that were not - my heart remains full and my life better than ever. If happiness is the goal - and I believe that it is the only one that really matters - I am almost always there. To which I simply say to the universe, my creators and all the people who contribute to it - thank you. Each passing day and year leaves me more and more humbled.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-13873839519002180232014-11-30T10:04:00.002-06:002014-11-30T10:07:30.646-06:00The Dirty ThirtyOn November 1st, my friend and blogging mentor Jan sent out a blogging throwdown challenge to another friend and me: 30 blogs in 30 days. Unbeknownst to me, November is a big month for writers. Blogging website BlogHer was hosting their "NaBloPoMo" (National Blog Posting Month) challenge, and apparently a whole lot of writers take the month of November to write a 50,000 word novel. Who knew? Now mind you, Jan has already done the decathalon of blogging twice by completing 100 bogs in 100 days. Thirty in thirty days was chump change to her. To me, however 30 in 30 days was a big deal. But, my pride was at stake and I had some catching up to do if I was going to meet my previous self-imposed challenge of 52 blogs during the course of 2014. Challenge accepted.<br />
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I started the challenge a day late because her challenge was presented to me late in the day and I had company in from out of town. So On November 2nd, I wrote two blogs and from that day forward, I wrote a blog a day every day thereafter. Let me tell you, it was haaaaaaaaaaard. There was more than one day that I whined about it to my fellow throwdown companion. There was more than one night that I sat with my laptop perched upon my lap, cats softly purring at my side, staring at the blinking cursor on my screen for what felt like hours on end. And twice, I feel that I "cheated" by writing a 33-word challenge - I simply didn't have the time or the energy to write anything grander than that on those days.<br />
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But....but. I did it, with this entry I have written 30 blogs in 30 days, and I am very excited to have met this challenge! Not only that, but I actually wrote several pieces that I love. If I had written at my usual pace of one per week, I would have written four blogs <u>at most</u> - and it is doubtful I would love all four. But now, I wrote 30, and I think at least five are keepers. Thus proving the point: the more you write, the better you write. Lesson learned.<br />
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As for the clunkers I churned out, I simply offer a sincere apology to my faithful readers. I know that I clogged up my Facebook feed with daily blog posts and nothing more...who has time to write clever status updates when you have blogging assignments to complete? I promise I will get back to my old, sassy self starting tomorrow. In fact, I will start thinking of something hilarious to post right away.<br />
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But in case you missed them, or you are wondering what my favorites are from the last month, here they are in no particular order:<br />
1. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/11/a-single-girls-guide-to-not-finding-love.html">A Single Girl's Guide to Not Finding Love</a><br />
2. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/11/fiddlesticks.html">Fiddlesticks</a><br />
3. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/11/a-healing-hug.html">A Healing Hug</a><br />
4. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/11/rocking-chairs-and-gold.html">Rocking Chairs and Gold</a><br />
5. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/11/i-am-running-for-mayor.html">I Am Running for Mayor</a><br />
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Thanks for hanging in there with me for the last month, everyone...and happiest of holidays to you!<br />
<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-45053920426985975482014-11-29T18:46:00.002-06:002014-11-29T19:01:43.981-06:00Oh TannembaumI love seeing the inside of homes, especially once I get to know a person. I think a home is reflective of who the person is. Are they messy? Neat? Layered? Readers? Entertainers? There is so much you can tell in just a quick walk-through....I guess it really appeals to the nosy side of me. I love my little home, and per my own assessment, I would have to think it says this about me: Colorful! Whimsical! Bright! Modest! and Hyper-organized!<br />
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As I was trimming the tree today (as in decorating it, not anything involving a power saw), it occurred to me that one's Christmas tree may also reflect the individual to whom it belongs. There are people who go all out, year after year - new decorations, new theme, new levels of extravagance. There are people who have more than one tree - a tree for every room, even! And then there are people like me, who delight in having the same old tree, year after year. I like tradition to include a little of the expected and the ordinary.<br />
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So as I reflected on this today, I realized that this is what my Christmas tree says about me:<br />
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<b>I like convenience.</b> My friends and family tease me because I love all things convenient. And really, if you have the option, why would you not? I pay someone to mow my lawn - a life-changing decision I made three years ago. I have my Chinese food delivered to me rather than going out in the elements to get it myself. So a few years ago, in line with my adoration of convenience, I decided enough with this "real tree" nonsense. It doesn't suit me. It's hard to find a good tree, and even a "good tree" can be a "bad tree" once you get it home. It's too tempting for the cats to use as a scratching post and knock it over (which of course has really happened). Real trees drop needles everywhere that are still sticking around by the 4th of July. I broke down after a few years of resistance and got an artificial tree. Three easy clicks and a flip of the switch and voila! Convenient holiday cheer. I love it! There is no turning back. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYKLi5Jf1TpwtHgLqlYtl9MMCSvpwWhUh-WIS9RMNOb3jjE5F0Fg4CL-AZf_KtblUTrpfs8E-8WH4r-giKL4OX2inw3jMQ6ccX4GfpW5VM5VuMpV5ATwNoB_iB12oSjLGoPJePD8NiUbcH/s1600/mouse+ornament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYKLi5Jf1TpwtHgLqlYtl9MMCSvpwWhUh-WIS9RMNOb3jjE5F0Fg4CL-AZf_KtblUTrpfs8E-8WH4r-giKL4OX2inw3jMQ6ccX4GfpW5VM5VuMpV5ATwNoB_iB12oSjLGoPJePD8NiUbcH/s1600/mouse+ornament.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a><br />
<b>I am a sentimental fool.</b> Putting up the tree is a walk down memory lane. I have ornaments from my childhood. I have ornaments that friends gave me. But some of my favorite ornaments of all are the ones my mother and grandmother made for me. I have a set of ceramic holiday mice that are in all kinds of silly holiday situations interspersed throughout my tree. They warm my heart and remind me of my humble roots. This one sleeping in the matchbox is my all-time favorite.<br />
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<b>I love to travel.</b> There are a whole bunch of things I like to do in this beautiful life of mine, but traveling is near the top of the list. I love to travel to a new city and spend four days tearing it apart, finding every tiny little thing that city has to celebrate. In the past, I used to buy all kinds of things when I would travel. Over the years, however, I've simplified. I now typically buy myself just one thing when I travel: a new Christmas ornament depicting that place. So now, years later, my tree is filled with all kinds of happy memories. Each year, it is a delight to remember trips from the past and unwrap the new ornaments I've acquired for the year. The new ornaments always go front and center on the tree. This year I added Seattle and Multnomah Falls, which is just outside of Portland, Oregon. Such happy memories!<br />
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<b>I am loyal. </b>I hope this is something the people closest to me know and understand...deeply. I think loyalty is very important in this complicated world. In any relationship - family, friends, colleagues - there will be times when the relationship may be tested. Times that are hard or unpleasant where you have to stand by one another. I am that friend. I will come see you at the hospital. I will bring a platter of Jimmy Johns sandwiches when you move. I will listen to you tell your tales of woe over and over. And, it turns out, I will still hang you on my tree year after year, even when one of your legs fell off. (Sorry, Northshore of Lake Superior Santa - you may be an amputee but I still love you.) <br />
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<b>I have a sense of humor. </b>Maybe I don't take life seriously enough, but really - if you are not laughing, what is the point? I don't get being anything other than happy, if I can help it. And so, I try to add a little whimsy to everything I do. I like to be a little weird. I like to crack jokes at inappropriate times. I like to work the room. It's just who I am. When it comes to my Christmas tree, I like to think that the Elvis ornament I got in Memphis (one of the most fun trips I ever took with my best friend) really sets the tone. Love you. Elvis. And for the record, I could not agree more - we could use a little less conversation and a lot more action.<br />
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So all of that being said, Christmas is a time to reflect on all that matters. The life I've built for myself is full. It has love and laughter and meaning. It's funny how something as simple as an ordinary tree can depict all that, and yet somehow it does. So from my house to yours...enjoy this wonderful holiday season. Here is my tree in all its glory:<br />
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-11192792157803132492014-11-28T19:34:00.001-06:002014-11-28T19:34:15.194-06:0033 Words of WonderHe comes to me in my dream, the only place he is allowed to visit. He saunters in and out as he pleases, and gives me a whisper that leads to a wonder.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-38828353615303031452014-11-27T21:59:00.002-06:002014-11-27T22:00:24.913-06:00Giving ThanksWhen people are in a situation where they are asked to list their gratitudes in front of others, the natural tendency is to focus on the big things: their health, their job, their family, their friends. And while that is all well and good, I believe it is also important to focus on the tiniest things in life that bring us joy. Joy brings more joy, which in turn brings more joy. It's how we create our contentment, our peace. <br />
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So today I am grateful for things like a funny joke made by an amazingly resilient friend. ("I lost a husband this year and got a dog. I traded up.") For things like looking through the Black Friday ads and feeling confident there is not a single sale item that I will ever be compelled to go stand in line for at a Black Friday sale. (I have abundance. I don't need more abundance from Wal-Mart.) For things like sprawling out on the couch with my family and watching a touching documentary. (Racing Dreams - you should see it, too.) For things like the first and last bite of my sister's coconut custard pie. (It's seriously amazing. Every. Single. Time.)<br />
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I love this life of mine. I really do. Today I am reminded why.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-31653183258259054842014-11-26T19:35:00.002-06:002014-11-26T19:36:11.637-06:0033 Words of WisdomRain pelting against the glass. Leaves stuck to the pavement. Melancholy feelings would be effortless to arouse. Yet, there is a warmth in my heart that supercedes circumstances. Hello, gratitude, my old friend.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-20694862776086365302014-11-25T20:55:00.001-06:002014-11-25T20:56:04.459-06:00Searching for My Inner Kenny RogersI've been told - quite a few times in my life, mind you - that I don't have a poker face. Truthfully, if someone is annoying me, everyone in the general vicinity will probably know it. This does not fare well with my position of great responsibility. It would be best if I could always be the consummate diplomat. It would be ideal if no one ever suspected my feelings of wanting to put hot pennies in my eyes because I am so blasted bothered. It would be wonderful if I could always be perfectly wonderful. But....I can't.<br />
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So I am working hard to dig deep. I need to work on this, and today I just pointed out to someone else who I love and respect very much that they could stand to work on their poker face, too. I'm thinking that maybe we could work on it together. We could hold up pictures of people, places and things that send us reeling and practice not having a reaction. ("Look - it's a picture of someone eating baby carrots in a meeting - go!") We could grade one another on our poker face performances and give honest, unrelenting feedback. We could keep working at it until we get it right.<br />
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Because right now, truth be told, I feel like my inner Kenny Rogers is buried deep. I know he's in there, I just have to find him and nurture him and get him to the surface where he can see the light of day. Because Kenny? Kenny knew what was up for real. <br />
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He knew when to hold 'em.<br />
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He knew when to fold 'em.<br />
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He knew when to walk away.<br />
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He knew when to run.<br />
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Word on the street is he also didn't count his money when he was sittin' at the table.<br />
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So you see, Kenny was one cool cat. Kenny had it all figure out. I could stand to be a lot more like him. I'm going to keep searching for my inner Kenny Rogers until I find him. I'll let you know when that happens.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-12315860220490910972014-11-24T19:53:00.000-06:002014-11-24T19:54:33.880-06:00Transitions: A New Business ModelWorking as a leader in a public sector system - a system that is highly scrutinized, no less - has had its benefits. One of those benefits is fine tuning some skills that can only come from opportunities made of sweating brows, churned stomachs, wringing hands. Maintaining good ego strength on days where there is no love to be found? I've got that covered. Entering a room filled with an angry mob and turning the energy around? No problem. Solving two, three, even four problems with one solution? I'm a master at it. Smiling on the outside when I feel murderous rage on the inside? Believe it or not, most days I've got that one tucked away somewhere, too.<br />
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The one skill I may have fine tuned the most, however, is that of delivering bad news. I've thought about this skill quite a lot in the last few days because it's everyone least favorite time of year - contract time. That's right, it's the time of year when agencies in our system learn their fate. Will their business thrive or die? Is it their time to shine, or is their day in the sun drawing to a close? As a department, we have to deliver news to eager executives, and some of it is just no fun to deliver. But that's business, and if we are making and executing hard decisions, it also means we are being good stewards of the tax payers. It truly is all in a day's work.<br />
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So when you've built a career on the sad misfortune of expressing bad news, it would make sense to build further upon that skill. Right? So I present to you, the new business I am developing. Please know, I invite your feedback for its worthiness and its possible applications. It is my proud honor to share with you: Transitions.<br />
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Welcome to Transitions. Transitions is a business model built on doing your dirty work. No, we aren't a maid service. We don't come with Haz-Mat suits and we don't do biohazard clean-ups. Rather, we do your dirty work...of delivering bad news. <br />
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Have an under-performing employee who is sadly pathetic but needs to go? Afraid to fire them because you know they have a slew of hungry children at home? No problem. Transitions will compassionately but decisively let them know they need to pack up their desk and move around. We will stay on-site until they've assuredly left the building.<br />
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Need to back out of business with your partner who was also the best man in your first wedding? We've got it covered. Your professional Transitions Team will pull the sad sack aside and let him know what's what - and we'll even deliver the papers your lawyer drew up for him, too. <br />
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Is it time to end that relationship that is literally on its last leg? With just a quick phone call from you, you can arrange to have the Transitions van pull up to the house, ring the door bell, and let your future ex-girlfriend know "it's not you, it's me (which, in fact, is really you)." For a small up-charge, we will even stick around to gather up your favorite hoodie, your Fleetwood Mac album, and your iPhone charger.<br />
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So there you have it: Transitions. "Let somebody else do the talking, while you do the walking."<br />
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I think I could really be onto something here.<br />
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-75426255276729838602014-11-23T18:00:00.000-06:002014-11-23T18:02:54.243-06:00Rocking Chairs and GoldWhen my sister was five years old, she used to sit at the old upright piano in our formal living room and belt out made-up songs for hours on end. The fact that she was not able to read a note of music or carry a tune did not dissuade her in the least. The songs ranged from the pragmatic "School Bus" (lyrics: "School bus, school bus, here comes the school bus!") to the soulful "Rocking Chairs and Gold" (lyrics: "Rocking chairs and gold, rocking chairs and gold, rocking chairs and gold"). Her songs would reverberate throughout the whole house, and even though they barely made any sense, we all knew one thing: they came straight from her heart. Since the songs didn't really make sense, we could assign our own meaning to them. I believe that the classic "Rocking Chairs and Gold" was about holding close to you the things you love the most. <br />
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I must say, that's what I love about my sister: she does everything with heart. Not one to mislead you in any way, Jess calls it like she sees it. She gets away with it, because she does so with love. But one thing is certain, you can always count on her to be honest. She'll tell you if you have something stuck in your teeth, if those pants do in fact make your butt look bigger, if you are being an unreasonable diva or if that man is all wrong for you (all things she has probably told me at one time or another in the 35 years she's been part of my life). I find great comfort in being surrounded by such plain truth. <br />
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I find great comfort in it, because if I know one thing for sure it is this: I don't know it all. Nope, that's right - you heard it here first. I don't have all the answers. And so, knowing that, I find it rather important to surround myself with people who will put me in check. Now I've worked with leaders - plenty of them, in fact - who really dig being surrounded by a chorus of "yes men." They dig it so much that they seem to insist on it. I guess it somehow strokes their ego to have everyone one around them telling them how brilliant they are. But here's my take on it: If you are agreeing with me all of the time, then you must be lying at least 50% of the time. And the problem with that is - I don't know which 50% of the time you are lying. So then I don't know what's real and what's not, and everything has very quickly become a jumbled up mess. Who needs it?<br />
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So I say, save it for someone else. You want to give me a compliment? OK, but please make sure it's sincere. But in the next beat, don't be afraid to tell me like it really is. It might hurt my feelings (I am a sensitive soul, don't you know) but I promise you I'll get over it. And right after I get over it, I'll be grateful you had my back. Anybody can blow smoke up a skirt, but it takes real fortitude and character to dish out some tactful truth. But that, my friends, is what you do when you really care about somebody. <br />
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And to that, I say: Rocking chairs and gold, baby. Rocking chairs and gold.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-58243137059378945482014-11-22T19:48:00.000-06:002014-11-22T19:48:57.048-06:00Ordinary DaysSometimes a memorable night is followed by an ordinary day. I find that most often when this happens, it is precisely what I need. A little extra sleep, a few odd chores, lunch with my family and a day of shopping together. Shopping that includes $563 worth of savings at Kohl's on behalf of my sister - talk about expecting great things! And while there was nothing particularly remarkable about this day (aside from my sister's Kohl's associate stacked up savings), it was perfectly lovely. In fact, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Ever have that happen - a day where you revel in the very ordinary? Ordinary is a beautiful thing.<br />
<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-76251365200160258172014-11-21T21:51:00.001-06:002014-11-21T21:53:13.224-06:00Memorable NightsI love hanging out with my peeps. It grounds me, it makes me laugh, it melts the stress away. I think a conservative estimate for my adult life is right around 1,950 nights out on the town of eating, drinking and being extraordinarily merry. I've spent time in five star restaurants all the way down to the skankiest of dive bars (my personal favorite). It's all the same to me, for I can have fun just about anywhere. (I mean really, my sister and I once proclaimed that we could put the "fun" in funeral.) Out of those 1,950 or so nights out on the town, only a few have been real clunkers. The rest? I love them. But even so, there aren't so many that stand out in my mind. They are fun, they are in the moment, and then they are gone. <br />
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But then one night you go out with your two best ride or die work friends, and an 80 year old lady who is missing many of her teeth and perhaps all of her faculties sets down a partially thawed turkey on the bar, dripping turkey juice all over the place and generally confusing (and disgusting) everyone. And as the night wears on, the tale gets taller and by the end of the night the recollection is that there was a puddle of turkey guts on the bar. Five days from now or a year from now I won't remember a single thing that happened on this night, but I will remember that damn turkey on the bar. <br />
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Some nights are more memorable than others. Tonight was one of those nights.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-43217903061153110162014-11-20T20:49:00.002-06:002014-11-20T20:50:32.938-06:00You're Not the Boss of MeI had to get a flu shot today, because my employer has made it mandatory. Had to. I hate doing pretty much anything that is preceded by the words "have to." It evokes a response in me, an immediate "you're not the boss of me" mentality. I hate being told what to do, even if it is in my own best interest. Even if thousands of well-educated others are doing it. Even if...anything, really.<br />
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And why is this? I think it's fairly normal. No one likes to be told what to do. As adults, we like to think for ourselves. We like to think that we have free will and that no one is in charge of us but us<i>. </i>But the truth is, we all have to answer to someone. In fact, most of us have to answer to a whole lot of someones. There is no life that I know of without fences or boundaries or rules. The idea of only answering to oneself is a fantasy, or maybe even a delusion. <br />
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I do my best to keep my oppositional defiant tendencies in check. I try to only exercise them when there are no real consequences. I am deferential to my boss, I don't get mouthy with cops (anymore), and I follow the bulk of the societal rules. It's boring, but it's also survival.<br />
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To not be a rule follower is honestly more trouble than it is worth most of the time. I'm not suggesting I won't pick my battles - trust me, I do. But I learned a nugget of wisdom from someone once: "You have to live another day to continue the good fight." So with that in mind, I assess carefully before I drawn my lines in the sand. And if need be, I don't just eat a slice of humble pie...I bake the dang pie myself and keep eating it until the temptation to let my ego rule passes. Is humble pie tasty? Not particularly. Does it contain what I need? Most of the time, yes. <br />
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All of that being said, you're still not the boss of me.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-81447982921346712762014-11-19T19:55:00.003-06:002014-11-19T21:28:29.464-06:00Old Man WinterThis unseasonably early, ridiculously much-too-severe-too-soon polar vortex nonsense has me thinking. What I am trying to decide - and feel free to weigh in - is this: Is Old Man Winter (OMW henceforth) an a-hole, or is he more of a d-bag?<br />
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I am not ready for OMW to show his sorry face around these parts. But the evidence that he's here and here to stay for a good spell is all there. Frost on my windows in the morning, parts of my body I forgot existed resurfacing to my awareness because they perpetually itch, energy bills that cause chest pains and frequent, loud, involuntary exclamations such as "Holy Balls it's cold out here!" Not to mention, a significant portion of the time <i>my lips hurt real bad. </i>There is nothing to like about OMW, I tell you. Nothing!<br />
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So on the one hand, OMW is a d-bag. He's never actually invited to the party, but he shows up anyway. And as much as we'd like to ask him to leave, no one ever does. He just hangs around until we are sick to death of him, and then one day, months after he's overstayed his welcome, he just vanishes. But in the mean time, OMW's douchebaggery will entail him touting to the world how cool he is, even though we all know better and secretly resent him. Ice skating only seems magical until you actually try it and break your tailbone. A big snow storm sounds romantic and cozy until you have to spend six hours shoveling out your driveway. And that pot of chili? It's delicious, but the consequences are often severe. You're not so great, OMW. P.S. We all hate you.<br />
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To play devil's advocate, though, OMW might be a straight up a-hole. He's kind of like that uncle that shows up to Thanksgiving drunk, insults a bunch of people as soon as he walks in the door, tracks mud all over the carpet, tells a couple dirty jokes, leaves a pile of dirty dishes, starts an argument with his brother and then leaves like he's the one who should be mad. At the end of it all, everyone's upset, no one really knows why, and nobody had any fun. But the truth is, while we are all busy being mad at each other we should really be mad at him. Screw you, OMW. We still hate you. For real.<br />
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So all of that being said, as I dream of bathing in a vat of Curel (life-changing lotion - I really recommend you get some) and obsessively applying petroleum jelly to my lips (Chapstick is for sissies), I am reminded that things could be worse. I could live in Buffalo. <br />
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120 days, 21 hours and 50 minutes to spring. But who's counting? <br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-13351796726381492132014-11-18T19:15:00.003-06:002014-11-18T19:17:42.231-06:00I Did It!Well, folks...I did it. I set a goal, I worked hard, and I made it. As of today, with this very blog post, I have achieved a goal I set for the year: 52 blogs in 52 weeks. Except, thanks to the "30 in 30 days during November" throwdown my friend Jan gave me, I finished 6 weeks early. It might seem small or trite to you, but trust me...it is not easy to find something meaningful and/or entertaining to say 52 times in a year. Trust me. <br />
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This exercise has been good, though. I've enjoyed it a great deal. I hope that my seven faithful readers have enjoyed it, too. At the the start of this exercise, I vowed to do two things: 1) Write a piece of fiction, and 2) Reveal some of my secrets. I've done both, and for the record...fiction was harder.<br />
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What I've learned is that when you tell your story, you own it. No one can hold it against you, and most importantly, you can't hold it against yourself. I've had people tell me that I'm brave for some of my writing, and I appreciate that sentiment. There were posts that were very hard to publish, and yet, I know I am better for it. The blog has been part therapy and part entertainment for me. I have no doubt that I'll keep going.<br />
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So while this year was focused on just writing -making myself, week after week, write and write and write some more, next year needs to bring a new set of challenges. I feel better about my writing than ever before, but it's time to put myself out there more, market, and develop a broader base of readers. It's time to take it to the next level.<br />
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As I reflect back on the last year, I have a few posts that are particularly memorable for me. In case you missed them, here are some of my favorites (in no particular order and hyperlinked for your convenience - yet another skill I learned this year):<br />
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1. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/03/veronica.html">Veronica</a><br />
2. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/08/bless-his-heart.html">Bless His Heart</a><br />
3. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/05/baby-carrots-and-nail-clippers.html">Baby Carrots and Nail Clippers</a><br />
4. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/01/its-never-too-late.html">It's Never Too Late</a><br />
5. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/09/right-on-time.html">Right on Time</a><br />
6. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/11/a-single-girls-guide-to-not-finding-love.html">A Single Girls Guide to Not Finding Love</a><br />
7. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/02/one-happy-memory.html">One Happy Memory</a><br />
8. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/06/jimmy-crack-corn.html">Jimmy Crack Corn</a><br />
9. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-story-i-never-told.html">The Story I Never Told</a><br />
10. <a href="http://jenerationwhy.blogspot.com/2014/01/bananas-are-all-rage.html">Bananas Are All The Rage</a><br />
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To those of you who have read my posts...and to those who have furthermore encouraged me...thank you so much. It's my honor that you actually care what I might have to say. I look forward to finding more stories to share. And if you don't wish to be featured in my blog, just make sure you never do or say anything interesting or embarrassing in my presence. I'm getting desperate for material.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-7470637308004520952014-11-17T20:01:00.001-06:002014-11-17T20:03:11.540-06:00National Unfriend DayIt's funny, a few years ago there was no such term as "unfriend." There was "parting of ways" or "severing ties" or even "breaking up." Unfriending, though? It was unheard of. Fast forward a few years, and unfriending has become the ultimate insult. For most of us, it takes a lot to call it quits with someone on Facebook. It is the last dangling thread of even the most troubled friendships.<br />
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I recently learned, quite accidentally, that someone had unfriended me on Facebook. The accidental discovery occurred when she sent me a friend request, then quickly retracted it, and so after a couple minutes of confusion I figured out she had given me the boot. The funny thing is, I probably would have never noticed on my own accord because this person's provocative political ways had become annoying to me and I had hidden her a long time ago. I've hidden a lot of people, and honestly it doesn't take much for me to do so. Too much whining or selling stuff or begging for other stuff or vaguebooking or hokey memes or whatever, really. If I don't feel you are adding to my happiness, I will hide you. Unfriending is a very different threshold, however. Unfriending is saved only for the worst of the worst. Honestly, the handful people I've actually unfriended have been seriously intolerable to me - racist, classist or straight up scary. Everybody else can stay so long as I can keep them hidden and check in only when I feel like it.<br />
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So what did I do to deserve this recent random unfriending? I have a guess or two. It wasn't anything heinous - at least in my humble opinion. But it did involve me sharing an opinion with a common friend that probably didn't sit well with my fellow unfriender. So rather than asking to address it up front, she decided she'd show me. That's how the world works these days. We have a ready option to communicate what we are really thinking without saying anything at all.<br />
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To which I say lovingly, respectfully: goodbye, my (former?) friend. Au revoir. Adios. And best of luck to you. The irony is that I was already busy not missing you long before you made your bold, forever move.<br />
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Happy National Unfriend Day, y'all.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-21593691234352330302014-11-16T18:32:00.002-06:002014-11-16T19:09:39.168-06:00Sunday SurpriseMy very good friend invited me to go to church with her today, and as we stepped inside a couple of things struck me. Much to my surprise, lightning wasn't one of them. (Let me just say, it's been awhile.)<br />
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What occurred to me, though, is that I frequently long for some spiritual care but I have not been willing to seek it out on my own. The predominant reason for this - are you ready for it? - is my shyness.<br />
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There, I said it. I am shy. People who know me well will read this and think there is no way that is possibly true. For when you see me in my own terrain, I am animated, articulate, and gregarious. But put me in a situation where I know almost no one, a situation that is wholly unfamiliar to me, and I might as well be nine years old clinging to the back of my mom's pant legs. My heart races, I feel awkward, I pretty much hate it every step of the way.<br />
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As I read over the church bulletin, I noticed a section of the morning's events that included welcoming newcomers. I leaned over to my friend and told her she did not need to feel compelled to stand up and welcome me. She assured me it was nothing like that - but the mere thought of the possibility had me a little panicked. How is it possible that at 45 years old I still get so socially awkward? Does everyone go through this, I wonder?<br />
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It also occurred to me is how important it is to be inclusive. Here I am, wanting for something but unable or unwilling to seek it out on my own, held back by my own social inadequacies. It took an invitation from someone I trust to follow through. How much better would the world be if we all just asked others to join us for one thing or another? We are surrounded by people, and yet we are a lonely planet. Maybe the rest of the world is a lot like me...patiently waiting for the slightest encouragement. Maybe some people are not lucky enough to get it.<br />
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So I ask you, who can you ask to tag along with you? I'm going to try to do a better job of bringing people along with me to the events that bring me meaningful joy. You never know, we just might make their day.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-46439148340227237612014-11-15T20:13:00.001-06:002014-11-15T20:14:56.060-06:00The Nap Theory of RelativityThis weekend is dedicated to sleep. Thirteen hours of sleep last night, and as if that weren't enough I took a two hour nap this afternoon. <br />
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I've long had a special place in my heart for napping and most weekends I squeeze in at least one. I love naps so much, that I've developed a scientifically proven theory about them. The Nap Theory of Relativity is as follows:<br />
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<i>Whatever mood you are in, if you take a nap you will wake up in the opposite mood. </i><br />
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Therefore, it stands to reason:<br />
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If you are not tired, but find yourself in a foul mood - take a nap! Problem solved!<br />
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Conversely, if you are tired, but in a good mood you have two options. Stay awake at all costs, or (my preferred solution) take two naps! Problem solved again!<br />
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You are welcome.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-48572814094405286782014-11-14T17:53:00.000-06:002014-11-15T09:54:03.488-06:00Smarty PantsMichael Dell, entrepreneur and founder of Dell, once made the astute point, "Try never to be the smartest person in the room. And if you are, I suggest you invite smarter people...or find a different room."<br />
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I sat in our conference room at work today and watched this incredible team I am part of dissect what it is we do and more importantly, where it is we are going. Strategic planning and visioning for the future can be boring, and yet - not so much with these people. Most days I am lucky if I can just keep up. I surveyed the crowd and realized - then said aloud - that this team and its level of talent amazes me so much that I fear I might be bringing the average IQ down. I did not mean that as an insult to myself - I have plenty of confidence about my own intellect - but I am telling you, these people are good.<br />
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The Behavioral Health Division is so frequently misunderstood it baffles me. It is one of those things about working there that I've never gotten accustomed to. There has been plenty of bad press over the years, some of it deserved and most of it not. But if I could tell people one thing from an inside view that I am certain those on the outside don't fully understand, it is how smart the people who work there are. They read, they research, they do literature reviews, the analyze data, they study/understand/employ evidence-based practices, they make decisions based on a delicate balance of science and compassion, and - to give a nod to yesterday's blog - they can solve a problem (or a thousand) like a motherfucker. <br />
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I left work today depleted, exhausted beyond belief and recognizing that is my absolute privilege to work on this most remarkable team. Working there has with absolute certainty made me smarter, stronger, better. <br />
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I love not being the smartest person in the room. I hope it is always that way.<br />
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-15950031902600207002014-11-13T21:31:00.000-06:002014-11-13T22:24:19.963-06:00FiddlesticksA document was shared with me today that warmed my heart and then promptly shredded it into a thousand little pieces. It was a high school term paper written more than 40 years ago by a man with a severe mental illness. He had written it as an assignment for a high school class - long before his mental illness crept into and took up permanent residence in the dark recesses of his mind. In it he talked about many aspects of his life - his family, his dating life, his athletic prowess, his shortcomings, his hope for the future. This paper was so poignant and insightful, so funny and and honest - all I can say is that I loved it. We would have all been lucky to be so wise at the age of 17.<br />
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There were so many things to love about this paper, but in the midst of the paper, there was a line that really caught my attention. It read:<br />
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<i>"I cannot satisfy my frustration with a term such as "Oh fiddlesticks."</i><br />
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I read this and I literally laughed out loud. I was in a roomful of co-workers, and I read it aloud to them - a couple of times. And then I exclaimed, "Yes, yes....a thousand times, yes!" Truer words have never been spoken, my friends. Fiddlesticks is some serious bullshit.<br />
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There are a handful of words in the English language that I cannot tolerate. I am not a big fan of the C-word and the N-word is so offensive to me I would never use it nor would I allow anyone in my presence to use it. But the F-word? Please. The F-word (and just to be clear, I don't mean "fiddlesticks") is sometimes the only word that fits. There is something so lovely, so cathartic, so right about this word that there are moments it is actually not just preferred - it is downright necessary. In moments of rage, frustration, disbelief or outright despair, a properly placed F-word has the capacity to relieve the pressure valve. Really, I am telling you - it is more healing than a hug from Grandma. (No offense, Grandma.)<br />
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It's been a long time since anyone has accused me of being a lady, and I doubt anyone is going to start soon. Lest there be any doubt, this girl is smart, capable and dignified. But in the right set of circumstances I can have a mouth like a sailor. Am I proud of that? Not really. Do I feel bad about it? Fuck no.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-11721728385493562102014-11-12T21:13:00.000-06:002014-11-15T09:54:34.351-06:00Gratitude, from A to ZI love sleep, but there are times it eludes me. It goes in spurts, these bouts of insomnia that are so maddening they feel like they might never end. I toss and I turn, I kick the cats out of the bed (who ignore my not-so-subtle pleas and jump right back up), I ruminate, I watch TV, I do all the wrong things. But when I can center myself and tackle it in just the right way, I use the opportunity to list my gratitudes. I started doing an exercise years ago where I would list a gratitude for every letter in the alphabet, and I still do it to this day. This does mean I have repeatedly thanked the universe for "xylophones" and "zippers that stay up" but it is a worthy exercise nonetheless. <br />
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Too spent from last night's insomnia to write a real blog, here is today's list of A to Z gratitudes:<br />
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A- Abundance. of which I have much<br />
B- Ben, who still believes in me after all these years<br />
C- Curel, the life-changing lotion<br />
D- David, who takes exceptionally good care of my sister<br />
E- Emma Barth, the first person to love me unconditionally<br />
F- Failures that I have learned from<br />
G- Graduate degree, which has given me amazing opportunities<br />
H- House, which is beautifully reflective of me<br />
I- Inspiration, which I get daily one way or another<br />
J- Jess, who gives me the strongest sense of family<br />
K- Kindness, something we all need more of<br />
L- Laughter, which is surprisingly abundant in my life<br />
M- Margaritas, just because<br />
N- Now, the only time that matters<br />
O- Overwhelming drive<br />
P- Peanuts, the first pet I ever loved<br />
Q- Quick wit, which has saved me over and over again<br />
R- Resolution to the problems that perplex me<br />
S- Sleep, which I long for and shall return<br />
T- Throwdowns that make me blog daily<br />
U- Underachievers, as they only improve my image<br />
V- Vacation, and that reminds me I need to plan my next one<br />
W- Writing, my true passion<br />
X- Xerox copiers that don't streak or jam (I hear they exist)<br />
Y- Yellow, as in my lucky yellow sweater<br />
Z- Zippers that stay up (Sorry, I could not resist.)Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-22236198189335057962014-11-11T21:15:00.000-06:002014-11-11T21:20:13.657-06:00Eleven<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPRK-2eI1OwXwHoHsSQZDg_Mcut9HUHU_6MzsySq1POJSMCvyZwvRQk8R2-9ZOgk6JTZSmy8mObNENChZjTyv2CfYWIaVILn3gHhYW0amCxwcFadyDfYn-FHCrDuqpejovQ1C9eMYUULJ/s1600/spinal+tap.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPRK-2eI1OwXwHoHsSQZDg_Mcut9HUHU_6MzsySq1POJSMCvyZwvRQk8R2-9ZOgk6JTZSmy8mObNENChZjTyv2CfYWIaVILn3gHhYW0amCxwcFadyDfYn-FHCrDuqpejovQ1C9eMYUULJ/s200/spinal+tap.gif" width="200" /></a>One of the all-time great moments in movie history was in the classic mockumentary "This Is Spinal Tap." Character Nigel Tufnel is showing off his amplifier, and is proud to showcase that one of the knobs has a highest setting of eleven, thus surpassing traditional knobs that only go from 0 to 10. He proudly states, "It's one louder." It cracks me up every time I think about it. <br />
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The great irony of this is that today, November 11th - otherwise known as 11/11 - was actually an eleven for me. <br />
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My usual twenty minute ride to work was met with one barrier after another and took me forty painstaking, god awful minutes. One freeway was closed off for an accident and every turn I made thereafter was down a street that was blocked off for road construction. How can every road be closed for construction? Worse yet, every driver was driving slowly and/or driving stupidly and/or busy talking on the phone WHEN THEY SHOULD BE CONCENTRATING ON THEIR DRIVING. (Sorry, I just had to get that off my chest. Seriously, people.)<br />
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I got to the office thirteen minutes late for my meeting and spent the rest of the day feeling like I was woefully behind. The people in the meetings - those people! - were talking too slow and too much and about things that (I say this with love) could have waited. <br />
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The lunch I forgot at home was no good and the one I had to go out to get instead with twenty minutes to spare was not so great either. <br />
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For the afternoon round of meetings, I had to forgo the thirty seconds of prep time I had planned on and I moved meeting to meeting, minute by minute, wondering if anyone was onto me. I'm guessing they probably were. They are probably talking right now about what a fraud I am. <br />
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On the way to dinner, these three things happened in rapid succession: the "service" light came on in my car reminding me to get an oil change (who cares), the "tire" light came on indicating I have low tire pressure (I'll take my chances), and the "fuel" light came on indicating I could run out of gas at any moment (but why bother stopping now, we're going for broke). The promise I made to my friend to meet twenty minutes early for dinner turned into an apology for being ten minutes late and a proclaiming of my official status: "I am a hot mess."<br />
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I got home minutes ago, and I still feel as if I should consider breathing in a brown paper bag for the rest of the night. Am I moving too fast, or is the world moving too slow? Today I really can't tell. Either way, today was definitely an eleven, any way you look at it. The whole day was one louder.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151286876729097286.post-58404342193233006852014-11-10T19:13:00.000-06:002014-11-10T19:15:16.907-06:00A Real TurkeyAbout two weeks before Thanksgiving, Mom started concocting a plan. She had that twinkle in her eye - the one that heeded warning: "Watch out, everybody." She and Dad put their heads together and with each exchanged idea, the laughter became more uproarious. They were working up quite a scheme, those two.<br />
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I heard more laughs and hushed talk of logistics in the days leading up to the big holiday. I didn't pay much attention to any of it - I was only 11, after all. Those two were always up to something, and I needn't bother with it. Besides, I had matters of my own to attend to. You know, cutting Barbie's hair, playing games of Sorry with my imaginary friend, setting up a barbershop for the cats in the hay loft. Important stuff.<br />
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The night before Thanksgiving, Mom sat me down and carefully reviewed the next day's plans. We'd be spending the holiday with Uncle Alan and Aunt Pat - this much I already knew. That was standard fare. <br />
This time, cautioned Mom, we'd be spending the night. I was down with that - more time to play with my cousins. But there was one more thing Mom wanted me to know, and I had to promise to keep a secret. My interest piqued, and my eyes grew wide. Mom paused, looked me in the eye, and told me all the details behind her cockamamie scheme. <br />
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Thanksgiving Day arrived and we didn't miss a beat. We packed up the van and headed to the "big city" - bearing in mind that any city seems big when you live on a farm outside a town of 700 people. An hour later, we were at the door of Uncle Alan and Aunt Pat's house - their big, gargantuan, larger-than-life house complete with seven bathrooms. We cousins promptly made our way to the basement where the rec room awaited us. The grown-ups did their grown up things, whatever those were. <br />
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And then the moment came. The moment I had been warned about, and the moment that would be locked deep in family history forever more. Early in the afternoon, the mansion's doorbell rang, and Uncle Alan went to see who might be there. There before him in the circle drive was a yellow taxi cab idling, its driver standing at the door to explain he had a most unusual delivery for the family. Uncle Alan arched an eyebrow, and more of us gathered in the foyer to see what was going on. The cab driver returned to his car, pulled out a crate and headed straight to the door. The Dr. Alan Swearingen family had just become the unexpected recipient of a live turkey. <br />
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The crate with the turkey bore no message and the cab driver was unable to offer any explanation about its sender. Not knowing what else to do, Uncle Alan accepted the crate and the turkey was placed in the garage. Hours of debate followed about who would do such a thing. Why on earth would anyone think they wanted a live turkey? And whatever would they do with it? Mom, Dad and I kept a poker face. It was the first time in my life I had been given permission to tell a lie. My cousins tried to divide and conquer, cornering me to ask if my family - known country bumpkins - had arranged for this strange turkey delivery. I assured them with a very straight face that we had not.<br />
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And so, with no other choice before us, we sat down to enjoy our Thanksgiving dinner and partake in our usual traditions. It wasn't until the next morning - long after the colossal feast and even after every last piece of crystal had been carefully placed back in the china cabinet - that my parents 'fessed up. Yes, indeed, the whole turkey hoax was us. And aren't we funny? I must admit, I think Uncle Alan and Aunt Pat thought a little bit yes, and a little bit no. But you had to appreciate Mom and Dad's chutzpah, there was no disputing that.<br />
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The hour ride home seemed long because - let's be honest - this time we had a live turkey in a crate in the back of the van. We played the events over and over again among each other, laughing harder each time. It was officially the first time I had been let in on the joke. I was grateful to be right there with them, too. I truly was.<br />
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So all of that is to say...Happy Birthday, Mom. You left us way too soon. But know this - I carry you in my heart every day. And that twinkle in your eye? It found its way to me.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06340760495043664707noreply@blogger.com2