Nurse Mom

I am never really sick.  But today I am.

Yesterday morning I woke up a little stuffed up.  By the time I got to work, I had a tickle in my throat. It turned into a cough that, over the next several hours, gained momentum.  By 6:00 p.m. I was in bed. Then I experienced the fever and the chills, the horrible muscle aches - that actually woke me several times during the night.

So how am I coping?  Actually, extremely well.  In fact, I'm enjoying it  little bit.

Now I know this sounds crazy but it is a real "treat" to be able to stay in bed all day and nurse my fatigue; know there is laundry and dusting, and vacuuming to do and have no choice but to ignore it.  Without guilt.

Prince Bob stepped up and cleaned the carpets, made me a berry smoothie for breakfast and home made vegetable soup for lunch.

I had to bow out of obligations this weekend but I am bundled in a warm and comfortable bed and frankly, I am so loving that.  Even though I am hacking up a lung and fighting the chills.  And wondering my my muscles hurt so badly.

It is times such as these when I really miss my mother.  She was a wonderful nurse.  Her soft hands would be all over my face and neck checking for temperature.  She would have brushed my hair.  But then something kind of weird and wonderful happened.  As I was flipping through the channels, I saw that "The Lawrence Welk Show" was on PBS.  I would never watch it for entertainment value but seeing it takes me back to my great grandmother's house in Sacramento as a little girl.  When ever we were there with our parents we had to watch it with Grandma Florence.  I used to make fun of all the saccharine of the show - even as a 9-year-old.  But tuning in tonight took me straight back there, to Grandma's wonderful house on "Q" Street, with my mother.  Sitting on the foam green nubby couch.

And I can feel her with me.

Wunerful, wunerful.

The Problem with Secrets

Yesterday, as I was catching up on work I had brought home, Bob and I watched a documentary on Netflix about "The Secret".

You all remember "The Secret", right?  It was a wildly successful book and philosophy that everyone was talking about a few years back.  It basically says that we live under the laws of attraction.  That consciously or not, we draw to us what we get - whether positive or negative, and that by focusing on what we want, believing that we will get it, and living as if we already have it, the universe will reorganize itself to give us what we want.  That Mercedes you see yourself in?  Its yours.  That 500K job you long for?  In the bag.  The house in Malibu?  Start packing.

I don't wish to poke fun of people who believe in this.  In fact, it is seductive.  If I can think it, I can have it.  Who wouldn't love that?  But here's a secret about "the secret".  There may be some power there but  be careful what you wish for.  And how.

First of all, there is no secret about living with positive thinking.   In fact it is scriptural.  "A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones", Prov 17:22.  Further, "Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things" Phil 4:8.  Of course our attitude makes all the difference in how our lives are going to go.  And yes, if you live with negative thoughts, you are likely to be a negative person and you are not going to enjoy your life.  On the flip side, if you are positive,  you focus on what is good and when things go wrong you will work to take the negative and use it for positive.  That is scriptural as well. "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose" Rom 8:28.

The Secret also speaks a great deal about gratitude.  Again, no secret.   "Be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances" Thes 5:16-18.

There is a lot said about "believing" you will get what you want in the philosophy of "The Secret" as well.  Believing is not a new concept.  "Ask, and it will be given you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it will be opened to you.  For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.  For what man is there among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent?  If you then, being evil(*), know how to give good things to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!" Mat 7:7-11 (*) evil , meaning with an imperfect nature.

So all of this has been around forever.  But here is where it falls apart for me.  In this entire documentary, I heard nothing about contentedness, nor did I hear anything about anything other than personal desire and agenda.

There is nothing wrong with wealth.  Certainly life can go smoother without financial concerns.  And I'd be lying if I said I didn't love luxury.  I wish I had more.  Who doesn't love the idea of sailing on a beautiful yacht or traveling the world first class, or just a kitchen renovation?  But if the means are to those ends specifically, there is no real happiness.  And that, is probably the real the secret.  Contentedness must come into play for there to be joy and fulfillment.  "Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.  I know how to be brought low and I know how to abound.  In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.  I can do all things through Him who strengthens me"  Phil 4:11-13.

And if we ask for and believe that the universe will give us all that we want, we have to consider that the "universe" is everything.  Space, galaxies, planets, suns, moons, black holes, earth, all living creatures - including us - we are all part of the universe.  If we believe that the universe has the intelligence to coordinate everything in its endless capacity and bend the "collective will" - including mine - to grant you what you want, someone, at some point is going to be disappointed.  Because I am part of the universe and what I want and what you want may collide.  But if we believe that God is not the universe but instead the creator of the universe, we can see how He alone can work things out for His own purposes, and that lining up with what He wants will bring you complete fulfillment.  Because, after all, you are His idea.  And the true desires of your heart were planted there by Him.

The "secret", although it really isn't a secret, is a reliance on God, an attitude that is positive and affirming, grateful and contented, prayerful and expectant, seeking of purpose and understanding for God's design, direction, and fulfillment.  Because in the end, our own desires fall short of fulfilling us.  "You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand there are pleasures forevermore" Psalm 16: 11.  And truth be told, that while you may find yourself blessed with riches, God is not terribly interested in those.  He made them, he understands the benefit of them, but they are not eternal things.

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  If this is indeed from the creator of the universe, can it possibly be any better that that?

Of course, we are free to visualize personal prosperity, material wealth, large houses, boats, cars, money - all of the things we long for that we feel will make us complete and happy.  I remember so many times in my life, praying fervently for stuff - the right apartment, the new car, that some guy would like me, for a bigger paycheck, on and on -  and found that the contentedness in having them was very short lived.  There was nothing wrong with wanting those things.  There was nothing wrong with getting those things,  There was nothing wrong with praying for those things.  There was something wrong with thinking those things would fulfill me.  There was something wrong being so focused on the stuff I wanted to make me happy in my life that I had no interest in lining up with what God wanted for me.

"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"  Mat 16:26.

Milwaukee, Doan'cha Know

Looking at a three day weekend with at least a day's worth of work to take home.  No matter.  I am still so grateful to be employed - even if this is the most stressful sales job I have ever had.

My company is in change mode.  We are introducing a lot of new product which should go far in changing the trajectory of our business, but transition is always tough.  Like trying to turn a ship on a dime.  Still, I get to travel a bit.  To far off and unknown places.

Like Wisconsin.  Preparing for the trip was easy.  I have packing for business down to a science now.  It was depressing to see how beat up my beautiful, expensive, not-yet-a-year-old suitcase is.  It does not pay to buy attractive luggage.  By the time I got to Wisconsin, the airline had further damaged my bag by breaking the collapsible handle - offering evidence to support my suspicion that airlines are cutting corners by employing monkeys to handle the luggage.  By the way, airlines won't guarantee wheels or handles.

Anyway, I was in Wisconsin for a literacy conference - taking place at the same time that major snow storm was blowing through on its way to Boston.  Having been warned that I couldn't possibly imagine the cold I was about to endure, I brought my black wool car coat, my heavy-duty London Fog trench coat to wear over it, and even borrowed a good ski-coat from a friend.  As it turns out, the hotel I stayed at had a skywalk to the convention center so the only time I was outside was the 10 seconds from airport terminal to cab to hotel to cab to airport terminal.  The only time I needed my coat was to roll it up and use it on the plane as a pillow.  True, I missed much of what Milwaukee has to offer - which I'm certain is measurable - but then again, you know, so what?  I was able to see the snow from the skywalk and from my hotel room - and it was glorious, but I also saw scores of people, heavily bundled with oversized shovels doing what looked like the very hard work of clearing the sidewalks.

Better them than me (she said selfishly).

I did not have to walk outside to get a bit of Milwaukee native flavor though.  I was there representing my company, one of many vendors exhibiting to educators attending.  Exhibiting from one of the universities, right across the aisle was a very likeable woman named Pat.  Pronounced "Pey-at".  It is spoken in nearly two syllables.  Pat told me she has "lived mii whohle life in Wiskahnsin" (lived my whole life in Wisconsin).  She had a delightful Wisconsin accent and was very friendly.

"Whey're ya frahm?" she asks me.

"Thousand Oaks", I tell her.

"Ooh.  Wheyre's that?"

"Between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara - just over the Santa Monica mountains from Malibu", I explain.

Immediately she crosses over the aisle laughing.  "Ooh mii gaad", she says.  "Heh-av yah ever seen the Caalaforneeons" on Saatarday Niight Liive?  They aare sooooooooooo funnee."  And then, in her heavy Wisconsin accent, she attempted a California surfer accent and I won't even try to spell it phonetically.  Hilarious.  

And don't think that just because I never left the confines of the hotel/conference center I didn't experience some real Milwaukee pride.  The hotel (Hilton) offered the the kind of experience that many travelers are looking for - comfortable rooms with enough old-world luxury to make you feel you were somewhere special.  But lest you forget where you were, among several places to dine in the hotel, they offered "The Miller Time Pub".  I had forgotten it was brewed in Milwaukee.

But the most noteworthy experience of my trip was walking through the austere hallways of the Hotel, with its lush red and gold carpeting and beautiful crystal chandeliers to one end of the sky walk, across to the other side where an escalator ran, taking you to the convention center.  Along the wall of the escalator, as you descended, were large, framed black and white photographs (circa 1970s) of Milwaukeeans - large and small, young and old - reveling in the Polka experience.  And because, to the foreigner, these images alone might appear ridiculous - even eliciting a condescending chuckle at the sight of joy with beer and accordions, those responsible for the choice of decor installed a sign at the top of the stairs which read "Push to Play Polka".

So, of course, I did.

And for the short ride down, looking at the photos and hearing the rousing sounds of a professional polka band, I let me feet go: one, two, three - and, one, two, three - and..." on my step - all the way down.  And it felt just great.

Indeed, I think I would like to visit Milwaukee again.

In the Spring.

Oh-kee Doh-kee, then. 

Christopher's Visceral Art

By my cousin, Christopher Roberts

I've never been really drawn to abstracts.  My taste has always tended more toward the soft focus, soothing images of impressionism.  Monet, Manet, Seurat.

Things are changing - mostly because of my cousin, Christopher Roberts.

Chris is my cousin Lynn's oldest son.  I used to baby sit him.  He was a blonde and beautiful child.  Then I moved.  Then they moved.  And I saw him very infrequently.  He was simply my second cousin, Lynn's kid (although he calls me "Aunt").  I loved him but I did not know him to be extraordinary.

Chris had trouble in school.  Not that he wasn't smart.  I am told he tests "brilliant", intelligence wise.  But Chris was gay and he was the first gay person in our family to "come out" (there have been more since).  Evidently the bullying in school was brutal.   Chris was a little misdirected early in young adulthood.  Trouble with substance abuse led to some bad decisions and some of his experiences have been extremely painful.  But ultimately, all of that led him to make a big change and he packed up and left Tucson to move to Portland where he went to school and I don't really know what else.  He started over.  Then, about a year ago, he took up residence in an artists' loft with other artists and they paint and create all day long.  And I thought: "Really, Chris?"

You see, Chris' grandmother was my Aunt Barbara.  She really was an artist and I secretly thought: "Just because Barbara was an artist doesn't mean..."  Nothing that I knew of Chris or his life ever gave me a reason to think he was an artist.  

I am an idiot.

When Chris first started posting his paintings, they reflected deeply personal feelings and experiences he had had in his life.  I appreciated them, but I couldn't feel them myself.  I didn't understand it.  But as his paintings continued to evolve, so did my interest.  His work is absolutely extraordinary.  He is brilliant - and not just intelligence wise.  

I am now a true fan.  And very strangely - it is his abstracts that I am absolutely in love with.  I am saving money to commission hopefully more than one piece from him.  Happily I get a "family discount" - but his work is truly amazing and worth a great deal more than he charges.  I look at the painting above and want to live there.  I think it is just spectacular.  (If you click on the picture above, you will see the entire painting.)

Chris did not ask me to write this.  He doesn't know that I am.  But if you are into art collecting, I would bet on him and buy before you can't.  

You can find him on Facebook by searching "Christopher's Visceral Art".  

The New TV

Um, did my room just get smaller?

I clearly have a spacial problem.

Fourteen years ago, when I was pregnant with Grace and building another bedroom onto the house, I looked at the original floor plans and indicated to the architect the rough size I wanted the new room to be.  I was basically choosing the size of another bedroom we currently had.  It was a nice size, all the furniture fit and there was room to move around and play on the floor.  Fairly standard.

When the contractor came to stake out the space before laying a foundation, I stood in the center of the roped off area and felt as if I was in a closet.  The contractor assured me that is was, in fact, what I had requested and was, in fact, the same dimensions of the bedroom I requested it match.  I knew my contractor was both smart and trustworthy but it looked so small.  I just couldn't imagine how a crib, a dresser, and a "Diaper Genie" could fit where I was standing.  Let alone a rocking chair.  So right then and there I told him to make it bigger.  By about about forty percent.  

The walls went up, the carpet was laid, and we painted.  Then we started moving the furniture in.  I needed more furniture.  A lot more.  Grace's room was a football field.  

I had a similar experience today.  I was at Sears, looking at new flat screens to replace a TV that has needed to be replaced for a while - and in time for Super Bowl.  There I was, wandering the aisles of uncountable LCD and plasma screens, passing up the screens that were clearly too small and looking for sales.  Finally a sales person came to help me and I told him the size I was looking for.  Roughly the size of our current flat screen - what I believed to be 42".  He showed me to the aisle that had 42" screens.  Clearly I had it wrong.  Our screen was not nearly as small as what he was showing me.  We must have a 50" screen.  I told him so.  We moved to a new aisle.  This seemed about right.  He pointed me to a screen that was on-sale and it was 52".  Two inches bigger than what we currently have.  Bob would like that and it was affordable.  I purchased it.   It took about 15 minutes to get it in the car.

That should have been a big clue.

Getting out of the car proved impossible.  We had to cut through the box and pull it out.  Once we got it into the house and brought it to the credenza that still held our other TV, I gasped.  We did have a 42" screen after all and it was plenty big enough.

I now have a room that is all about a television.  Even Grace remarked: "was that really necessary?"  Of course Bob is delirious.

I'm wondering if there is any relation to the great chasm between the size on the labels of my clothing and the size I see in the mirror.

I'm guessing I should start trusting the labels.

32 Days In

Beautiful Winter View of Manitoba

What day is it?  I swear, life is so chaotic I feel like I'm in a perpetual hangover.

So I guess it's February first (seriously, I was thinking it was some sort of "Fool's" day - uh no, that would be April).  Nonetheless, I have had a brutal work week and now I am staring down a 36 hour tunnel to Super Bowl Ex-El-Vee-Eye-Eye (and if memory serves me correctly that would be 47??) It's hard to believe that I knew 8 years before the first Bowl.  And yet - the world turned.  I know the San Francisco 49ers are playing against a team that starts with a "B".  And we are hosting a Super Bowl Party.

Backing up, this past week - I was sent to a three-day sales training that was fairly fun and a nice respite from the grind of trying to hit my revenue numbers which requires regularly scheduled prayer.  The stress of it has brought on relapse of hypochondria - taking the form of whatever "disease du jour" catches my eye first when my computer opens to Yahoo.  A special call out to Dr. Bukont who renewed my prescription to anti-anxiety meds.  

But it was a tough week too since we welcomed a new very senior level account manager to our staff who has been in the industry quite a long while and brings what we used to call a "meaningful rolodex" to the table.  Unfortunately, her rolodex is comprised of names and numbers from the territory I have been working my ass off in all of last year and was finally seeing some traction on.  So, good corporate citizen I, with a well rehearsed smile, handed all my files and pipeline to the new girl.  Not that I had a choice.  I did not.  And I am now starting over - again - in Canada (yes, all of it), the eastern seaboard, down to New Jersey (minus New York), Maryland, Massachusetts, Delaware, DC, Virginia and West Virginia.  

Can anyone spell s-n-o-w-b-o-o-t-s?  

I visit Manitoba next month and so far, anyone I have mentioned this to has burst into laughter.  Something tells me it isn't because they are known for Comedy Clubs.  I am terrified.  I don't believe I have ever been in sub-zero temperatures.

But possibly more terrifying is the fact that 23 of our friends are coming to our house on Sunday.   Bob keeps saying the house is in "pretty good shape".  He must be referring to our house from the parallel universe.  I am gearing up for a day of ammonia solution cleaning because it is not in pretty good shape at all.  What it is is picked up.  But it is dirty and all the bedroom doors are shut and behind them are monsters.

Plus there is - the food.  And I can only imagine Costco the day before Super Bowl.  I will be there tomorrow to experience it first hand - after sticking needles in my eyes...

Add to all of this the guilt I feel for the friends we love and cannot invite.  Not that they are grieving - they're probably having their own Super Bowl Party - but I would have liked very much to invite them - and in many cases, we owe them an invitation.  Over owe in fact.  Like its been our turn to have them over for over a year.  Or two.  But we really don't usually have more than a couple of people at once - which is why, as Bob excitedly picked up the phone to continue inviting people I had to scream: "Noooooooo!!!"

"What?" he asks me.

"Look around you Bob.  How big does this room look to you? Does it look like it will accommodate 23 people?"

"Oh I can fit them in."

"No Bob we are not having 23 little boys in their PJs who will be comfortable sprawled all over the floor.  Nor can we set up chairs in front of the couch.  We can fit 10 to 12 maybe. So we are going to have to  spread this out into the living room as well. And we will fill that room with the rest of the group.  And that will work fine.  But do not invite anyone else. They will only be irritated that there is no place to sit and have a view of the game."

This new development (that being the realization that we do not live in a 4500 square foot, open concept floor-plan home), presented us with a new problem.  While it was fine to split the party into two rooms, the TV we have in the living room is a 10-incher hidden in a small console because I don't want to see a TV in my living room. Clearly that will not do so Bob brought out the big, old fashioned 36" TV that lives on shelving in our bedroom closet, and set it up in the living room.  But I am guessing that no one wants to come to our house to watch Super Bowl Ex-El-Vee-Eye-Eye on a 10-year-old color "TV set".  I could be wrong - no I couldn't be wrong.  So tomorrow I have to go to Sears and do the best I can on getting another wide screen flat TV - one that will ultimately replace the dinosaur in the bedroom.  And I suppose its time.  But there are other things I could spend my money on.

Like a down coat for Manitoba.