Posts filed under ‘Life Preservers’
Happy Birthday, Old Friend
This post dedicated to a dear friend who was born August 28, 1963. Some thoughts on turning 50.
- After a 50th birthday, you wake up and realize, you can stop freaking out about turning 50.
- The friendships that have lasted this long are pretty much good to go. And new people worthy of your time, energy, and love are easier to spot.
- You can now drop an F-bomb in front of your parents and they’ll just laugh.
- This is the first birthday in a long time during which you will be celebrated as you were when you were a kid. Enjoy every minute. ‘Cause the next big one is 60 – and that will just be sad.
- You don’t have to join A.A.R.P. if you don’t want to.
- Whether it’s a fancy night out with your sweetie, a no-fuss game night with friends, or an evening with Haagen Dazs and Dean Martin, you know how to – and you make the choice to – recharge as needed.
- At 50, tragedy has touched you. And tempered you.
- At 50, you are capable of soul-expanding joy.
- At 50, you never ever have to ride your bike to get a candy bar, dig through couch cushions to purchase a pop (aka soda), or worry about borrowing clothes for a formal event.
- Whether you are tall or short, overweight or skinny, straight-laced or goofy, graceful or clutzy, you are loved. And you know it.
- Whether you are rich or poor, brilliant or ditzy, famous or ordinary, fabulous or frumpy, there are people who don’t like you. And you’re okay with that. Maybe even a little proud of that.
- No one (including you) will ever expect you to drink until 3:00 a.m., run a triathlon, or wear a bikini.
- You’ve forgotten more stuff than the youngsters will ever know. And you’re about to start forgetting even more stuff.
- The number of years until you can retire is now a comprehensible span of time.
- You have arrived at 50. You know what matters most to you and it doesn’t matter if the same things are important to a friend, co-worker, neighbor, or the person taking your pizza order.
- You have friends who have already turned 50. And they are cheerfully, wickedly relieved that you have to go through it, too.
Happy Birthday, Vern. You are one my life preservers.
NOTE: A variation of this post is available to purchase as a poster. Click here to go to the product in my zazzle store.
Golf, Friendship, Life
It’s official. My favorite day of the year is a Friday in August, the one day of the year that I golf.
Those of you who know me are shaking your heads in disbelief because you know, when it comes to golf, I don’t know my ass from a hole in the ground that is a gazillion yards away and to the right or maybe the left, who the heck knows?
But, this past Friday I was golfing in memory of the inimitable Damon Garde, If you knew him, you’re a lucky soul. (If you didn’t, just believe me when I tell you that, even if you are a hopeless mess on the golf course, you would show up to golf in his honor.)
So, today, some thoughts on golf, friendship, and life:
- We cannot get where we’re going in this world alone. Especially during a golf scramble when your tee shot barely makes it out of the box on a par 5.
- The “cool people” are not those who go to trendy places, wear branded clothes, or drive expensive cars. The cool people are those who will look you straight in the eye and call it a practice swing.
- Life is too short to chase after every lost ball.
- Don’t avoid a fun time with friends because you’re afraid they will discover that you’re a clumsy, uncoordinated twit. Please, believe me: They already know you’re a clumsy, uncoordinated twit.
- Fear is crippling. And quite boring. Buck up. Show up. And keep your head up. (Or, in some cases, keep your head down and your knees bent and your forearms straight, you stupid freaking idiot.)
- Take the mulligan.
- Winning is fun. But–little known fact–losing is fun, too, if you do it with the right people.
- There is always more than one way to earn a trophy. (Right, Lisa?)
- At least once a year, put on your crazy pants.
- There are all kinds of people in the world. You’re, uh, going to want to let a lot of them play through.
- It’s a relatively short game. Seek out those who ease your soul, heal your heart, and make you laugh from your belly. Throw your arms around them, keep them close, and celebrate every blessed moment you have with them.
So, yes, I spoke the truth. My favorite day of the year began on a golf course.
It ended with beer and burgers and card games and late-night hyjinx, like this year’s impromptu Putting Wrong-handed in the Dark contest, which a clumsy, uncoordinated twit, barefoot and tipsy but in the company of friends, just happened to win.
Thank you Ed and Cheri for making it happen. God bless ya, my teammates. Hugs to all my golfing Life Preservers. And cheers to you, Damon. Always missed. Never forgotten.
Keep An Eye Out for Amys
Sometimes a life preserver moment comes from seeing another person that you care about do something that makes you happy. Fantabulous mini-moments when you know to your toes that the World really is an okay place. They can catch you by surprise and change your day. It’s espresso for the soul.
Today, I’m sharing a vlog from a girl named Amy. An amazing sweetheart who I’ve known pretty much since she was born. One of those kids who makes you believe that the next generation will do just fine.
She had a dream to go to Disney World and work there as part of a college program.
Note: Disney is a spot that is near and dear to my own heart. When I was 10 years old, my aunt and uncle took me, my brother, and my sister there. 
When I turned 30, I went again with some friends and cousins. At the time, I joked that I would just have to go back to Disney every 20 years. (Hard to believe it’s time again.) (Yes, I’m going.) But, enough about me.
This week, after lots of preparation, much hard work, timely follow-through, oodles of creativity, a bushel of enthusiasm, and support from her awesome parents I’m sure, my young friend Amy made her dream come true and arrived in Disney. She posted this
I clicked through that video to discover her vlog, which led me to this gem
It’s a bit of reality that feels like, well, a Disney movie. Yes, I teared up watching it. (Hell, I’m tearing up writing about watching it.) But they’re happy tears, and that’s life-preserving stuff.
So, have a good day. Find optimism. Seek joy. Keep an eye out for Amys.
Goals Accomplished. Sort of.
I had ambitious plans for the past week of stay-cation. In review, my to-do list:
Goal: Put books back onto new shelves in office room.
Accomplished and enjoyed. (Proving once again that I am just about 1 chromosome short of being OCD.)
Goal: Move old office furniture to basement.
Not accomplished. Stuff was way too heavy and I am way too clutzy.
Goal: Prevent self from being found dead and crumpled at foot of basement stairs beneath ginormous bookcase.
Accomplished!
Goal: Work out every day.
Accomplished. (Except for the every day part.)
Goal: Tidy up house.
Accomplished!
Goal: Stay up late and sleep in a lot.
Accomplished!
Goal: Buy wine.
Accomplished!
Goal: Break open the new Abbott & Costello DVD set.
Accomplished!
Goal: Tidy up the yard, put remaining porch furniture back into storage, clean gutters, hire someone to cut down trees.
Ahem. Um. There’s always next weekend? Or next spring?
Goal: Take Goodwill pile to Goodwill.
Nope, it’s still in my basement. But the pile is decidedly bigger now.
Goal: Get basement carpeted.
Nope.
Goal: Take pile of clothes to dry cleaner; hem new pants.
Nope and nope.
Goal: Update address book.
Made it to the Ks. Got bored.
Goal: Clean out garage.
ha! Nope.
Goal: Enjoy a 1:00 Steelers game.
Sh*t.
Goal: Scratch off pile of saved up lottery tickets and win enough money to avoid going back to work ever again.
Half-accomplished.
Sigh.
Doesn’t seem like I did much of what I thought I ought to. But, as my week off ends, I am relaxed and (trying hard to ignore the incessant chuckling and lip-smacking of the Back-to-Work Demons) feeling happy and destressified, which was my number 1 goal really. No airplane ride, no scenic drives, no souvenirs, no new vistas, but the house feels a bit more feng-shui-ish, there’s clean underwear in the drawer, there are new Abbott & Costello giggles in my head, and there’s still some wine left in the ‘fridge. It was a life-preserving week, and I think I’ll be okay.
Good night.
Thankful in 2012
As Thanksgiving Day begins, I am reminded of grade school when we were asked to hang a picture on the wall and state for all to see what we were thankful for. That activity holds such simplicity: the easy tasks of childhood as well as the true meaning of this holiday. Despite the attempts of retailers and advertisers to turn this day into one symbolic of gluttony and consumerism, in the hearts of most, this holiday remains, simply, a day to embrace family and friends, a day to relax, a day to be thankful.
Here is what I hang on the wall for 2012.
Although I did not like the number, I am thankful I had another Birthday.
I am thankful that I got to hang out with some wonderful people and refill the hug bank at a Schmidt Picnic in June.
I am thankful for my Aunt Ann who turned 90 this past week. And I am thankful for my new littlest cousin who arrived a couple of months ago.
I am thankful for my nephew Stephen, now a Marine, serving this great country.
I am thankful that I have a home, a car (with four new tires and a new alternator), and a job.
I remain thankful, every morning, for coffee. And I am thankful to have discovered the coffee cream frother!
I am thankful for cookies. And, likewise, thankful that I managed to get my old fat butt up and moving once again to do what all the experts say you can’t do: Lose weight in your 40s. (Yes, you can.)
I am thankful that, for the first time since sometime in the 80s when I became eligible to get a credit card, I have no credit card debt.
I am thankful for books. And audio books.
I am thankful for some home renovations. And I am thankful that my construction friend did not laugh too hard when he discovered that my baseboard in the kitchen has been sitting there unpainted and unattached since his last visit to put in the kitchen floor about 7 years ago.
I am thankful that my neighbor, Flo, fooled the doctors yet again and made it home in time to hand out Halloween candy with me.
I am thankful for facebook and the connections it has strengthened and the reconnections it has made possible.
I am thankful for my friends who keep me busy, keep me centered, keep me laughing. Thank you for game nights. Thank you for liking the same sushi place I like. Thank you for taking me bowling. Thank you for your philosophical, brilliant, hilarious correspondence. Thank you for dinners and drinks.Thank you for commiserating. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for my sanity.
I am thankful every single day of my life for my wonderful, weird, dear, and loving family who have made this year so much fuller and so much funnier. I am thankful for Mother-Daughter weekend. I am thankful for Wicked Weekend. I am thankful you had my house key. I am thankful for gorgeous room design support (and that you are feeling better). I am thankful for Overnight Fun Nights and kind of amazed that you still like to hang out with me. I am thankful for recipe tips, home tips, life tips, and that you are there when I call. I am blessed to be a part of this crew. I love you.
And, last but not least, I am exceptionally, happily, guiltily, giggly thankful that my sister-in-law and brother are doing all the work and all the cooking as our dinner hosts this year while I had time to sleep in and post to my blog while sipping coffee.
Motherly Advice
In honor of my Mom, my Aunt Mitzie, my Grandma Schmidt, my Grandma Daugherty, my Aunts Mae, Betty, Jean, Marie, Ann, Margie, Theresa, Pat, and Jo, and my other-mother Elain W., I’m taking a little break from Prepare to Make Your Home Look as if Your Mom Taught You Well Day to consider some of the things I learned from these incredible women:
- Respect your elders. Mind your manners. Brush your teeth. Get along with your siblings. Don’t horse around on the stairs.
- A bit of confidence, a touch of courage, and some common sense can conquer just about anything.
- If no one knows the spaghetti missed the colander and fell into the sink, you can still serve it.
- Clothing does not define a person, but look your best for church and special occasions.
- Men are marvelous, and True Love does indeed exist. However, when need be, a woman can kill bugs by herself.
- Don’t do stupid shit.
- Driving is a serious responsibility.
- Work hard. But make time for play.
- People are more complicated than we can ever know. Those who may seem difficult to love may be more in need of it than those who move through the world with ease.
- Backing into a fire hydrant isn’t the end of the world.
- Happiness trumps societal expectations. Company trumps chores. And hearts trump clubs.
- Try again despite failure and fear.
- If you don’t know which fork to use, select one with confidence and people will follow your lead while admiring your fine manners.
- Play by the rules. It makes occasions for breaking them that much more fun.
- Life is hard. Heartbreak happens. But it is not an excuse.
- Painkillers are over-rated.
- Don’t swear. Unless it’s really warranted.
- Home-made things and time spent are better than any gift money can buy.
- Be kind. Be generous. Be helpful. But don’t let the assholes take advantage.
Happy Mother’s Day to the beautiful, witty, brilliant Life Preservers who raised me up, who led by example, who taught me right from wrong, who liked me despite my faults, who loved me and delighted me as a child, who gladly, sweetly, humorously, gracefully welcomed me into the club of adulthood.
I thank you. I love you.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Musical Life Preserver
After a debilitating four-day, 50-plus-hour week and a yet another teeth-grinding commute from North to South, my week ended on a high note.
After a pit stop at home, I took a relatively breezy drive into Oakland to get to the classy-comfy, ushered, delightfully step-back-in-time Carnegie Music Hall (where parking in the lot behind the museum is just 5 bucks!) to see the River City Brass Band.
Tickets to the show can be had for as low as $21. For just a bit more, you can get one of the best seats in the house, like second row, first balcony, center, where I eased into my red-velvet seat between two of my favorite people in the world, Mom and Dad, and felt the lasso that binds me to the Rodeo de Ridiculousness unknot and slip away.
Lights dimmed and the band came on stage and the Best Loved Marches-themed show began. For each number, the band’s Conductor, Scotland-born James Gourlay, provides interesting, entertaining information about the song, its composer, or other historical trivia.
And they play. Lord do they play.
A brass band—a great brass band—live. It is an experience. Trumpets, cornets, trombones, tubas, a lively group of percussionists. It is so American. (And, I think, so Pittburghian.) It is music that reverberates through your ears and down into your gut before slipping out through fingertips and toes that, even among the most unmusically inclined, move throughout the show in easy, involuntary accompaniment.
The music itself would be enough. It moves you to audible ooh and ahhs, a primal appreciation, an ancient-feeling of wonderment that such sounds could come from the brassy metal implements before you, and at times, like while hearing “to dream the impossible dream” (The Quest, Mitch Leigh), sung last night by flugelhorn player Drew Fennell, tears.
Yes, the music would be enough. But there is more. This group of incredibly talented musicians also has a delightful sense of humor.
The Imperial March (John Williams), which most would recognize immediately (dum dum da dum dum da dum) from Star Wars included an appearance by Darth Vader, who used The Force to take over and conduct with his light saber.
During a medley of Scottish tunes, Gourlay conducted in a kilt. After which, he asked the audience if they were wondering what people wonder about Scotmen and kilts. And then he removed the kilt to show . . . rolled up tuxedo pant legs, from the pocket of which he swished out and twirled a Terrible Towel.
And there was a Spike-Jonesian solo on a xylophone that included notes played on a block of wood, a pot lid, and squeaky toys.
So, yes, it’s a band concert, but it’s not quite like any band concert you’ve been to before.
Offer me tickets to anything in this amazingly big small Pittsburgh town—city, pavilion, or arena—and I will choose the River City Brass Band. They are talented. They bring goosebumps, cheers, tears, guffaws, and giggles. And they bring the music. They are an affordable marvel. They create moments of purest happiness. They infuse joy.
This is an experience that reminds you that the soul you had as a child still exists. The River City Brass Band is a musical life preserver.
The band’s season runs from fall to spring, with the last show of the current season coming next month: May 10 at the Carnegie Music Hall and May 3-13 at other local high school venues, which can be found on their website, www.rivercitybrass.org.
YUMMY
The restaurant is called BRGR, and until today, I couldn’t decide if the name was clever or stupid.
It was on the menu with the unassuming name of “fried chicken appetizer.” You could have easily overlooked it. But the description, once read, intrigued. A rather interesting mix of flavors. Comfort food with a daring twist. Absolutely unique. And absolutely “YUMMY.”
And I mean the kind of meal where you are liable to actually, involuntarily blurt out a loud, boisterous, overly theatrical, gleefully playful “YUMMY!” (with a tone of South Park’s “Timmy!” being greeted by a drunk but happy Janis Joplin) after every single bite AND again, here and there, should the indescribable Morsel of Weirdest Goodness cross your mind while staring into an empty pantry cupboard, skirting the mall food court, approaching the Communion alter, etc.
{“YUMMY!”}
It’s a small bowl of penne pasta mac n’ cheese {“YUMMY!”} topped with kimchi coleslaw {“YUMMY!”} topped with a couple of pieces of the tenderest, moistest, boneless, breaded chicken ever. {“YUMMY!”}
It was my go-to lunch on days when I am in desperate need of a better-than-usual, not-at-my-desk, life-preserving lunch, days when the desire to escape the round-peg-in-a-square-hole cube life overwhelms, days when the Inner Child has plopped to the floor, red-faced, lip pulling in toward a grand screaming rebellion of No.
Tired, stressed, sans umbrella on a rainy day, the clock nearing 3:00 before I’d had a moment to consider lunch, and The Marvelous Yummy crossed my mind. {The Inner Child’s lip relaxed, Yum-mm-mmm-my?} {C’mon sweetie. It’ll be okay. We’ll go to BRGR and read vacation guide books, k?}
But.
They have secretly replaced the strangely, wonderfully schizophrenic fried chicken appetizer with a kind-of-nasty, boring fried chicken appetizer. I asked, “Is this the one with the kimchi and penne pasta?” and was told, No but it is “The Best Fried Chicken I Have Ever Tasted.”
Not. Even. Close. Not the best fried chicken ever. (This waiter has obviously never attended a Pittsburgh wedding, graduation, or family reunion. Pretty sure he’s never even been to Giant Eagle’s cafe.) And, obviously, not even close to the original dish.
Why? Why did you take this uniquely wonderful dish off the menu? What’s next, replace Christmas with a Tuesday? Put lima beans in a Cracker Jack’s box? Pave paradise and put up a parking lot?
Not clever, BRGR.
Thank-you Tom Russell
I believe that each of us in this life is granted a few special messengers outside of our biological family, who cross our path to teach us something important, to provide vital guidance if we’re paying attention.
In the early 80s, I was in college and, thank heaven, paying attention in my Intro to Journalism class.
I had every intention of being a schoolteacher when I grew up. But, in my Sophomore year of college, I took a Journalism class “just for fun” and wandered into Professor Tom Russell’s classroom with a new notebook, a couple of pens, and nary a clue.
He was a retired newspaper reporter and an Air Force veteran who served in World War II. He dressed a bit like Mr. Rogers. He commanded, never demanded, respect. He did not tolerate laziness, bad grammar, or cliche. Sharp witted. Friendly. Un-sugar-coated. Brilliant. He was tough – but tough in a good way, in a way that challenges and inspires.
I can recall, with vivid clarity, The Moment—as I walked out of Biddle Hall after one of his classes—when I made the decision to be a writer, to do what I loved instead of what was safe and expected. It was one of the first big things I fought for, one of the only decisions I’ve been 100% sure of, one of the few things I got right in my life.
I truly don’t know if I would have discovered my place in the world or found the courage to pursue it if not for Tom Russell.
Now, I may not have attained exactly what I dreamed of that day, but I use the things he taught me every single day of my life.
We’ve exchanged cards and catch-up letters for more than 25 years at Christmastime. His hand-writing on an envelope is one of my Favorite Things. I sent off my card and letter to him last week, with a promise to print out and send a couple of blog posts in a separate envelope. This morning, at the office, I used the internet (instead of my address book at home) to check his address to get those into the mail. As I scanned the white pages’ search results, I saw one with a notation: “Passed in 2011.” Oh no, no, no. But, yeah. I found the online obituary next.
He left this earth in May, so this paper is late. He’ll deduct points for that. And he’ll roll his eyes at this “armchair fluff.” But I owe him a good-bye. And a stronger word choice than Thank-you. And a novel.
Fare thee well, Mr. Russell.
# # #
Never Tailgate is a gift book with car photos and tips for new drivers. Dare to be Happy is a gift book with advice about life (and doodles). Both are available on amazon.
Life Preservers 
Commuter’s Life Preserver
My commute is about an hour on a good day. After a few years of that type of commute, you get tired of every type of music (even your own mix tapes) and every variation of morning show antics. You get tired of people arguing, whether it’s know-it-all sports talk or 2 minutes of politics followed by 58 minutes of commercials. Twice a day, day after day, whatever button you push, radio gets redundant.
About 6 months ago, I switched to audiobooks. I never thought I’d like audiobooks much; it felt like cheating. But, it’s not like reading Cliff’s Notes. It’s not like seeing the movie instead. It’s like grown-up story time. It’s an engrossing time passer. It’s the complete opposite of road-rage. It’s delightful. There are even mornings when I look forward to getting in the car to go to work. (And those who know me well just fainted.)
Should you be interested, here are a few things I’ve learned about audiobooks:
1. Audiobooks are not just for old people. Really. They’re not.
2. Like real books, audiobooks can create goosebumps, cause you to tear up, make you laugh out loud. They can entertain. They can teach. They can inspire.
3. It may take a book or two before your brain adjusts to the experience. For example, without pages shifting from right to left in your hands, you won’t have indications of progress that your subconscious expects. After a book or two, the pacing of stories will reassert via the number of CDs and/or tracks.
4. Next to whatever makes a great book great for you, the most important thing about an audiobook is the narrator.
5. You might want to look up a book before purchasing the audio format. Audiobook packaging doesn’t always include the same level of description as a physical book. And you might wind up, for example, tolerating 20 CDs read by some annoying, grating very proper enunciator before realizing it was book 1 of a trilogy.
Yeah, some cliffhangers I can live with.
6. Speaking of the angst of buying a bad audiobook, you can avoid this issue completely by joining a library and borrowing their audiobooks.
7. Keep in mind that it appears to be library policy to put all audiobooks on the shelves nearest the floor, with labels pasted alternately North-to-South and South-to-North, so you’ll squat there, tilting your head left to read one title, then right to read the next title. Squatting, head moving—chicken-like—left, right, left, right, pecking at row upon row of miniature books sorted only by author, not genre.
Still, it’s free, and if you get a bad book (or an enunciator), you can just take it right back and try another.
8. When you go to the library, don’t ask for “books on tape.” (They’re on CD now of course, and librarians, who are, apparently, rather literal people, will tell you they don’t have any.)
9. When you go to another library—because the first one you went to (near where you work, where your hours of being able to look at books best matches up to their hours of operation) can’t give you a library card unless you first get one from the neighborhood in which you reside (even though it’s all computerized and you have a valid driver’s license, and even though, once you get the card from your home library and go back again to the first library, they give you the option to use the exact same card)—don’t call them “books on tape.”
10. I am now looking into ways to download audiobooks from the web. I’ve looked at amazon’s audible.com ($14.95/month seems a bit high to me) or iBooks via the itunes store where, it appears, you pay per book, but I haven’t yet tried either.
I’m sure there must be other similar sites or apps. If you know of one that you enjoy, that seems reasonable, and is user-friendly, please share some details in the comments. Thanks!
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April 27, 2012 at 9:51 am 1 comment