Lessons Learned
This past weekend, I attended a Zeta Sigma Tau sorority reunion back on the UPJ college campus. It has me thinking about lessons learned.
Life is incredibly random. Embrace it.
Once upon a time there were some administrators in some offices, sorting forms, directing college freshman into dorm rooms and classrooms, affecting who would cross my path in September of 1981.
There are many paths. Be willing to explore.
I had planned to play volleyball and become a teacher. Instead, I joined a sorority and became a writer. If I had it to do over, the only thing I’d do differently is not stress over either decision.
Look up and say hello.
You’ll sit down next to a lot of strangers in your lifetime. One or two might be destined to be a friend for life.
There are parties going on. Attend one.
At 18, I was shy. I was nervous. I was kind of a nerd. I was not a snappy dresser. But I left my dorm room and went to a party. That one brave deed led to Zeta Sigma Tau, which became the center of my life at 18 and the catalyst for a poignant, hilarious, joyful, just-what-I-needed weekend at 50.
Everything changes. Some things never change.
From 18 to 50, we slowly, steadily transform. But it’s not like squashing and reforming a lump of clay. It’s like weaving a broader and more intricate pattern. There is always a thread that ties us to our starry-eyed, stumbling, happy youth. An unsnippable, indestructible, soul-saving thread.
A shared perspective is magic.
It is good to take a long look at the past with those who were there. Not to white-wash or candy-coat but to see clearly from a distance. To put an arm around then and an arm around now and embrace it whole. To understand at a deep level that, warts and all, you are one lucky so-and-so.
Bonus: A group of aging brains remembers more great stuff than one aging brain.
At 50, adult humans become capable of time travel.
Don’t ask me about the science, but it’s true.
Stages of life.
There will be drama. You’ll have good acts and bad ones. Sometimes the script will suck. Sometimes you’ll be confused or scared. There will be those who shout. Or throw tomatoes. But, ultimately, Life is an exquisite comedy. Find a great supporting cast. And stick around for the whole show.
It’s funny . . .
Sadness and happiness get murky. Anger and joy wane. Achievements and disappointments fade away. But funny is funny forever.
It’s never about the stuff.
True friendship is not about popularity or possessions. It is about who giggles at the same dumb stuff that you do. It’s about hugging someone who hugs back. It’s about who picks you up when you fall (from hard times or too much grain punch or a skid across a dance floor). It’s about being able to join the conversation in a heartbeat, whether you’re returning from a hard day of classes or from a 30-year absence.
Graduating and grief.
Leaving your college friends at graduation is a lot like the grieving process. Over time, you cry less, you get passed how much you miss them, you get on with life. But there will be moments when that sweet ache stops you in your tracks. And you miss them all, all over again, more than can be expressed.
Women are kind, beautiful, and amazing.
If you don’t believe this one, find new friends.
This post dedicated to my sorority sisters, some of the best damn women I have ever had the privilege to know. Til next time, don’t forget for one moment that you are brilliant and lovely and funny as hell. I loved who you were. I love who you’ve become. You have a place in my heart forever as uniquely qualified life preservers.
Mac > PC
I am (finally!) the proud owner of my very own Mac. I could tell a crazy story: The brain-frying, hunch-backing research; the frustration of computereeze; the joy of smart and patient translating friends (thank-you Nancy, Robin, and Steve!); the highs and lows; the anticipation and disappointments; the ebay bidding; the problems, the fixes; the fear and relief; that final trip out to buy another mfdvi monitor adapter. I could tell the story of how this Mac ended up here. But the beginning of this story is better.
My fascination with Apple’s Mac started in the late 80s, when companies were making the transition to desktop computers.
I worked with a woman named Lynne. She was a colleague, a friend, a humorous human, and an all-around good egg. She was given the opportunity (in corporate parlance, was empowered) to decide whether or not the company’s design team would get PCs or Macs. She did the research. She involved the team. With conscientious attention to detail, all due diligence, and an open, honest, for-the-best-of-all approach, decided that, for current and future needs, the Mac was the better fit.
There lived in this village a Much-Higher-Up who had a penchant for PCs and a predilection for getting his own way. He was her boss’ boss’ boss. She didn’t stand a chance. She was bullied. She was lied about. She was pressured. She was expected to cave.
She stood her ground.
It was traumatic and dramatic stuff back then. She was my friend. It was unfair, and it was disillusioning. I felt really bad for her. But, most of all, I admired her chutzpah. I guess it showed because I was pulled aside and oh-so sincerely, oh-my-how seriously warned not to associate with her. All of the things that were wrong with that conversation couldn’t fit in a blog post, but Lynne and I laughed about it many times.
Things were never quite the same for her after that. Eventually, she got tired of fighting the lies and sick of playing the games and she got another job elsewhere. We kept in touch for a year or two, but then we lost touch. I got a call from her Mom one day, about 8 years later. Lynne had passed away. Suddenly. Tragically. She was 30 years old.
In that quirky, strange way of the brain, I realize that my fondness for the Mac is entwined forever with my fondness for Lynne. So, of course, the telling of a tale of frustration in getting a computer set up seems inconsequential. And having a heated debate over which is better — Mac or PC — is foolish.
‘Cause Macs are better. It’s what they use in heaven.
Today’s Work Environment
In-depth field research conducted over a quarter of a century has shown that the following things never occur in a traditional office setting:
– Dancing in the office space on a non-Friday.
– Playing any type of music at a loud volume, without using headphones.
– Variable start time of whenever you damn well feel like it.
– Lunch eaten at the desk due to work enjoyment.
– Mean, ignorant, and ridiculous people barred from entering the premises.
– No “developmental discussion” required as follow-up action for a cussing incident.
– Dress code permitting Eeyore sweatpants and a T-shirt, bra optional.
– Kitty cat on the desk; kitty cat on the extra office chair.
– Send email to anyone about anything with confidence in its privacy.
– Laughing is the norm when something stupid happens in your vicinity.
– One full-color printer, scanner, copier, and fax machine per person.
– An office as big as a house.
– Private kitchen with a fully stocked bar.
– Permission to leave work early to go have dinner with a friend.
Dear Giant Eagle/Brentwood
I am not a fan of grocery shopping. I go only when I absolutely have to—which is when I am out of either cat food or toilet paper. Otherwise, I make do.
You used to be right up the street. It wasn’t a big store or a “Market District” store, but it sure was convenient. Especially for someone like me who can get halfway through a recipe and realize she’s missing an ingredient.
Then you moved to a bigger location farther away. I adjusted. I re-learned where everything was. I could still leave my house, do a full shop, and be home in under an hour.
In the past few months, for some reason (that is not in the least bit obvious) you rearranged all of the aisles. And you rearranged them again. And you rearranged them yet again. Today’s less-than-major shop took me more than an hour and a half due to the required back and forth searching. And all the times I had to stop and express my frustration under my breath.
For added fun, today, while looking for the yogurt that you apparently no longer sell, I noticed a package of yogurt that had been partially opened. There were two employees less than 10 feet away. As I passed them on my way to get butter (one of the few things that is actually still in the same place), I mentioned the yogurt. I was told to tell some other employees about it. These other people were much farther away. Not farther than I could walk, of course, but, after wandering up and down every aisle and then some to pick up a few freaking items, I really wasn’t in the mood.
He suggested it twice. I ignored him twice and walked away, secretly hoping someone would soon turn that yogurt into a cleanup announcement.
Do you not realize how frustrating and annoying your store currently is? Do you think maybe a little extra effort on the customer service side of things might help? Here are a few more questions:
– Why is kitty litter no longer in the same aisle as the cat food?
– Why do you have munchies broken up into three different half aisles?
– Why is Newman’s salsa four aisles away from the tortilla chips and other salsas? (and why do you now have fewer flavors of Newman’s salsa? Where is the mild? It was my favorite. And I had a coupon.)
– Why are spices in a completely different aisle from baking supplies?
– Why are different varieties of frozen pizza in different aisles?
– Where the hell are the pancake mix packets? (I have yet to find them in three trips.)
And last but not least . . .
– Did you know they recently opened an Aldi’s in the neighborhood?
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.
Be Nice.
Today’s epiphany is: I like Garbage Men. They’re like Santa in reverse.
Make a list of the things you really don’t want. Old stuff, ripped stuff, smooshed stuff. The stinky, the rotten, the gross. The used, the broken, the empty. Check your waste baskets, check them twice, and gather up everything, naughty or nice, and then, by dark of night, place it all at the curb. And go quietly, serenely to bed.
When you awake, you can run down the stairs, throw back the shutters, and press your nose against the glass to see if it’s true. Yes! Yes! They came! They were here! It has all disappeared. The banana peels and apple cores; the can and jar labels; the evidence that you ate an entire box of cookies and a pizza; the moldy bread, shrimp tails, bits of lunchmeat; the shredded junk mail, discarded envelopes, and snipped circulars; the soggy paper towels, cigarette butts, earwaxed Q-Tips, and boogered tissues; even the clumps of cat poo. It has all gone away. Like magic.
Almost.
I was driving down my street this morning and had to stop behind the garbage truck to wait for a chance to pass as men picked up their sacks. And I saw it happen. An overstuffed wimpy-wimpy-wimpy bag fell to pieces. And I heard the garbage man yell. It was an involuntary roar. It was a cinematic No! It was a resonating moment of human angst, as real as any of us feels when a rotten, stinking workday goes from bad to worse.
Were he anything like me, he probably would have considered going up on the rooftop to drop garbage in this person’s chimney. But he didn’t. He went to the truck and grabbed a shovel to scoop it all up.
As he made it to the back of the truck with a third shovel full, I saw my chance to pass and pulled away, noticing, as I drove through the neighborhood, how many more garbage bags there were to be picked up. I couldn’t help but think about what it must be like to do his job every day, picking up stinking bags in the middle of August or hanging onto the side of a steel truck in early February.
Starting next garbage night, I am going to double-bag the messy stuff and triple bag the used kitty litter. I’m not going to try to fit quite so much into each bag. And I’ll be more aware of the awkward and the heavy. I don’t suppose it would be sanitary to leave them a glass of milk and a plate of cookies, but these good elves will be getting a better tip from my house come Christmas.
P.S. I would like to acknowledge, for perhaps the first time ever, how very nice it is to work indoors at a computer.
Unemployment Benefits
So, I lost my job a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve yet to fully comprehend all of the documentation I’ve received from the Unemployment Compensation program, Cobra, and the 401(k) people, but tonight I’m taking a moment to celebrate the following benefits:
1. Winter clothes in storage. Yes, it’s mid-August and I’ll start switching back in a month or so anyway, but what the heck, it feels good.
2. Alterations on misfit clothing begun. The key benefit represented here being that this means I figured out how to run a bobbin all by myself.
3. House is tidy.
4. I’ve been eating homemade meals. (And there aren’t any dirty dishes in the sink or on the counter or in the oven.)
5. Files from my first home computer, which hasn’t been plugged in since 2004, have been transferred to my current computer.
6. My purse has no extra lint, receipts, expired coupons, or 10-pound lump of pennies.
7. My garden looks as if I know what I’m doing.
8. Xenosaga III completed.
9. My home laptop now has the latest version of itunes loaded, my music is in The Cloud, and I have synced my iPod shuffle that I got for Christmas 2 years ago.
10. Caught up on laundry, email, facebook, and sleep.
11. It’s Sunday night. And I have no nasty black-pit feeling in my stomach.
12. Last but not least, my favorite benefit: Time to write.
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.
Another Creepy Facebook Ad
Saw this ad on my facebook page today.
1. I am not signed up for truelove2013.com. Although I must admit I’m curious: What happens in 2014?
2. I find the wording hilarious, especially given the photo of this man in a vehicle. Um, should I be checking the rearview mirror while running errands today?
3. btw, this isn’t (according to facebook) the only handsome, eligible guy in my vicinity who is aware of me and wants to date me. Yeahhhhh, that sounds about right. Boys lining up. Always makes it so hard to back the car out of the garage.
4. So, is facebook doing this with my photo? Are there strange men across the world (or “nearby”!) who are seeing my photo and being told I want to date them? If so, how do they select the photo? Imagine if they pulled this one from my facebook profile:
So, dear facebook (and other) friends, a request: If you see one of these fellows following me around, please alert me and protect me.
But, you know, don’t scare him off.
Life Preservers 
B-attitude
Blessed are the kind-hearted.
Blessed are the imperfect.
Blessed are those who trust in goodness – but learn from experience.
Blessed are the funny, the witty, and the droll.
Blessed are the stupid, for they doth be amusing.
Blessed are those who preserve and run old movies.
Blessed are those who use a turn signal.
Blessed are the misunderstood; one day they shall be vindicated. Or at least learn not to give a rat’s ass.
Blessed are those with their head up their arse (because at least that shuts them up).
Blessed are they who do not forward chain letters.
Blessed are those who hope despite all of the evidence.
Blessed are those creative enough to design a bumper sticker that isn’t in the shape of a looped ribbon.
Blessed are they who still make, sell, buy, and read real books.
Blessed are the cheese makers.
Blessed are the silly for they lie closest to understanding the world.
Blessed are the lapsed Catholics.
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August 29, 2013 at 6:13 pm Leave a comment