It has been a big week here at in the love nest. On Monday, I received the first of my Covid vaccine shots. A snowstorm the week before caused appointment cancellations, resulting in twice the number of people for each time slot on my appointed day. When I arrived there were clusters of seniors, waiting to enter the building when their time slot was called. Once you were inside, the process went extremely smoothly and in no time I had my shot, was scheduled for the second, and headed out the door. The trials and tribulations of scoring a coveted spot on the list will become one of the shared stories years from now when we talk about the lost year, the Pandemic, and when we were vaccinated.
Another spot of excitement in my week is that I purchased a new shiny pink ride! It has a basket, a bell, a cup holder and I love it! I see myself tooling around town – off to the library, the French bakery or just enjoying the sunshine.
One thing it didn’t come with is a lock. I need to hurry and pick one up because my precious pink bike was nearly stolen by a sexy Frenchman!
The week’s highlight, however, was seeing our energetic, creative granddaughter, Eleanor, for the first time in months.
Eleanor’s mother started the long journey to citizenship nearly five years ago. On Friday while Eleanor stayed with Mr. Smith and me, her parents went to Philadelphia for Hsin Yi to complete her interview and citizenship test. She passed! They return in a couple weeks for her official swearing in ceremony.
Grandpa and I had a great day with Eleanor. We sculpted with Play Doh, painted colorful pictures, baked and decorated cookies, went for a walk over our favorite bridge and took a relaxing bubble bath. Eleanor did a fine job of making sure her grandparents were ready for a good night’s sleep.
So as the long winter begins to wear me down and I start to wonder if we will ever have fun again, here comes the sun and I say it’s all right!
National Women’s History Month began with a single day. Every year on March 8 more than 100 countries celebrate International Women’s Day. But why March 8?
In 1909, the Socialist Party of America organized a Women’s Day in New York City. The next year, German delegates at the 1910 International Socialist Women’s Conference proposed that “a special Women’s Day” be organized yearly. But it was Russia who unwittingly established March 8 as the official date. On that day in 1917, tens of thousands of Russian women took to the streets demanding change. Their unified cry for rights was instrumental in paving the way for Russian women to finally win the vote.
Women’s Day was primarily celebrated by the Socialist Movement and communist countries, it was adopted by the Feminist Movement around 1967. The United Nations officially recognized International Women’s Day in 1975. In some countries it is now a public holiday, in others it is largely ignored. In some places it is a day of protest, in others it celebrates womanhood. In Portugal where my sister lived, women gathered for lunch and drinks to celebrate the day and each other.
I knew nothing about International Women’s Day in the summer of 1974 when I was living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and attended Summerfest. This festival, held along the shores of Lake Michigan each summer, now features over 1,000 performances on 12 stages. In 1974, I think there were two stages. I was in the audience at one of those stages and with hundreds of other women, sang my heart out along with Helen Reddy when she performed “I Am Woman.” Unfortunately, in those days my naïve idea of woman power meant burning your bra and using Ms. instead of Miss.
Too many important issues were not yet on my radar, gender parity in the workplace, reproductive rights, domestic abuse, navigating career and motherhood, lack of respect for caregiving. I was raised to be a “nice” girl, to stay in my lane, not be “difficult.” Thankfully over the next decades my inner feminist blossomed, my journey being more of a marathon than a sprint. And I’m ok with that. I haven’t shattered any glass ceilings, but I have given the world three amazing men who know that women are their equal.
I admire the trailblazers and intrepid women who have done so much to bring about change, but this morning I am also thinking about all the women for whom tomorrow is just another day. Another day to try and keep their kids safe, to put food on the table and roof over their head, no time off for a special celebration.
In 1996, The United Nations began adopting annual themes for International Women’s Day. This year’s theme is Choose to Challenge. I have stood up for women – co-workers, friends, family, sometimes strangers. But I have also sometimes failed to speak up. I will always be me. I am more traditionalist than radical, but this year I challenge myself to be more aware of gender bias and inequality and find ways to Choose to Challenge. After all, I have four granddaughters who have a right to grow up in a fairer, more just world.
When Carrie Bradshaw uttered these words in the movie Sex and the City, few of us could have foreseen what was in store for Fashion Week. In February, 2021 the majority of these anticipated stylish shows were virtual and each designer had an exclusive half-hour time slot to debut their collection through the Council of Fashion Designers of America’s digital platform, Runway 360, and on nyfw.com.
February 2012 was a different story. My daughter-in-law, Emily, who was the fashion editor at the Cleveland Plain Dealer at that time, honored one of my bucket items lists and invited me to join her at Fashion Week. It was exciting and eye-opening. I was exposed to the hierarchy of the whole extravaganza. Her press credentials admitted her into some shows and she managed to finangled me into a couple. As interesting as these were, much like Bill Cunningham, I preferred the chic New York street wear, the fashionistas decked out in their finest hoping to be photographed and see themselves in the style pages. Afterwards, I introduced my willing daughter-in-law to my favorite New York wine bar where we spent way too much on champagne. We shared taxis and meals and had a most excellent adventure. It was perfect. A consummate example of carpe diem because the trip wouldn’t have been possible this year.
The first New York Fashion Week took place in 1943. Originally called “Press Week”, it was created to pull attention away from French fashion during World War II when the fashion industry insiders were unable to travel to Paris to attend French fashion shows. It was such a success, it has continued. Many cities now have seasonal fashion shows, but Paris, London, Milan and New York have long been the main attractions.
Fashion Show from the Media Pit
In a time when currently no one is asking “What should I wear today?”, does fashion matter? We have abandoned office wear and cocktail dresses for “lounge” wear. I admit, I have been struggling. Sweatpants and cheese sticks feel good. They are cozy and comfortable, but a body needs vegetables, protein and quality food. And just as a body deserves good fuel, it also deserves to be donned occasionally in fashion.
I have wondered if an interest in fashion is shallow. Is it self-love or social indoctrination? At the lovely age of 65, I have decided I don’t care if it is shallow. Looking at all the wondrous, fantastical outfits coming down the runway warms the cockles of my heart. But even when drooling over some of the styles, in the back of my mind is always the question “But can I wear that?” It reminds of me of watching The Dick Clark Show with my sisters back in the late 50s. Dick would play a record for two fresh-faced teens to rate from 1-10, always with the thought “Can I dance to it?”
Fashion is always changing, even before COVID we were embracing more casual styles. In our digital on-demand world, is it still relevant to “show” collections six months in advance? We have had time during our Pandemic Pause to re-evaluate our excess consumption and consider the many ethical and sustainable clothing brands that are pushing back against fast fashion. Even the regal Anna Wintour believes fashion will never be quite the same again as “values will have shifted.”
For fun, I compared several “Fall Fashion Trends” lists from the likes of Harper’s Bazaar, Cosmopolitan, fashionista.com and others. There seem to be more differences of opinion than consensus, but one thing they do agree on is we’ll finally be wearing color – particularly hot pink! While I will be leaning more towards the cream-on-cream prediction, it is certainly about choices, wearing what you believe looks good and feels good. And indeed, that showcases your personality and provides the world with an accurate depiction of your soul. Luckily, I have last year’s pink linen jacket. I’m ahead of the game!
Fashion historians predict that once it is a safer world, people will quickly find a reason to go out again and will be excited to finally dress for the occasion. I know I will. I look forward to family dinners, meeting friends for coffee or cocktails and dining with Mr. Smith in our favorite Italian restaurant with its spettacolare, intoxicating aromas! I may not be wearing haute couture, but I won’t be wearing sweats.
Good morning. I hope the sun is shining wherever you are. Here in the northeast, we had snow (again!) on Monday and Tuesday, but my weather app is teasing me with the promise of sunshine and temperatures near 50 today! Welcome to this week’s Midweek Mélange, my opportunity to let my stream of consciousness brain take over and write about what has caught my attention lately.
My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue…. Oh my, has it ever. I didn’t own a lot of albums while growing up, but Carole King’s Tapestry pretty much played on repeat throughout my sophomore and junior years of high school. I didn’t care – probably didn’t even know – that it won the Grammy award for Album of the Year, I was simply drawn to the music. The photo on the cover made me feel as if she was looking directly into my soul and we had a connection. We celebrated young lust together (I Feel the Earth Move) and she kept me company on many a lonely Saturday night (You’ve Got a Friend.) Back in February of 1971 (FIFTY YEARS AGO!) when Carole King’s Tapestry album was released, I could have had no idea how all the threads of my experiences were going to weave together to create my life, but this album is definitely one of those threads. Half a century later, it is still one of my favorite albums and one I would want if I were stranded on a desert isle. Song lyrics can be powerful and emotive, and this album played a huge part in helping me navigate the awkwardness of my teenage years. Did you have a particular album or song that spoke to you during your crazy, horomonal youth? Do you still listen to it today?
Last week I received an email from Vogue.com with the article, These Are the 71 Best Documentaries of All Time. I perused the list and decided to start with Bill Cunningham New York. Mr. Cunningham was a unique American fashion photographer for the New York Times. It is a delightful documentary!
Mr. Cunningham was born into an Irish Catholic family and grew up in Boston. He has been quoted as stating his interest in fashion began in church, “I could never concentrate on Sunday church services because I’d be concentrating on women’s hats.” He attended Harvard University on a scholarship, dropping out after two months. Drafted during the Korean War, he found himself stationed in France, giving him his first exposure to French fashion. Back in the States after the war, he became a milliner, making hats under the name “William J”, working out of a tiny studio apartment in Carnegie Hall, where he continued to live for decades. His hats were fabulous, but I think he truly found his calling when he was given a $39 Olympus camera. He wrote for Women’s Wear Daily and the Chicago Tribune, and eventually had two weekly columns in The New York Times: On the Street featuring people on the streets of Manhattan and Evening Hours, chockful of photographs of high society events.
I was aware of Mr. Cunningham as the bicycle riding street fashion photographer in New York City, but Bill Cunningham New York provided me with an intimate peak into his captivating life, as well as giving me a much-needed dose of my favorite city.
I caught up on some projects this past Sunday morning and did not sit down with a cup of coffee and Mr. Smith to watch Sunday Today with Willie Geist until it was almost over. Luckily, I caught his Sunday Spotlight on The Women of Gee’sBend. What amazing women and what extraordinary quilts! Gee’s Bend, Alabama is a tiny town, population barely 300. This small, remote black community has been creating quilt masterpieces since the early twentieth century. Their works are bold and improvisational, often in geometrics that transform recycled work clothes and dresses, feed sacks and remnants into art. Turns out, I had a close encounter with these quilters a couple of years ago. The print in the skirt of Michelle Obama’s portrait dress that hangs in the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. was a beautiful reference to these talented women. At the end of the episode, Mr. Smith turned to me and said, “Women of consequence!”
I hope something inspiring or comforting caught your eye this month. I would love to hear what is keeping you entertained during this unusual time.
Even in the midst of many changes and unknowns She took a deep breath gathered her courage and dared to make today good.
Rachel Marie Martin
Every morning when I wake up, I spend a few moments easing into the day. First, I try to figure out what day of the week it is. My older and wiser sister tells me to let it go and not worry about what day it is, just be glad I woke up!
I eventually force myself out of the warm cocoon of my bed. Mr. Smith, having heard my stirrings, prepares my morning cappuccino. I drifted towards the fragrance, grabbed my coffee and settled into my perch near the window. After scanning the outside world to be sure it still sits solidly below me, I start scrolling through my phone, checking for emails, text messages, or new Facebook or Instagram posts, hopefully featuring my grandchildren. During my Thursday morning routine, I discovered the quote above by Rachel Marie Martin on my Facebook feed, via a Facebook friend. Amy’s personal comment was: Trying to make today a good day. Thanks Amy, challenge accepted.
All during the Pandemic, I have rejected the thought of a “silver lining.” People are dying, people are isolated, out of a job and struggling to get by. How on earth could anyone find a silver lining? A phone conversation with my first born one evening made me reconsider my pessimistic stance. I decided to look up the definition and make sure I was interpreting the expression correctly. According to vocabulary.com, “The common expression ‘every cloud has a silver lining’ means that even the worst events or situations have some positive aspects.” Like many others, my son and his family have worked to find their silver lining in a less harried lifestyle and more time together. Not every moment is perfect, but they are doing a great job of surviving the restrictive environment with creativity and some ingenuity.
So, I want to gather my courage and try to make today better, but for a self-proclaimed planner, the Pandemic has been a huge challenge. Without something to look forward to, I have felt stagnant and stuck in a rut. No get togethers to plan, parties, or themed sleepovers. Mostly I miss my family. Because there is still so much uncertainty, Mr. Smith and I are leery of planning a Camp Grandma for the summer of 2021. We aren’t comfortable asking all our children and grandchildren to travel until we are more confident that all is safe.
But I do need a project, something to plan. I thought about what I treasure most about Camp Grandma and one of the things at the top of my list is the cousins having time together. They live hundreds of miles apart and have few opportunities to be together. So, as often happens, my musings led me to a new undertaking. I am going to initiate a round robin style letter between the cousins and me. I will start by asking some prompting and fun questions but give them plenty of room to share what’s new with them, draw a picture or tell a joke. My goal is to keep their connection (and the letter) going and remind them that when it is safe, we will again roast marshmallows together and talk about the time Camp Grandma was cancelled.
Over the horizon, ever so faintly, I see a glimmer of hope. There are slightly warmer temperatures in the forecast. More and more people are receiving the magical life-saving vaccine. My grandsons will be returning to their classrooms soon. My granddaughters will have playdates with their friends. Thank you, Amy, for providing some much need inspiration to be creative and create my own silver lining. Or at least my own grandma keepsake of a Pandemic round robin letter with my grandchildren.
Have you ever started off your morning with a list of things you want to accomplish that day and ended up wandering in a totally different direction? Has one thing led to another and before you know it, you are sitting on the bedroom floor sorting through piles of stored memorabilia that have been (im)patiently waiting for you?
This past Wednesday morning the first item on my list was finding and printing out a copy of Amanda Gorman’s The Hill We Climb to include in my granddaughter Olivia’s scrap-ish book. I am not a scrapbooker by any stretch of the imagination, but ten years ago I started saving mementos for Olivia and putting them in a book to give her someday down the road. I have the invitation to her baby shower, the label from the bottle of bubbly that Mr. Smith and I shared on the day she was born, and other bits and pieces I have gathered through the years.
I found Ms. Gorman’s poem and was printing it out when a prickling of conscience hit me. I was way behind on Olivia’s book. Instead of continuing on with my “to-do” list, I pulled out her album and a large stack of pictures, thank you notes, drawings, and other grandchild keepsakes and started sorting. I spent a delightful afternoon. I basked in the memories and started speculating about new adventures we might share as soon as we get rid of this lousy Pandemic.
I donned my grandma crown in a big way from Day One. I was working away in my office at the law firm in the fall of 2009 when my son Emmet called. He and his wife Emily were expecting their first baby and I thought he was calling to report on a prenatal visit. He asked me, “Remember how excited you were to find out you were going to be a grandma? Well, get ready to be twice as excited!” Twins! I spent the next hour floating around the firm, spreading the word to anyone who would listen that we were going to have not one, but two grandbabies! I didn’t start scrapbooks for Eli and Henry, but I did buy a couple of boxes for their keepsakes.
The last time Henry and Eli were able to visit, we had a grand time sorting through their boxes. They loved seeing birthday party invitations from birthdays they can’t quite remember. My favorite souvenir is from the first Camp Grandma in 2012. They were 2 years old. One afternoon while we were hanging out on the beach, Henry came running up to me excitedly saying, “I found Goodnight Moon, I found Goodnight Moon!” While playing in the sand, he had dug up a broken milk jug cap, but in his eyes, he had found the moon!
I have logged the most grandma hours with Sam, Eli and Henry’s little brother. I was the grandmere au pair for the trio of brothers for 16 months a few years back. Eli and Henry spent their mornings at preschool and Sam and I were the best of buddies. We played at the park, we nibbled many a croissant, and spent hours creating fanciful creatures with playdough.
I have been writing a letter to Sam each year on his birthday. I tuck in a little cash, seal it up and put it away for later. I’m thinking maybe his 18th birthday. While he is no longer my little sidekick, I treasure the time we had together and want him to know how special he is to me.
Emily, Elizabeth and Eleanor each have their own envelope filled with the same sort of memorabilia, but I haven’t decided how I’m going to organize them. Each of my grandchildren is unique and I want to choose the right format. I’m thinking Elizabeth may have to have some sort of recording. When we were Facetiming recently, she had a book that Mr. Smith and I had “recorded” for her. She was fascinated that our “noise” was in there. With the speed in which technology changes, I will need to do some research to discover if there is a way I can make a recording for her so she can always hear our noise.
So, I confess. I let myself fall behind on my grandmother duties and I’m not sure why. I want to leave my grandchildren with the memories of moments we shared and hope that my keepsakes will be treasured by them. Are you keeping a scrapbook, journal or something else for your grandchildren? Do you write them letters or save news articles or quotes for them? I would love to hear what you are up to.
Good morning and welcome to the premier posting of Midweek Mélange. According to Vocabulary.com, ‘A mélange is any combination of anything, but the word always heightens the glamour quotient…’. Glamour is certainly something I’m longing for these days. Well, that and travel. At least I am now scheduled for the coveted vaccine, allowing a glimmer of hope over the horizon.
Historically January was my least favorite month. That was until 2011. That was the year my first fabulous, amazing granddaughter was born. Happy birthday, my beautiful Olivia!
This year January, however, hasn’t felt all that different from every other month, but I am still pleased to see its end approaching. I always feel like I’m just treading water, waiting for Spring. While anticipating the thrill of seeing bulbs start to pop up through the earth, I’ll make do with my cheery tulips from the market.
If you are feeling the need to get away, I suggest Escape to the Chateau, a British documentary series that follows the story of Dick Strawbridge and Angel Adoree as they renovate and redecorate a 45-room, 19thcentury chateau in France. The scenery is evocative and the renovations are inspiring and entertaining. While they are working on a much grander scale, it brings back many memories of our work transforming the old Victorian we purchased in Indiana over thirty years ago. Mr. Smith sanded, stripped, painted and papered every square inch of the house, turning it into an inviting, cozy home. The creative, charismatic Angel provided one of my favorite quotes from Escape to the Chateau. While sweeping up a room full of dead flies she said, “Behind every romantic story is the reality.” Having lived through our own renovation, I can relate.
If the Pandemic has left you feeling uninspired, I wholeheartedly recommend listening to Nora Ephron’s 1996 Commencement Address to Wellesley College. Having graduated from there in 1962, she returned on a rainy, chilly day in 1996 to address the graduating class. Despite the audience being huddled under umbrellas, to say she was well received is an understatement. I listened to it again recently and was amazed at how well it has held up over the passage of decades.
Aware of my girl crush on Ms. Ephron, Mr. Smith recently passed along an article he read in New York Magazine, Mike Nichols’s Heartburn. Mike Nichols’s 1986 movie Heartburn was based on Ephron’s book by the same name chronicling her marriage to Carl Bernstein that ended in a messy divorce. We watched the movie this past weekend. One of the joys of getting old is while the movie felt familiar, we weren’t convinced we had seen it before. I particularly enjoyed the restaurant scene where they go around the table and everyone describes themselves in five words. Ephron talks about this game in her commencement speech and how those five words change over time.
Other activities that have helped me through these winter/COVID months are reading and embroidery. I am working on more pillowcases and a little Valentine treat for someone. There is something extremely satisfying in seeing your stitches come to life as a design on your fabric. It can be as seductive as reading. Just like telling myself I’ll just read one more chapter, I find myself thinking oh, just a few more stitches.
Along with travel, I still miss shopping but don’t have much need for new clothes. Or so I thought. Despite the onslaught of emails with amazing post-Christmas sales at many of my favorite clothing stores, I have managed to keep my buying to a minimum, but a recent inspection of my lingerie drawer indicated it might be time to dust off my credit card. I have been purchasing my knickers from Hanky Panky for several years. Every July they send me a 20 percent off coupon for my birthday and I weed out what is past its prime and refresh my inventory. Noticing some rather sad looking panties in my drawer, I realized I didn’t receive a coupon this past July! I was past due for an update. While online looking for undie inspiration, I Googled “How long should underwear last?” I was surprised that many gynecologists recommend replacing your unmentionables every 6-9 months. Armed with that information, I spent some time on Soma’s website, filling up my cart. When I saw the total, I hesitated and decided to sleep on it. And what should arrive in my email the next morning but a 25 percent off offer! I am happy to report all is once again well in lingerie land.
Do you also find it interesting how your perspective on something can change? The birth of my first granddaughter gave me a new appreciation for January. A vase of tulips on my dining table reminds me that Spring is coming. Not being able to travel and shop reminds me how much I take pleasure in those activities and how I need to appreciate them more in the future. Those things will happen again and, in the meantime, I have tulips and new knickers as promise of better days ahead. It’s all in your perspective…
Ever since Joe Biden was declared the winner of the 2021 presidential election, the inauguration ceremony had been on my mind. Even before the January 6 attack on the Capital, it seemed clear that our tomorrows would be very different from our yesterdays. The ongoing Pandemic would dictate no parade down beautiful Pennsylvania Avenue, no large noisy crowds, and no elegant festive balls. Would the scaled back events without the usual fanfare make the occasion seem diminished? Can an inauguration taking place against the backdrop of seven-foot-tall fences and over 20,000-armed National Guard troops feel majestic and stately?
With these questions swirling in my head, I anxiously looked forward to watching the 2021 ceremony more than any in my lifetime. Add to that the fact that a woman was being sworn in as Vice President, and my anticipation was bubbling over. While I had blocked out much of my day for watching, my sister is a much earlier riser than I am and was in on the action before the sun was ever up. She shared her early morning thoughts of Inauguration Day 2021.
It was 4:00am, January 20, 2021. Robed and fuzzy slippered, hunkered down in my overstuffed chair, mug of hot coffee clutched close to my chest, I began to watch. Still dark in D.C., yet shadowy folks already bustling about getting ready for history. Slowly the sun arose behind the dome bathing it in gold. An unfamiliar feeling somewhere beneath my ribs startled me. I was puzzled as it quietly expanded bumping against my crusty old heart….it seemed to be joy, it seemed to be hope. I sensed this day was going to be extraordinary. An hour later former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright was being interviewed. Apparently, she sensed that same emotional bubble and called it “…new hope…” As she spoke the phrase went straight to my heart. Today is new hope.
All my fretting was for naught. From the moment the four hundred lights were turned on surrounding the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting pool on the eve of the January 20, I knew all would be well. Lady Gaga, Jennifer Lopez and Garth Brooks all added to the proceedings. Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman took our collective breath away. There appeared to be a relaxed sense of fellowship among the politicians on stage – both Democrat and Republican. The sense of fellowship was as welcome as all the magnificent fashion on display! The beautiful, vibrant colors made me rethink my predominately gray wardrobe. It was one of the classiest swearing in ceremonies I have ever seen. Along with Senator Amy Klobuchar, I hope, “This is the day when our democracy picks itself up…”
No disrespect to President Biden, but the big moment for me was Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor swearing in Kamala Harris as Vice President. Making it even more special was knowing that my granddaughters hundreds of miles away were watching. The Biden Inauguration Team made a free coloring book for kids to help celebrate the occasion.
Olivia, Emily and Elizabeth sprawled on their living room floor coloring the pages, pausing when their mom directed them to the action on the screen. When firefighter Andrea Hall led the Pledge of Allegiance, they stood and recited it along with their nation. When Lady Gaga slayed us with her mixed meter version of the Star-Spangled Banner, three little voices sang along with her. Children accept/take for granted things that they grow up with. By the time my granddaughters are voting, hopefully we will no longer feel the need to specify “woman” vice president.
I understand that simply changing administrations is not going to solve our nation’s many problems. COVID-19, the economy, climate change, immigration and equality aren’t issues that are going to be resolved overnight. But Joe Biden didn’t become president overnight, it was a long and winding road. With hope and expectation of something tomorrow, we must look for the light.
There is a long list of attributes I admire in people. Being well spoken is up there in my top ten. I marvel at speakers who can express their thoughts and ideas clearly and in a way people understand exactly what they are trying to say. I aspire to be one of them. But how do we become more articulate in everyday speech?
A while back I received an email with a short blog post – Speak With Purpose, Not Impulse. Busy with other things, I put it aside for later reading. When I did sit down with it the other day, I discovered it was an invitation to sign up for a 7-day course to improve my communication skills. Now that Mr. Smith and I are sliding into retirement, I am trying to be more conscious of what I spend money on so I decided that before ponying up my credit card number, I would check out what was available for free on You Tube and via podcasts. It turns out there is a lot!
After reading and listening to much advice on becoming more articulate, I found there were a few pointers that come up over and over:
Read! I thought I was a devoted reader, but I will happily commit to reading more!
Listen to yourself. That’s a scary one, hearing recordings of your own voice. It brings back memories of being filmed during speech class in high school. When the instructor played the tape of my speech for the class, much of the filming was of my leg jittering. No, I wasn’t nervous at all.
Expand your vocabulary. I am all in on this one. I love words and am always happy to meet a new one, but mainly I want to stop being lazy, defaulting to the same words over and over (very, enjoy, etc.), and use words that are more descriptive, that more accurately express my thoughts and emotions. My fabulous editor suggested investing in a better thesaurus. I was pleased as punch to spring for a copy of The Synonym Finder from Rodale Books, Inc.
Pause. Strategic pauses are usually much better than filler words. Take a deep breath, give yourself a moment.
I aspire to be one of those people who find the right words in everyday conversation, who are consistently articulate and prepared for a chat. I still remember from over thirty years ago a friend of mine deftly handling a situation, not hurting anyone’s feelings, but not committing to anything she didn’t want to do. My family had been living in a subdivision outside of Atlanta and we were preparing to move to Indiana. While together with a group, my friend mentioned she was planning a goodbye luncheon for me. Another woman spoke up and said, “You should have a potluck.” Now I knew my friend Ann had no intention of having a potluck, but she simply very kindly replied, “I’ll think about that.” There was no potluck and no one’s feeling were hurt.
Words can help and words can hurt. I have had the excruciating experience of instantly realizing I have said the wrong thing. Fortunately, I have also had the rewarding experience of knowing I said the right thing at the right moment. While I know that happens when I take my time, gather myself, and respond thoughtfully and don’t simply react, there are still times I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. Usually not a good idea.
I am someone who struggles to articulate my thoughts, particularly under pressure. There are times when I know someone is waiting for my response, but my mind is momentarily paralyzed. In the past, this has caused me to feel inadequate. Interestingly, while researching how to be more articulate, I came across an article explaining that what I often experience is normal for introverts. Wow! I knew I am an introvert and apparently, I’m normal!
I am a work in progress. I have not given up. I will not brush eloquence aside as something I cannot achieve. I am armed with many tools, including my new hefty thesaurus! It may take me a little time to assimilate new techniques into everyday natural responses, but I am going to try.
What traits do you admire in other people? Do you have a quality or talent you would like to master? How would you go about mastering something new? Feel free to leave me a comment about what you admire or what you aspire to. I’m listening, say anything…
No, we don’t yet know the winner of the 2020 presidential election. The votes are still being counted. What we do know is that voter turnout was unprecedented and I believe that makes democracy the winner. It was likely helped by the highly contentious political climate, as well as the clear attempts at voter suppression. Americans rose up and said, “Oh, no you don’t. I will vote in spite of your shenanigans.”
Many voters voted early or by mail. Luzerne County’s early in-person voting took place at the county’s Penn Place building in Wilkes Barre. The wait was often nearly two hours. While I was doing errands in the past couple weeks, I drove by Penn Place several times and felt verklempt looking at the lines of citizens waiting to exercise their constitutional right to vote and have their voices heard.
In a bit of local excitement, NBC Nightly News anchor Lester Holt broadcast from Wilkes Barre as part of his “Across America” tour, highlighting battleground states across the country last Wednesday. I knew he was going to be in town because my always au courant sister texted me that morning. She had seen a teaser on The Today Show with a bridge in the background. Our apartment overlooks the Market Street Bridge which spans the Susquehanna River between Wilkes Barre and Kingston, Pennsylvania. Our first clue…
That afternoon Mr. Smith and I set out on our daily walk as soon as he was home from work so we could be back to watch NBC Nightly News. Walking along the elevated levee path through Nesbitt Park we spotted NBC News trucks, crews setting up lighting and putting down plywood to cover the squishy river front. We may not be Holmes and Watson, but it didn’t take us any time to realize Mr. Holt would be broadcasting directly across the river from our apartment with the Market Street Bridge and Wilkes Barre skyline behind him. Without even trying, we had stumbled upon the broadcast location. While we were standing there looking down at the action, we were approached by a man coming from the other direction. He wanted to know if anyone had “given us any trouble” about walking on the path. He had come to play disc golf but was told he could not. I explained that was probably because of Lester Holt. “Who’s that?” Oh, Lester, we’re sorry. We explained who he is to our new friend and told him we were pretty sure he could play disc golf tomorrow.
Continuing on our walk, I was silently chastising myself for not having my phone with me so I could snap a couple pictures. When we got to a turn in our route, Mr. Smith said he wanted to continue on and finish the walk, but suggested I cut through King’s College campus and head home to get my phone and go grab some photos. I swear sometimes he can read my mind.
This picture below was taken moments before a very polite security guard approached me and asked if I needed any help. I responded no, no, I was just heading out. No arrests were made.
Mr. Smith got his full walk in. I was able to get a couple of pictures and we were home and settled in in time to watch the news. Thanks, Lester.
Yesterday I was a poll worker. It was a very long day. I arrived at 6:00 a.m. and left at 8:45 p.m. It was an experience I won’t soon forget. So many new first time voters, some elderly voters who had been voting for nearly 70 years and everything in-between! If you have an opportunity to be a poll worker, I strongly recommend it!
For many of us, 2020 is the most stressful election cycle we have lived through. I hope we can now take a breath and no matter which team we are on, acknowledge the momentous problems our country faces. Hopefully we can emerge less divided and more compassionate. Then we would all be winners.
Camp Grandma 