Notice: This Monday Has Been Cancelled Due to Inclement Weather

Eric (8) hovered over my shoulder as I panned through last year’s Halloween photos on my computer.  It was quarter after seven on Monday morning and I had to print out ten pictures for Eric to take to school the same day. 

When Eric presented me with the Spotlight Student instructions after school on Friday, I skimmed through them quickly.  Then, telling myself that I had two days to help him get his things together, I pushed the task aside.  Now it was Monday morning and I needed to print out ten photos in less than ten minutes and get Eric out the door in time for school.

Emily (5) sat in the middle of the living room floor pushing her shoes on.  I rushed to the laundry room and dug through the basket of clean clothes.  Her snow pants were at the bottom.  I ran back to the kitchen and picked up her boots.  As I shoved everything into a bag, I called to Emily “Come on, Honey, get moving.  Get your coat on.”  She didn’t budge from her spot on the floor. 

I piled my computer bag and purse onto the passenger side of the minivan.  After more prodding, Emily finally hopped into her seat.  I turned around.  Where’s Beth, I wondered? I rushed back inside to find Beth (3) pulling off her coat, hat and shoes.  My heart sank as I dropped to my knees to redress her.  I would be late for sure.

Mondays are not my favorite.  For some reason, they always sneak up on my.  It’s as if my brain, which has been hitting the snooze button since five o’clock Friday afternoon, has suddenly been forced to crawl out from under a pile of warm blankets and face the cold morning air.

It’s not as if Mondays are a new experience for me.  They pop up fairly regularly in my month, about once every seven days.  And they are consistent.  They always arrive just after Sunday but immediately before Tuesday.  They are never late.  You would think that by now I would have grown accustom to them and adapted my routine to accommodate their inevitable arrival.

But my brain, I fear continues to reject the idea of Mondays’ existence, despite strong evidence in their support.  It’s a lot like the way Wile E Coyote’s body briefly rejects the idea of gravity just after he steps off a cliff and dangles in the air for a few moments before plunging into the abyss below.  Yes, it’s almost exactly like that.

It would be somewhat less objectionable to me if we could make a few adjustments to Mondays.   Beef up their marketing.  Consider their product placement.  Readjust their packaging.  Something to make them more palatable to the average weekday consuming public.

Fortunately, I have a few suggestions.

First on my list to improved Mondays would be to address their location within the seven-day week.  Monday, in my opinion, materializes far too early in the week.  We simply are not ready to experience a Monday morning that early in the cycle.  Moving Mondays to the day after Wednesday would be much more tolerable.

In addition, there appears to be a time disparity between Mondays when compared to Saturdays and Sundays.  I’m sure you have noticed it too.  While the weekends fly by like a jackrabbit, a typical Monday drags on mercilessly like a sleeping turtle.  To lessen the pain, I propose taking five hours away from Mondays and allocating them towards additional leisure on Saturday.  Think of the additional revenues this plan to could bring to the local taverns! It’s pure genius.

Finally, I would be much more disposed to accepting Mondays if we could just incorporate them wholly into the weekend instead of lumping them in with the work week.  Hear me out on this one.  There is, after all, precedent for my plan. 

Case in point – Labor Day and Memorial Day, despite always being on a Monday, are considered part of the weekend.  My proposal is to simply extend this holiday weekend philosophy to the remaining 50 weeks in the year. It’s so simple and so beautiful all at the same time! I should win a nobel prize.

I arrived at the office ten minutes late.  My computer was erupting with e-mail.  An avalanche of  papers were spilling off my desk.  My phone was thundering in the receiver.  As I sat down to begin my day I wondered what would happen if I put up a sign on my office door that read “This Monday has been cancelled due to inclement weather.”

Shut The Hell Up

I am on the fifteenth floor – half way to the top.  I can feel my heart pounding and my breath is coming in shallow bursts.  I stop briefly to wipe a bead of sweat away from my eyes.  Then I push on, climbing the stairs.  

My legs ache.  My back hurts.  I can hardly breathe. Gotta keep going.  Gotta keep going.  I tell myself.

Last year at this time, I had never heard of “Tower Climbing.”   Now I was a week away from my first race. At this time next week, I’ll be standing o the top of the AON building in Chicago, eighty flights about the city. At least I hope I will.  

I don’t expect to win the race.  I don’t expect to place.  I barely expect to show.  My goal is simple.  I merely want to make it to the top – eighty flights of stairs. Sounds crazy?  That’s what I thought too.  But I had a very good reason.  Let me explain.

I climbed to the top of Watterson, a twenty nine floor building, for the first time in August.  It went something like this. 

Flight One:

Me: Did you say twenty-nine flights of stairs? Wow.  I wonder if I can do this.

My negative subconscious: Probably not, let’s go home and take a nap.

Me:  Just one more flight.

Flight ten:

Me: My legs are starting to hurt.  I sure am breathing hard.

My negative subconscious:  This is too hard.  Let’s turn around.  I think I saw a McDonald’s down the block.

Me:  Just one more flight.

Flight fifteen:

Me:  So tired.  Half way.  Huff Huff.  Half way there.

My negative subconscious:  Seriously, this is ridiculous.  How about we call it a day? 

Me:  Just one more flight.

Flight twenty two:

Me: Almost there.  Almost there.

My negative subconscious:  My legs hurt.  I can’t breathe.  What the hell are we doing?

Me:  Just one more flight.

Flight twenty nine:

Me: Made it.  The top.  I did it.

My negative subconscious:  Great.  Are you happy now?  Can we go home and promise never to do this again?

Me: Just one more time.

So why will I be climbing eighty flights to the top of the AON building next week? I won’t be doing it to win the race.  I won’t be doing it to place.  I won’t even be doing it to show.  I’ll just be doing it so that I can finally tell my negative subconscious to shut the hell up.

The Power of Smile

Smile. That was his advice.

Matt and I worked for the same company.  A few weeks before, I had met him, an up and coming, soon to be executive, at a training seminar.  He was one of the four executive facilitators.  I was there to learn. Following the session, Matt had been assigned to provide me with feedback.  That's why I was in his office.

Smile? Did he say smile? He couldn’t be serious.  Was he patronizing me?

I’m no dummy.  I understood that Matt was a person of influence in the company.  That’s why I showed up at his office promptly to meet with him.  That’s why I was wearing my suit and heels, instead of my normal business casual attire.  That’s why I had spent twenty minutes reviewing Matt’s biography.

Getting feedback had always been difficult for me.  My usual approach was to try to act attentive, thank the person who was giving the feedback, and then get the hell out of there.  Feedback in my experience, has usually involved action items.  Like “Try to spend more time learning about our pricing programs” Or, “Get a copy of this new management book that everyone is raving about.”  Or “Subscribe to the Wall Street Journal.”  I didn't have time for that nonsense.  I had a job to do.  

Matt could tell I was shocked by his suggestion.  But he didn’t say anything.  He waited for me to speak.

Inside I was thinking, “Are you out of your mind! I’ve got lots of important work to do and the last thing I have time for is to worry about smiling!”  What I wanted to say was, “I spent an entire day at that freaking facilitated session and the only feedback you have for me is smile?”

Instead I said, “Uh, well. That certainly is interesting advice.” 

Matt wasn’t going to let me off easy.  He leaned forward in his chair, looked me square in the eyes and said, “In today’s world, the people who succeed are the people who smile.”

Seriously? I suppressed an urge to roll my eyes. Success, I thought to myself, comes from working hard.  Success comes from being smart or having talent.  Success comes from solving problems and getting the job done.  What kind of yahoo would believe that success comes from smiling?

I took a deep breath and talked myself out of walking out of Matt’s office.  From reading Matt’s biography, I knew that he had worked himself from an entry-level job to senior executive.  He had a big office and a reserved parking spot.  He was earning a lot more money than I was.  I suppose, I thought, he might know something that I don’t.  

“Maybe you can explain what you mean.” I said.  I tried paint a small smile on my face.  God, I hope I don’t look cheesy, I thought.

For the next half hour, Matt convinced me that everything I had believed up until that point was wrong.  I can’t remember everything he said, but here are the highlights:

·    Your smile is the first thing people will notice about you.  When you smile, you project an air of being interested and engaged.  When you don’t you, come across as hostile and disinterested. 

·    A smile sends a message of confidence.  It tells people you feel comfortable with the situation.  It tells them you are ready for a challenge.

·    A smile shows that you appreciate the importance of a meeting or situation.  Not smiling sends a message that you think the people or issues are not important and that others are wasting your time.

Matt also talked to be about the benefits of smiling outside of the office.  “If you believe you are happy, you will be happy.  If you are happy, you will be successful at work, at home, or wherever you go.  It's that easy.  When you smile, you feel better.  When you feel better, you become better.”

It was two years ago that Matt told me about the power of smile.  And guess what?  He was right.

Since then, I’ve tried to concentrate on smiling more.  And though I didn’t win the lottery or get a corner office, I have noticed a difference.  I feel better about every day I live.  I feel more relaxed.  I feel less stressed.  Because I feel better, I am able to concentrate on doing better at home and at work.

My friends and coworkers have noticed the difference too.  “You seem happier.” A coworker said recently.  “You seem more poised and confidence.”  She attributed it to my recent weight loss.  “Achieving a goal is enough to make you grin.” She said.

I just smiled.  Because I knew that everything I had done for the past two years, the running of races, the exercise, the weight loss, the attitude, could all be traced back to Matt’s advice. 

Smile.

Inventing New Languages Out of Pink Ponies and Making Life Sized Lego Ships

It’s Friday evening and the kids are sitting at the kitchen island waiting for the kettle to whistle.  We are making Ultimate Hot Chocolates.  It’s hot chocolate and marsh mellows topped with cool whip and covered in sprinkles.  With all those sugary ingredients, you can guess why it’s a favorite in our house. 

Waiting for a kettle to boil is painful for three children.  It ranks right up there with getting a flu shot.  Eric (8) is complaining, “How much longer.”  Beth (3) keeps reaching for the toppings, forcing me to move them to higher ground.  Only Emily (5) is quiet. 

I watch her guide a pink stuffed pony through the air, as if the plush animal is flying.  “What are you doing, Honey Bee?”  I ask.

“I’m making up a new language.” She says.

Eric rolls his eyes.  “Emily.” He says with a hint of frustration in his voice.  “You can’t make a language with a flying pony.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Mom.” He rolls his eyes at me.  “You need words to make a language.”

“What about sign language?” I ask.  Eric, however, doesn’t have a response.  Instead, he tries to divert the conversation back to Emily.

“But sign language is real.”  He argues.  “She’s just making this up.”

For the next few minutes, I try to explain to Eric how important imagination is.  I tell him about Star Trek.  I tell him how the creators of the show imagined a time when people carried tiny little communications devices in their pockets.  Then I hold up my cell phone. 

“See, this phone.” I say. “It wouldn’t have been possible without imagination.”

Imagination, in my opinion, is more important that smarts.  It’s more important than money.  It’s more important than strength.  Imagination sets humans apart from the other beasts.  (Well, that and a soul.)

The force of imagination led early humans to build studier shelters to protect them from the elements.  The force of imagination led the same humans to see what might happen when they cooked the catch of the day in a fire.  Without imagination, we’d still be living in caves, killing buffalo with pointy sticks and then eating the raw flesh.

Imagination led Wilbur and Orville Wright to a sandy beach in North Carolina where they invented the first airplane.  Imagination led Karl Benz to create the first gasoline powered automobile. 

Imagination is responsible for putting a man on the moon. Imagination is responsible for launching the Titanic.  Imagination spurs on the development of the Space Shuttle.  Imagination is the reason man created the atomic bomb.  Imagination created clocks, calendars and computers.

Imagination is the reason the Pilgrims boarded the May Flower.  Imagination explains the reason settlers flocked from the safety of the cities to explore the great expanse of the west.  Imagination prompted Robert Perry to press on to the North Pole. 

Imagination wrote the works of Shakespeare.  It directed Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.  Imagination invented Bananas Foster, Baked Alaska and Crème Brule.  Imagination spurred on Saturday Night Live.  Whether it’s the chair you sit on or the pen you write with, it wouldn’t exist without imagination.  

Imagination is one of the most powerful forces in the world.

Yet, curiously, if you look at school curriculum throughout the country, there is not a single class on “imagination.”  We stress reading.  We push writing.  We advocate for arithmetic.  Yet never do we say to our school board, how much of the budget do you plan to dedicate to the fine art of imagination?

I wonder, what will happen if we continue to take our imagination for granted? And I fear what the answer may be. 

A few days pass and I am sitting in the kitchen.  I hear Eric in the family room.   He’s holding a space ship built out of Legos and making “vrooooom” noises.  I glance over at him and our eyes meet.

“Whatcha doing, bud?” I ask with a smile.

Eric rushes over to me.  “Mom, guess what.  I know what I want to be when I grow up.”

I lean forward on my elbows.  This ought to be good.  “What’s that?”

“I’m going to design life sized Darth Vader space ships made out of Legos. Ones that fly for real.”

I laugh and grab Eric around the waist.  “Kiddo, I hope that is exactly what you do. And I’ll be the first in line to buy one.”

Going From Can't To Can

It was the first day of Boot Camp in 2011.  I looked around the room and noticed a couple of rookies fidgeting in their sneakers.  For the next hour Nancy, our drill sergeant, would put them through their paces – running, pushups, step ups, triceps dips, wall sits, lunges, squats, and more.  I wondered if they knew what they were in for.

Was it only six months ago that I was in their shoes?  I remembered walking into the studio, a large empty space.  I noticed some jump ropes hanging on a hook and a few hand weights piled in the corner.  Where were the Stairmasters and Elliptical machines, I wondered? What kind of gym was this?  Cause it wasn’t like any gym I had ever seen before.

When the music started for the first time that day, my heart leapt to my throat.  I watched the other students beat their arms and legs to the rhythm as they did jumping jacks.  I tried to join in, but by the end of the first minute I could hardly breathe.  This isn’t looking good, I said to myself.  I hope I don’t throw up.

Six months later, things had changed.  I still got winded from jumping jacks, but it would take a lot more to make me want to throw up.  I’d learned to hold a plank.  I'd started to run with enthusiasm.  I knew how to dip, lunge and squat on command.  I can’t say it’s gotten easy.  But I can say it’s doable.

Now it was a new year, a time for new beginnings.  I was looking forward to the challenges that the class would bring.  Jumping jacks? Let me at em.  Lunges?  No problem.  Squats.  I’m there.  Bring it on.  I can do it.

About halfway through the class, Nancy ordered pushups.  “Newer people can do them on an incline using the higher step.” She yelled.  “People who aren’t so good at pushups can use the middle step for less of an incline.  If you are good at pushups, I want to see you doing them on the floor.”

I made a beeline for the middle step.  Pushups suck.  I’m not so good at them, I told myself.  As I positioned my hands on the middle step I heard a voice behind me.  It was Anasia.  She’d been doing Boot Camp a bit longer than me.  The results were showing.  She looked great.

“Come on, Janice.” She said. “You can do them on the floor.”

I turned around and looked at her.  “OK.  But only because you insisted.” I said with a smile.  Then I dropped to the floor beside her and tried to keep up.

Sometimes you don't know you can do something until someone else tells you that you can.  Pushups? I can’t do pushups I tell myself.  Then someone else looks at me and says “Yes you can.”  And I have a chance to believe and I have a chance to do.  And suddenly I’ve gone from “can’t” to “can.” Or as wise old Yoda said, "Do, or do not.  There is no try."

Less than thirty minutes later, class was over.  No one had thrown up.  I watched the rookies file out.  “Good job.” I said to them with a grin. 

When Was the Last Time you Saw A Typewriter?

Recently, I read an Article on Yahoo News called Things Babies Born in 2011 Will Never Know.  In the article, the author made predictions about things that exist today but that will be obsolete to kids born today. Among the items she marked for obsolescence were fax machines, travel agents, newspapers, mail (aka snail mail) and wristwatches.

After reading the article, I perused the comments made by some of the readers.  One reader was particularly adamant that the need for a wristwatch would never be obsolete.  I found this comment amusing, considering the fact that I stopped wearing a wristwatch about six years ago – when I started carrying a cell phone full time. 

I was surprised by the passion of the audience who, for the most part, believed that everything that exists today will continue to be useful and exist well into the future.   These people are delusional. 

To prove my point, I made my own list.  I call it “Things That Existed 30 Years Ago But Are Obsolete Today.”  Here are some of the items from my list:

1. Typewriters – When was the last time you saw a typewriter?  When I was in high school, typing was considered a difficult skill to master.  Not everyone knew how to do it and those who could do it well could turn it into a lifelong career.  If you had told someone thirty years ago that they would have no use for a typewriter in 2011, they would have called you a kook.  Yet here we live in a world without typewriters. 

2. Pocket Calculators – I had never seen a pocket calculator until I was in the seventh grade.  A few years later they were everywhere.  And so useful.  They could help you do your taxes or be used to calculate a lunch tip. Everyone owned a pocket calculator in 1984.  They seemed to have a hundred uses.  And yet I don’t even own one today.  My cell phone took its place.

3. Phone Booths – When I arrived at college, I noticed that there was a phone booth at the end of the hall in my dorm.  There was one in every dorm.  And on every street corner, or so it seemed.  If I wanted to call home and ask my parents for money, the phone booth was my ticket.  I remember sitting on the hard wooden seat telling my parents about my latest test until the operator interrupted to tell me I’d used up my last quarter.  How much does it cost to use a pay phone today?  I have no idea.  Because in a world with personal cell phones, who needs a phone booth?

4. Music Stores – When I was in high school, one of my favorite stores at the mall was “Listening Booth.”  They sold records and cassette tapes.  I would spend hours thumbing through the selections looking for just the right artist whose album I wanted to purchase.  I think I bought a Millie Vanillie tape at the Listening Booth at the mall.  (The fact that I purchased a MV tape will need to be reserved for a future blog.) Think about it, when was the last time you were in a record store?  They don’t exist today. (Coincidentally, neither does Millie Vanillie).

As a society, the things we want and need change over time. When that happens, the old ways are discarded and new ways are adopted.  It’s called progress. It’s inevitable.  We can try to avoid it.  But it will happen.

I don’t think many people will argue that land lines (aka a “home phone”) and VCRs are knocking on death’s door.  But I’m going to go out on the limb and make some bold predictions of my own.  Here are some things we use today that I think will become nothing more than antiques before this century is half finished.

            1. Pens

            2. Sign Language

            3. Television

            4. Gas Stations

            5. Libraries (the actual buildings, not the concept behind them).

Think I’m crazy?  I guess we need to wait and see.

Now it’s your turn.  Look around you.  What are the things that you think are useful today – the things you can’t live without.  Will they be useful to your grandchildren?  I think you will be surprised by your answers. 

Wandering Around the Parking Lot Looking for My Car

Sometimes, even small changes can throw my day into a spiral.  Take parking places.  When I go to work, I always park in the same spot - every day.  Except last Tuesday when, to my dismay, someone had taken my spot.  And, as all the surrounding spots were also filled, I ended up parking in a completely different lot. 

I know, it doesn’t sound like much of a problem.  Except that when I left work at the end of the day I did what I always do.  I walked to “my” spot in “my” lot.  Only “my” car wasn’t there. 

My first thought was "Crap, did someone steal my car?"  My second thought was "Crap, where did I park?" It took me about ten minutes of wandering from parking lot to parking lot clicking my key fob before I found my car. 

What can I say, I am a creature of habit.  In most cases, habits are good because they help us with important things -  like finding our cars. But after a while doing the same thing over and over again can get tedious.  When that happens, sometimes it’s time to make a change.  It’s time to find a new parking space - no matter how scary the thought of losing your car may be. 

Last year, I had to make a big adjustment.  I changed jobs.  For twelve years, I had been working in the same unit, for the same boss, with the same people, in the same office, doing the same work.  I had my parking space. 

Then, in what felt like a blink of an eye, it all changed.  I was in a new unit, with a new boss, and new people, and a new office and doing new work.  For the first few months, I felt like I was wandering around the parking lot looking for my lost car.  Only this time, my key fob wasn’t working and someone had turned out all of the lights.

As time progressed, I settled in.  A year later, I felt good.  I felt like I fit in.  I liked my work.  I liked my coworkers and boss.  I  had found my parking space again.

The thing I learned is that change is inevitable.  You don’t always get to keep the same parking space.  Sometimes you need to move your car.  And though it may be a bit unsettling, it’s often the case that finding a new parking space is just what you needed to get your engine going again.

Chocolate Scrambled Eggs and Zucchini Pancakes

Bowls and spoons had been strewn across the counter tops.  Eric’s (8) face was streaked with flour.  Emily (5) was sucking pancake batter off her hands.  Beth (3) had syrup dripping from her nose.  The kids had been “helping” me make pancakes.  It would take me all morning to clean the mess. 

I sighed as I surveyed the scene.  I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to make pancakes from scratch.  Next time, I resolved, we’d just go out for breakfast.

I am not a good cook.  In fact, I would go so far as to say my culinary skills are slightly less than mediocre.  Case in point – There was the time I made scrambled eggs using chocolate milk. A little hint, don’t try it.  You will be disappointed.  Then there was the time I misread the recipe and added two cups, instead of two teaspoons of salt, to cupcake batter.  Let’s just say they made a better salt lick than a dessert.

Given my genealogy, making a meal should not be a challenge.  After all, I come from a long line of fabulous cooks. Take my Nana.  She could cook anything.  Every Sunday the entire family would gather for an enormous meal.  We’d feast on stuffed chickens, pot roasts, and hearty beef stews.  And Nana always served a homemade pie or cake to top off the meal.

Mom and Dad were both superior cooks as well.  Dad makes the best French toast this side of Paris.  It’s crispy, with the perfect amount of saltiness mixed with sweet.  My mouth waters when I think about it.  And after working a full day, Mom could breeze into the kitchen and concoct a hearty feast using nothing but canned peas and Jimmy Dean sausage. 

Theresa and Tina are great cooks too.  Recently, Tina created a zucchini pancake.  She basically took a recipe for potato pancakes and modified it using zucchini.  The dish was so good that I still wake up at night thinking about it.  And Theresa is famous for her clam chowder.  So I can’t say that the cooking genes skipped a generation.  It appears that they just skipped me.

My culinary failure is not from lack of trying.  When Ken and I were first married, I would buy the ingredients.  I’d read the recipes.  I’d spend hours in the kitchen stirring and stewing.  But nothing I cooked ever turned out quiet right. 

One of my main problems, I have concluded, relates to attention.  No matter what the recipe, not matter what the dish, I am guaranteed to be distracted at a crucial point in the process.  The phone will ring in the middle of the mix and then I can’t remember if I already added a cup of water or still need one more.  Then before you can say Betty Crocker, what you thought was a cake turns into batter soup. 

The other issue that plagues me is spillage.  It’s almost a guarantee that when I step up to the prep station something will be spilled.  And, according to Murphy’s Law, the thing that will be spilled is guaranteed to either stain or stick or both.  I never knock over the half cup of water.  But put grape syrup in front of me and you can bet dollars to donuts that it will end up on my blouse.

Being that I am such an inferior cook, you might be surprised to learn that I spend a lot of time watching The Food Network.  As Rachel Ray twirls about the set, I marvel at her spectacular food creations.  The site of Emril kicking it up with a dash of cumin amazes me.  And I’m always impressed at the cleanliness, and quiet, in the kitchens. 

A couple of years ago, I had an idea for a food network show.  Bobby Flay would come to my house and, in less than an hour, cook a four course, healthy meal for five using only the ingredients in my pantry.  Little hint there Bobby, you won’t find saffron or lemon grass in my kitchen. 

Bobby would need to prepare the meal with Beth clinging to his leg.  At the same time, Emily would be screaming, “I want a glass of water!”  Eric would be asking Bobby where he put his hockey jersey.  The final evil twist in the show would be that Bobby would need to convince all three children to eat their vegetables before they could have dessert.

Now that would be reality TV that I could sink my teeth into.