Terms of Endearment
I can easily come up with dozens of little kindnesses that I’ve experienced lately. If I go back further, I can come up with hundreds. Maybe thousands in my whole lifetime, which is about 2/3 of a century now. I’m grateful for those kindnesses and also grateful that I remember them. I’d hate to let a kindness be forgotten.
But I am now thinking of kindnesses that I myself have offered, and whether it is a good thing or a bad thing, I seem to have forgotten most of them.
Maybe it is a virtue to pay a kindness and let it go.
But what if it is because I have been stingy with my own kindnesses?
I really hope not. I know I pay a lot of compliments. And not just lip service – I try to recognize excellence – to notice and call it out.
I tell people when I like their shoes, or when they have a great idea, or when their kids are fun to be around. I tell loved ones I like how they smell when I hug them – because I do.
I try to be considerate. I hold the door for people. I let people cut in line at the checkout – or change lanes on the road. I pick up trash.
And when I observe someone being nice to other people, I tell them that they made my day better too. Yesterday I was in the drug store and an old lady (probably my age) was shopping with a teenager. And the kid said, “I’ll put it back. It’s too much money for eye shadow, Grandma.” The lady said, “I don’t think it’s expensive if you like it.”So I went up to them and said to the woman, “That’s a really nice thing to say.”
So I guess I do a little to contribute to the kindness in the world.
But I think I could do better.
I need to be a little bigger in my kindness.
I’m trying. I joined my community’s preservation and beautification organization – and I helped with their website, and I planted daffodils this fall, and sorted returnables for their recycling program. Not much really, but it’s a start.
I think maybe I am a little cautious because the biggest favor I ever did someone backfired. And I was hurt.
Years ago I had a very dear friend, who I will call Anna. We met at work, and after both of us moved on to other jobs, we stayed close. We went to the movies together, and out dancing, and shopping. We had dinner once a week. We used to call our dinners, “My Dinner With Andre” dinners, since we had long, crazy, wonderful conversations. Anna drove over to my place late one night when my boyfriend broke up with me so I would have someone to cry with. And I took her to the hospital when she needed outpatient surgery.
We had been friends for about ten years when Anna called me early one Saturday and asked me to meet her for breakfast. Over coffee she told me that she had gotten herself into serious financial difficulties, including pressure from the IRS. I loved this woman. So I bailed her out. I loaned her enough money to pay off her tax debt, her other past due bills, and the next month’s rent.
But then the worst thing happened. And it wasn’t that Anna didn’t pay me back. It was that she dropped out of my life. She made excuses why she couldn’t meet for dinner, or see a movie. After a while she didn’t even answer my phone calls.
I felt horrible. I thought at the time – and still do – that she couldn’t pay me back and that was embarrassing for her. And so she couldn’t face me.
I did finally hear from her years later. Out of the blue, she phoned me. Said she was sorry she had stayed away and wanted to see me. I met her at a diner for lunch. She was the same sweet woman I had cared so much about. She was also broke again and asked me for money. I gave her everything I had in my wallet and went home. I never saw her again.
It broke my heart.
I have been reflecting on this whole experience lately, as I have been thinking so much about Kindness and being a good human being.
But the moral of this story is not ‘Don’t lend money to a friend.’
For I would give Anna the money again.
The loss of money was not meaningful, and besides, I didn’t lose it. I used it to give respite – however short that respite may have been – to a friend when she needed it. It wasn’t the loss of money. It was the loss of friendship.
There are lots of good reasons why friendships end, but money should not be one of those reasons.
And I don’t blame Anna either. Whatever hardships – whatever demons – she was experiencing – who am I to judge?
No.
My mistake – and it was MINE – was that I did not discuss the terms.
Not the terms of the loan.
The terms of our friendship.
The Terms of Endearment.
For here is what I should have said:
“Anna, this money is a gift to you because you are my friend and I want to help you. If someday you can return this gift to me, I would accept it with love. We will always be friends, regardless. I’ll call you and you’ll call me, and we will have breakfast and go to the movies and have great intriguing conversations. Our friendship is a gift. It is not on loan.”
Not Quite Instant Karma
Today’s hashtag game on Twitter is #ButSomeoneElseTookCredit. A hashtag game, for those of you who don’t know Twitter – (and you are very wise, by the way, it’s awful – it’s very mean … and very addicting) – is an informal contest where everyone tweets on the same subject and you try to be cleverer than all the other tweeters. Actually, all of Twitter is a contest where you try to be cleverer than everybody else. And if you can’t be clever, you can be terribly, horribly, threateningly mean, and Twitter just lets you. I suppose it’s therapeutic to vent in such an ugly way, but being on the receiving end has given me a few sleepless nights. I would like to see Twitter Version 2.0, where you try to be kinder and sweeter than the next guy.
Anyway, today’s hashtag “But Someone Else Took Credit” reminded me of a post I wrote more than five years ago.
Too many words for a tweet, but it’s worth re-visiting. (Worth it to me, that is… repurposing is a nice lazy way to write….)
So here it is:
NOT QUITE INSTANT KARMA
When I was eleven, I stole an idea.
It was 1962, and I was hospitalized briefly for a minor problem. Not being really sick, I was very happy to be in the hospital, where I could get all kinds of attention and sympathy. I was enjoying myself tremendously.
The girl in the next bed had broken her leg. She was also not seriously ill, and like me, was having a very good time.
As we were competing for the nurses’ attention (which they smartly refused to give us), we started to compete in general. Who had better grades, prettier clothes, worse brothers and sisters.
Connie (not her fictitious name) told me that she was a wonderful writer.
“So am I,” I said immediately.
So she told me about a story she wrote for school, and for which she had received an “A+”. She wrote about keeping an elephant for a pet–how much it ate, and how much room it took in the house, and the effect on the neighbors.
I pronounced that story as very silly.
I was discharged the next day.
Back at school, however, when it was time to write our monthly composition, I wrote the same story. I had an elephant for a pet. I kept it on the porch, and walked it around the block, and shocked the neighbors.
You may think that, at eleven, I didn’t really understand that this was wrong. But I knew. I knew it was cheating to copy someone’s paper, and I knew it was cheating to copy someone’s idea. When the teacher was delighted with my story, I was ashamed.
Sometimes Karma is patient.
A few years later… (forty years to be exact):
It was 2002. I was still working in television at the time. I had a lot of good years at my job, but 2002 was not one of them. So I was job-hunting.
I had an interview at Court TV. You may be of the opinion that Court TV would not have been classy enough for the likes of me. But let me assure you that I can be as lowbrow as it takes. Television pays well, and some of the most lowbrow networks pay very well indeed. (Of course, Court TV has now become truTV, home of “World’s Dumbest”, so maybe now it might challenge my sense of sophistication slightly.)
Anyway, the executive who was interviewing me asked me about my creativity. They didn’t want a financial executive to be just a numbers person. They expected all of top management to contribute creative ideas. So he asked me if I had any.
And I did. I gave that guy two suggestions that I thought could be moneymakers for Court TV. One was, I thought, a great idea, and one was only passable. My lesser proposal was a show starring forensic scientist Henry Lee. Dr. Lee was the head of forensics for the State of Connecticut, where I live, and he had become quite a celebrity for his participation in the OJ Simpson trial, among others.
The rest of the interview was pleasant, but I didn’t get the job.
About eighteen months later, as I am channel surfing, I come upon Court TV and a show called “Trace Evidence: The Case Files of Dr. Henry Lee”.
Imagine my surprise. This show was the idea I offered to a Court TV executive in order to obtain a job that I didn’t get. The Idea got the job, I guess. I wondered if that executive got a nice bonus (that maybe should have gone to me).
But I didn’t sue. I didn’t even call the sneaky dude to protest or demand my cut. I knew it was my karma for stealing Connie’s idea forty years earlier.
And besides, the show was a flop. They made only seven episodes that I don’t even think registered a blip in the ratings. So maybe the sneaky dude got fired. I like to think so.
As for my other idea… I still think I have a winner there. And I’ve atoned for my childhood idea-theft. So this one is all mine.
So excuse me, Mark Burnett, but ‘Survivor’ is getting pretty old. So if you are out there trolling the blogs of middle-aged women: Call Me. We’ll do lunch.
Me on Survivor. Re-purposed from a different old post. When you’re feeling lazy, you do stuff like this.
Neighborly
Now that I am in a Kindness mania – and is there a better mania to be in? – I was reminded by a reader of the importance of being a good neighbor.
I don’t believe I have listed neighborly kindnesses, except in the sense that we are all neighbors.
But I should mention the kindness of neighbors in the strict definition of the word. The people who live nearby. Those who you know by name. Maybe your kids play together. Maybe you’ve shared the same street for years. Maybe there is an old person on your street who knew you when you were riding a tricycle.
Those people who may not be your closest friends – but they live the closest. And they are there for you.
The neighbor across the street from Mom is one. This is a case where the old lady is my mother, and she remembers the little boy on the tricycle. He has kids of his own now. He shovels her driveway now.
And there’s our neighbor who came up to our house a few months ago, because we were fifty miles away when our security alarm went off. He waited for the police and made sure everything was okay, and called us on the road to reassure us.
I also had a neighbor years ago who called to check on me one day, because she saw my car in the yard when I never, never, ever took a sick day. I had the flu, and it was kind of nice that someone noticed.
And there was the woman who opened her door to our little cat who was being chased by a very vicious dog. This same woman spent a hot summer afternoon pulling weeds in our garden, because hers was finished and she just felt like doing some more.
But here is my favorite Neighborly Kindness:
Several years ago, my husband had a job that required him to travel quite a bit. At least once a month, he’d be gone from Thursday through Sunday. He always worried about me … actually, let’s make that the present tense… He always worries about me, and so made sure the neighbors knew when he’d be gone, so that they could watch out for me when I was alone.
At the time we had an eccentric black cat by the name of Casper. Yeah, black. Yeah, Casper. Everyone always expected him to be white, considering his name. But it’s a long story. I’ve written about him once before (Stranger Than Fiction), and should probably do at least one more post to describe what it is like to live with a feline with OCD.
On one of my husband’s traveling days, I was home alone. Casper was outside and I had not been able to coax him in. He loved being outdoors in all weather, and this was a beautiful summer night, so he was prepared to sit in the yard until midnight.
I was watching television, and all of a sudden there were blood-curdling screeches out in the yard. I ran to the door and saw that Casper was having a huge fight with the neighbor’s cat Tigger.
There was no way I was getting in the middle of it, but I had to stop them. For one thing, Casper had gotten beat up before. He was a smallish cat, and brave but not strong. (I remember after one particular defeat, the vet said, “Well, he’s no coward; he’s all beat up on his face, but no injuries to his butt. He didn’t retreat.”) And Tigger was one mean S.O.B. As a matter of fact, I was terrified of Tigger myself.
On the kitchen table was a box full of paperback books that I had intended to donate to the library. So I grabbed the box and ran out to the porch, and started throwing the books at the fighting cats.
“STOP IT!” I screamed and threw a book.
“STOP!! STOP!!” I screamed and threw and threw and screamed.
And then up the driveway was the most crazy sight.
Having heard me scream, two of the neighbors were running up to the house with shovels raised. Short, old, overweight guys with shovels! Coming to save me!
It was exactly like that climactic scene in the movie “Witness” where all the Amish people come over the crest of the hill to save Harrison Ford.
Those two men were willing to fight for me, not even knowing what they may have to fight.
And I said, “It’s Over, Tigger!” – just like Harrison Ford.
And I never felt so safe.
I love those guys.
*
More Random Kindness
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the kindness of strangers (Peripheral Love) – and how it makes our lives better. Some were large and significant acts of kindness and some were just small and random, but even those little gestures matter.
Once I started thinking about these little kindnesses, I remembered so many more, and witnessed more happening around me every day.
Kindness is bombarding me.
Sometimes Kindness is help when I need it. Sometimes it is generosity. Sometimes the kindness is just making me smile. How lovely it is that total strangers can still make us smile.
Here are a few more, both remembered and recent:
*
This summer while walking the dog, I came upon a trio of teenagers on skateboards. They got off their boards, and I sort of prepared myself to be harassed by these tough-looking boys. The biggest, scariest one (and teenagers can certainly be scary to older women) approached me and said, “Can we pet your dog?”
*
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There is a woman in Yoga whose soul is so kind, she sometimes seems to have a halo that surrounds her. Actually, what she has is the most beautiful, thick, curly, gleaming auburn hair. She doesn’t tie it back during practice, but lets it make a wonderful curtain around her as she holds her graceful poses. And she sometimes brings her baby and I can hear him laugh and coo during sirvasana – which is the best Yoga sound in the world.
*
My friend’s husband: I know her well, but I hardly know him at all. But I know that sometimes he sends her flowers for no reason at all. So I love him for the best reason of all.
*
The chocolate maker at the nearby dairy farm knows her cows so well, she will tell you by the smell of milk who gave it, and when you buy a chocolate, she’ll say, “That’s from Queenie.” How sweet it is to feel that your candy is a gift from a big good-natured bovine.
*
Years ago, when I used to travel to New York frequently for business, I often had to take a big box of files and my laptop computer (which wasn’t small or light back in those days). I had one of the pull-carts to help me with my load. On the return trip, the train station in Fairfield has two flights of stairs to go over the tracks to get back to the parking lot. Once in a while, I struggled with my heavy and precariously balanced cart alone. But most of the time, a kind man – or woman – would pick up the bottom and we’d haul it up the stairs together. It was so easy – with help.
*
Going back even more years, I was taking the bus home from college one day, and I slept past my stop. I had to grab the next bus back the other way. But I was totally broke. I went up to a man who looked nice, and explained my dilemma, and he gave me two dollars. I have never had to panhandle since. But a few years later (still in college, since I went to school just about forever) a homeless man at a bus stop in Waterbury asked me for five dollars. I only had six dollars myself, but I gave him five anyway, because… Karma.
*
Just today, my husband and I were out to lunch at a restaurant we had never been to before. The online reviews said the place was ‘warm & friendly.’ As we were waiting for our food, a very old man came in and sat at a booth across from us. The waitress went over. She sat down across from him and said, “I hear you’ve been sick, Walter. Tell me all about it.” He briefly explained his illness, and the waitress said, “That’s horrible, Walter, I’m feeling for you.” And only then did she take his order.
*
Then there’s my mother’s hairdresser. This woman never met my mother before she started working at the salon near my mom’s home. But if my mother calls for an appointment, this kind woman will get in her car and pick my mother up and bring her the two blocks to the salon. After, she’ll take my mother home. And she’ll say to Mom, “Don’t you bother your daughters. They’re so busy. Just call me anytime.”
*
And my favorite smile – probably of all time. When I was in my early twenties (and going to college of course), I worked summers and holidays at the phone company. One gorgeous summer day, I went for a walk down Main Street on my lunch hour. As I waited to cross the street, a woman came up to me. She said, “I just have to tell you … as soon as I saw you… Thirty years ago I went to high school with a boy who looked exactly like you. Exactly.” Then she told me his name. My father.
*
As I said, Kindness is bombarding me.
Restaurant Reviews – From The Foodie
A few days ago I treated myself to lunch. Nothing fancy, I had a nice tuna sandwich and a cup of coffee at Panera’s.
Years ago, I hated having lunch alone. I was more apt to take the sandwich back to my car than to sit alone in a restaurant. Even when I was a quasi-hot-shot executive, when I traveled alone on business, I would either order room service or go get Chinese take-out and bring it back to my hotel room. Basically, I didn’t know what to do with myself if I had to eat alone in public. I could take a book, and occasionally I would do that. But how uncomfortable and self-conscious (and friendless) I felt.
But all that changed. Cell Phones! Everyone sits in restaurants focused on their cell phones. I can do that too! I don’t have to look friendless. I can stare at my phone.
So I got my tuna sandwich and my coffee and found a table right next to the gas fireplace. I took out my phone like everyone around me. My phone immediately figured out where I was. The omniscient little spy said, “You are at Panera. Would you like to tell your friends?”
And since my phone is the boss of me, I said, “Sure, phone!” And so it did.
The following morning, when I checked my phone, the little bugger was still obsessing about Panera. It said, “You were at Panera yesterday. Would you like to leave a review?”
I love reviews. I love to read them and write them. But I had written a whole blog about tunafish sandwiches just a few weeks ago. And as much as I love tunafish sandwiches, they are pretty much all the same.
Which finally (aren’t we all relieved?) brings me to my point.
I love excellence. I appreciate great design, quality materials, refined execution.Who doesn’t?
And I believe we should all expect excellence, and we should discriminate between quality and mediocrity.
But I also think that we all complain way too much.
I am a bit weary of hearing and reading that nothing is as good as it used to be.
I think there is a super-abundance of wonderful stuff today. Stuff that is better than I had as a kid, much better than what my parents had, amazingly better than what my grandparents had, and probably a gazillion times better than what my great-grandparents had.
Remember what your parents had? How about the refrigerator they had when you were a kid? How about the television? The lawn mower?
And, Oh-My-God, the phone! We have information and photography and directions and games and our friends and music right at our fingertips. If I hear one more person bitch about their shitty phone, I think I will hand him one of these:
And clothes. Holy cow – there are great, fun, stylish clothes in all price ranges. You might buy a tee at Nordstrom’s for $79 and it’s terrific. But if you are on a limited budget you can also get one at Costco for $7.99 and guess what? You can still wear it to the beach. It’s still a tee shirt.
And there is so much of it. Go to the supermarket and stroll down the detergent aisle. You can choose from forty different products. And they all clean your clothes just fine. The last time I replaced my bathroom scale, the store had TWO aisles of bathroom scales. I do believe any one of them would have weighed me just fine.
And FOOD! Restaurants! It may be just a faulty childhood memory, but I think in 1957, when I was six, the only restaurant in the whole state was Howard Johnson’s.
Which brings me back around to restaurant reviews.
I know there are plenty of mediocre restaurants out there. But all in all,
FOOD is GOOD.
Appreciate it. Don’t worry about it.
Enjoy it.
And to help you enjoy it, I have enlisted the most appreciative eater in the world.
My dog Theo.
Theo has made a scientific in-depth study of restaurant offerings. By always ordering the same thing, he is able to provide a rich comparison that will enable you to savor the bounty we are blessed with today.
In particular – Cheeseburgers.
Here are Theo’s unbiased, thoughtful, and well-reasoned cheeseburger reviews. Thanks to his careful analysis, you should be able to enjoy your cheeseburger as much as he does.
On Aging and Kindness
When I finished college in the mid-70s, jobs were scarce. I searched for months to find employment. Of course, the fact that I was an English major with no discernible or useful skills probably played a small role in my joblessness.
But after eons of fruitless resume-scattering, I received two job offers in the same week.
One job was as manager-trainee for a large discount chain store. The other was a clerk’s position for a nonprofit organization providing services for the elderly.
The retail job was a bit more money, and had that magical seductive word “manager” in the title. I was a college graduate after all! Summa cum laude, even. The no-discernible-skill part was immaterial (to me).
The nonprofit job was the absolute lowest rung on the nonprofit ladder. I would be typing names and addresses on service orders.
But my mother – who you know by now is the wisest person to have ever lived on this planet – said this to me:
“Being a manager in that store probably means that you are expected to be the first one there in the morning and the last one to leave at night. And they will expect you to hire kids who don’t want the job in the first place and fire adults who are already having a hard time making ends meet. But more important than that – the biggest factor on whether you will like a job is whether you will make good friends. If you work for that store, who will you talk to? Who will you have lunch with? But on the other hand, the nonprofit organization is full of well-educated people trying to make a difference in the world. You will be in a low-level position because the other employees have masters’ degrees and lots of experience. Where are you more likely to have good conversations and make lasting friends?”
Mom is a genius and I know I was blessed by God in having her for a mother.
I took the clerk’s position in the nonprofit.
Low-level is the charitable way to put it. This organization existed through a grant from Medicare. Their offices were above a liquor store (which turned out to be convenient, actually, as we would run down for a few bottles of wine on Friday nights, and spend an hour or two “unwinding”). For the first two months I worked there, I didn’t even have a desk or chair, as they were waiting for their next fiscal year allotment. I would just plop myself down at the desk of a nurse or social worker who was out visiting clients, and when they would return, I find another empty space, which sometimes meant the floor, which was okay if I was filing, but not a good idea for typing.
But anyway, it was the best career choice EVER. And not just because they paid for my MBA, which they did, and I got a raise as well as a desk and a chair eventually. No. It was my best career choice because to start out in business by learning Compassion is about the best possible way to start anything.
Our program used Medicare funds to pay for services that were not then authorized by Medicare, and I am proud to say we provided information to Medicare that paved the way to better coverage. Our nurses and social workers would assess the individual needs of our elderly clients and authorize service that were right for them, with the ultimate goal of keeping the elderly independent and in their own homes for as long as possible.
For example, we found that many people ended up in nursing homes because they could no longer go get groceries or cook meals. Bringing them Meals-On-Wheels may have been all the assistance they needed. We also authorized dental care, homemakers, medical equipment. And we were the first Medicare program to cover prescription drugs.
The services we provided made me proud to work there. And my co-workers taught me so much about kindness and respect that it made me a better person for the next forty-plus years.
The Executive Director was Joan Quinn, a geriatric nurse. She was intelligent and practical. Funny and resolute. There was no better person from whom to learn not only Compassion but how to be a good person and a good boss. If you want to learn how to work with kindness and respect, learn from a nurse.
Oh yes, I learned about business and budgets and accounting and grant-writing and record retention, and all those technical skills that go into office work. But much more important, I learned how to treat people; how to love people you barely know
Especially, I learned how to Listen. Elderly people are often isolated and lonely. They would call us, ostensibly to discuss a medical bill, but mostly just to hear another voice. Ms. Quinn taught us all to listen, to be patient no matter how busy we were. “Talk to them. Give them you full attention for a few minutes. Don’t be so quick to say goodbye,” she said.
I learned that the most important determinants of maintaining health was Connection. Our healthiest clients had family – spouses and children and grandchildren. But not everyone is so lucky. Widowed and single people thrived if they had friends. Or if they had pets. A dog or cat is someone to talk to, someone who needs you and motivates you to get up in the morning and get moving.
I also learned that taking an Interest in the outside world is integral in leading the healthiest possible life. Our social workers always asked the clients if they watched the news or read the papers.
And it did not have to be only interest in world events. We always asked about what they watched on TV. And whether it was The Price Is Right or The Waltons, I saw that having something to look forward to is crucial. I learned that television can be a lifesaver for a shut-in. A short while back I wrote that we should not be embarrassed by our tastes, that it should be okay to like what we like. This is where I learned this.
I also found that people did not all fall into one stereotype of Old Age. People keep their Individuality. And that individuality is to be respected. I can remember Ms. Quinn scolding a nurse who was pressuring an 85-year-old man to give up his unhealthy diet. “That guy lived 85 years eating fried eggs and sausage and pepperoni. Who are you to tell him it’s bad for him? You should live so long!”
One of my favorite memories is of a terrible snowstorm we had one February. Our normal Meals-On-Wheels service was suspended, but all of us who managed to get to the office spent the morning on the phone, calling every person on the meals program, to ensure that they were okay. Most were. They said they could have a sandwich or they had some leftovers that would suffice. But a few people had nothing to eat without our meals, so we made slippery dangerous trips out to those folks to bring them food. Joan Quinn’s favorite client was a woman well into her nineties, who was blind and a double amputee – who still lived by herself, and quite well, by the way. She was one of those few that had nothing to eat. Joan promised to bring her some lunch. “What would you like?” she asked. And the woman said, “You know what I haven’t had in years? Pizza. How I miss pizza.” And Joan and one of the social workers went over with a large pizza and they had a pizza party in the snowstorm with a blind old woman.
But if people do not homogenize, neither does old age instill any intrinsic nobility simply due to advanced years. Joan Quinn used to remind us that a manipulative or crabby young person will also be a manipulative crabby old person.
Happily, most people are good, and so are most old people.
And we can respect them, honor them, and practice kindness.
And in practicing kindness, some Rules can be broken, I learned.
The chef that prepared our Meals-On-Wheels was one guy who broke the rules out of generosity. Once I was promoted, I handled the administration of some of our services, including Meals. I noticed that one man was receiving double meals. I called the chef and told him that he was not authorized to provide extra meals. “That old guy is hungry,” he said. ‘I don’t care if you don’t pay me, I’m giving him extra.” I paid him.
And here is my own contribution to breaking rules.
I also handled the taxi program, which allowed our clients to take a cab to go to the doctor, or get groceries or do their banking. I phoned one man to arrange a cab to take him to the doctor, and the sweet old guy expressed his gratitude. “It’s hard not driving anymore. I used to have lunch once a week with a few friends.” I called the cab company and told them to give the man a ride to Friendly’s every Wednesday and to write on the bill that they took him to the supermarket.
Years later, by a sheer fortunate coincidence, Joan Quinn and I appeared together on a poster published by the University of Connecticut, celebrating UConn women.
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Second from bottom row. That’s Joan Quinn on the left and me on the far right. (yes, a brunette)
Joan Quinn was being honored for her significant contributions in Geriatrics.
I got a mention because I was an executive at ESPN.
But you know, I’d rather be remembered for letting a old guy have lunch with his friends.
25 Loves – I’m Working On It
A couple of months ago, for our 25th wedding anniversary, I posted 25 things I love about my husband.
Well, it’s my birthday (What, again?) and I thought I would post 25 things that I love about myself.
But I could only think of five.
#1 My creativity. I love that I can write. I love what I write. I love my blog, my novel, and my manuscript for novel #2. And my occasional poem. Writing gives me joy. Without writing, my life would be less.
#2 My optimism. I love that I see the best in people. I don’t attribute bad intentions. I don’t suspect. I look for the good in everyone and in life. Sometimes I am disappointed. Not often.
#3 My memory. I have an astonishing memory. Not only does that feed my blog with everything that has ever happened – (and see #1 for the embellishment I may give those recollections in order to make good stories) – but it also allows me to sing along in the car to decades worth of music. I can sing to Chubby Checker AND to Pink. I love that.
#4 My womanhood. I am a girly-girl. I love it. I’ve never envied men. Never. I get to wear jewelry and makeup and beautiful colors. And … (a BIG ‘And’ here) … I get to do all kinds of other stuff. I can drive. I can pay bills. I can figure out apps on the computer. I can cook. I can buy a house. I can go to school. I can travel alone. I can walk in high heels. I can protest. I can be an astronaut if I wanted to. Just because I wear mascara does not mean I can’t wear it in space.
#5 My looks. I think I am quite pretty. I would never have said this at 16. Or 26. Or 36, 46. 56. I hated the way I looked. But here I am – 66 today – and I like the way I look. I think there are three reasons why this could happen:
- A) I understand after all these years how to make the most of what I’ve got;
- B) I was always pretty, but I just didn’t recognize it;
- C) I have actually and miraculously gotten prettier as I aged.
In my case, I think the answer is
- D) All of the above.
So okay. That’s five. How come I can come up with 25 things I love about my husband, but only five about myself?
What I need to do this year is to get busy finding more things to love about myself.
Here are the 20 things that in the coming year I am going try to love about me:
- My neck. I’ve always hated it because it was short and thick. I wanted an Audrey Hepburn neck. But you know, I got this neck from my Dad. It worked for him. It holds my head up just fine. I haven’t got time to worry about it anymore.
- My Yoga skills. I’ve been practicing Yoga for 15 years, and I am still in the beginner’s class. I always will be. But who cares? I like Yoga. I don’t have to be good at everything.
- My cooking. Not great. But not bad. I can’t flip an egg, but I can make a fabulous broken egg. Omelettes are delicious.
- My laziness. There are advantages to being lazy. It has kept me from obsessing about housework, for example. And from becoming completely Type-A crazy.
- My voice. Never liked to hear myself. Fast, high, overly dramatic. But maybe, just maybe, it’s part of my uniqueness.
- My bravery. I never thought I was very brave. How I wished I were braver. But I see now that I put myself out there for people to judge every time I write something. That’s sort of brave.
- My dancing ability. My husband hates to dance, so I go to Zumba class. I can’t undulate my butt like some of the women. But I am getting to be a sexy dancer. Sexy. Me. Sexy.
- My clothes-folding talent. I can fold clothes like Marie Kondo. I don’t always do it. But I can.
- My introversion. There have been times when I wished I was more outgoing. But I like my alone time. I like the quiet. I like my own company.
- My eclectic taste. I like opera and hiphop. I like Monet and The Far Side. I like “The West Wing” and “Say Yes To The Dress”. I like “My Dinner With Andre” and “Airplane!” I like Wordsworth and Billy Collins. I won’t let my lesser tastes embarrass me.
- My small breasts. I’m in my sixties. I don’t sag.
- My happiness with small things. I’m pleased with a new lipstick. With a pen that writes beautifully. With potato chips.
- My artistic ability. My paintings aren’t awe-inspiring. But they aren’t awful either. When I was sixteen my parents surprised me with a set of oil paints, brushes, and canvasses. They thought I was good enough for the good stuff. I will believe them.
- My teeth. Years ago a friend told me I had weird teeth. A few years later a boyfriend asked whether I wore braces as a kid, because my teeth were so perfect. My teeth are neither weird nor perfect. But the ones in front (the ones that show) are pretty straight.
- My pickiness. I refuse to be ashamed that there’s stuff I don’t want to eat. I am a grown-up now. I get to choose. I do not have to eat what I don’t like.
- My skin. Not just my complexion, which despite some age spots, is pretty good. All my skin. It’s lovely. Smooth, soft. It keeps my insides in.
- My sense of style. It’s magnificent. And so is everyone else’s.
- My ability to forgive. I don’t hold a grudge. I don’t stay mad. I usually don’t even get mad. I don’t even have a resting bitch face.
- My sense of humor. I can make myself laugh. I can make everyone laugh. I cheer people up. Lately, this is a precious gift.
- My family. This is a big one. The older I get the more I love my mother, my sisters and my brother. And everyone else I am related to, by birth or by marriage. They are loving and kind. They are mine. And they like me the way I am.
P.S.
Each year on my birthday, I post an unretouched photo of myself. Its purpose is twofold:
To say to the world, “Aging isn’t so bad.”
And to say to Mother Nature, “Aging may not be bad, but I’m not going down without a fight!”
Today is no exception. This photo is not retouched in any way. I did, however, take advantage of some very nice natural light.
Here I am – 66 today!
When You Don’t Feel Like It
I’m trying to concentrate on Kindness this year.
Practicing Kindness is pretty easy when you are being appreciative to those you love or considerate to benign strangers. Holding the door for someone with an armload of packages or buying a treat for your spouse is a piece of cake… (literally, if that is the treat you are buying).
But practicing Kindness when you don’t feel like it takes a little more effort.
But often, it is only a little more effort. Really.
Look at it this way: Say you have a bad cold. You are lying on the sofa, binge-watching “Say Yes To The Dress” and feeling really miserable. But you have cold medicine in the bathroom. Sure, you feel awful. You don’t want to get up to fetch the cold pills.You want to stay on the sofa. And you don’t want to miss this bride who will surely buy the see-through, low-cut, tight-in-the-ass, over-budget wedding gown for her religious ceremony. But you wait for a commercial, and groan your way to the bathroom and take the pills. Oh, it was a huge effort. You almost collapsed halfway to the bathroom. But twenty minutes later, that tantrum-throwing bride has bought the stupid gown, and you are feeling a little better. It was worth it.
So about Kindness when you don’t feel like it: Get off the couch.
Here are a few uncomfortable kindnesses I have practiced that you might want to consider. I am not listing these as a self-congratulatory pat on the back. I’m bringing them up in order to demonstrate with concrete examples that it really isn’t that hard. Because I am as lazy, petty, and self-absorbed as anyone I know (maybe with one powerful exception) – and I can do it. If I can, so can you.
*1 Say hello to people you’d really rather ignore. Most of us have reason to visit a nursing home once in a while. And in the corridor are lots of old, sick people in their wheelchairs, mostly staring at their hands and waiting for nothing. They are difficult to look at sometimes. It’s much easier to walk faster, and get to where you are going. Don’t do that. Slow down. Say hello to some of these people.Stop at just a couple of wheelchairs. Smile. Look at some faces. You may be the only visitor they have that day.
*2 Give some attention to the kids you dislike. We all have them. Not our own kids of course, but the children of our relatives and friends. It’s not a crime to say that there are children we just don’t care for. Some kids are bratty or whiny or shrill or just not your cup of tea. It’s easy to focus on the kids who are cute and funny and charm the pants right off of you every time. But once in a while, try to talk to one of the whiny kids. Listen to them. Hug them. Problem children are still children. They can use a little attention.
*3 Compliment someone you aren’t friends with. I wrote earlier that I was petty. That could be a slight understatement. When I don’t especially like someone, I tend to see only the negative about them. I have a mean-spirited (but human) propensity to resent their successes and revel in their failures. But sometimes your enemies wear nice clothes, or have good ideas, or even get promoted. It’s horrible but it happens. Think about congratulating a rival the same way you’d congratulate a friend.
*4 Keep a gift you don’t like. I’m not talking about something expensive. If someone gives you a very valuable gift you dislike, you should certainly be honest and not allow that person to have wasted his money. But for inexpensive, insignificant presents? Don’t return everything that is not your taste. And I don’t mean that you should say “Thank you” and put it in a drawer. Would it be so hard to use something that wouldn’t be your first choice? The mugs from Aunt Mary with frogs playing hopscotch? You could actually drink coffee out of them once in a while and think, “These are from Aunt Mary, who taught me how to crochet.” And I know I have always said that you should only buy what you love. And I meant it. But a present that you didn’t choose yourself? Like the blouse your husband bought you with the weird print. Wear it out to dinner once in a while. It won’t kill you.
*5 And for crying out loud, these days, stop crying out loud. You do not have to argue with everyone whose opinions you don’t share. I am not saying that you shouldn’t stand up for yourself. Of course you should. But pick your battles. Last week I was viciously attacked on Twitter. You could even say that I was threatened. I certainly felt threatened. I disagreed with a total stranger. A third party stepped in and threatened me. I can fight for what I believe, but arguments with people I don’t know and will never convince are a waste of energy. I am not saying that it was my fault that I was threatened. It was the fault of that nasty person. But I had nothing to gain and I argued anyway. I should have let it pass. And even more, I should – once in a while – listen. And you too. Every now and then, listen to someone you disagree with. Listen. And then say, “I understand why you feel that way.” Do not add a “…but” to that sentence.
“I understand why you feel that way.”
FULL STOP.
**
Peripheral Love
I recently wrote about some small joys that help me get through my worrisome days. One in particular I wrote about was my Zumba lady – a woman who dances with abandon (and a totally different rhythm than the music might seem to indicate). She is so wonderfully happy when she dances that she makes me wonderfully happy too.
This got me to thinking about all the people that come into your life and make you happy. You often don’t even know their names. And they may only make your life better for a minute or so. But those minutes all add up And you never forget them.
We should celebrate those unforgettable strangers.
Here are a few of the many people who have made my life happier:
A garbage man. A few weeks ago, the garbage truck was headed down my mom’s street, and the driver saw my 93-year-old mother struggling to pick up the newspaper. She was leaning on a cane and trying to bend low enough to get the paper without losing her precarious balance. He stopped the truck, got out and picked up her paper and brought it to the porch for her. Not only do I appreciate the kindness, but also the laugh he gave me when my mother told me this story. She said, “What a nice man, but tell me, how bad must I look?”
Speaking about getting old, one day in the supermarket, a very old lady approached me in the shampoo aisle. She said she needed more body for her hair, and asked me to help her choose a styling product. She said, “You are so pretty, I figured you would know the best products.” I am not especially pretty, but I felt beautiful that day, thanks to that sweet woman. And on days where I feel especially unpretty, I remember that some people think I look fine.
Although that woman was nice to me personally, sometimes, like the garbage man who stopped to pick up my mother’s paper, people who help others make me happy.
Like the EMT who came when my sister broke her ankle. She was in Vermont and suffered a very bad break in a weird little accident. She was in a lot of pain, the bone sticking out exposed, and it was a very small town, and all she wanted to do was come home. And in the ambulance, the EMT saw how nervous my sister was. He said that Vermont may not exactly have the most sophisticated medical care in the world, but… “Skiing. We have skiing.. we understand broken bones really well.” She was reassured. I am so thankful that he was there to say just the right thing.
We owe medical folk a lot, come to think of it. I’ve seen nurses hold my dad’s hand. Lab technicians who distract my husband with humor so that he doesn’t faint during a blood draw, a doctor who helped me significantly just by saying, “I believe you.”
And veterinarians. Over the Thanksgiving holiday a few years ago, we were faced with the horrible decision all pet owners must face. Our 21-year-old cat was suffering terribly. And given the holiday, our vet was not around. I called another doctor, and we brought him poor old Merlin. I don’t even remember the vet’s name but he was kind and sensitive and gently helped Merlin over to his next life.
Sometimes the medical help isn’t even from a professional. When my dad was in a nursing home, the guy in the next bed was a youngish man. I didn’t know his story – what was wrong with him or why he was there. But he told me once that when my father was restless at night, he would play his guitar and it would calm my dad.How lucky my father was to share his room with such a man.
And when my father was dying at Christmas time, the accounting staff of the nursing home took down the tree in their office and set it up in my father’s room.
Then there are people you don’t even know who help you – in powerful, life-changing ways.
I had many friends working in our New York office on 9/11. Several banded together to try to walk out of the city. After walking a long way, they found a cab, and convinced the driver – this wonderful man – to take all of them home to Connecticut. Sure, they paid the cabbie well. But I often think about how frightened the cab driver was too, and how much he must have wanted to be with his own family. But he took everyone home first.
And another man may have saved my life. I was returning from a business trip and my plane was very late. I arrived in the middle of the night to a very deserted airport. I boarded the shuttle bus to the long-term parking lot and the driver of the bus immediately closed the door behind me. He started talking very scary stuff about how we were meant to be alone together. I was terrified. Suddenly another man started banging on the bus door. He banged and banged and finally the bus driver opened the door. The man got on and the driver drove to the remote parking lot. The driver kept asking the guy where his car was parked. The man looked at me. He SAW. He said, “I can’t remember. Bring the lady to her car first.” He said it over and over. And he stood at the door of the bus while I got into my car. He stood there and watched me drive safely away. Somehow, this man who came out of nowhere knew I was in trouble, and he saved me.
Thank you, all you nice acquaintances and kind strangers. My life is better because of you.
Inappropriate: Thank You, Mary Tyler Moore
In tribute to the amazing Mary Tyler Moore, here’s a post from 2 years ago. She always made me laugh, and that’s about as nice a compliment as you can get. Thanks, Mary.
INAPPROPRIATE
I read the other day about a person having an inappropriate case of the giggles. And oh my, a memory jumped up and yelled, “You despicable person, you!”
You – in this case – meaning:
Me.
Do you remember the old Mary Tyler Moore episode about Chuckles the Clown? The station’s resident clown was the grand marshall of the circus parade. He wore his Peter Peanut costume, and in a bizarre twist of fate, was shelled to death by a rogue elephant. All the guys at the studio could not resist making terrible jokes, and Mary was appalled at their lack of decorum. Of course, their laughs had played out by the time of the funeral, and they were properly respectful, and it was Mary herself who came down with uncontrollable, ill-timed laughter.
That episode was one of the funniest things I had ever seen on TV.
Until of course I had a similar experience.
At least the occasion wasn’t tragic. I have that excuse, at least.
It was 1986, and I was working in the cable television business. I was based in Connecticut and my boss, Rick, the regional Finance V.P., was based in Virginia. I liked working for him very much. (and not only because it is sweet to have a boss 324 miles away.) He was an intelligent man with impeccable manners. Incidentally, he had a stutter.
We were interviewing companies in order to change credit card processors. Rick came up from Virginia. A very nice man came in from Omaha to pitch his organization’s service. He was smart and friendly and well-prepared. He also had a stutter.
There were six of us in the meeting. We had no conference room in our offices, so we had just pulled chairs around in a circle in the largest office. I sat between my boss and Jim, the credit card company sales rep.
The meeting was productive and cordial, but gradually I became aware that the more that Rick and Jim talked, the more they seemed to have some kind of synergistic effect on their respective stutters. It was almost as if each man’s stutter encouraged the other’s.
Rick had difficulty with W. “W-w-w-when w-w-will w-w-we sign the contract?”
And with Jim, he stumbled over B. “B-b-but b-b-both of us can b-b-buy some time.”
Sitting between them, I listened to these two smart, nice gentlemen:
“W-w-w-w-why…..”
“B-b-b-b-because…
“W-w-w-w-well….”
“B-b-b-b-business…”
I liked and respected these guys. I have stutterers in my own family. It’s fine. It never bothers me. And I am a good polite person.
It happened anyway.
“W-w-w-what…”
“B-b-b-better…”
I was overcome with the giggles.
I tapped my foot. I covered my mouth and pretended to yawn. I pinched myself. scribbled in my notebook.
I coughed. My shoulders shook.
Eventually, I started to cry.
“E-e-e-excuse me,” I managed to stammer (yeah, it’s catchy). “I have something in my eye.”
And I ran to the ladies’ room and laughed myself silly. Then I composed myself and rejoined the meeting.
A few days later, I was out for a drink with a co-worker who was also at the meeting.
“Did you find it hard to sit in that meeting, and not laugh?” I asked.
“NO!” My friend said, horrified. “OF COURSE NOT! What is wrong with you?”
Oh, I am a terrible person.
“A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants.”
notquiteold 