OK. I promised you my Hungarian chicken soup recipe. Being that we are suffering from an arctic blast, with wind chills in the negative 15 to 25 degrees, it seems that a wonderful pot of simmering chicken soup is the perfect anecdote for the bone-chilling days we’re experiencing in many parts of the country. Here is the way I remember Nagymama, my Hungarian grandmother, making it. I’ve carried on her tradition by making it this way for my own family as well:
• Fill up your stock pot about two-thirds of the way with water. No need to measure; just fill it so that there’s enough room to add all of the following ingredients. (two-thirds should be just about perfect.)
• Rinse your chicken with cold water and add it to the pot. Use either a whole cut-up chicken with the insides removed or three to four split breasts, with skin. Season the pot with ground kosher salt and pepper. Partially cover the pot and bring to a boil.
• When it boils, remove the lid, reduce the temperature to a roaring simmer, and once you get the boiling under control, partially cover again. Cook at this temperature for around 30-45 minutes, until the chicken is tender when poked with a fork.
• Turn off heat and remove the scum from the top of the pot. Then remove all chicken from pot. De-skin, de-bone, cut into bite-size pieces and put it back into the pot. Add peeled carrots (the authentic Hungarian way is to add them whole, not cut up), diced celery (again, add whole stalks if you want to be authentic) and quartered peeled medium size onions. Check your seasonings, now adding genuine, sweet Hungarian paprika (I also add a healthy does of thyme, although Nagymama never did!) Simmer on low heat for at least a couple of hours, until the flavors have a chance to mingle. (You can also let it simmer all night long on the lowest possible heat, removing it from the stove first thing in the morning.)
• Right before you’re ready to serve it, add thin egg noodles right to the pot, turning up the heat so that they cook through (about eight minutes.) Enjoy!
Nagymama always served this with homemade bread and pure butter. A European pastry was also served, as was a good cup of after-dinner coffee or tea.
Fewer aromas fill up your home better. Fewer memories of your children’s home could be stronger than the ones this will create. Try to keep a pot of this going for the rest of the winter. I am trying to do the same……
Until next week,
Carolina
Monday, January 29, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Whipping Your House into New Year’s Shape
It’s not quite fair of me to write this newsletter. Not yet, anyway. Normally one to be completely on top of this kind of thing, I’m nowhere near ready this year. I have a litany of wonderful excuses—none of which you want to hear—but wonderful excuses they are and hey, one’s reality is one’s reality after all! And my reality this month left no room for un-decorating after the Holidays. So whipping my house into New Year’s shape is, today, a hypothetical at best. Heck: my Christmas tree still stands (proudly, I might add) in my foyer; angels and Father Christmases still line my kitchen window seat; and candles still stay light in every window (which, frankly, this year are staying up until Easter. But that’s another Newsletter). Friends are coming in from out-of-state next weekend (no time to whip things into shape before then either). So, looking at February for me is about the best I can do (and if this gives you liberty to lag along with me, well, that’s what rocket mom friends are for!)
But hypothetically or for real, it’s time to at least start thinking of de-constructing your home’s Holiday wonderland. Time to throw out the gingerbread houses and un-eaten cookies. Time to put all of those hard-to-find-home-for gifts away. Time to read the Christmas cards one last time and organize the photos.
So some thoughts:
• The first thing to come down is the tree (obviously). Ours is a 12’ tall artificial one (our kids have allergies to the real thing). It could stay up year round (and one year it really did. Funny story: it was in my living room and was easily visible to anyone passing by as I kept it lit most of the day and we lived on a very busy street. One night in May—so like five full months after Christmas—my pharmacist, who still made house calls—called and asked if I knew that my Christmas tree was in my living room. Duh?!? Like I could walk through my house and miss it….Had no time that year to take it down so left it up all year. Hmmmm. Looking like a great idea this year, too. ) But if you’re less eccentric than I, take the thing down, put all the ornaments in green and red plastic boxes so you’ll be able to find them next year, and get it all neatly put away and stacked in your attic.
• Next, dismantle any of the artificial greenery and pinecones or anything else that you might find at your local greenhouse (which is artificial) and wrap it up in plastic boxes or plastic bags and keep it all organized together. I take all of this stuff down, blow off the dust, wrap them in clear plastic garbage bags with a tight twist tie, and put them in my garage on a high shelf so that they’re airtight and out of sight until the next year.
• Pull down all of the Christmas things that cannot stay up as “winter decorations.” Santas should come down. Angels could stay out forever. This could be a tough call; if your house is like mine, once everything comes down, the house looks like it just had a bad haircut. So if you need to leave a few things up, so be it. The decorating police will probably cut you some slack.
• Lastly, organize those cards and photos. My girlfriend, Leslie, wrote to me that she takes all of her cards and organizes them by size; she also takes the photos and punches a hole in the corner and strings a ribbon through, making a nice and neat little keepsake in the process. When they visit friends throughout the year, she can easily pull out the photos to remind the kids who they are going to see. She also uses the opportunity to take the cards and photos to her computer where she inputs and updates the names of the kids. I take those same cards and pitch them (sorry!) but I do save every single photo. I store them by year in the hopes that one day when my hair is white I’ll drink herbal tea and eat crumpets in my conservatory and fill up archivally-correct books with all of them. In chronological order of course.
And when you’re all done doing this wonderful little yearly ritual, get out the vacuum cleaner and whisk away all of the dirt. Dust, too, but only if you’re in the mood. Make yourself an espresso and if you happen to have a cookie in the house, treat yourself to one of those, too. Whipping—houses or heavy cream or thighs-carrying-extra-Christmas-weight for that matter—requires a lot of energy.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
But hypothetically or for real, it’s time to at least start thinking of de-constructing your home’s Holiday wonderland. Time to throw out the gingerbread houses and un-eaten cookies. Time to put all of those hard-to-find-home-for gifts away. Time to read the Christmas cards one last time and organize the photos.
So some thoughts:
• The first thing to come down is the tree (obviously). Ours is a 12’ tall artificial one (our kids have allergies to the real thing). It could stay up year round (and one year it really did. Funny story: it was in my living room and was easily visible to anyone passing by as I kept it lit most of the day and we lived on a very busy street. One night in May—so like five full months after Christmas—my pharmacist, who still made house calls—called and asked if I knew that my Christmas tree was in my living room. Duh?!? Like I could walk through my house and miss it….Had no time that year to take it down so left it up all year. Hmmmm. Looking like a great idea this year, too. ) But if you’re less eccentric than I, take the thing down, put all the ornaments in green and red plastic boxes so you’ll be able to find them next year, and get it all neatly put away and stacked in your attic.
• Next, dismantle any of the artificial greenery and pinecones or anything else that you might find at your local greenhouse (which is artificial) and wrap it up in plastic boxes or plastic bags and keep it all organized together. I take all of this stuff down, blow off the dust, wrap them in clear plastic garbage bags with a tight twist tie, and put them in my garage on a high shelf so that they’re airtight and out of sight until the next year.
• Pull down all of the Christmas things that cannot stay up as “winter decorations.” Santas should come down. Angels could stay out forever. This could be a tough call; if your house is like mine, once everything comes down, the house looks like it just had a bad haircut. So if you need to leave a few things up, so be it. The decorating police will probably cut you some slack.
• Lastly, organize those cards and photos. My girlfriend, Leslie, wrote to me that she takes all of her cards and organizes them by size; she also takes the photos and punches a hole in the corner and strings a ribbon through, making a nice and neat little keepsake in the process. When they visit friends throughout the year, she can easily pull out the photos to remind the kids who they are going to see. She also uses the opportunity to take the cards and photos to her computer where she inputs and updates the names of the kids. I take those same cards and pitch them (sorry!) but I do save every single photo. I store them by year in the hopes that one day when my hair is white I’ll drink herbal tea and eat crumpets in my conservatory and fill up archivally-correct books with all of them. In chronological order of course.
And when you’re all done doing this wonderful little yearly ritual, get out the vacuum cleaner and whisk away all of the dirt. Dust, too, but only if you’re in the mood. Make yourself an espresso and if you happen to have a cookie in the house, treat yourself to one of those, too. Whipping—houses or heavy cream or thighs-carrying-extra-Christmas-weight for that matter—requires a lot of energy.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Rocket Mom Takes on Winter Old Wives Tales
A weekend is meant to be spent doing all of the things that you love…or at least doing all of the things that you hate but know that you have to do anyway (laundry, bill-paying and grocery-shopping come quickly to mind. Urgh!)
So imagine my disgust at having to spend the entire weekend in bed—and I’m talking entire as in twenty-five-hours-in-bed-without-getting-up-or-able-to-move-my-pounding-head—without the ability to do any of those things which I love (writing books, playing tennis, going to the symphony; yup: all three were on my weekend agenda) or hate (yup: laundry, bill-paying and grocery-shopping were there, too). Seems I caught not the flu (got my flu shot weeks ago) but an especially virulent stomach virus. Probably from my twelve-year-old son, who brought it home a couple of days before. Or perhaps from a colleague, who came to work the morning after being up all the previous night in the bathroom. Thankyouverymuchforsneezingonme.
Spending precious time in bed sick does not come easily to me. I had plans, for crying out loud! And grand ones at that. But it got me thinking, once my head stopped pounding that is, about all of those old wives tales that your mom and mine—and our grandmothers, too—told us when we were little kids. About keeping colds and flu’s at bay. Believe it or not, some of them are true and some of them are just plain silly. De-bunk or adhere as you see fit. Here goes: Rocket Mom takes on Winter Old Wives Tales:
1)OWT: Going out with wet hair will make you catch a cold. Sounds perfectly sane. But actually, I believe that going out with not really wet but slightly damp hair helps your body stay immune from catching colds as it builds up your resistance to the elements. I leave the gym almost every morning with slightly damp hair. The doctor’s take: an old wives tale. Going out with wet hair doesn’t make you sick; viruses do. (OK. So the docs and I agree on this one.)
2)OWT: Catching a chill gives you the flu. I am convinced that this is the truest of all old wives tales. I can re-count five times that I caught the flu within 24-48 hours of getting chilled. By that, I mean that I shivered. Complete wisdom from our mothers. The doctor’s take: While doctors for years have always claimed that only viruses give you colds and the flu, the latest research supports me. Researchers placed volunteer’s feet in cold water for twenty minutes and found that they were more likely to catch a cold within a few days than those who did not. Ha! My kids, who are convinced that I am soooo wrong and who refuse to wear winter coats to the bus stop, will hate me for doing the research on this one. But the docs and I agree. If you shiver, you get sick. (Period. End of story.)
3)OWT: Chewing garlic and eating onions keeps you healthy. Completely convinced. Except there is no need to chew it. (You’ll have no friends, after all). Instead, take one or two caplets daily to keep weirdo germs away. I completely swear (and I use the word gently here) by this. Have taken garlic for over thirty years. Almost never get sick. Have plenty of friends. The doctor’s take: garlic is good for lowering your cholesterol. May have some preventative aids. (C’mon. It’s my numero uno biggest health secret ever.)
4)OWT: Chicken soup is Jewish penicillin. Absolutely! Are you kidding?!? The best cure in the world. (And I’m not even Jewish.) Drink it in spades when you’re sick, when your tummy hurts or when you’re feeling blue. The doctor’s take: we can fly a man to the moon but we still haven’t figured out a cure for the common cold. So eat it if you feel like it, but don’t expect it to be an immediate cure-all. (They don’t know what they’re talking about. Make buckets of it when viruses are floating around your whole family. And if you need the Hungarian recipe for Jewish chicken soup, email me.)
5)OWT: Starve a fever, feed a cold. Or is it the other way around? Why does everyone mix this one up? I think it best to starve a fever. Your stomach just can’t handle too much food when it’s busy fighting away those nasty germs. The doctor’s take: it doesn’t matter. Eat if you can. You need the nutrients to get better. (OK. So eat then. But if you throw up, don’t call me.)
6)OWT: Sweat out a cold. I never exercise when I’m sick unless I’m at the tale-end of the cold or illness; I just don’t have the energy for it. But the minute I feel a little better, I’m right back at it. The doctor’s take: don’t exercise when you’re sick because you need your strength to fight the cold. You can’t sweat it out or burn it out or exercise it out or sauna it out. (Humph. I’m convinced I can swim it out or weight lift it out or tennis it out. I am.)
7)OWT: Colds and flu’s are most contagious before the symptoms even appear. I’d think this is true, except in the case of when the sick-o is sneezing right on you or coughing and then touching you. Yuck! The doctor’s take: not true. Colds and flu’s are most contagious when the symptoms are the strongest or at their height. So stay away from someone if they have a runny nose, are sneezing like crazy or coughing up a storm! (Carry hand sanitizer with you and use it after you shake someone’s hand. It’s flu season, for Pete’s sake! And ditto for after touching door knobs or being anyone who is obviously sick.)
Lastly, if you are sick, please do not go to work! Do everyone at the office a favor and stay home! And really lastly: the myth that chocolate causes acne is just not true. Daily usage reaps a beautiful complexion. The secret is eating it everyday. And dark only. It has been scientifically proven in every major university study throughout the world—and for centuries—to keep colds and flu’s at bay.
Hmmm. I must not have been eating enough of it.
Happy, healthy week!
Carolina
So imagine my disgust at having to spend the entire weekend in bed—and I’m talking entire as in twenty-five-hours-in-bed-without-getting-up-or-able-to-move-my-pounding-head—without the ability to do any of those things which I love (writing books, playing tennis, going to the symphony; yup: all three were on my weekend agenda) or hate (yup: laundry, bill-paying and grocery-shopping were there, too). Seems I caught not the flu (got my flu shot weeks ago) but an especially virulent stomach virus. Probably from my twelve-year-old son, who brought it home a couple of days before. Or perhaps from a colleague, who came to work the morning after being up all the previous night in the bathroom. Thankyouverymuchforsneezingonme.
Spending precious time in bed sick does not come easily to me. I had plans, for crying out loud! And grand ones at that. But it got me thinking, once my head stopped pounding that is, about all of those old wives tales that your mom and mine—and our grandmothers, too—told us when we were little kids. About keeping colds and flu’s at bay. Believe it or not, some of them are true and some of them are just plain silly. De-bunk or adhere as you see fit. Here goes: Rocket Mom takes on Winter Old Wives Tales:
1)OWT: Going out with wet hair will make you catch a cold. Sounds perfectly sane. But actually, I believe that going out with not really wet but slightly damp hair helps your body stay immune from catching colds as it builds up your resistance to the elements. I leave the gym almost every morning with slightly damp hair. The doctor’s take: an old wives tale. Going out with wet hair doesn’t make you sick; viruses do. (OK. So the docs and I agree on this one.)
2)OWT: Catching a chill gives you the flu. I am convinced that this is the truest of all old wives tales. I can re-count five times that I caught the flu within 24-48 hours of getting chilled. By that, I mean that I shivered. Complete wisdom from our mothers. The doctor’s take: While doctors for years have always claimed that only viruses give you colds and the flu, the latest research supports me. Researchers placed volunteer’s feet in cold water for twenty minutes and found that they were more likely to catch a cold within a few days than those who did not. Ha! My kids, who are convinced that I am soooo wrong and who refuse to wear winter coats to the bus stop, will hate me for doing the research on this one. But the docs and I agree. If you shiver, you get sick. (Period. End of story.)
3)OWT: Chewing garlic and eating onions keeps you healthy. Completely convinced. Except there is no need to chew it. (You’ll have no friends, after all). Instead, take one or two caplets daily to keep weirdo germs away. I completely swear (and I use the word gently here) by this. Have taken garlic for over thirty years. Almost never get sick. Have plenty of friends. The doctor’s take: garlic is good for lowering your cholesterol. May have some preventative aids. (C’mon. It’s my numero uno biggest health secret ever.)
4)OWT: Chicken soup is Jewish penicillin. Absolutely! Are you kidding?!? The best cure in the world. (And I’m not even Jewish.) Drink it in spades when you’re sick, when your tummy hurts or when you’re feeling blue. The doctor’s take: we can fly a man to the moon but we still haven’t figured out a cure for the common cold. So eat it if you feel like it, but don’t expect it to be an immediate cure-all. (They don’t know what they’re talking about. Make buckets of it when viruses are floating around your whole family. And if you need the Hungarian recipe for Jewish chicken soup, email me.)
5)OWT: Starve a fever, feed a cold. Or is it the other way around? Why does everyone mix this one up? I think it best to starve a fever. Your stomach just can’t handle too much food when it’s busy fighting away those nasty germs. The doctor’s take: it doesn’t matter. Eat if you can. You need the nutrients to get better. (OK. So eat then. But if you throw up, don’t call me.)
6)OWT: Sweat out a cold. I never exercise when I’m sick unless I’m at the tale-end of the cold or illness; I just don’t have the energy for it. But the minute I feel a little better, I’m right back at it. The doctor’s take: don’t exercise when you’re sick because you need your strength to fight the cold. You can’t sweat it out or burn it out or exercise it out or sauna it out. (Humph. I’m convinced I can swim it out or weight lift it out or tennis it out. I am.)
7)OWT: Colds and flu’s are most contagious before the symptoms even appear. I’d think this is true, except in the case of when the sick-o is sneezing right on you or coughing and then touching you. Yuck! The doctor’s take: not true. Colds and flu’s are most contagious when the symptoms are the strongest or at their height. So stay away from someone if they have a runny nose, are sneezing like crazy or coughing up a storm! (Carry hand sanitizer with you and use it after you shake someone’s hand. It’s flu season, for Pete’s sake! And ditto for after touching door knobs or being anyone who is obviously sick.)
Lastly, if you are sick, please do not go to work! Do everyone at the office a favor and stay home! And really lastly: the myth that chocolate causes acne is just not true. Daily usage reaps a beautiful complexion. The secret is eating it everyday. And dark only. It has been scientifically proven in every major university study throughout the world—and for centuries—to keep colds and flu’s at bay.
Hmmm. I must not have been eating enough of it.
Happy, healthy week!
Carolina
Monday, December 11, 2006
5 Fast Gift Ideas for the Holidays
You undoubtedly have five minutes to spare these days, period…..no time to read a lengthy newsletter (and no time at this end to write one!)
So here goes: five fast gift ideas for the Holidays:
1)Give away whatever your local school or orchestra or sports team is selling. They’re most likely raising funds for something significant. Our youth symphony is selling specialty coffee to raise money for our trip to Vienna in the spring. Nuf said.
2)Give soap. Everyone needs it. If it’s difficult to find (as is pure olive oil soap), your friend will love it all the more.
3)Give gift cards. Rather than just sending hard cash, gift cards read “I have given thought to something you might like.”
4)Give home-baked cookies, pies or cakes. I recently baked a few pecan pies and took them to dinner parties. Wow! They were such hits. Simple.
5)Give your time. Offer to spend an afternoon with a friend or with her toddler. Read a book to a nursing home patient. Sit with someone in the hospital.
Spinning off last week’s Newsletter (Simplify Simplify Simplify), this is my M.O. for the Holidays. Based on the dozens of email responses of the week, it appears that I’ve struck a chord.
Keep it simple. Easy. Fast.
Next week: a wrap up on the year…as well as the highlights of our upcoming Quinceañera!
Blessings,
Carolina
So here goes: five fast gift ideas for the Holidays:
1)Give away whatever your local school or orchestra or sports team is selling. They’re most likely raising funds for something significant. Our youth symphony is selling specialty coffee to raise money for our trip to Vienna in the spring. Nuf said.
2)Give soap. Everyone needs it. If it’s difficult to find (as is pure olive oil soap), your friend will love it all the more.
3)Give gift cards. Rather than just sending hard cash, gift cards read “I have given thought to something you might like.”
4)Give home-baked cookies, pies or cakes. I recently baked a few pecan pies and took them to dinner parties. Wow! They were such hits. Simple.
5)Give your time. Offer to spend an afternoon with a friend or with her toddler. Read a book to a nursing home patient. Sit with someone in the hospital.
Spinning off last week’s Newsletter (Simplify Simplify Simplify), this is my M.O. for the Holidays. Based on the dozens of email responses of the week, it appears that I’ve struck a chord.
Keep it simple. Easy. Fast.
Next week: a wrap up on the year…as well as the highlights of our upcoming Quinceañera!
Blessings,
Carolina
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Simplify Simplify Simplify
Quick Rocket Mom Newsletter. Too many cookies-to-bake-gifts-to buy-photos-to-take-cards-to-address-parties-to-host. Did I mention laundry?!? Behind in that, too…
Busy month. OK. So let’s get serious. And get real. For the first year EVER, I am sticking to my guns to follow the motto I have never been able to live by. You guessed it: “Simplify Simplify Simplify.”
Officially gone are the shipments of eighty out-of-state Christmas packages, endless lines at the post office and department store cash registers, toys for tots I hardly know and expensive gifts for friends who need not. I have resolved to spend my time, energy and money, instead, on those friends and relatives in my inner circle who have cared enough about my family during these past few years…and who have stayed in touch through thick and thin. Call it (almost) reaching fifty (and finally reaching maturity.) Call it getting a reality grip (of sorts.)
I have decided this Christmas to help those who need help and put “on hold” those who do not.
So I will spend time in the hospital with my friend whose daughter is fighting the ugly disease of leukemia and I will sit on that park bench whether I like it or not because that is the bench that has been put in my earthly path. I will bake cookies with a six-year-old because she wants me to spend some time with her at Christmastime (yes, Heather, that would be Rachel). I will have coffee with aching friends experiencing loneliness and isolation. And I will host a party for my closest friends and neighbors because when life got really icky for us, these folks came through with shining colors.
This Simplify Simplify Simplify thing might sound harsh…but life seems quite short to me these days. So I have officially changed course and I am giving you official license to do the same. I have decided to honor charities that hit an inner nerve of mine but not those which don’t; laugh and cry with those who have done both with us over these past few years but not spend my time with those who have no clue at to what we’ve been through; and love deeply those who have remained in our family funnel through thick and thin but filter out those who have blown us off. Sounds harsh, huh? Nope. It’s a reality check. And, truth be told, Christmas is a time when the rubber hits the road. When you truly get what happened in the little town of Bethlehem a couple thousand or so years ago and you have chosen to celebrate it ecstatically. I totally get that. And I want to share that joy with you. But what I don’t get…and I will no longer let myself get sucked in to…are those things that have no relation to the message of Christmas. Things that look great on the surface but that don’t really count.
So I will love my neighbor and love the sick. Help the hurting and help the little ones come to Him.
The rest of it? Almost all of it over the top. Out of season.
So when I run out of time, out of energy, out of steam and out of conviction…which I have already done (and it’s only the first week in December!?!).... well…it’s just going to have to wait. Until January.
That’s what that month is for. Right?!?
I send you all my best at Christmas. And to my house for a long cup of coffee and to celebrate the season. And friendship. And the gift of Christmas. And the things that really matter. You know who you are. Why you’re in my life. Just show up. On Thursday morning, the 21st. 9:30. Come and break bread with me around my table. Laugh and cry with me. Share with me, truly, in the real message of Christmas.
All blessings to you and yours,
Carolina
Busy month. OK. So let’s get serious. And get real. For the first year EVER, I am sticking to my guns to follow the motto I have never been able to live by. You guessed it: “Simplify Simplify Simplify.”
Officially gone are the shipments of eighty out-of-state Christmas packages, endless lines at the post office and department store cash registers, toys for tots I hardly know and expensive gifts for friends who need not. I have resolved to spend my time, energy and money, instead, on those friends and relatives in my inner circle who have cared enough about my family during these past few years…and who have stayed in touch through thick and thin. Call it (almost) reaching fifty (and finally reaching maturity.) Call it getting a reality grip (of sorts.)
I have decided this Christmas to help those who need help and put “on hold” those who do not.
So I will spend time in the hospital with my friend whose daughter is fighting the ugly disease of leukemia and I will sit on that park bench whether I like it or not because that is the bench that has been put in my earthly path. I will bake cookies with a six-year-old because she wants me to spend some time with her at Christmastime (yes, Heather, that would be Rachel). I will have coffee with aching friends experiencing loneliness and isolation. And I will host a party for my closest friends and neighbors because when life got really icky for us, these folks came through with shining colors.
This Simplify Simplify Simplify thing might sound harsh…but life seems quite short to me these days. So I have officially changed course and I am giving you official license to do the same. I have decided to honor charities that hit an inner nerve of mine but not those which don’t; laugh and cry with those who have done both with us over these past few years but not spend my time with those who have no clue at to what we’ve been through; and love deeply those who have remained in our family funnel through thick and thin but filter out those who have blown us off. Sounds harsh, huh? Nope. It’s a reality check. And, truth be told, Christmas is a time when the rubber hits the road. When you truly get what happened in the little town of Bethlehem a couple thousand or so years ago and you have chosen to celebrate it ecstatically. I totally get that. And I want to share that joy with you. But what I don’t get…and I will no longer let myself get sucked in to…are those things that have no relation to the message of Christmas. Things that look great on the surface but that don’t really count.
So I will love my neighbor and love the sick. Help the hurting and help the little ones come to Him.
The rest of it? Almost all of it over the top. Out of season.
So when I run out of time, out of energy, out of steam and out of conviction…which I have already done (and it’s only the first week in December!?!).... well…it’s just going to have to wait. Until January.
That’s what that month is for. Right?!?
I send you all my best at Christmas. And to my house for a long cup of coffee and to celebrate the season. And friendship. And the gift of Christmas. And the things that really matter. You know who you are. Why you’re in my life. Just show up. On Thursday morning, the 21st. 9:30. Come and break bread with me around my table. Laugh and cry with me. Share with me, truly, in the real message of Christmas.
All blessings to you and yours,
Carolina
Monday, November 27, 2006
Writing Your Way through the Holidays
A pleasant surprise awaited me today when I opened my first red-and-green Rubbermaid Christmas box during our annual decorating ritual: written instructions as to what went where. I had completely forgotten that I had stapled instructions as to where to place holiday decorations the year before; when I opened up each box, I didn’t need to scratch my head wondering what I did with the snowman, Father Christmas, angel or feather tree in years past. I just followed—lazily, I might add—my own prescriptive for how to do things in the status quo. That the angel went in the kitchen and the snowman went in the family room; the Father Christmas went on the tea table in the living room and the garland went on top of the dining room welsh dresser.
Now, this may not seem like a big deal. “So what,” you probably ask. OK. Well, here’s the deal: as we get older, life gets more complicated. It’s not filled anymore with just carpool and homework drills, or job-juggling and dinner preparation. It’s filled with bigger kids, bigger appetites, bigger shopping trips and bigger laundry loads. College applications. Tuition. More travel. Harder violin concertos. Life just gets busier. Hectic-er.
And so having someone or something tell me what to do—even if it’s just a silly index card stapled to an artificial ivy skewer with directions on where to put the thing—it helps my already overloaded brain. And it will yours, too.
So here’s my big Holiday tip: write stuff down. Everything. Journal everything. Gifts you need to buy for whom to ship where. Menus you need to plan. Trips to which stores you need to shop. Parties you need to squeeze in when and where. Obligations you need to fulfill to whom.
Let’s face it: the holidays can be stressful times. We all feel over-stretched, over-extended and over-worked. It doesn’t really matter where we find ourselves. At home or at work, we are committed to the max. School parties and neighborhood dinners and business lunches spread their dates across our collective calendars and keep us on our toes. Wiped out physically, emotionally and even financially, we collapse into bed each night wondering how we’re going to get through the next four weeks or so. Gift buying and wrapping and shipping and lines and credit card swipes get us completely whigged out just thinking about them!
These next weeks ahead call for nerves—and buns!—of steel. So go into them with the organizational finesse typically reserved for the pro’s. Planning a party? Write down the menu and the guest list and stick it in your Filofax or your Blackberry. Record menus in your recipe box and refer to them year after year. Write down every gift you purchase for whom. Check your list so that each year, when you prepare for the upcoming Holiday shopping trips, you’ll have a record of every single person on your list. And also record who gave you what. It’ll help jog your memory when you do this year’s gift buying.
Make a plan. Stick to your plan. And write write write. Trust me: when next year comes, you’ll breeze through these days with extra energy and extra time on your hands so that you can truly enjoy this month.
The month of December should be amongst the best of your year. Friends and family gatherings should be the happiest celebrations you could plan and attend. But you need to be prepared. Organized and fortified.
So go get ‘em. Go to the end–of-year concerts and recitals and block parties. Bake those cookies and decorate the gingerbread men. Indulge in gorgeous gift wrap and put the curlicues on the cards.
And if you figure out how to do all that each one of us rocket moms needs and wants to do AND get dinner on the table: please send me an email with exact instructions. It remains the most elusive of my daily responsibilities. And if you can get it on an index card and staple it somewhere….well, you’ll move to the head of the class.
Blessings on your week!
Carolina
Now, this may not seem like a big deal. “So what,” you probably ask. OK. Well, here’s the deal: as we get older, life gets more complicated. It’s not filled anymore with just carpool and homework drills, or job-juggling and dinner preparation. It’s filled with bigger kids, bigger appetites, bigger shopping trips and bigger laundry loads. College applications. Tuition. More travel. Harder violin concertos. Life just gets busier. Hectic-er.
And so having someone or something tell me what to do—even if it’s just a silly index card stapled to an artificial ivy skewer with directions on where to put the thing—it helps my already overloaded brain. And it will yours, too.
So here’s my big Holiday tip: write stuff down. Everything. Journal everything. Gifts you need to buy for whom to ship where. Menus you need to plan. Trips to which stores you need to shop. Parties you need to squeeze in when and where. Obligations you need to fulfill to whom.
Let’s face it: the holidays can be stressful times. We all feel over-stretched, over-extended and over-worked. It doesn’t really matter where we find ourselves. At home or at work, we are committed to the max. School parties and neighborhood dinners and business lunches spread their dates across our collective calendars and keep us on our toes. Wiped out physically, emotionally and even financially, we collapse into bed each night wondering how we’re going to get through the next four weeks or so. Gift buying and wrapping and shipping and lines and credit card swipes get us completely whigged out just thinking about them!
These next weeks ahead call for nerves—and buns!—of steel. So go into them with the organizational finesse typically reserved for the pro’s. Planning a party? Write down the menu and the guest list and stick it in your Filofax or your Blackberry. Record menus in your recipe box and refer to them year after year. Write down every gift you purchase for whom. Check your list so that each year, when you prepare for the upcoming Holiday shopping trips, you’ll have a record of every single person on your list. And also record who gave you what. It’ll help jog your memory when you do this year’s gift buying.
Make a plan. Stick to your plan. And write write write. Trust me: when next year comes, you’ll breeze through these days with extra energy and extra time on your hands so that you can truly enjoy this month.
The month of December should be amongst the best of your year. Friends and family gatherings should be the happiest celebrations you could plan and attend. But you need to be prepared. Organized and fortified.
So go get ‘em. Go to the end–of-year concerts and recitals and block parties. Bake those cookies and decorate the gingerbread men. Indulge in gorgeous gift wrap and put the curlicues on the cards.
And if you figure out how to do all that each one of us rocket moms needs and wants to do AND get dinner on the table: please send me an email with exact instructions. It remains the most elusive of my daily responsibilities. And if you can get it on an index card and staple it somewhere….well, you’ll move to the head of the class.
Blessings on your week!
Carolina
Monday, November 13, 2006
Celebrating Traditions—or Why Hosting a Quinceañera is a Grand Thing
Several years ago, while we were living in Miami, our son, Nick, took part on the court of a Quinceañera party (a “Sweet Fifteen” for Latin girls) of a gal who was a friend, to be sure, although not necessarily a “best friend.” Never having encountered a “Quince” before, we had not the foggiest idea of what was involved.
Turned out, this was ”the event.” Private dance lessons were on tap for everyone involved—everyone being the Quince princess, the seven fifteen-year-old girls on her court (think homecoming) and the accompanying seven fifteen-year-old boys. And not once, but twice, a private dance instructor gave them all private dance lessons so they would all dance perfectly when the appropriate time came (as in private dance instructor came to their house and gave private dance lessons for a couple hours each time…you do the math.) Girls wore floor-length gowns, coordinated to the white Cinderella-esque wedding style gown of the Quince girl; boys wore rented tuxedos. Nearly three hundred guests were invited to a sit-down dinner and professional photographers, cake makers, dance instructors, set designers, make-up artists and hair stylists all played their own distinct roles.
Now, my husband and I attended, invited as we were by virtue of the fact that our son was on the court. But our other children were not; they were simply told of the event after it occurred.
Fast forward five years. Our daughter vividly remembers every single detail of that Quince…lock, stock and barrel…and, now fifteen-years old, wants a complete and total re-enactment of the whole Cinderella bit.
Given that our pockets are not that deep, that we have no intention of doing the whole pumpkin-turns-into-a stagecoach thing on a revolving platform (no, I am not making this up), we have told her that, yes, she may have a Quince and yes, it can even have a Cinderella theme (she is our only princess, after all) but that the line needs to be drawn in the proverbial sand by mom and dad with clearly-delineated markings.
Well, “clearly-delineated,” “pockets-not-that-deep,” and “Cinderelle-esque” are all relative concepts.
To live in Miami, which, let’s face it, has a clear majority of Latinos from all Spanish and Portuguese-speaking countries of the world, one embraces Quince parties because they occur each and every weekend in each and every year. To attend a Quince there at some point in your life is like, well, living in South America and celebrating “sweet fifteen” as a fact of life. Like breathing. To live in Fairfield County, Connecticut and host a Quince party is like living in the North Pole and hosting a luau. There ain’t none.
So when our daughter announced that she was having a Quince, to all non-Spanish- taking high school freshman, they had no idea what in the world she was talking about. But to those who took Spanish in middle school, they had some inkling of the impending brouhaha. But as these girls had never lived in South America—or heck, even Miami—they truly had no clue.
OK. So she chooses her court. Seven girls. Seven guys. (Can you imagine what that was like?) We order the gown, and it is, indeed, a wedding gown. It’s very Cinderella-y. Billowy. Lots of tulle. We order the dresses for her court (with the tearful note that her dearest friend from Miami who was to hold center court cannot make it up here for the event as she’s in the middle of exams. A sad late note for both girls.) We order the shoes (yes, they have a glass-like heel). We order the invitations. (An ordeal in and of itself. Have you noticed the cost of stationary lately?!?) Order the jewelry for each girl on the court. Ditto on the venue, the food, the DJ, and yes, if you can believe it, the dance instructors.
And then we start looking at tiaras. Now, I’m not Latin. (Nope. Pure-blooded Hungarian.) But even I know that Quince girls wear tiaras. And they are like, very expensive. And I’m saying: “Cristina, can’t we just go to the mall and get you a cheap one at Claire’s?” You’d think I had committed heresy.
So we look at every friggin’ tiara on the display shelf at David’s bridal shop. They make these things from Swarovski crystal, you know! And I just had to draw the line. I mean, this thing was getting out of hand. So I start pacing back and forth and back and forth on the floor of the bridal shop, turning over and over in my mind what I’m teaching my daughter about money and budgets and celebrations and indulgence and EVERYTHING is now all of a sudden riding on a stupid tiara.
She volunteers to pay for the difference between the one she really wants which is way out of my budget and the proposed one from Claire’s (which had an imaginary value anyway) and I coalesce and buy her the tiara.
And when I talk to one of the court-gal’s mom the next day, we kibitz about these girls and teenage-hood and money and rites of passage. Having hosted two bat mitzvahs herself, she had perspective. And then she said what would hit me like a ton of bricks: “You’re not just having a Quince. You’re preserving a whole cultural tradition.”
And I stopped and thought about how these traditions come and stay. About how generations of children have celebrated religious heritages with bar/bat mitzvahs and christenings and baptism parties; about how American girls have Sweet Sixteen’s and how Latin girls have Quince’s. About weddings. And how these events occur just once in a lifetime. Once or twice in a family.
And I decided that making a big deal about a life event is a grand thing. That it thrills me to no end to have a daughter, and a precious, beautiful one at that. That few of us take enough time out to celebrate life. To enjoy laughter and fellowship and good food and good cake.
We’re getting ready to celebrate Thanksgiving next week here in America. Embrace it. And those you love. With good cheer.
For celebrations—Quinceañera’s--are grand things.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Turned out, this was ”the event.” Private dance lessons were on tap for everyone involved—everyone being the Quince princess, the seven fifteen-year-old girls on her court (think homecoming) and the accompanying seven fifteen-year-old boys. And not once, but twice, a private dance instructor gave them all private dance lessons so they would all dance perfectly when the appropriate time came (as in private dance instructor came to their house and gave private dance lessons for a couple hours each time…you do the math.) Girls wore floor-length gowns, coordinated to the white Cinderella-esque wedding style gown of the Quince girl; boys wore rented tuxedos. Nearly three hundred guests were invited to a sit-down dinner and professional photographers, cake makers, dance instructors, set designers, make-up artists and hair stylists all played their own distinct roles.
Now, my husband and I attended, invited as we were by virtue of the fact that our son was on the court. But our other children were not; they were simply told of the event after it occurred.
Fast forward five years. Our daughter vividly remembers every single detail of that Quince…lock, stock and barrel…and, now fifteen-years old, wants a complete and total re-enactment of the whole Cinderella bit.
Given that our pockets are not that deep, that we have no intention of doing the whole pumpkin-turns-into-a stagecoach thing on a revolving platform (no, I am not making this up), we have told her that, yes, she may have a Quince and yes, it can even have a Cinderella theme (she is our only princess, after all) but that the line needs to be drawn in the proverbial sand by mom and dad with clearly-delineated markings.
Well, “clearly-delineated,” “pockets-not-that-deep,” and “Cinderelle-esque” are all relative concepts.
To live in Miami, which, let’s face it, has a clear majority of Latinos from all Spanish and Portuguese-speaking countries of the world, one embraces Quince parties because they occur each and every weekend in each and every year. To attend a Quince there at some point in your life is like, well, living in South America and celebrating “sweet fifteen” as a fact of life. Like breathing. To live in Fairfield County, Connecticut and host a Quince party is like living in the North Pole and hosting a luau. There ain’t none.
So when our daughter announced that she was having a Quince, to all non-Spanish- taking high school freshman, they had no idea what in the world she was talking about. But to those who took Spanish in middle school, they had some inkling of the impending brouhaha. But as these girls had never lived in South America—or heck, even Miami—they truly had no clue.
OK. So she chooses her court. Seven girls. Seven guys. (Can you imagine what that was like?) We order the gown, and it is, indeed, a wedding gown. It’s very Cinderella-y. Billowy. Lots of tulle. We order the dresses for her court (with the tearful note that her dearest friend from Miami who was to hold center court cannot make it up here for the event as she’s in the middle of exams. A sad late note for both girls.) We order the shoes (yes, they have a glass-like heel). We order the invitations. (An ordeal in and of itself. Have you noticed the cost of stationary lately?!?) Order the jewelry for each girl on the court. Ditto on the venue, the food, the DJ, and yes, if you can believe it, the dance instructors.
And then we start looking at tiaras. Now, I’m not Latin. (Nope. Pure-blooded Hungarian.) But even I know that Quince girls wear tiaras. And they are like, very expensive. And I’m saying: “Cristina, can’t we just go to the mall and get you a cheap one at Claire’s?” You’d think I had committed heresy.
So we look at every friggin’ tiara on the display shelf at David’s bridal shop. They make these things from Swarovski crystal, you know! And I just had to draw the line. I mean, this thing was getting out of hand. So I start pacing back and forth and back and forth on the floor of the bridal shop, turning over and over in my mind what I’m teaching my daughter about money and budgets and celebrations and indulgence and EVERYTHING is now all of a sudden riding on a stupid tiara.
She volunteers to pay for the difference between the one she really wants which is way out of my budget and the proposed one from Claire’s (which had an imaginary value anyway) and I coalesce and buy her the tiara.
And when I talk to one of the court-gal’s mom the next day, we kibitz about these girls and teenage-hood and money and rites of passage. Having hosted two bat mitzvahs herself, she had perspective. And then she said what would hit me like a ton of bricks: “You’re not just having a Quince. You’re preserving a whole cultural tradition.”
And I stopped and thought about how these traditions come and stay. About how generations of children have celebrated religious heritages with bar/bat mitzvahs and christenings and baptism parties; about how American girls have Sweet Sixteen’s and how Latin girls have Quince’s. About weddings. And how these events occur just once in a lifetime. Once or twice in a family.
And I decided that making a big deal about a life event is a grand thing. That it thrills me to no end to have a daughter, and a precious, beautiful one at that. That few of us take enough time out to celebrate life. To enjoy laughter and fellowship and good food and good cake.
We’re getting ready to celebrate Thanksgiving next week here in America. Embrace it. And those you love. With good cheer.
For celebrations—Quinceañera’s--are grand things.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Monday, November 06, 2006
The Pluck Factor
Plucky (pluk’e) adj. Brave and spirited; courageous.
Have you ever noticed how few people possess radiating energy? How eyes lack sparkle and how few real smiles there are out there? How almost no one looks you in the eyes when you talk or how few people have truly gracious social skills? One thing that never ceases to amaze me is the lack of charisma or magnetism or exuberance among people everywhere!
So when I met Lorraine and Cam, I was immediately drawn to their energy. To their lit-up eyes, frequent laughter and bubbly personalities. Now they’re not particularly bubbly as in “effervescent.” No, they are actually more on the subdued side. But when one talks to them, their eyes twinkle. They smile when they talk. They maintain fabulous eye contact. Good upbringing? Perhaps. I’ve met both of their parents, even though one set lives in Scotland and the other in England (and we live up here in Connecticut in New England) and they are, indeed, darling people.
It’s even more amazing that we were drawn to each other with laughter and happy-talk considering the common thread that brought us together in the first place: leukemia. Their sixteen-month-old daughter, Katie, was diagnosed just before our seventeen-year-old son, Nick, was. Both children are treated by the same team of doctors. We met, for the first time, in the west wing of Yale’s Children’s Hospital. All of us were scared and admittedly, in a rather sad state.
Yet we continued, throughout treatments for our kids, to help each other get through them. I chased Katie around the chemo clinic when Lorraine and Cam were simply too worn out to do so, or held her when she needed a finger-stick and kicked the nurses too hard to get it done; we read stories together and sometimes she let me rock her to sleep. We colored, watched Dora the Explorer and played with puzzles. Cam engaged Nick in talk or made coffee and bagel runs for all of us. Lorraine kept me company and together, we helped keep each other’s spirits high.
They are back at the hospital, this time at Sloan Kettering, as Katie has undergone a bone marrow transplant this past week. It required weeks of pre-transplant consultations, tests, radiation and chemo. It also required Lorraine and Cam to temporarily set up house in New York City, in a rental apartment a couple blocks from Katie’s hospital room.
Some of us might complain about the difficulty of this situation. About lack of personal time, poor hospital food for weeks on end. Of watching our own children endure rigorous testing and annoying, seemingly endless blood work. Of the unfairness of the circumstances.
But not Lorraine and Cam. They maintain a positive attitude and continue to deal with every little detail with spunky, feisty attitude. They possess an enormously high “Pluck Factor.” They have a “to-heck-with-you-attitude” when people get in their way. They trudge through their days with laughter and verve. Hospital food the pits? No worries. Lorraine brings to Katie’s hospital room a crock pot along with bags full of groceries. When nurses wander in from the aroma of a slow-cooking roast and firmly let her know that she’s breaking all the rules, she tells them that she’s not dealing with the crummy food they’re trying to serve her. When little Katie does something adorable, Lorraine sends out an email blast for all of us to enjoy the moment. During the actual transplant, a video was made and we all got to witness closely (albeit from a distance) what it was really like. The video clips were amazing…..And afterwards? She and Cam celebrated with champagne and scrumptious food at a local French bistro.
Forget sad faces and going along with the ho-hum motions that most people simply accept as part of the circumstances. Lorraine and Cam have decided to maintain a spirit of resolve and a completely positive mental attitude in order to get through these days with grace. They let no one, and nothing, stand in their way. Katie’s well-being is their over-riding concern, and all of their efforts are directed to that end.
Strong-minded people serve as tremendous inspirations for me. When life throws you a curve ball, a U-turn, a disappointment or an unpleasant surprise, the outcome will oftentimes be greatly dependent on the way in which you handle yourself during those times. It takes practically no strength of character to be charming and adorable when everything is going your way. It’s when things get dicey that your true character reveals itself. And that’s when you need a high Pluck Factor. When you need to be courageous, to turn the ordeal into a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. To show your true colors, and your grit and the stuff of which you are made.
Many readers of this Newsletter are going through ordeals at this very moment. I know so because you write and tell me of them, and my heart goes out to each and every one of you. I hope this letter finds you determined to increase the Pluck Factor by just a little bit. To hold your head up high and courageously get through these days as have my dear friends Lorraine and Cam. You will serve as wonderful role models for someone else who, one day, will need to exhibit a high dose of pluck, too.
Please continue to keep me in your loop. Your concerns become my concerns and I will keep your needs closely guarded in my heart and in my prayers. I wish all of you—and especially those many dear readers who have written to me this week—all blessings as you go through these next weeks with as much strength, and pluck, as you can muster.
Peace,
Carolina
Have you ever noticed how few people possess radiating energy? How eyes lack sparkle and how few real smiles there are out there? How almost no one looks you in the eyes when you talk or how few people have truly gracious social skills? One thing that never ceases to amaze me is the lack of charisma or magnetism or exuberance among people everywhere!
So when I met Lorraine and Cam, I was immediately drawn to their energy. To their lit-up eyes, frequent laughter and bubbly personalities. Now they’re not particularly bubbly as in “effervescent.” No, they are actually more on the subdued side. But when one talks to them, their eyes twinkle. They smile when they talk. They maintain fabulous eye contact. Good upbringing? Perhaps. I’ve met both of their parents, even though one set lives in Scotland and the other in England (and we live up here in Connecticut in New England) and they are, indeed, darling people.
It’s even more amazing that we were drawn to each other with laughter and happy-talk considering the common thread that brought us together in the first place: leukemia. Their sixteen-month-old daughter, Katie, was diagnosed just before our seventeen-year-old son, Nick, was. Both children are treated by the same team of doctors. We met, for the first time, in the west wing of Yale’s Children’s Hospital. All of us were scared and admittedly, in a rather sad state.
Yet we continued, throughout treatments for our kids, to help each other get through them. I chased Katie around the chemo clinic when Lorraine and Cam were simply too worn out to do so, or held her when she needed a finger-stick and kicked the nurses too hard to get it done; we read stories together and sometimes she let me rock her to sleep. We colored, watched Dora the Explorer and played with puzzles. Cam engaged Nick in talk or made coffee and bagel runs for all of us. Lorraine kept me company and together, we helped keep each other’s spirits high.
They are back at the hospital, this time at Sloan Kettering, as Katie has undergone a bone marrow transplant this past week. It required weeks of pre-transplant consultations, tests, radiation and chemo. It also required Lorraine and Cam to temporarily set up house in New York City, in a rental apartment a couple blocks from Katie’s hospital room.
Some of us might complain about the difficulty of this situation. About lack of personal time, poor hospital food for weeks on end. Of watching our own children endure rigorous testing and annoying, seemingly endless blood work. Of the unfairness of the circumstances.
But not Lorraine and Cam. They maintain a positive attitude and continue to deal with every little detail with spunky, feisty attitude. They possess an enormously high “Pluck Factor.” They have a “to-heck-with-you-attitude” when people get in their way. They trudge through their days with laughter and verve. Hospital food the pits? No worries. Lorraine brings to Katie’s hospital room a crock pot along with bags full of groceries. When nurses wander in from the aroma of a slow-cooking roast and firmly let her know that she’s breaking all the rules, she tells them that she’s not dealing with the crummy food they’re trying to serve her. When little Katie does something adorable, Lorraine sends out an email blast for all of us to enjoy the moment. During the actual transplant, a video was made and we all got to witness closely (albeit from a distance) what it was really like. The video clips were amazing…..And afterwards? She and Cam celebrated with champagne and scrumptious food at a local French bistro.
Forget sad faces and going along with the ho-hum motions that most people simply accept as part of the circumstances. Lorraine and Cam have decided to maintain a spirit of resolve and a completely positive mental attitude in order to get through these days with grace. They let no one, and nothing, stand in their way. Katie’s well-being is their over-riding concern, and all of their efforts are directed to that end.
Strong-minded people serve as tremendous inspirations for me. When life throws you a curve ball, a U-turn, a disappointment or an unpleasant surprise, the outcome will oftentimes be greatly dependent on the way in which you handle yourself during those times. It takes practically no strength of character to be charming and adorable when everything is going your way. It’s when things get dicey that your true character reveals itself. And that’s when you need a high Pluck Factor. When you need to be courageous, to turn the ordeal into a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. To show your true colors, and your grit and the stuff of which you are made.
Many readers of this Newsletter are going through ordeals at this very moment. I know so because you write and tell me of them, and my heart goes out to each and every one of you. I hope this letter finds you determined to increase the Pluck Factor by just a little bit. To hold your head up high and courageously get through these days as have my dear friends Lorraine and Cam. You will serve as wonderful role models for someone else who, one day, will need to exhibit a high dose of pluck, too.
Please continue to keep me in your loop. Your concerns become my concerns and I will keep your needs closely guarded in my heart and in my prayers. I wish all of you—and especially those many dear readers who have written to me this week—all blessings as you go through these next weeks with as much strength, and pluck, as you can muster.
Peace,
Carolina
Monday, October 30, 2006
Minding Your Manners
This weekend found me in New York City and in Philadelphia, working on my book and catching up with my oldest friend and on some window shopping, too. A good walk down Madison Avenue in the fall is always a good thing. As is a good book store browse, a slow coffee-brownie indulgence in a side street café, and a peek inside an antique shop or two. We did all of the above in spades.
There are few things that bring me more pleasure while in the city than shopping. Not real shopping, as in buying, but leisure shopping, as in looking and touching. I need not, so I am rarely tempted. And certainly not at Madison Avenue prices. But the enormity of selection, the newness of collections and the entertainment value of people-watching is just too wonderful to ignore.
And so it was with great fun that we ventured into and around the flagship Ralph Lauren store on 72nd and Madison (a must-stop on anyone’s agenda. No kidding.) It evokes awe. Masterfully designed, with gilded-framed oil paintings lining every wall, densely-piled carpeting lining every step and attentive sales assistants lining every aisle, one certainly glides through the store as if on cushioned ballet shoes. It would be difficult to escape without feeling better for having had the experience. For having tasted “Ralph’s” genius.
And so, as I walked down the heavily-cushioned staircase on my way out, I couldn’t help but feel as if I had experienced civility at its New York best. That attention to detail and to good manners was contained, if nowhere else, within four large walls on one city block in my favorite city on the face of the earth.
My visit wasn’t long and it became time for me to retrieve my car from a soon-to-expire meter on Lexington Avenue. I walked quickly toward the exit and as I leaned against the heavy glass door onto the sidewalk, a gentleman (and he was, indeed, a gentle man), called out to the two ladies who were entering at the exact time that I was exiting.
“M’am. M’am,” he called, shoving what looked like a ten-dollar bill towards them, as they looked back over their shoulders, puzzled. “One of you dropped this on the sidewalk.”
I could hardly believe it. I said, rather softly to him, “Now there’s a real gentleman,” but he either didn’t hear me, or he ignored me, as if to suggest that chasing ladies who had dropped money out of their wallets was a perfectly normal everyday thing to do and that there could simply be no other alternative.
Picking up pennies on city sidewalks is a silly thing to do. But giving them away to the first child to cross one’s path makes it a worthwhile adventure. But picking up a ten-dollar bill and chasing down a complete stranger to give it back is hardly a common occurrence in a big city. And it caught me completely off guard. It gave me renewed faith in mankind. In young men in general. I smiled thinking of the mother who, some time, somewhere, had—over the years—taught her son well.
Holding doors open for people, shaking hands firmly, smiling while talking and expressing genuine thankfulness, are all wonderful gestures of civilized people everywhere. I vow to work on that this week with my own brood. To make sure that my boys know how to treat young ladies and that my daughter knows how to treat young men. And to remind them of the rules. That they say thank you for treats and for gifts. Always. And remember to write notes by hand. That they speak clearly to adults. And look them in their eyes when they talk. That they always answer the phone or the front door cheerfully.
Little things count. And minding one’s manners—one of those littlest things of all—is one of those little things that counts the most. I trust you feel this way, too!
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
There are few things that bring me more pleasure while in the city than shopping. Not real shopping, as in buying, but leisure shopping, as in looking and touching. I need not, so I am rarely tempted. And certainly not at Madison Avenue prices. But the enormity of selection, the newness of collections and the entertainment value of people-watching is just too wonderful to ignore.
And so it was with great fun that we ventured into and around the flagship Ralph Lauren store on 72nd and Madison (a must-stop on anyone’s agenda. No kidding.) It evokes awe. Masterfully designed, with gilded-framed oil paintings lining every wall, densely-piled carpeting lining every step and attentive sales assistants lining every aisle, one certainly glides through the store as if on cushioned ballet shoes. It would be difficult to escape without feeling better for having had the experience. For having tasted “Ralph’s” genius.
And so, as I walked down the heavily-cushioned staircase on my way out, I couldn’t help but feel as if I had experienced civility at its New York best. That attention to detail and to good manners was contained, if nowhere else, within four large walls on one city block in my favorite city on the face of the earth.
My visit wasn’t long and it became time for me to retrieve my car from a soon-to-expire meter on Lexington Avenue. I walked quickly toward the exit and as I leaned against the heavy glass door onto the sidewalk, a gentleman (and he was, indeed, a gentle man), called out to the two ladies who were entering at the exact time that I was exiting.
“M’am. M’am,” he called, shoving what looked like a ten-dollar bill towards them, as they looked back over their shoulders, puzzled. “One of you dropped this on the sidewalk.”
I could hardly believe it. I said, rather softly to him, “Now there’s a real gentleman,” but he either didn’t hear me, or he ignored me, as if to suggest that chasing ladies who had dropped money out of their wallets was a perfectly normal everyday thing to do and that there could simply be no other alternative.
Picking up pennies on city sidewalks is a silly thing to do. But giving them away to the first child to cross one’s path makes it a worthwhile adventure. But picking up a ten-dollar bill and chasing down a complete stranger to give it back is hardly a common occurrence in a big city. And it caught me completely off guard. It gave me renewed faith in mankind. In young men in general. I smiled thinking of the mother who, some time, somewhere, had—over the years—taught her son well.
Holding doors open for people, shaking hands firmly, smiling while talking and expressing genuine thankfulness, are all wonderful gestures of civilized people everywhere. I vow to work on that this week with my own brood. To make sure that my boys know how to treat young ladies and that my daughter knows how to treat young men. And to remind them of the rules. That they say thank you for treats and for gifts. Always. And remember to write notes by hand. That they speak clearly to adults. And look them in their eyes when they talk. That they always answer the phone or the front door cheerfully.
Little things count. And minding one’s manners—one of those littlest things of all—is one of those little things that counts the most. I trust you feel this way, too!
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Monday, October 23, 2006
7 Must-Do’s for Fall
These past few weeks have found me busier than ever: my new job has kept me with a textbook in my hands every day for the past four and a half months as I became re-licensed and certified in virtually every area of the financial services industry; working on a new book has kept me traveling throughout the northeast, interviewing homeowners and photographing magnificent interior design; and spending these past two weeks out of town in back-to-back meetings, leaving the hotel before sunrise and returning at dusk, has prevented me from reveling in the majesty of Fall. How awful it is to be unable to enjoy these glorious colors to the fullest!
Perhaps it has been, as some well-intentioned friends have suggested, a need to return to a very full life after dealing with childhood cancer and care-giving for two solid years. Point made and well-taken. I think there’s some truth in that. Perhaps it’s the need to finish out a career I started twenty-plus years ago. Or perhaps it’s my way of simply helping out with four college tuition bills (they come whether we’re ready for them or not, y’know!)
But along with that busyness comes much-needed respite. For time to take a simple yet meaningful pause. I’m hearing from lots of moms that it’s just that time of year again. When the rush of back-to-school has taken a backseat but when other stuff hits: parent-teacher conferences, Fall recitals, and soccer and football practices every other day. We’re anxious to regain equilibrium. To get perspective before the anxiety-provoking Holiday rush. To catch your breath, delight your senses and enjoy the company of family and friends in the beauty of this season we’re finding ourselves in.
Here, then, are seven must-do’s for celebrating this fabulous season:
1) Go for a drive in the countryside. Last weekend, to celebrate our son’s birthday, we attended a college football game; the timing couldn’t have worked out more perfectly as the stadium was located within twenty minutes of the hotel where I was staying out-of-town for those two weeks on business. Afterwards, we drove to a charming Connecticut village to have dinner with the photographers who are collaborating with me on our upcoming book. The roads to their home were winding and narrow, but oh!!! The colors of the New England countryside were beyond description! Red competed with gold, along with orange and violet, in some of the most beautiful foliage I’ve ever seen. As wood smoke mingled with crisp air, we became intoxicated by the sensual delights of the area. (For all of you old friends in Florida, a trip up East within the next couple weeks is a must-do!) Please try to carve out some time in your everyday busyness to spend some time out in the country.
2) Visit a pumpkin patch. Hopefully by now you’ve already picked out the best of the best and plunked it down on your front stoop. Smaller gourds and miniature pumpkins, arranged on tabletops and windowsills throughout your home, make for charming displays. Don’t let too much time get between you and fall decorating, or the Christmas tree will be up before you know it.
3) Make a big pot of homemade soup. While admitting to buying commercial stock for the boys (fewer things fill them up faster after long, hard football practices in the crisp fall air up here in New England), I have not had time—nor been home—to make the stuff from scratch. But now it’s on my list! Chicken noodle, beef stew and cream of tomato are our family’s personal favorites. Settling back into the routine (oh, those good ‘ole days!) of always having a large stock pot of soup simmering on the stove sounds like a good thing to me. The days ahead will only be getting colder after all.
4) Bake a pie. I admit to skimping on time in the kitchen. Somehow, baking has not yet made it onto my short list. Too much to write, too little time. If you’re feeling like I am, how about at least trying to bake one easy pie this Fall? Pumpkin is a no-brainer. Sweet potato and apple both work perfectly, too. Or how about a cobbler or crisp?
5) Rake leaves with the kids. What a great way to get your blood moving! Fall yard work is especially invigorating. And just think: within the next few weeks (if you live in the north anyway), your lawn may be covered in snow.
6) Set out fall flowers. Ornamental kale, mums and pansies look splendid against the deep colors of fall foliage. Cluster flowers together for fuller impact. And while you’re at it, make time for planting bulbs. The ground will be completely hardened in but a few short weeks.
7) Take a hike in the woods. And if you don’t live near one, shy of coming to visit me, get out of the city for awhile and dive into nature. My husband’s favorite daily ritual is a solitary walk in the woods surrounding our home. Being alone for an hour is nourishment for one’s soul. Fewer things could provide more glorious time for personal reflection. With leaves crunching underfoot, babbling brooks singing their own songs and foliage screaming for one last look, meditative woodland walks rank as absolute necessities.
Enjoy these next few days before the leaves fall completely off the trees. Go for a few last bike rides. Play with the kids outside. Walk. Breathe deeply. Fall is upon us so briefly.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Perhaps it has been, as some well-intentioned friends have suggested, a need to return to a very full life after dealing with childhood cancer and care-giving for two solid years. Point made and well-taken. I think there’s some truth in that. Perhaps it’s the need to finish out a career I started twenty-plus years ago. Or perhaps it’s my way of simply helping out with four college tuition bills (they come whether we’re ready for them or not, y’know!)
But along with that busyness comes much-needed respite. For time to take a simple yet meaningful pause. I’m hearing from lots of moms that it’s just that time of year again. When the rush of back-to-school has taken a backseat but when other stuff hits: parent-teacher conferences, Fall recitals, and soccer and football practices every other day. We’re anxious to regain equilibrium. To get perspective before the anxiety-provoking Holiday rush. To catch your breath, delight your senses and enjoy the company of family and friends in the beauty of this season we’re finding ourselves in.
Here, then, are seven must-do’s for celebrating this fabulous season:
1) Go for a drive in the countryside. Last weekend, to celebrate our son’s birthday, we attended a college football game; the timing couldn’t have worked out more perfectly as the stadium was located within twenty minutes of the hotel where I was staying out-of-town for those two weeks on business. Afterwards, we drove to a charming Connecticut village to have dinner with the photographers who are collaborating with me on our upcoming book. The roads to their home were winding and narrow, but oh!!! The colors of the New England countryside were beyond description! Red competed with gold, along with orange and violet, in some of the most beautiful foliage I’ve ever seen. As wood smoke mingled with crisp air, we became intoxicated by the sensual delights of the area. (For all of you old friends in Florida, a trip up East within the next couple weeks is a must-do!) Please try to carve out some time in your everyday busyness to spend some time out in the country.
2) Visit a pumpkin patch. Hopefully by now you’ve already picked out the best of the best and plunked it down on your front stoop. Smaller gourds and miniature pumpkins, arranged on tabletops and windowsills throughout your home, make for charming displays. Don’t let too much time get between you and fall decorating, or the Christmas tree will be up before you know it.
3) Make a big pot of homemade soup. While admitting to buying commercial stock for the boys (fewer things fill them up faster after long, hard football practices in the crisp fall air up here in New England), I have not had time—nor been home—to make the stuff from scratch. But now it’s on my list! Chicken noodle, beef stew and cream of tomato are our family’s personal favorites. Settling back into the routine (oh, those good ‘ole days!) of always having a large stock pot of soup simmering on the stove sounds like a good thing to me. The days ahead will only be getting colder after all.
4) Bake a pie. I admit to skimping on time in the kitchen. Somehow, baking has not yet made it onto my short list. Too much to write, too little time. If you’re feeling like I am, how about at least trying to bake one easy pie this Fall? Pumpkin is a no-brainer. Sweet potato and apple both work perfectly, too. Or how about a cobbler or crisp?
5) Rake leaves with the kids. What a great way to get your blood moving! Fall yard work is especially invigorating. And just think: within the next few weeks (if you live in the north anyway), your lawn may be covered in snow.
6) Set out fall flowers. Ornamental kale, mums and pansies look splendid against the deep colors of fall foliage. Cluster flowers together for fuller impact. And while you’re at it, make time for planting bulbs. The ground will be completely hardened in but a few short weeks.
7) Take a hike in the woods. And if you don’t live near one, shy of coming to visit me, get out of the city for awhile and dive into nature. My husband’s favorite daily ritual is a solitary walk in the woods surrounding our home. Being alone for an hour is nourishment for one’s soul. Fewer things could provide more glorious time for personal reflection. With leaves crunching underfoot, babbling brooks singing their own songs and foliage screaming for one last look, meditative woodland walks rank as absolute necessities.
Enjoy these next few days before the leaves fall completely off the trees. Go for a few last bike rides. Play with the kids outside. Walk. Breathe deeply. Fall is upon us so briefly.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Monday, October 16, 2006
On Spread
I’ve been giving much thought lately to “spread,” or to the impact I’m having on those around me. Most days find me frustrated that I don’t have very much of it, feeling that once I’m gone, my legacy won’t be large enough, that enough lives won’t have been positively affected by my having been here, and that I won’t have had the effect that I always hoped I would have had.
Our society is celebrity-driven and success-oriented, so oftentimes I feel that unless I’m doing something that’s truly in the limelight, nothing I can say or write will have enough impact to much matter. I suffer from the “little ole’ me” syndrome, which is rather unfortunate, as I feel quite certain that little folks and little words generally matter more for all eternity than most of the great “success” stories alive today.
I realize all too well the impact of small acts of kindness. Of gentle words spoken to a neighbor, funny lines imparted to a weary colleague, or the impact of taking time out of a busy schedule to visit wounded, frightened or sickened loved ones.
I realize, especially as I get older, that serendipity happens, and that we need to rejoice in it. That people come into our lives for but a short time and that each one plays a distinct role. That circumstances are oftentimes orchestrated by our Creator. That His mysteries should be embraced, reveled in with joy and wonder, and celebrated for what they are.
I’ve also made the conscious decision to divest out of activities that take me away from my passions. I realize more than ever how my time is limited and that I need to invest it where I feel called to impart the largest spread. Teaching our church’s cherub choir of three, four and five-years olds is one of the highlights of my week. I have the distinct sense that serving these little ones is where I need to be one day a week. As I reflect back on my own childhood and on those dear souls who had significant spread during those years, I can count them on two hands. One of them was my Sunday School teacher who, forty-five years ago, had such a strong impact on me that all these years later, she always bubbles to the top of my list.
I’m still out-of-town on a business trip. I’m meeting new people daily and wondering where in the world my place is in all of this. Wondering why I’m supposed to be here, away from my own family. What I’m supposed to be learning and imparting. Whose life will cross mine. Who needs a kind word. A laugh. Encouragement. Trying to find out if I’ll spread.
How about you? Where are you? Are you supposed to walk alongside someone this week? Are you supposed to spread? And if you feel too spent by motherhood, by your spouse, or by your daily four loads of laundry, will you recognize those moments when you’re supposed to spread? Or those people put into your path who you are supposed to impact? We’re all on the journey together, that much I know. It’s figuring out the important stuff that keeps me up at night…..
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Our society is celebrity-driven and success-oriented, so oftentimes I feel that unless I’m doing something that’s truly in the limelight, nothing I can say or write will have enough impact to much matter. I suffer from the “little ole’ me” syndrome, which is rather unfortunate, as I feel quite certain that little folks and little words generally matter more for all eternity than most of the great “success” stories alive today.
I realize all too well the impact of small acts of kindness. Of gentle words spoken to a neighbor, funny lines imparted to a weary colleague, or the impact of taking time out of a busy schedule to visit wounded, frightened or sickened loved ones.
I realize, especially as I get older, that serendipity happens, and that we need to rejoice in it. That people come into our lives for but a short time and that each one plays a distinct role. That circumstances are oftentimes orchestrated by our Creator. That His mysteries should be embraced, reveled in with joy and wonder, and celebrated for what they are.
I’ve also made the conscious decision to divest out of activities that take me away from my passions. I realize more than ever how my time is limited and that I need to invest it where I feel called to impart the largest spread. Teaching our church’s cherub choir of three, four and five-years olds is one of the highlights of my week. I have the distinct sense that serving these little ones is where I need to be one day a week. As I reflect back on my own childhood and on those dear souls who had significant spread during those years, I can count them on two hands. One of them was my Sunday School teacher who, forty-five years ago, had such a strong impact on me that all these years later, she always bubbles to the top of my list.
I’m still out-of-town on a business trip. I’m meeting new people daily and wondering where in the world my place is in all of this. Wondering why I’m supposed to be here, away from my own family. What I’m supposed to be learning and imparting. Whose life will cross mine. Who needs a kind word. A laugh. Encouragement. Trying to find out if I’ll spread.
How about you? Where are you? Are you supposed to walk alongside someone this week? Are you supposed to spread? And if you feel too spent by motherhood, by your spouse, or by your daily four loads of laundry, will you recognize those moments when you’re supposed to spread? Or those people put into your path who you are supposed to impact? We’re all on the journey together, that much I know. It’s figuring out the important stuff that keeps me up at night…..
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Monday, October 02, 2006
What’s Your Story?
The unfortunate and surprising news this week of a friend’s sudden passing has caused me pause. Healthy fortysomethings are expected to live long enough to take full care of their young. Deaths at this age are termed “untimely,” and they always knock the wind out of our sails. And while I don’t use the particular phrase of “untimely death” often, as it generally cuts across my own religious beliefs about life and death and the role of the Creator in both, I do admit to feeling at ease with the thought that indeed, one’s death at this age seems to be out of the natural order of things.
Combined with the uncanny timing of my re-taking (some twenty-plus years after taking it the first time) the licensing exam for life insurance, I’ve given more thought than usual to my epitaph. I’ve been thinking about what my husband would write about me. About which handful of words he’d engrave into stone which would preserve my memory for all those who will come after me. Perhaps I’ve been studying the rules and regulations too hard; perhaps it’s getting to me. Perhaps I’ve spoken with one too many associates this week. Been forced to be too “net” when describing someone, or when describing myself, for that matter. At a business dinner on Tuesday, I had to stand up and give my own “elevator speech,” those two minutes which were supposed to shed light on just exactly who I am to a roomful of complete strangers.
And at our Society meeting this week, we discussed how to “get our groove back.” We talked about how we choose to participate in activities and how we de-select out of others. How the bottom line to involvement is passion. How we need to direct energy and time into those things that define us according to our natural gifts and talents and interest. And pass on those that don’t.
When I think about those things that will shape my own story, I know that certainly those organizations in which I’ve chosen to be involved will add texture. That how I’ve chosen to spend my time has shaped the person that I’m becoming. That the people I’ve surrounded myself with will add chapters. That they’ll color it or highlight it or punctuate it. With spice or laughter or compassion, as they have been placed into my life to add accordingly. That my children will further develop me. That my life work will help others construct measurable boundaries in attempts to describe me.
What’s your story? If someone had to work on your epitaph, what would they write? If you sat twenty of your closest friends and associates around a table to distill your story into a handful of words, what would they be? Do your everyday activities reflect the real you? Do your friendships help you to become the person you feel destined to become? Is your work life representative of your life work? If you had to choose just one word to define you, would you be able to come up with one?
I’m not thinking about my epitaph in a morbid way. I believe that each one of us needs to reflect on our own story at one time or another…or at many different times throughout our lives.
For me, it’s not even the “live life one day at a time” thing…although I appreciate now more than ever the gift of each day. For me, it’s the going through the motions of each day, the tough driving-through-traffic-eating-your-lunch-at-your-desk days and the getting-kids-ready-for-school-while-trying-to-catch-up-on-laundry days that give me the most food for thought.
For I don’t believe that it’s necessarily the mountaintop experiences that provide the most food for the soul. I believe it’s how you live the day-in-day-out that means the most. That makes people notice. That provides teachable moments. Mentoring opportunities.
Fodder for your epitaph.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
The unfortunate and surprising news this week of a friend’s sudden passing has caused me pause. Healthy fortysomethings are expected to live long enough to take full care of their young. Deaths at this age are termed “untimely,” and they always knock the wind out of our sails. And while I don’t use the particular phrase of “untimely death” often, as it generally cuts across my own religious beliefs about life and death and the role of the Creator in both, I do admit to feeling at ease with the thought that indeed, one’s death at this age seems to be out of the natural order of things.
Combined with the uncanny timing of my re-taking (some twenty-plus years after taking it the first time) the licensing exam for life insurance, I’ve given more thought than usual to my epitaph. I’ve been thinking about what my husband would write about me. About which handful of words he’d engrave into stone which would preserve my memory for all those who will come after me. Perhaps I’ve been studying the rules and regulations too hard; perhaps it’s getting to me. Perhaps I’ve spoken with one too many associates this week. Been forced to be too “net” when describing someone, or when describing myself, for that matter. At a business dinner on Tuesday, I had to stand up and give my own “elevator speech,” those two minutes which were supposed to shed light on just exactly who I am to a roomful of complete strangers.
And at our Society meeting this week, we discussed how to “get our groove back.” We talked about how we choose to participate in activities and how we de-select out of others. How the bottom line to involvement is passion. How we need to direct energy and time into those things that define us according to our natural gifts and talents and interest. And pass on those that don’t.
When I think about those things that will shape my own story, I know that certainly those organizations in which I’ve chosen to be involved will add texture. That how I’ve chosen to spend my time has shaped the person that I’m becoming. That the people I’ve surrounded myself with will add chapters. That they’ll color it or highlight it or punctuate it. With spice or laughter or compassion, as they have been placed into my life to add accordingly. That my children will further develop me. That my life work will help others construct measurable boundaries in attempts to describe me.
What’s your story? If someone had to work on your epitaph, what would they write? If you sat twenty of your closest friends and associates around a table to distill your story into a handful of words, what would they be? Do your everyday activities reflect the real you? Do your friendships help you to become the person you feel destined to become? Is your work life representative of your life work? If you had to choose just one word to define you, would you be able to come up with one?
I’m not thinking about my epitaph in a morbid way. I believe that each one of us needs to reflect on our own story at one time or another…or at many different times throughout our lives.
For me, it’s not even the “live life one day at a time” thing…although I appreciate now more than ever the gift of each day. For me, it’s the going through the motions of each day, the tough driving-through-traffic-eating-your-lunch-at-your-desk days and the getting-kids-ready-for-school-while-trying-to-catch-up-on-laundry days that give me the most food for thought.
For I don’t believe that it’s necessarily the mountaintop experiences that provide the most food for the soul. I believe it’s how you live the day-in-day-out that means the most. That makes people notice. That provides teachable moments. Mentoring opportunities.
Fodder for your epitaph.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
Monday, September 25, 2006
Something to Wake Up For
Driving to work one morning last week, I was stopped at a light behind a large SUV, the woman driver scurrying madly through rush-hour traffic. Her vehicle proudly displayed two college decals, one from Harvard and the other from Dartmouth.
“Wow!” I thought. This mom’s got a couple of really smart cookies on her hands.
The light changed to green and as she got a little further ahead of me, I noticed a bumper sticker at the bottom of her SUV which read: “I have no idea where I’m going.”
What a contrast! This mom who raised two kids smart enough to gain entry into two of the toughest schools in the world…and she has no idea where she’s going?!? (“B-I-M-B-O” crossed the synapses of my brain…)
If you wake up in the morning without a plan, with no idea of where you’re going, how in the heck are you going to get anywhere worthwhile? How are you going to enjoy the dizzying liberation that naturally flows out of living a life with purpose? With no roadmap, no idea of where you’re going, the prospect of waking up to the same old same old, the humdrum, the mundane responsibilities that face all of us: getting breakfast ready for the family, separating the reds from the whites, driving carpool, fetching groceries, answering old emails…you’re likely not “zoo-ed” up to even get your tired little feet out of bed!
I’m not dismissing the role of motherhood, or its everyday oftentimes mundane realities. Hardly. I’ve been doing its drills for twenty years, quite happily thankyouverymuch. And children or no children, we all face everyday tasks that are capable of draining the lifeblood out of the most enthusiastic amongst us. Let’s face it: few people face those proverbial four daily loads of laundry or paying overdue emails with unabashed gusto!
But there’s more available. And it’s well within reach.
This weekend found me in Washington, D.C. for an annual conference of like-minded men and women across the country. It offered leadership training of the highest caliber. Having attended this forum regularly for the past ten years, I always look forward to reconnecting with old friends and to making new ones during the September conference ritual. I hung out, as usual, with three of my favorite women on the planet; Alyse and LaNeil are each eighty-two years old and Shirley is sixty-five. They each possess vitality rarely seen in people half their age. Their faces glow. Their eyes twinkle. They are warm and wonderful, healthy and vibrant, curious and generous.
They devote their time to causes which they enthusiastically embrace. They are passionate. They work diligently. Without pay, they serve as foot soldiers for the critical issues of our time. They have something to wake up for. They have a following; people depend on their leadership. Young people rely on their mentoring. Still others seek their wisdom and knowledge of the issues in an effort to become better equipped to deliver the same message with vigor to listeners entangled in their own network of friends and associates.
One of the secrets of discovering your significance is to find that for which you were created. I can assure you: we were not created to live in isolation. Nor in self-serving, self-indulgent behaviors that bring immediate but short-lived satisfaction. We were created for community. For service. For expanding our little corner of the universe for the benefit of others. To take on missions larger than self with far-reaching implications for the generations to follow.
If you are looking for a secret to living with exuberant vitality, find a cause. Join a mission. Seek to connect your inner passion with the vision of someone who has come before you. With one who is working in the center of the universe to effect massive change.
Want glowing skin? Sparkling eyes? A youthful bounce to your step? Longevity? Vitality? Find something to wake up for. Be it your own kids or your spouse, your neighborhood or your elected officials, worldwide hunger or inexcusable illiteracy: get involved! It’ll help you put that foot on the floor every morning and encourage you to truly get up and at ‘em.
Onward and upward!
Carolina
“Wow!” I thought. This mom’s got a couple of really smart cookies on her hands.
The light changed to green and as she got a little further ahead of me, I noticed a bumper sticker at the bottom of her SUV which read: “I have no idea where I’m going.”
What a contrast! This mom who raised two kids smart enough to gain entry into two of the toughest schools in the world…and she has no idea where she’s going?!? (“B-I-M-B-O” crossed the synapses of my brain…)
If you wake up in the morning without a plan, with no idea of where you’re going, how in the heck are you going to get anywhere worthwhile? How are you going to enjoy the dizzying liberation that naturally flows out of living a life with purpose? With no roadmap, no idea of where you’re going, the prospect of waking up to the same old same old, the humdrum, the mundane responsibilities that face all of us: getting breakfast ready for the family, separating the reds from the whites, driving carpool, fetching groceries, answering old emails…you’re likely not “zoo-ed” up to even get your tired little feet out of bed!
I’m not dismissing the role of motherhood, or its everyday oftentimes mundane realities. Hardly. I’ve been doing its drills for twenty years, quite happily thankyouverymuch. And children or no children, we all face everyday tasks that are capable of draining the lifeblood out of the most enthusiastic amongst us. Let’s face it: few people face those proverbial four daily loads of laundry or paying overdue emails with unabashed gusto!
But there’s more available. And it’s well within reach.
This weekend found me in Washington, D.C. for an annual conference of like-minded men and women across the country. It offered leadership training of the highest caliber. Having attended this forum regularly for the past ten years, I always look forward to reconnecting with old friends and to making new ones during the September conference ritual. I hung out, as usual, with three of my favorite women on the planet; Alyse and LaNeil are each eighty-two years old and Shirley is sixty-five. They each possess vitality rarely seen in people half their age. Their faces glow. Their eyes twinkle. They are warm and wonderful, healthy and vibrant, curious and generous.
They devote their time to causes which they enthusiastically embrace. They are passionate. They work diligently. Without pay, they serve as foot soldiers for the critical issues of our time. They have something to wake up for. They have a following; people depend on their leadership. Young people rely on their mentoring. Still others seek their wisdom and knowledge of the issues in an effort to become better equipped to deliver the same message with vigor to listeners entangled in their own network of friends and associates.
One of the secrets of discovering your significance is to find that for which you were created. I can assure you: we were not created to live in isolation. Nor in self-serving, self-indulgent behaviors that bring immediate but short-lived satisfaction. We were created for community. For service. For expanding our little corner of the universe for the benefit of others. To take on missions larger than self with far-reaching implications for the generations to follow.
If you are looking for a secret to living with exuberant vitality, find a cause. Join a mission. Seek to connect your inner passion with the vision of someone who has come before you. With one who is working in the center of the universe to effect massive change.
Want glowing skin? Sparkling eyes? A youthful bounce to your step? Longevity? Vitality? Find something to wake up for. Be it your own kids or your spouse, your neighborhood or your elected officials, worldwide hunger or inexcusable illiteracy: get involved! It’ll help you put that foot on the floor every morning and encourage you to truly get up and at ‘em.
Onward and upward!
Carolina
Monday, September 18, 2006
Reconnecting
Reconnecting through the hurdles of distance and time is never easy. It involves travel. Interruptions to busy schedules, alterations in the normal routines of family life and unforeseeable frustrations as things, along the way, go awry.
Such was the case this weekend when my husband and I made a quick trip to Miami for a fundraising gala supporting one of our favorite organizations. The invitation had been on our calendars for weeks, but as the date approached, we wondered how in the heck we were going to be able to logistically re-shuffle an already-bewildering matrix of work; football games; an out-of-state orchestra retreat for one of our kids; and dog care, lawn care and child care. Add to the equation delayed flights both there and back (weather problems on the way and mechanical trouble on the way back), and one stands amazed that anyone can pull off reconnecting at all.
But oh my, few things beat reconnecting with old friends! My drive from the airport to the hotel was made easier by a phone call to an old Miami friend; breakfast was a celebration with my cousin and her husband; and the gala itself was one huge reunion with friends we hadn’t seen since our move three years ago back to New England. The complete change in countenance on our fearless leader’s face when he saw my husband and I enter the ballroom made the entire travel ritual worth it. Arms extended wide, warm kisses to both cheeks and long reconnecting conversation was all I really needed. I could have left at that point, without even eating the scrumptious awaiting spread; his embrace alone did it for me.
Many of us do not enjoy the indulgence of one home base, surrounded by family and friends of decades-long journeys shared. We bounce around counties and countries, in and out of homes and neighborhoods and friendships at dizzying paces. Gone are the days of one employer, one school district and one set of girlfriends. We settle down one year only to uproot the next, ushering kids and spouses into strange communities with perplexing new realities—and strange people—to match. Keeping up relationships, once formed, is logistically arduous. But once committed to the idea, making the effort to reconnect becomes an inspired process. Ensuring that the logistical details will take you safely there become worth every ounce of the struggle.
Children grow and reconnections to their life-shaping forces and faces must be re-kindled. How’s your daughter doing? Where is she applying to college? When’s the new baby due? What’s going on in your business? How’s your mom? Did you get through that awful physical therapy? Have you recovered from your surgery? We share common struggles, questions and dilemmas. Three sets of parents waiting for cars outside the valet area all shared in the common experience of raising fourteen-year-old daughters. Two other moms and I commiserated about the college application process. Complaining about the real estate market and where we might settle in retirement were other common topics of conversation.
Keeping relationships alive provides nourishment for our souls. Refreshment for our spirits. Continuation of ideals. Succession of friendships.
I’ve been blessed these past few weeks by more than my share of wonderful reconnections: with my sister and her family in North Carolina for a quick lunch en route to vacation; with my oldest friend and her family in Pennsylvania while working on my book; next weekend will take me to D.C. to a conference where I’ll reconnect with friends made over the past decade of almost-yearly attendance.
Especially as we struggle to just get through the daily responsibilities of motherhood, with toddler’s needs matched by those of busy spouses, with home and work demands matched by those of community service, it’s important to factor in reconnecting—at an intimate level or on one less complicated—to ensure that the cycles of life will be shared with those whom we love. That rituals will continue for our lifetimes and perhaps even for those of our children. That connecting—and reconnecting—will carry us on into the unspoken joys that bring beauty and meaning into everyday life.
Happy week!
Carolina
A Quick Note
To read a full account of my life-changing trip to Panama with Alfalit, the organization which our family fully embraces, copy and paste this link into your browser window:
http://carolini.ehost.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderfiles/PovertyoftheHeart.pdf
More info can be found at http://www.alfalit.org.
A Rocket Mom Society Note
Reminder: Our fall kick-off meeting will be held at the Mother Ship next Wednesday at 7:30. We’ll figure out how to “Get our Grove Back.” Please bring a fellow rocket mom and plan on having an evening filled with fun, food, fascinating discussion and fabulous new friends!
Such was the case this weekend when my husband and I made a quick trip to Miami for a fundraising gala supporting one of our favorite organizations. The invitation had been on our calendars for weeks, but as the date approached, we wondered how in the heck we were going to be able to logistically re-shuffle an already-bewildering matrix of work; football games; an out-of-state orchestra retreat for one of our kids; and dog care, lawn care and child care. Add to the equation delayed flights both there and back (weather problems on the way and mechanical trouble on the way back), and one stands amazed that anyone can pull off reconnecting at all.
But oh my, few things beat reconnecting with old friends! My drive from the airport to the hotel was made easier by a phone call to an old Miami friend; breakfast was a celebration with my cousin and her husband; and the gala itself was one huge reunion with friends we hadn’t seen since our move three years ago back to New England. The complete change in countenance on our fearless leader’s face when he saw my husband and I enter the ballroom made the entire travel ritual worth it. Arms extended wide, warm kisses to both cheeks and long reconnecting conversation was all I really needed. I could have left at that point, without even eating the scrumptious awaiting spread; his embrace alone did it for me.
Many of us do not enjoy the indulgence of one home base, surrounded by family and friends of decades-long journeys shared. We bounce around counties and countries, in and out of homes and neighborhoods and friendships at dizzying paces. Gone are the days of one employer, one school district and one set of girlfriends. We settle down one year only to uproot the next, ushering kids and spouses into strange communities with perplexing new realities—and strange people—to match. Keeping up relationships, once formed, is logistically arduous. But once committed to the idea, making the effort to reconnect becomes an inspired process. Ensuring that the logistical details will take you safely there become worth every ounce of the struggle.
Children grow and reconnections to their life-shaping forces and faces must be re-kindled. How’s your daughter doing? Where is she applying to college? When’s the new baby due? What’s going on in your business? How’s your mom? Did you get through that awful physical therapy? Have you recovered from your surgery? We share common struggles, questions and dilemmas. Three sets of parents waiting for cars outside the valet area all shared in the common experience of raising fourteen-year-old daughters. Two other moms and I commiserated about the college application process. Complaining about the real estate market and where we might settle in retirement were other common topics of conversation.
Keeping relationships alive provides nourishment for our souls. Refreshment for our spirits. Continuation of ideals. Succession of friendships.
I’ve been blessed these past few weeks by more than my share of wonderful reconnections: with my sister and her family in North Carolina for a quick lunch en route to vacation; with my oldest friend and her family in Pennsylvania while working on my book; next weekend will take me to D.C. to a conference where I’ll reconnect with friends made over the past decade of almost-yearly attendance.
Especially as we struggle to just get through the daily responsibilities of motherhood, with toddler’s needs matched by those of busy spouses, with home and work demands matched by those of community service, it’s important to factor in reconnecting—at an intimate level or on one less complicated—to ensure that the cycles of life will be shared with those whom we love. That rituals will continue for our lifetimes and perhaps even for those of our children. That connecting—and reconnecting—will carry us on into the unspoken joys that bring beauty and meaning into everyday life.
Happy week!
Carolina
A Quick Note
To read a full account of my life-changing trip to Panama with Alfalit, the organization which our family fully embraces, copy and paste this link into your browser window:
http://carolini.ehost.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderfiles/PovertyoftheHeart.pdf
More info can be found at http://www.alfalit.org.
A Rocket Mom Society Note
Reminder: Our fall kick-off meeting will be held at the Mother Ship next Wednesday at 7:30. We’ll figure out how to “Get our Grove Back.” Please bring a fellow rocket mom and plan on having an evening filled with fun, food, fascinating discussion and fabulous new friends!
Monday, September 11, 2006
If the Devil Wears Prada, Can a Rocket Mom Wear Jimmy Choo's?
Anyone who laughed through this summer’s hit movie, “The Devil Wears Prada,” knows that clothes can, indeed, the woman make. If Andy Sachs’ transformation from journalist neophyte into couture fashionista was not enough, surely the svelte fiftysomething profile of Miranda Priestly (played by Meryl Streep) along with her perfectly coiffed white hair, beautifully-shaped eyebrows and colored matching stockings got your attention.
Throughout the movie, I found myself asking questions about appropriateness. For while Andy’s cheap, mass-produced sweaters from the Gap were certainly appropriate for her college years, they seemed grossly out of order in her new role at the fashion magazine empire which employed her. Far more appropriate were her Aubrey-Hepburn-style hat and swing coat ensembles, knee-length Prada boots and Chanel skirts; the fact that they were borrowed from the excess stash made no difference. She needed them to look right in her job. Fashion was her job. (Well, sort of.)
Women have always had an interest in fashion. For good or for bad, we’re judged (by men and by other women) by our looks and by our fashion sense. And let’s face it: we’ve been playing the dress-up game since toddlerhood.
That said, the question of appropriateness remains. Would Andy’s wardrobe be appropriate if she held the position of elementary school teacher? Of landscape designer? Nuclear physicist?
Now that I’m back in the ranks of corporate America, I am ever-conscious of the way in which fellow working women dress for the workforce. Frankly, I am shocked by how casual my colleagues have become. Almost gone are perfectly matching jacket-and-skirt suits, closed-toe pumps and buttoned blouses. Shoulders, cleavage and toes are de rigueur and have received more exposure (no pun intended) than ever. (I was, frankly, shocked, to see three women legal analysts on Fox News espouse commentary with breasts falling out of tank tops; I can hardly find a women in my office building with covered shoulders; toes…and painted toenails…are definitely in the “no worries” zone. Personally, I find it yucky even thinking about my manager knowing what my toes look like.)
So what’s the story? I mean, if the devil wears Prada, can a Rocket Mom wear Jimmy Choo’s? Can she—no, should she—wear Kate Spade to pick up the kids from the bus-stop, Ralph to the grocery store and Lilly for supper on the terrace? Can a Rocket Mom facing four college tuitions allow herself the indulgence of thousand-dollar Manolo’s?!?
As you swim through the ebb and flows of the cycles of motherhood, consider the role of fashion in your everyday workaday world. At-home moms with baby burble on their shoulders look ridiculous in silk; anyone would think you had lost your marbles in the grand push of childbirth if you even attempted the combination. And yet older moms sharing Abercrombie with their pre-pubescent daughters deal with the ridiculous factor in yet another way. Should fifty-year-old moms (with badge-of-motherhood poochy-bellies to prove it) really be squeezing into low-rise bell-bottoms? Should the start of menopause be the start of more serious wardrobe expenditures and serious attention to personal hygiene? (I watched “Extreme Makeover” this weekend. Words cannot describe…) Or is that the time (for crying out loud!?!) to say enough obsessing already!!!
As you move on with your week, standing as I know you do in front of your clothes inside your closet, staring hazily at clothing both old and brand-new, with that “What do I wear today?” look on your face (will this make me look too fat, this make me look too pale, this make my butt look too wide…) ask yourself what will make you look the most appropriate…and move forward with the assurance that hey, if you could get through all of the trials and tribulations of motherhood, you can figure out a few ensembles to get you through these next seven days.
Happy week!
Carolina
A Quick Note
The Rocket Mom weekly Newsletter has resumed after its traditional summer hiatus. It’s been busy, busy, busy (!!!) back here at the Mother Ship. I started full-time “outside the home employment”—after nearly twenty years out—re-entering into the exact same position that I left way back when. I’m working as a Financial Advisor in a large office about forty-five minutes from home. Four days before I received the official job offer, I was offered a (fabulous) book contract for a project which takes me traveling most weekends. The ubiquitous work-life-family balancing act facing all moms working both inside and outside of home fronts has not escaped our family, either. We’re reinventing the equation weekly as variables (one son decides to play football at the last minute, one daughter decides to up the ante in tennis lessons, etc.) act like moving targets, rotating on a near-daily basis. As a result of all of this wonderful change, this blog will not appear before Tuesday (all must run through a compliance check as per my new job).
A Nick Note
Nick has settled back into Wake Forest University, but not without a few frustrating inconveniences. He got a case of shingles, which is apparently very painful, and wound up being briefly hospitalized to get that under control. Three difficult weeks later, he is feeling totally back to normal. He should continue maintenance chemo throughout the school year and will hopefully be finished with treatment in the spring
A Rocket Mom Society Note
Our Fall kick-off meeting :”Getting Back Your Groove” will be held at the Mother Ship on Wednesday night, September 27, at our usual time of 7:30 PM. Please note that the time has stayed the same, but the night has changed. We will discuss a permanent meeting night for the 2006/2007 school year at this meeting. Current members, please bring a friend! State chapters have formed over the course of the summer. Interested in joining? Visit:
http://RMS.clubexpress.com
Contact Info
FourQ Press, PO Box 569, Ridgefield, CT 06877 POSTAL
203.438.7164 OFFICE
425.650.2457 FAX
emomrx@yahoo.com EMAIL
www.rocketmom.com WEBSITE
http://rms.clubexpress.com ROCKET MOM SOCIETY WEBSITE
ISBN 0-9744187-1-4
Copyright (c) 2006 by Carolina Fernandez. All Rights Reserved
Throughout the movie, I found myself asking questions about appropriateness. For while Andy’s cheap, mass-produced sweaters from the Gap were certainly appropriate for her college years, they seemed grossly out of order in her new role at the fashion magazine empire which employed her. Far more appropriate were her Aubrey-Hepburn-style hat and swing coat ensembles, knee-length Prada boots and Chanel skirts; the fact that they were borrowed from the excess stash made no difference. She needed them to look right in her job. Fashion was her job. (Well, sort of.)
Women have always had an interest in fashion. For good or for bad, we’re judged (by men and by other women) by our looks and by our fashion sense. And let’s face it: we’ve been playing the dress-up game since toddlerhood.
That said, the question of appropriateness remains. Would Andy’s wardrobe be appropriate if she held the position of elementary school teacher? Of landscape designer? Nuclear physicist?
Now that I’m back in the ranks of corporate America, I am ever-conscious of the way in which fellow working women dress for the workforce. Frankly, I am shocked by how casual my colleagues have become. Almost gone are perfectly matching jacket-and-skirt suits, closed-toe pumps and buttoned blouses. Shoulders, cleavage and toes are de rigueur and have received more exposure (no pun intended) than ever. (I was, frankly, shocked, to see three women legal analysts on Fox News espouse commentary with breasts falling out of tank tops; I can hardly find a women in my office building with covered shoulders; toes…and painted toenails…are definitely in the “no worries” zone. Personally, I find it yucky even thinking about my manager knowing what my toes look like.)
So what’s the story? I mean, if the devil wears Prada, can a Rocket Mom wear Jimmy Choo’s? Can she—no, should she—wear Kate Spade to pick up the kids from the bus-stop, Ralph to the grocery store and Lilly for supper on the terrace? Can a Rocket Mom facing four college tuitions allow herself the indulgence of thousand-dollar Manolo’s?!?
As you swim through the ebb and flows of the cycles of motherhood, consider the role of fashion in your everyday workaday world. At-home moms with baby burble on their shoulders look ridiculous in silk; anyone would think you had lost your marbles in the grand push of childbirth if you even attempted the combination. And yet older moms sharing Abercrombie with their pre-pubescent daughters deal with the ridiculous factor in yet another way. Should fifty-year-old moms (with badge-of-motherhood poochy-bellies to prove it) really be squeezing into low-rise bell-bottoms? Should the start of menopause be the start of more serious wardrobe expenditures and serious attention to personal hygiene? (I watched “Extreme Makeover” this weekend. Words cannot describe…) Or is that the time (for crying out loud!?!) to say enough obsessing already!!!
As you move on with your week, standing as I know you do in front of your clothes inside your closet, staring hazily at clothing both old and brand-new, with that “What do I wear today?” look on your face (will this make me look too fat, this make me look too pale, this make my butt look too wide…) ask yourself what will make you look the most appropriate…and move forward with the assurance that hey, if you could get through all of the trials and tribulations of motherhood, you can figure out a few ensembles to get you through these next seven days.
Happy week!
Carolina
A Quick Note
The Rocket Mom weekly Newsletter has resumed after its traditional summer hiatus. It’s been busy, busy, busy (!!!) back here at the Mother Ship. I started full-time “outside the home employment”—after nearly twenty years out—re-entering into the exact same position that I left way back when. I’m working as a Financial Advisor in a large office about forty-five minutes from home. Four days before I received the official job offer, I was offered a (fabulous) book contract for a project which takes me traveling most weekends. The ubiquitous work-life-family balancing act facing all moms working both inside and outside of home fronts has not escaped our family, either. We’re reinventing the equation weekly as variables (one son decides to play football at the last minute, one daughter decides to up the ante in tennis lessons, etc.) act like moving targets, rotating on a near-daily basis. As a result of all of this wonderful change, this blog will not appear before Tuesday (all must run through a compliance check as per my new job).
A Nick Note
Nick has settled back into Wake Forest University, but not without a few frustrating inconveniences. He got a case of shingles, which is apparently very painful, and wound up being briefly hospitalized to get that under control. Three difficult weeks later, he is feeling totally back to normal. He should continue maintenance chemo throughout the school year and will hopefully be finished with treatment in the spring
A Rocket Mom Society Note
Our Fall kick-off meeting :”Getting Back Your Groove” will be held at the Mother Ship on Wednesday night, September 27, at our usual time of 7:30 PM. Please note that the time has stayed the same, but the night has changed. We will discuss a permanent meeting night for the 2006/2007 school year at this meeting. Current members, please bring a friend! State chapters have formed over the course of the summer. Interested in joining? Visit:
http://RMS.clubexpress.com
Contact Info
FourQ Press, PO Box 569, Ridgefield, CT 06877 POSTAL
203.438.7164 OFFICE
425.650.2457 FAX
emomrx@yahoo.com EMAIL
www.rocketmom.com WEBSITE
http://rms.clubexpress.com ROCKET MOM SOCIETY WEBSITE
ISBN 0-9744187-1-4
Copyright (c) 2006 by Carolina Fernandez. All Rights Reserved
Monday, May 29, 2006
Ordinary Souls. Extraordinary Acts
Their silent wounds have speech
More eloquent than men;
Their tones can deeper reach
Than human voice or pen.
~William Woodman
While I stand on the sidewalk during our town’s Memorial Day parade, I will fix my thoughts on the extraordinary acts performed by ordinary men and women on my behalf. I stand in awe at their bravery and wonder how they were able to stir up such courage in order to put their lives on the line for the ideals which they held so dear. They did it for me. They did it for you. William Woodman said it well: “their tones reach deeper than human voice or pen.” Words cannot convey —nor can the mind fully comprehend—the generosity and unadulterated self-sacrifice bestowed on us by ordinary people throughout the ages.
I urge you to pray for the men and women in our Armed Forces who are this day putting their lives on the line in far corners around the globe in order to protect our personal freedoms and to defend the liberties which we hold so dear. Pray for the families who are fervently praying and awaiting their loved ones’ safe returns.
Blessings on Memorial Day to you and yours.
“Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism?” ~Henry Ward Beecher
A Quick Note
FourQ Press will close for the summer, starting today, Memorial Day, through Labor Day. I will officially re-enter corporate America next Monday. My new job, along with a new writing project, the Rocket Mom Society, our four kids and my husband (and dog and guinea pig and house) will occupy my summer days—and you will undoubtedly be too busy to read my Newsletters anyway! Please feel free to email any time! I’d love to hear from you. My weekly ROCKET MOM! Newsletters will resume the Monday after Labor Day. Until then, enjoy everything that the summer has to offer.
A Rocket Mom Society Note
The final society meeting of the school year will be held on Tuesday night, June 27 at 7:30 PM here at the Mother Ship. Our guest speaker will be Sherry Artemenko of Play on Words. LLC. She’ll teach us how to use games and fun, playful activities with our young children in an effort to increase language development.
More eloquent than men;
Their tones can deeper reach
Than human voice or pen.
~William Woodman
While I stand on the sidewalk during our town’s Memorial Day parade, I will fix my thoughts on the extraordinary acts performed by ordinary men and women on my behalf. I stand in awe at their bravery and wonder how they were able to stir up such courage in order to put their lives on the line for the ideals which they held so dear. They did it for me. They did it for you. William Woodman said it well: “their tones reach deeper than human voice or pen.” Words cannot convey —nor can the mind fully comprehend—the generosity and unadulterated self-sacrifice bestowed on us by ordinary people throughout the ages.
I urge you to pray for the men and women in our Armed Forces who are this day putting their lives on the line in far corners around the globe in order to protect our personal freedoms and to defend the liberties which we hold so dear. Pray for the families who are fervently praying and awaiting their loved ones’ safe returns.
Blessings on Memorial Day to you and yours.
“Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism?” ~Henry Ward Beecher
A Quick Note
FourQ Press will close for the summer, starting today, Memorial Day, through Labor Day. I will officially re-enter corporate America next Monday. My new job, along with a new writing project, the Rocket Mom Society, our four kids and my husband (and dog and guinea pig and house) will occupy my summer days—and you will undoubtedly be too busy to read my Newsletters anyway! Please feel free to email any time! I’d love to hear from you. My weekly ROCKET MOM! Newsletters will resume the Monday after Labor Day. Until then, enjoy everything that the summer has to offer.
A Rocket Mom Society Note
The final society meeting of the school year will be held on Tuesday night, June 27 at 7:30 PM here at the Mother Ship. Our guest speaker will be Sherry Artemenko of Play on Words. LLC. She’ll teach us how to use games and fun, playful activities with our young children in an effort to increase language development.
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