Insert Ego Here

I once had someone tell me that I am different in my emails and on the phone than I am in person. In other words I am, in his opinion, different in print than I am in person. No offense to my friend but this is utter and complete hogwash. I am exactly the same no matter what context you find me and anyone who knows me for any length of time knows this. Nevertheless, I respected his opinion. That was a year and a half ago and I've been pondering it ever since.


So if I'm not different then what is it that made him think so? What was different about me in person that wasn't coming through in print? The answer finally came to me today. The one factor that changed from one medium (print) to the next medium (face-to-face) was........him.


I remember once writing to him after he criticized me about something that it seemed to me that all of the things he was complaining about were my reactions to him or qualities that he brought out in me. It wasn't me he didn't like, it was the effect he was having on me. When I write, it is pure, but when we interacted his presence was affecting the message.


The odd thing is that this was not the first time this had happened. I had an ex-boyfriend who did the same thing, complimenting my character but criticizing me constantly whenever I was with him. He told me that if he ever had a daughter he wanted her to be just like me. "If you did" I asked, "would you want her to date a guy just like you?" You should have seen the look on his face.

Karmic Lesson about Karmic Lessons

In my post "Karmic Lessons" I pondered how every time I have a critical thought about someone I have a life experience to teach me what it feels like to live with their condition, and though I have been receiving those lessons for a long time, they now seem to be occurring with increasing rapidity. I didn't exactly phrase this as a question, but I did wonder why things seem to have speeded up....what used to take weeks or months to understand now happening in days. This, by the way, doesn't just happen with criticism. It happens with all my questions.
Case in point:

Today's sermon at church was called "The Dimmer Switch" and the point was (and I am typing this straight from my notes so I can get it right) from Larry Osborne:
"the longer we walk in obedience, the more subtle distinctions that were once indescernable become obvious....things that we would have never noticed at first suddenly can't be missed."

In other words, the lessons have always been occurring. Walking in obedience all of these years has enabled me to discern them better and apparently with increasing rapidity. I asked a question and I got an answer.

There's got to be some sort of term for this; that I could write a post about a situation - the gift of discernment in "Karmic Lessons" - and the post itself received an answer today, making it the perfect example of the condition it was meant to describe.

(If you're getting a headache reading this, just imagine the one I got trying to write it.)

Problems Men Never Have

Well, not most men anyway.....

Yesterday I attended a shower for my friend, "the bride". Afterwards one of my other friends left her purse behind and I was chasing her around trying to give it to her. I decided to try her cell phone but she didn't answer. I was annoyed. "Why doesn't she answer her cell?" I thought. Only after I located her and handed over the purse did it finally occur to me why: because it was probably in her purse and I had been carrying it around the whole time. In my defense, the ringer wasn't on. "This is the kind of problem a man would never have" I thought.

The theme for the shower was "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and we were instructed to wear our little black dresses and pearls. Earlier in the day just after I had gotten dressed and was standing in front of the mirror it struck me that this is how I look all the time. I think "Breakfast at Tiffany's" has never gone out of style in the south. I decided I needed to be a little more over the top and add a longer strand of pearls. It's funny how the mind works. As I struggled to fasten them, straining and trying to avoid my curly locks in the back, I wondered how old this particular strand was. Was this the strand I'd bought at a good department store or one of the cheap stores? Just as I had that thought I heard a pop followed by the "tap-tap-tap-tap-tapping" sound of pearls raining down all over my tiled bathroom floor as I pulled too hard and broke my necklace. I was heartbroken. Guess that answers my question.

You think that's all don't 'cha? Oh there was more.

Earlier that day I'd been putting on panty hose when I heard a menacing "zip"as my thumbnail ripped through and the run zipped up my leg. "Oh yeah, I forgot to file that nail". Good time to remember. But not to worry, I had a backup plan: spray-on panty hose. Yes, you read right. I got it at Walgreens to wear for New Year's Eve but it had been so cold I'd worn real panty hose instead. The weather this weekend was gorgeous and a shower with just a few of the bride's friends, most of whom I barely know, made this the perfect setting for my experiment. No crowded party, no public display to worry about, nothing could have been safer.

The way you put these "panty hose" on is you spray them (or "it") on your legs and then you rub it on like makeup. In fact that's exactly what it is. It's makeup for your legs. "Brilliant!" Later on at the shower I showed off my new legs. They looked airbrushed....just like a photograph. All the other girls were very impressed and asked where they could get some. Everything was great and I left the shower. After going to all that trouble to get dressed I wasn't ready to go home and undo it all, so I decided to stop by and visit a friend on the way home instead. The sun went down and it got cold...really cold....should have worn real panty hose cold.

Taking the Bit Too Far

My family does this thing I like to call "taking the bit too far". It's what happens when we are starting to become very comfortable with someone but we haven't completely established trust yet. We lose all sense of boundaries and we say whatever comes to mind, some of which might be better left unsaid. I don't know where this habit comes from, but we all do it, not just my immediate family, but every aunt, uncle and cousin. We all start at different ages but it's almost inescapable. For years I thought I'd escaped it but it turns out that I'm just a late-bloomer.

Meandering

Yesterday at church the sermon was called "Meandering". Without getting into the religious-sounding aspects of it, what I took away from it was that I might enjoy life more if I just relax and let things happen rather than trying to control every aspect. Sometimes it's better and healthier if things don't go according to plans. (Ok, he didn't say "relax". He said spiritual growth occurs when life isn't going according to plan and quite often this is actually a very painful time in your life but it's when the most growth occurs. (But you know I'm an optimist, so....))

I guess the lesson must have really sunk in because I had an 11:50 flight out this morning and I knew the moment I woke up that there was no way I was going to make it. Don't ask me why. There are various reasons, but sometimes I am just so overwhelmed with the amount of "stuff" I have to get done that I don't do any of it, and I knew this was going to be one of those days.

So around 9:00am I called our travel company and asked to reschedule my flight. The woman I got refused to even check on it. Apparently customer service on short notice wasn't her thing. You know those people who are great crisis managers who could get you out of a third world country just after a terrorist attack? She's not one of those people.

I got off the phone and pushed through trying to do my errands, hoping that maybe somehow I would make it in spite of myself. Around 10:30 I called the travel company again. This time I got a guy named Dustin who has helped me out in the past and who, I remember, is AWAYS helpful and positive. But even he couldn't get me out of this one. "If you miss your flight to Denver" he said, "you won't get a flight to Rock Springs (Wyoming) until 2:45 pm tomorrow". Well, that's no good because I have a a meeting tomorrow at 9:30 am. I told Dustin not to do anything yet.

I called the customer I have a meeting with and tried to reschedule. I couldn't get him. I left three voice mail messages. Finally out of desparation I got a receptionist to interrupt him in a meeting. He sounded annoyed but he said he would check his schedule. It started to sink in that if I reschedule and piss this customer off there may be repercussions in sales & marketing that will reverberate back to me. Could I lose my job over this? Over one lousy, "my sense of time is malfunctioning" day? I don't know but I think I'd better give Dustin another try and see if we can't make a miracle happen. I called the travel company back and this time I specifically asked for Dan.

"What if I fly to Salt Lake City?" I asked. "Could I get there tonight?" Dustin checked. After about 30 minutes of calculations and negotiations he got me a one-way ticket to Salt Lake City, a one-way car rental to drive to Rock Springs where I would drop that car off, exchange it for an SUV, and keep the same flight back on Thursday. Holy.....

I breathe a sigh of relief and disbelief. I can't believe it, but somehow I can believe it. I'm going to make my meeting. I'm not going to reschedule it. I'm not going to piss anyone off or be fired.

Now THAT is what I call SERVICE. "Thank you" I said, "you have been an ANGEL today". If I had a job to offer Dustin I would have hired him in a heartbeat. I should at least send him a fruit basket, but I don't know his last name. I vow to myself that when I get a chance I'm going to find out.

When I started meandering, I thought I'd lose my motivation to be a top performer. But Dustin's performance and dedication to his job somehow lit a fire under me. I decided right then and there that I would be more motivated on this project. If he was willing to do all of that just to get me there, then I owed it to him to do my best too.

My Lifelong Friendship with Books

"So, do you like Barnes and Noble?"

I can't tell you how many times I've been asked that question. I don't know why but the answer is always "No". I think I might be some sort of a book snob.

Growing up I read a lot. My best friends were characters in books. In fact I tried listing them here and am ashamed to admit that I have forgotten some of their names. Here are a few: Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables), Laura Ingalls Wilder, Pippi Longstocking (although I wouldn't have actually been friends with her because she got into too much trouble), Beezus & Ramona, Scout (To Kill a Mockingbird), The Little Princess, the March sisters from Little Women.....see...I've forgotten so many. I'll have to look them up and do a complete list here later so that I can keep them forever. In fact, this is going to be one of my evolving posts so watch for it to expand and change as I ponder this subject and my thoughts evlove.

I think of characters in books as real people and bookshelves as the places where their homes reside. Something about large book stores feels like my books have gone "Wal Mart". They're cheap and available to the masses and while I can appreciate that, it's just not a dignified place for them to be. They shouldn't be dwelling amongst "Car & Driver " magazine or "PowerPoint for Dummies" or all the other books that are for "non-readers". They should be in houses, libraries or in the best treasure chest of all, old book stores. I just love old book stores. When I walk through the doors I can smell the dusty pages and decaying covers and my mind instantly feels "mmmm.......I'm home."

I don't read as much as I used to. That's on purpose, by the way. I decided some time during college that I should spend less time reading books and more time getting to know real people. So if books are my lifelong friends, then like most of those, I haven't visited them lately. I don't stay in touch. I think about them every now and then and we pick things up as if we've never been apart, only for me to lay them back down again promising I'll visit more often and meaning it, but more often just hasn't seemed to come around yet.

Ya'll....I'm so drunk

(Don't be alarmed, I'm not really, that's just the title.)

I've been in Omaha for almost exactly a year and a half. I grew up in Carbon Hill, Alabama, a town of about 1900 people with an excellent school system. Most people say I don't have a Southern accent, but people with a good ear for accents can hear it loud and clear. In other words, it's there it's just very...hmm.....educated and correct. I can't help it, I've always talked this way. I can remember when I was growing up adults would ask me "how'd you get to talking so proper?" And I would think, "duh, because I can read and I don't want to slaughter the English language." Flippant thoughts for an 8 or 9 year-old so of course I never said it out loud or I would have gotten smacked across the mouth for it. When I drink at the bar or I'm around other southerners my accent becomes more pronounced.

My favorite bar in Omaha is Mick's. I especially like when there is anyone remotely classical playing. Last Tuesday they had my favorite type of music, rock/pop/folk with classical mixed in. There was a couple called Montana Skies with an electric cello. It was awesome. I was talking to the duo after their set. "What part of the south are you from?" they asked me. "Alabama" I said. "We grew up near Atlanta" they said. I could not hear their accent either so maybe they were avid readers as children, like me.

This week at another restaurant I was asked this question again. I gave my usual answer "Alabama, but people tell me all the time I don't have an accent". One girl said "oh I can hear it" and then she proceeded to ask me to repeat certain words over and over. "Aww, that's so cuuute" the crowd coooed. I have no idea what they were talking about, I didn't hear a thing, but we'd been sitting there since 7:00-ish and by then it was 11:00-ish. I'd had several drinks.

Today on the tiny little plane taking us into Rock Springs, Wyoming the subject came up again. "Oh I love southern accents" the lady in front of me said, "My father was from West Virginia so hearing that accent always makes me feel like home."
"I hear your accent" The guy sitting behind me chimed in. His accent was far more pronounced than mine and I told him so. He was a gentleman too. I haven't gotten motion sickness in years but the plane was moving a lot and I was sitting in the back. I almost passed out once and thought I was going to, well, hurl at least 3 different times. I turned to ask for his help. I didn't want to get sick on the nice lady in front of me. He hastily passed me the white bag from his seat pocket. "Here use this" he said. It turns out he'd spent 3 years in the military in Charleston, South Carolina but now lived back home in Ohio. "3 years?" I asked, "I spent 26 years in Alabama and you sound way more southern than I do." His accent was definitely more pronounced than mine. Or so it seemed to me.

I rarely drink during the day but on this particular occasion I'd had a long layover and had eaten lunch while sitting at a bar. (It's the only place you don't have to sit alone.) I'd gotten into an interesting discussion with an older woman who was a mechanical engineer in the aerospace industry and a young girl who'd recently graduated from nursing school and was going to New Orleans to help with Katrina relief. On the plane, the guy from Alaska sitting two rows ahead and to the right turned and said "Living in Alaska, I LOVE hearing a girl with a southern accent." I think he said something about melting but I'm sure I blushed and turned my head. The blood rushing to my ears made me tune him out.

In Dale Carnegie class we were told that our stories should always have a point, but sometimes mine just don't, or maybe I prefer to leave them open-ended and let people find their own points. So I'll end with a joke:
What is the mating call of the southern belle?
"Ya'll......... I'm so dru-unk".

Neverland

Up until I was about 4 or 5 years old, my sister and brother and I all slept in the same bedroom. That bedroom has always reminded me of the nursery in the Peter Pan stories. I don't remember how many beds there were in it at the time, but there was an old-fashioned dresser in between the beds. It was composed of a long narrow mirror in the center that reached almost to the floor, flanked by two shorter mirrors, and two sets of drawers that looked like built-in nightstands attached to either side, and a little bench (or maybe it was a dressing table) in the middle. It set in front of a large window that took up most of one wall. After hearing the story at school, I was convinced that one night that window was going to fly open and Peter Pan would fly in and all three of us would fly out with him.

My older sister, of course, was Wendy. My brother was John. I considered where I fit into this story. Since the only girls were Tinkerbell and Wendy, that left me to be Tinkerbell, and that made sense because I did have the most faith of us all and I was feisty like Tinkerbell. If anyone could believe we could fly, it was me.

I don't remember the color of our walls, but I do remember my uncles using an overhead projector to project bedtime stories onto them. It was like having a movie theater right in our bedroom. Like sleeping in a fairy land.

Just before he started school, my brother was moved out of the nursery and it became "the girl's room". I was upset. Where were they taking him? I know I must have made a fuss. My brother, although a year older, doesn't remember any of this, but I do. I remember one of my aunts (I don't know which one) was unusually patient with me and explained that he was a big boy now and he wasn't going far, just on the other side of the wall to sleep in the big boy's room. Whoever it was made me understand that it wasn't proper for him to continue sleeping with us. I looked around. None of the other big boys slept in this room so it all made sense to me.

Win / Win

Normally I would not care who's going to get the Republican nomination, but for some reason I found myself hoping for Huckabee. "Hey, what are you thinking?" my common sense interjected, "You should root for the WORST Republican candidate, that way Obama or Clinton will win". McCain should be way easier to beat. If Huckabee gets the nomination he'll get the votes of the nice Republicans who want to vote Democrat on the sly. McCain can't do that. More votes for Obama/Clinton! (I registered as an independent but I don't think I'm fooling anyone.)

For some reason my heart wouldn't give up. "But I LIKE Huckabee" I whined internally. "Hmmmm......well, one good thing about Huckabee is that if the Republicans do cheat and win like they have in the past, the American people will still have a good president." (pause while that sinks in.........) Huckabee it is!

Karmic Lessons

Ok, so I realize in my post "Clear the Transaction" the second story about the debit card contained absolutely no Karmic lesson at all. I know people read that with a puzzled look on their face thinking "did I miss something?" No you didn't miss anything. I edited out the real story because it made me look like a snob and because it made the post too long. But here's what actually happened.. .....

Before the manager came over, the clerk who had been ringing up my groceries noticed that one of my lasagnas was defrosted. "This is defrosted ma'am" he said, holding it up, "want me to get you a new one?" I wanted to say no. I should have said no because when I picked that lasagna out of the freezer I distinctly noticed that they all had wrinkly boxes and they all looked exactly like the one I had. But I shrugged and said "sure" thinking he was the expert. Then he called a kid over who looked pretty clueless but eager to help. He sent the kid to get my lasagna. "Great" I thought, "he'll never find it".

Why did I think that? Because this was no ordinary lasagna. This was Amy's Organic Lasagna and it isn't kept with the rest of the frozen food, it's on the opposite side of the store, so obscure that only I, the handful of people who buy that brand in a Baker's, and the person who stocks that freezer know where it is. Most people who buy stuff like that go to the tree-hugger stores like Wild Oats.

So while the manager was screaming out to the entire store that I could not afford to get a hundred dollars out of my account, and I was trying to keep my composure, the kid had darted eagerly off before I could think of a way to tell him that it wasn't where he probably thought it was.

I stood beside another young man who was going to push my cart out. I tried not to tap my foot or huff impatiently but I'm sure my demeanor gave me away. "What's wrong?" the young man asked generously. "Well, I know that kid didn't know where that lasagna was but I didn't tell him because if I'd told him it would be like insulting him before he's even made a mistake." The young man ,who was a little older than the kid, said something helpful and soothing. "How sweet" I thought. He is well on his way to understanding women. We stood there for about 15 minutes which feels like an eternity when you are blocking that narrow aisle of space on the way to the door. The kid finally showed up, panting.

"I can't find it" he said.
I didn't say anything but gave the other young man a look that said "what did I tell you?"
"It's not with the regular frozen food" I said. "It's in the produce section over there", I pointed.
Off the kid went again and returned in about 2 minutes.

The following weekend on the way out of church the lady who organizes our singles lunches told me where we were meeting for lunch. "It's the Olive Garden at Lakeside" she said "do you know where that is?" "Oh sure" I said and darted eagerly off. I know exactly where Lakeside is and how hard could it be to find the restaurant once I got there.

As it turns out, it was very hard. There had been a fleeting moment just before I had answered her that I thought I should ask her for directions just in case. About 20 or 30 minutes later I was still driving around Lakeside trying to call them on my cell to ask where it was.

"I can't find it"I said.
She didn't say anything critical, just directed me to the right location.
I arrived there in about 2 minutes.

I had to laugh as I realized I was experiencing exactly what that kid had gone through hunting for my lasagna. Ok so the kid wasn't such an idiot after all. The church ladies were much more gracious than I had been. They didn't tell me "I told you so" or lecture me on why I shouldn't be so hesitant to ask for directions. They were just happy to see me. They hadn't even ordered, but instead had waited patiently for me to arrive.

"Patience" I thought, "but that's not enough. Be gracious about it." Got it.

Getting to know you...

So I recently am corresponding with a new friend online and was asked about myself, how I grew up, my culture, etc. It's interesting how I was able to express myself as I wrote. I thought it would be good to post it in here.....

I grew up in Alabama and lived there for about 6 years after college and then moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee where I lived for about 8.5 years before moving to Omaha. My family is mostly in Alabama. I was raised by my grandmother who has since passed away back in 1994. I am the youngest of three. My sister, the oldest, died in 2003 and my brother, a year older than me, is in the Army in Tacoma, Washington.

My mom lives in Birmingham and I help take care of her. We've grown closer since my grandma died but the reason my mom didn't raise us is because she was considered too irresponsible by my grandma. As an adult I have learned that my grandma was right so I've been essentially mothering my mother and giving her the nurturing my grandma didn't. This past Christmas when my brother and I (who never fight) got into an argument, my mom behaved like a mother towards me for the first time. It was the best Christmas present I've ever had.

I was raised Church of Christ and I attend regularly. I don't want to sound like I am apologizing for my spirituality nor do I want to seem like I am chest-beating and proud of it. It's just simply who I am. If it helps, I am not into "rules". I think Christ came to show us how to love so we would no longer need laws. But different people are on different levels of maturity and some still need the structure of rules to define their limits. Religion is a matter of laws but spirituality is a matter of love, and love always comes first.