It's not about the "What", it's about the "Who"...

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." - Maya Angelou

I've always attributed particular songs, scents, sounds and tastes as triggers to certain memories.  I recently transferred my youngest from public school into a Catholic school.  When I walked into the main office of the new school and through the painted cinder block hallways, I was tossed back to the 1970's and flooded with so many memories (both pleasant and unpleasant).  

Like in kindergarten, when I complained to my mother that morning that my stomach was bothering me but was told that I didn't have a fever so I needed to get to school.  And as Murphy's Law never fails, my vomiting escapade began shortly after my kindergarten love interest stepped foot on that bus.  It turned out to be the best, worst day of my life.  As all the young passengers on the bus were running for cover from the meteor shower of Captain Crunch and simultaneously making fun of me, my night and shining armor, Jimbo Rogers rubbed my back until we arrived at school.  He walked me to the main office so I could call my mom away from her soap operas to come get me.  I loved him with all my kindergarten sized heart. 

I caught myself strolling down memory lane cutting through Michael Crowley's yard with my brother crawling under the chain linked fence to get to school on time. Sliding into Sister Mary Kay's class just late enough for me to have to parade in front of Jimmy Rupp and Alex Bayter with the pixie haircut my mother and her ancient old friends said was "cute" because they could "see my pretty eyes". It was the year that I walked around with the constant thought bubble over my head that said, "Well, of course you can see my stinkin' eyes, I HAVE NO HAIR!  It was that year also when I was often mistaken for a boy. As you may have figured already, that would fall under the "not so pleasant" category. 

Today I was listening to the radio and they had some sort of tribute to Freddie Mercury and were playing back to back Queen songs. I had vivid flashbacks to middle school and my first love T.J Sullivan. My first "R" rated movie at The Pine Hollow Movie Theatre, hanging in the graveyard and telling my mother that I was studying at the library as I was walking into Oyster Bay with T.J. to grab a "slice"of pizza.

Speaking of pizza...Any transplant from New Yawk in South Carolina will understand the excitement of a new pizza "parlor" opening up in the hopes that there is one that can replicate the true essence of a good slice. So not only are looking for the perfect replica of the NY delicacy but you also have to find the place that serves it like a New Yawkah!...BY THE SLICE!  And just as I was reminiscing about a "real" pizza place, "Tony from da Bronx" welcomed me with open arms to Bada Bing Pizza...Literally!   AND...he asked me how many slices I wanted!  I'm not kidding when I tell you that he actually brought tears to my eyes.  Right at that moment I had a flashback of great memories from being a kid running into Marios in Pine Hollow or Villa Milano in Manhasset and being greeted by the owners as if they hadn't seen me in years although I was there the day before. The  New Yawk accent, the boisterous Italian personality and congratulatory notes written on dollar bills taped to the oven gave me that warm and fuzzy "New Yawk" feeling.   I know.  It's such an oxymoron but if you ever want to witness an incredible personality transformation right before your eyes?  Talk pizza to a New York transplant in The South.  The first rule is to never act like you know more about the subject than they do.  Quite honestly, it offends them. The only way you qualify for participation in a debate about it, is only if you are from New York.  We don't act like experts on biscuit, grits or "dressing" (aka "stuffing") so we just ask for the same respect.  In any case, if you ask a native New Yawkah to tell you about their favorite slice of pizza like they are the expert, you will watch that tough guy/girl attitude disappear and the result will be a warm and fuzzy New Yorker.

I'm sure anybody who isn't from New York is probably scratching their heads wondering why I'm making such a big deal about pizza. Some of my greatest childhood memories are from a pizza parlor or my favorite deli...bagel shoppe too. Oh my goodness...AND I can't forget to mention the special family trips to Carvel in my parent's 1972 Caddy with Englebert Humperdink playing on the 8-track!  I am certain there are a several people shaking their heads in agreement as their mouths water for Tom Carvel's Fudgie The Whale or Cookie Puss Cakes. 

But the memories that I once thought were a direct result of a bad haircut, a vomiting roadshow, an R rated movie, or the food I grew up on, I realize that those things made up only part of the picture. As I have grown older, I realize that its more about the rituals and the experiences surrounding it. It's about the people and how they make you feel when you walk into their establishment.  Its the warm feeling knowing that their job goes above and beyond their pizza or their roast beef hero or the everything bagel with cream cheese,  lightly toasted.  It's the difference between a Wednesday and a Sunday or where "Wednesday IS Sundae" but only at Carvel. 

It's the people who are encountered within the experience who actually make it or break it for others. And as this stroll down memory lane comes to an end, I need to share the status of a FB friend referring to a recent visit to his Dad in the hospital.  I am not certain of the circumstances but regardless...any trip to the hospital is stressful when it's your parent. 

He described being on a hospital elevator with a Mother and her, 8 or 9 year old daughter who appeared to have had Downs Syndrome. Her mother had asked if she could push number seven. In an effort to wanting to make her feel “special” not in the derogatory sense, he asked her to push the button to his floor. As he described it, she stepped back after pushing the button and turned towards him as he expressed how much he despised hospitals in the thought bubble over his head.  Simultaneously, the little girl walked up to him, gently took his hand, looked him square in the eye and said: “I am sorry. Are You O.K.?”  Taken by surprise, he promptly thanked her and let her know that he was fine and they left as the doors of the elevator opened to the 7th floor.  He recognized his "petty attempt at kindness" and how (according to him) was un-expectantly given back to him "a trillion fold".  He described the "SHEER PURITY and INNOCENCE" in that beautiful child's gesture and contributed it to the "Presence of GOD (Whoever or Whatever HE/SHE/IT)"...for the first time in his life. 

This child's gesture actually made a full grown man who was doubting the Presence of God actually feel it for the first time ever!  Powerful, right?  I don't care what your beliefs are. This isn't a come to Jesus blog.  This is an acknowledgement of the difference people can make.   It's funny because whether I was an unassuming kid, an invincible teenager, a confident collegiate or a self absorbed Wall Street wife, I always attributed the feeling I got to a haircut, a song, a movie or a slice but after going through some trying times and ultimately "growing up", I now realize that the common denominators in all of my experiences really is the interaction between me and the people I encounter.

How we treat others has a direct correlation to how we are treated.  Good, bad or ugly...how we are treated is what creates memories. So whether you are at school, work, at a baseball game, on a bus, in an elevator or at a party, remember the New Yawker who melts when you talk pizza. Make it about others and not always about yourself. What I've learned is that, if one is vigilant in heart warming efforts, it eventually becomes habit and ultimately may make this crazy, inexplicable world a better place. 

Heroes and Lessons Learned

I woke up in the middle of the night, interrupted by the disturbing thoughts of the tragedy that unfolded yesterday in Connecticut. Not only about the nightmarish events but I wondered about the earlier hours of interaction between those children, their parents and their siblings.  My curiosity was peaked as a result of the guilt I have felt for the way I've conducted myself several months since starting my new job and recent mornings getting my children off to school.

For the past 5 years I have been a single mother who has been put in a very precarious financial situation and all of the responsibility has been placed on my shoulders to raise my three children. I have prided myself on the benefits my children received from my "can do" attitude and my resilience, but it also occurred to me that they have also suffered from some neglect due to the stress of deadlines, conference calls, work travel, etc.  I'm ashamed to say that the stress from the attempt to overachieve at past jobs and certainly my present one has caused me to neglect many of my children's needs including just a brief peaceful chat at the kitchen table, more family dinners, being able to keep important doctors appointments.   But my latest and greatest was missing the paperwork deadline for a school my daughter was already accepted into and now having to scramble to get her into another charter or private school because they needed the paperwork by the specific date.   I've been so focused on this new, great paying and full of potential job that I've  neglected my children's needs. And I'm sad to say, as a result we all have lost some time or missed out on something however I sadly find solace in the wake up call. 

So as I watched the events develop on the tv, I couldn't help but think about the horror and fear that those children and teachers experienced before taking their last breaths or even the innocence that was ripped away from those poor children who survived that massacre.  I wondered about how each and every one of those children and parents started their day yesterday. Was it with a kiss and an "I love you"? Or was it with tears, because of impatience or reprimanding because somebody forgot they had a science test that day and didn't study? (just how my mornings went this week)

So I prayed...

YES. I said "prayed" which is a whole other issue, along with gun control and mental illness but definitely not what we should be talking about now as the media and facebookers feel so compelled to do right now.

I prayed that each and every one of those children heard kind and loving words from their parents, siblings and friends that morning before they left for school. I thanked GOD for the wake up call and promised that HE comes first, then my family and then my job.  I vowed to find the balance between all of them - love my GOD, love my family and do my job well and diligently.

My heart is broken and my head is confused over yesterday's unfathomable events and eerily just as it was on 9-11.  I have always tried to embrace the good in every situation but this one is a difficult one. All I can say is...Out of every tragedy, there are heroes and there are lessons to be learned.  The heroes will be unveiled in time.  The lessons learned are loud and clear for me but usually different for everyone.  I do think it is safe to say that last night, people throughout our nation are holding their family a little closer, cherishing each moment and hopefully practicing kindness towards every path they cross.  Life is precious and should never be taken for granted. Now if we can just remember that every second of our days...

A Spoonful of Perspective Makes the Medicine Go Down...

Dear Dr. "My Time Is More Valuable Than Yours",
 
Thank you for the opportunity to secure a 7 am appointment with you this morning. My mornings are hectic but I managed to make arrangements for my boyfriend to take my other two kids to school so I wasn't late to meet you. And to be honest, although it was super early, 7 am actually worked out well since I had a 10 am conference call and my daughter had four exams.

I had been anxious to meet you since my daughter's blood work and symptoms indicated that she may have an autoimmune disease. I was grateful for the opportunity to finally meet you to confirm a diagnosis. Not knowing something, especially when it comes to your child's health is a bit disconcerting.  Since you are the only pediatric specialist of rheumatology in this area and only in town one day a month, you can understand why I was really looking forward to meeting you.
 
As excited I was to meet you, I must express my dissatisfaction with the service I received. I'm not a doctor nor do I play one on TV but I can assure you when it comes to my business and my customers, I go out of my way to make my customers know that I care. I guess compassion is nothing anyone can learn in eight years of medical school.  In any case, I may not save lives but I help grow businesses. If I don't know my "patients" and their "ailments" or business challenges then I can't diagnose their problem nor help them find the remedy for their pain.

 
Oh, another thing...I also make it a point to properly present myself and represent the company I work for. I make certain that they know who I am and what my role is.  In any successful relationship (business or personal), the main component is trust. So maybe now you understand why I was so upset about meeting you, an adult rheumatologist as opposed to the expected pediatric doctor that I waited a month to see. Please note that the bait and switch tactic never builds confidence with prospective customers.
 
After the first twenty minutes of waiting, I asked the bubbly receptionist how long the wait would be since my daughter had her exams and I had a 10:00 conference call. She was so responsive, getting up from her desk to run to the back to find out. As a result of her actions, we were promptly called back...only to be placed in a holding cell for another two hours! Not one person acknowledged us. Needless to say, you could cut the New York tension in room 6 with a scalpel.
 
After we received a large case of lip service, we waited another hour. Finally, a nurse came in and asked questions, took vitals and then led us to the X-ray department. Again we waited and got called in. X-rays were taken and then we were escorted back to the holding cell. We waited another hour to talk to a resident who asked us the same questions the nurse did and looked very official as he nodded his head a lot. Finally after another hour, you graced us with your presence.

I can't even describe the relief I felt regardless of your pompous entrance. I didn’t care. I just wanted to find out what was wrong with my baby girl. However, that quickly faded when you left me hanging as I extended my hand to introduce myself. And what made matters worse is that you didn’t even acknowledge your extreme tardiness.  At this point, my daughter had been counted absent and I had already called my boss to request a personal day. And the only thing we got was a stone faced, ADULT rheumatologist with an attitude about our attitudes.  What's worse is that we were no smarter FIVE hours later than we were when we got there and ultimately we still don't know exactly how her condition should be treated. 

Regardless of the inconvenience, I will make sure that my daughter gets the attention that she needs.  I am not sure how other patients of yours react but I can tell you that I always try to find the positive side of unfortunate circumstances.  I think that is what makes me as resilient as I am.  I know that I will never be able to fix you nor the way you do business but I want to thank you for making me take a good look at how I interact with others and validating my best practices as a sales person.  At the end of the day, our expertise differs but the functions of how we SHOULD do business are ultimately the same.  Here's what I learned:

· Be prompt and punctual when making an appointment with anyone. Their time is just as valuable as the next guy.  Time is money, money is time and you can't turn the clock back.

· Be compassionate.  Treat others' issues as they are your own.  Business is business but at the end of the day, everyone is human.

· We all have a job to do and a role to play.  Play it and play it with passion.

· Listen and listen well.  Identify the problem and vow to find the solution.  It's about the partnership not just the transaction.  In the end, people will forget what you said and what you did but they will never forget how you made them feel.

· Making mistakes and promptly admitting it is the perfect opportunity to build credibility with your patients, customers, friends, family etc.

· I was compelled to either bill you for my time or sell you one of my "best practice" guidebooks to help you improve your approach.  Instead I decided to take your inventory and drop you this line.  I hope you find it helpful.

Ultimately, my entire experience related to my "appointment" at the children's hospital was thought provoking.  I learned very valuable lessons related to me as a business woman but the most important lesson I learned from it all was gratitude.  It turns out that a stroll through the children's hospital put it all in perspective for me and my daughter.  We were grateful to only be there for a few hours as opposed to those parents and children who have been summoned to stay there for days, weeks, months or maybe don't even make it home.  

We are fortunate and grateful for my daughter’s condition not being life threatening and treatable.  So if I need to find another doctor, then so be it.  For somebody who didn't have enough time to wait five hours on a doctor, I realize after my stroll through the hallways of the children's hospital that I have a hell of a lot more time than some.  We may not have all the answers to the problem, but we certainly have a healthier perspective on life since we met you.  So thank you!

Sincerely,

The Impatient New Yorker

I Am An American!

Each September, I am amazed that yet another year has passed so quickly and how the horror which erupted on Tuesday, September 11^th 2001 is still so fresh in my mind.  Although that terrible day slowly moves into the realm of distant history, I am amazed at how raw the wounds still are.  The emotions of anger and sadness still overwhelm me when I allow myself to think about it.  I believe that the turn of events on that destructive day will forever be embedded in my memory and has forever changed who I am today. 

Between my ex-husband’s business on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange and living in Manhasset, NY I knew most of the guys on Cantor Fitzgerald and Sandler O’Neill’s desks.  As I write this, I feel a pang of guilt talking about how that day changed my life through the loss I experienced, because it will never compare to the degree of loss that my friends experienced losing their spouses, siblings or parents on that tragic day. 

It was just a normal Tuesday.  Hailey was four, Jack was two and I had just found out weeks before that I was pregnant with Torie. I had taken the kids down to the basement to play, set them up and called my friend Jill at 8 am as I did everyday.  As we were updating each other with the fabulous details of our “stay at home mom” life and exchanging survival tactics on how to make it through the day until bedtime, my call waiting beeped and I clicked over.  It was John.  He sounded frantic. It was only 8:50 am.  I know because I remember looking at the clock on the wall thinking “Why does he sound so panicked? The market hasn’t even opened yet.”  He instructed me to turn on the television.  “A commuter plane just flew into the 104^th floor where Cantor Fitzgerald is!  All my guys are up there!”  We tried getting them on the squawk box but it has gone silent.  Pam, I think Jerry’s brother is up there.”  I clicked over to Jill and told her what had happened and that I would call her back as soon as I could.

Jerry was one of John’s clients at Cantor Fitzgerald.  John had been begging him to work for him on the floor for awhile.  Finally after months of prodding and after passing his brokers test, Jerry conceded and began working on the floor of the NYSE just weeks before 9-11.  If Jerry had not gone to work for John, his fate would have taken a similar turn as his brother Pat.  We were having dinner at Café Continental where John also asked Pat to come work for him but he insisted that he had some things to finish up at Cantor and he would follow shortly.  Unfortunately not soon enough.

Pat and I had met about a year and a half prior to 9-11.  Pat loved golf and Jerry was known to sacrifice a day of fishing or on the beach because he knew how much his little brother loved to play golf.  Jerry and Pat were pretty much inseparable except for on the golf cart.  It was me and Pat against Jerry and John so the teams would be even. 

Pat had two brothers so I think he welcomed our four hour cart discussions on life, relationships and bad golf swings.  I went to Villanova and he went to Georgetown so we were only rivals when it came to NCAA Basketball.  He was a joker.  We laughed often unless of course he wasn’t playing well. I always had to talk him off the ledge when Deepdale’s greens were rolling at a 14 and John and Jerry were heckling him as his original1 foot putt turned into a 20 foot putt and eventually a 3 or 4 putt.  He cursed like a sailor - only when he was playing bad golf but at the same time was a true gentleman, a loyal brother and a good son.  Pat put his family first and was beyond generous as he helped his older brother through law school and with the down payment on his home.  (None of which I knew about until after his death.)  He also had a girlfriend at the time.  He would talk to me about the on again off again relationship.  Regardless of the turbulence, he said that he would always take care of her.  He was a man of his word and could talk to anyone. He had a smile that could melt you and one that could get him out of any amount of trouble.  But on September 11, 2001, Patrick’s smile wasn’t enough. 

  

The last time I saw Pat was at Breezy Point on the Sunday before September 11, 2001.  I can’t explain it but it was like he wasn’t there.  I didn’t feel the connection that I normally had when Pat and I were in each other’s presence.  I couldn’t explain it until our friendship was cut short due to Pat’s untimely death.  I even asked my ex-husband about it when he had gotten home that night.  He finished my sentence as I said, “Do you think Pat is mad at me for some reason?  I continued, “It was like…“He wasn’t there?” he responded.  “Yes! Like he wasn’t’ there” I answered.

I watched the events unfold on television as I was on the phone with John.  I watched in disbelief as I saw the second plane hit the South Tower.  Sickened by the scene, I told John that this is not an accident and demanded that he get out of there immediately.  He said that he needed to gather his guys and then he would go.  I told him that I would stay on the phone with him until he left and just then I heard screaming and a loud rumbling sound.  Simultaneously I watched the South Tower collapse to the ground.  Staring in disbelief, we were immediately cut off and there was silence on the other end of the phone.  And shortly after, the North Tower followed suit.  It was then that my hope for Pat’s survival was gone.

I didn’t hear from John or anybody else for another 8 hours.  John finally called saying that he had walked up the Westside Highway and had headed for Penn Station but there were mobs of people attempting to get out of the city via train.  Again I pleaded with him to get out of there and seek solace at his brother’s apartment uptown.  Twelve hours later, John stood at our front door covered in soot with broken glass in his hair - a broken man.  Figuratively speaking, I too lost my husband on September 11^th.  As I opened the door to let him in, I could smell the debris of the Towers burning.  We were 15 miles from the city but the wind had been blowing East and as the days went on, the burning turned to the putrid scent of death.  One I can’t describe and one I hope to never smell again.  The next few months were spent attending endless amounts of Memorial Services.  Since I was pregnant at the time, I had decided to stop at number 31.  Emotionally I couldn’t do it any more.

I had an opportunity to visit Ground Zero for the first time after 10 years this past November.  I was reluctant to visit the memorial because I was traveling with my boyfriend and fearful of what my reaction would be when I got there.  Although I vowed to never forget, I also try to keep my emotions in check throughout the year.  I mourn quietly each time I catch the clock reading 9:11 am or pm (which happens on a regular basis) or on the anniversary of that dreadful day.

I had spoken about Pat before and said that all I wanted to do was see his name.  We had gone at night and I was in awe of the beauty of a place that once served as the stage for terrorism and such tragedy.  I was taking pictures of the memorial of where the South Tower once stood and then gravitated to the North Tower Memorial as I took a picture of my boyfriend.  It started to rain and we were getting ready to leave the site but not before I leaned up against the North Tower memorial and found my hands resting upon “Patrick Sullivan”.  Speechless, I pointed to his name in disbelief and relief.  I was always reluctant to speak of my connection with Pat before 9-11.  I couldn’t ever explain it in fear that people would think that I was a nut.  What we had was nothing more than friendship of course but Pat was one of those special people.  I still can’t explain it, but the inexplicable connection with him was validated even 10 years after he perished.  So we did as any good Irishman would do and went to the pub next to Rescue Company One to have a beer to celebrate the lives of Pat Sullivan and all who perished on the day that changed America.

It was the day that terrorist attacks turned one of the clearest New York days into the darkest day in history. It was the day that ordinary people performed extraordinary tasks.  It was a day of so much loss but through it all, The United States of America showed what it was made of.  For me, it was the day that all things were put in perspective.  And most importantly, it was when I realized  that I am an American and proud of it!

Where There's A Will, There's A Crown!

No. I'm not talking about a Prince.  The "will" I am talking about has to do with the purpose and the determination of my pageant wannabe ten year old.  The crown refers to the one worn by that child after competing in The Miss Wade Hampton Beauty Pageant.
Anyone close to me knows that I am a very supportive, encouraging and positive parent, however when it comes to beauty pageants, I sing a completely different tune.  I secretly curse the producers of Toddlers & Tiaras for the pageant spell they casted on my daughter.  The pageant nonsense goes totally against the grain of who I am and what I stand for.  I just don't think anyone should be judged on what they look like.  Lord knows that happens on a daily basis already.  Why subject ourselves or our children to anymore of that.  I believe that there is so much more to us than physical beauty.  And on Saturday, my Torie demonstrated that to everyone she met.

After numerous requests to enter a pageant, I compromised with her and offered to send her to Millie Lewis Modeling and Acting School.  However, the twelve weeks of classes flew by way too fast and it seemed to have in fact fueled the fire of her desire to be in a pageant even more.  Thankfully she was distracted most of the Summer due to traveling and camp but on the first day of school, she came home and told me that she had filled out paperwork for a beauty pageant.  Thinking that she would get away with it and sway me to say yes, I adamantly declined her request and flippantly said "Call your father and ask him!"  His track record had not been too great with funding anything for the past four years so I was certain that he wouldn't have the money nor the wearwithal to help a pageant queen out.  Thinking that I had put the nail in the beauty's coffin, I excused myself and went back to work.  I could hear her on the phone with him requesting the funding for her quest towards pageant royalty and I was thinking how mean it was of me to send her to a stone to get some blood.  But just then, a miracle did occur...He actually said yes and said he would call and register her for the pageant. 

And so the story of the quest for the crown lives on...

As I wiped my hands completely clean of any pageant responsibility other than showing up, I felt relieved.  For the first time in 5 years, this kid's father was going to actually take part and be present in something significant.  I can't give him all the credit though.  He is dating an awesome woman who I really like and whom I never want to leave.  She's the wife I always wanted!  She has a job, she provides him with a nice home and since she's come along, he has lost my number.  I love her for that and I never want them to break up.  But most of all, I like her because she genuinely loves my kids and she ultimately has become the co-dependent wife and pageant mom that I never wanted to be!

Torie had spent the night at her father's and his girlfriend's house and prepared for the pageant that morning.  All I had to do was show up!  And that I did.
I am very proud to say that my ex's girlfriend and I were the only women who were NOT wearing sweats and "Torie" tee shirts and holding up home made signs that said "Work It!"  In fact, none of that was necessary because Torie already knew her name, she knew we were cheering for her and she surely knew how to work it!

I am not just saying this because she is my kid but my child walked into her first pageant with the most tasteful bout of confidence I had ever seen.  She looked me square in the eyes and said, "Mom, I am going to win this thing!"  I told her to just do her best and to focus only on herself and not what anyone else does.  And that is exactly what she did and with such grace.  It amazes me that this child was so confident especially after all of the pageant jabs she had taken from her brother and sister for the past year. 

I took my seat in the audience with my son beside me and his father next to him and watched the pageant walk of forty other girls.  They varied in styles, attractiveness and confidence levels, however all were unique in their own way.  And again, those who know me will understand that I am not being mean when I say that Torie is a beautiful child but there were some drop dead gorgeous children on that stage with her.  And this is a very important point as I start my decent and land the plane on this story.

Despite what anybody else looked like, the confidence Torie displayed was jaw dropping.  I am not kidding you when I tell you that I was speechless (which is pretty much impossible).  If there was a thought bubble over that child's head, it would have screamed:

"I believe in myself enough to win that crown.  I have practiced and prepared endlessly for this day and for that reason I stand out.  I am the best on this stage, I know why I am here and nobody else stands a chance!"

And with that being said, I learned some very valuable lessons from a ten year old this weekend and I am compelled to share them with all of you:


1. If this is the start of a pageant career for Torie, It is confirmed that karma truly is a bitch because my ex-husband will be the "go to" guy for those requests.  Like I said, my only responsibility is to show up. 

2. It's not only about how good you look but how good you feel and that's what translates!

3.  If you want something so bad, go for it.  Passion is a requirement for attaining any goal.

4. Don't waste your energy trying to put the nail in the coffin of anyone's  dreams.  If they want it bad enough, nobody will be able to stop them because where there's a will, there's a way and in Torie's case - there is a crown!

God is great, cosmos are good and people are stupid!

Some of the most valuable lessons I've learned have been through my hardships.  And to be honest, I've had so much practice that I don't even view anything as insurmountable anymore. In fact, now and then I cringe when my ten year old throws my infamous line in my face and says,

"There's a solution to every problem. You may not like it at the time but just roll with it and eventually it will all make sense." 

That darn kid! Just when I thought her hearing was impaired, she proves that she actually does listen to what I say. Now there are those who experience hardships ranging from domestic issues, financial problems, isolation, illness, death or just plain stupidity.  And it is very common for people's ignorant behavior to lead to the aforementioned hardships. Then, there are those who are very secretive about their situations and they are usually the ones who suffer the most. You know the ones I'm talking about! They pretend that life is grand as their marriage is falling apart or they are sweeping the drunk spouse under the rug, or bailing a kid out of jail, or driving the sports cars and taking fabulous vacations as the foreclosure papers are being signed, sealed and delivered to their temporary doorstep.  And then, there are those who embrace it all and post Facebook status’ poking fun at the dysfunction surrounding them. And when that isn’t enough, they decide to "blog" about the circus they live. 

Warning:
 “Bell ringers, big mouths and judges make more enemies than friends. “

I learned that fact long ago. Now, I just poke fun at the dysfunction, not the people who have malfunctioned. I'm a realist and I call it as I see it and my favorite thing is teaching those bell ringers, big mouths and judges to take a good hard look at who they are and what’s going on in their lives instead of getting all up in my grill about how I handle my life.  For the sake of time, I will give you the abbreviated version but I'm going to tell you about the time I came face to face with a "bell ringer, big mouth and a judge" all wrapped into one. I had never met her before but she apparently knew who I was. She THOUGHT that I had moved to South Carolina from New York with my "retired" Wall Street Executive husband and my three young children, bought a house 5 sizes bigger than the one in NY for a quarter of the price that I sold my other. Apparently she scratched her head often trying to figure the whole deal out but obviously I paid her zero attention. Why?  Because I was consumed with the dysfunction going on in my life!  Mostly for obvious reasons - three kids, moving etc. But mostly because my life became unmanageable. It was shortly after 9/11, my husband's mind and business were terribly affected after losing so many friends and clients and ultimately my marriage was failing due to many things but mainly his addiction and what we know now as post traumatic stress disorder. In any case, I was busy running for my life thinking I could fix him, our marriage and all that was caving in on us.

"Wherever you go, there you are." 

On the contrary, things actually got worse. Marriage counseling, his several stints at rehab, depression and lack of motivation (also known as "retirement" by some) didn't help the situation at all. Ultimately it bankrupted us financially but I wasn't going to allow it to do the same emotionally to myself and my children. I tried to include my husband at the time but he wouldn't allow it. He defined himself too much by the money and was too distraught over the financial reality of things that at the time he couldn't get it together emotionally. Against my will, I had to let him sink with the ship. My children were too important to me.

And that is when the realist in me was born. I couldn't sit there and let this happen to my family. So I pulled out all guns. Family members had their own opinions. Friends had stood by as either spectators or as stage hands. And the bell ringers rung the bells, the big mouths yapped away and the judges made their judgments’.  But the bottom line is that I was fighting for my life to keep my head above water.

Three years after getting divorced, being left with all of the financial responsibility of the Wall Street lifestyle without an income - only investments, I was forced to go back to work after 11 years. I went from chicken salad to chicken sh#% in a matter of seconds. And it was then, that the transformation began and I was able to see what I was really made of.

After I had moved from my big, stupid, poorly judged purchased house, the bell ringers, big mouths and judges came out of the wood works. "Stupid Suzy" (her fictional name in order to protect her ignorant anonymity) is definitely the most noteworthy. She apparently knew "the whole story" and managed to voice her opinion about the state of our house at the homeowners meetings. And every time one of those meetings passed, I would kick myself for not showing up to give her a piece of my mind. The truth is I didn't have the wear withal to do it at that time. However every dog has its day. And three years later, mine finally had presented itself…

I was waiting on a friend at one of my favorite restaurants. As I grabbed a seat at the bar, I noticed a woman who went to my church and had lived in the neighborhood where my house was that I had just forfeited to the bank purely as a survival tactic. We exchanged greetings and as she did the church lady shuffle to her left, the curtain opened and my big moment had arrived. There stood the biggest bell ringer, big mouth judge I had known, but had never met. She knew who I was but I never let on that I figured her out until...

 

I had taken the last sip of my Cosmo (the official truth serum drink of angry people) and she of course made some ignorant comment about a couple at the bar and how he was so unattractive and she was so young and that she must be with him for the money.  And THAT was when I made my big debut!

“Hi Suzy”, I said.  “I’m Pamela Anderson Lee (my fictional name because I was feeling like a rock star at that moment).  You know that one who “abandoned” her house in YOUR fantastic neighborhood?”  “I’m so happy that we finally have a chance to meet.”  As I was greeting her, I was slipping my shoes off and suddenly she noticed that I was about 4 inches shorter from when the conversation began.  However the fact of the matter was that SHE looked like she was shrinking as a result of embarrassment.   She looked confused, wondering what I was doing as I slid my shoes towards her feet and told her to try them on.  She stood there frozen.  “Exactly,” I said.  “I’m not sure you would want to go there, however if you did in fact ever walk in my shoes, you would probably understand why I made the decisions that I had made.  I don’t owe you any explanation about any of them but I can tell you this: 

-“God has been great to me through my hardships

-This cosmopolitan tastes really good right now

-AND

- YOUR ignorance doesn’t seem so blissful anymore, does it??”

“You have reminded me of where I’ve come from, where I’ve been and the road I am on.  You really do have a purpose, so thank you!”   And then I slipped my shoes back on, assumed my 5 foot 7 stance and turned around to greet my stage hand.  We had dinner and great conversation about the boundaries I have set in my life and the quality of my children's lives as a result of my hardships.  We have learned to play our misfortune to our benefits and it surely is nothing money can buy.  We learned it all through real life experience!  

Just say it!

I received a text today from a friend that said,

"I'm really enjoying your blog. Don't be like me and abandon it for months at a time". 

A bit insulted by the abandonment accusation, I responded politely with a simple "No, I won't. In fact I'm working on another entry right now. Stay tuned"
 
It was sort of the truth as I was simultaneously fighting all of the voices of doubt in my head but brainstorming for the next infamous and inspirational blog.
 
Abandon isn't even a word in my vocabulary! I don't give up on anything unless of course we are talking about my first and so far only marriage. However, anything I do now is given extensive consideration and all efforts are exhausted before jumping on board or overboard. Although I was a little peeved about him suggesting such a thing, at the same time the timing of his text could not have been better.
 
Days have passed since my last posting and my inner voices of doubt have been fussing over what would be the subject of the next one. Should there even be a "next"? What have I gotten myself into? Is anybody really interested in what I have to say?

Well at least one person is. So I will continue on my blogging journey. I can't let my one and only fan down!
 
For the past three days I've been debating over the subject of my next entry. Should it be about the technically challenged 44 year old, the joy of parenting a teenager with a driver's permit, the temper tantrums people throw when they don't get their way, a parent's joy on the first day of school or the phenomenon of that little pageant redneck, Honey Boo Boo?
 
Even though this is considered a “mini entry” for my blog, it’s something for now.  The grand blog is in the making and as a result of that one text, I have a set of more positive eyes on the situation. There is a lesson to be learned from this…

All it takes is one person, one comment or a single incident (positive or negative) to be the catalyst for the transformation in others. And that one text gave me enough encouragement to lessen my worries. So not only do I have a new entry for my blog but I will be sure to pay it forward in a different kind of way and make it a point to tell somebody something nice today.