Rainy Days and Fridays

There's an old Carpenters song (I know, I'm showing my age) called "Rainy Days and Mondays." Kind of a sad tune, really. The lyrics moan, "Rainy days and Mondays always get me down."

Strangely, I've always loved the rain! Water of any kind, actually. I'm definitely a water-person, true to my Pisces birth sign (for however much you can put stock in that sort of thing). I do my best relaxing, writing or music composition when it's raining. I like it best when it's a gentle mist or a slow and steady pitter-pat that brings life and refreshment to our thirsty planet. But thunderstorms are also a favorite. I won't tell how many times I've probably risked my life, walking under a cloud-tossed sky to gaze, mesmerized, into the electric horizon as thunder boomed and rain drenched me to the skin.

Today, I rose to welcome a cool-and-misty kind of day. A Friday.
"Rainy days and Fridays always make me smile."

Just finished an a-MAZ-ing bowl of black bean soup, seasoned perfectly, and have now begun to devour a plate full of nachos. No meetings this afternoon...just writing away in my office. So I went for the full monty - onions, jalapenos, the works. Yum. Along with Yellow Tail after a long, hard day, good food makes me deliriously happy.Or maybe it's just the fact it's Friday. And I'm blogging. And I know in a few more hours, I'll be home to rest and enjoy the weekend with the most important people in the world...my family.

I've been thinking a lot. About women in my life - special women I know, respect and love. About how we tend to try to carry the burdens of the world on our own shoulders. How we feel compelled to heal the hurts, wipe the tears, fix the brokenness and mend the wounds of others. And how, in the process of yielding to our compassionate, nurturing souls, we occasionally risk forgetting to take care of ourselves. I know some women like this. Do you? Are you one of them?

I guess I want to say--to all my sisters out there--make time to take time to recharge your own batteries. Do what you love. Feed your own soul. Laugh out loud. Be silly. Paint a picture. Dance in your shower. Get all dressed up and take yourself to lunch. For 5 minutes, just look in the mirror to admire your natural beauty without make-up, tanning lotion or worrying over your weight.

Learn to revel in your grace and passion and power while still being okay with your own tenderness and vulnerability. Women are made to be complex. It's part of our mystique. It's part of how we make our own unique worlds a little finer, a little richer and a little more amazing.

Today, I'm glad to be a woman. Glad to be eating nachos. Glad it's Friday. And glad it's raining.

From the words of a more contemporary tune, "This one's for the girls." Make it a great day...wherever you are and whatever you do. Rock on, sisters.

Time OUT!!!

Okay. I have one of those high-pressure, pounding-in-between-your-temples headaches. Tragically, my headache RX is not here. It's at home. Safely out of reach. Or I'd totally take 10 right now. Gah!

I'm kind of over a few things. Like people who don't understand that "strategy" implies "executional purpose." Like people who don't listen. Like people who think creative problem-solving is about what color fonts they use. SERiously. How much are you paid again?? That's the sucky part of my job. Getting to tell certain people (who don't listen) that their (colored font) approach to business strategy (minus the "execution" components) will not produce the desired results. And then listening to them say they want to proceed anyway.

Coaching up sucks.
AND it makes my head hurt.

I feel like I have 20 things on my desk right now all due in two weeks. (I don't, but it feels that way. I tend to overreact when I get stressed. Those of you unfortunate enough to work or live in close proximity to me are either nodding and rolling your eyes or laughing out loud right now.) Is it possible I'm an alcoholic if I look forward (I mean...look REALLY forward) to my glass of wine after work every night? Sometimes it's 2 or 3 glasses. But mostly just 1 or 2. For real. I'm not exaggerating. That's not a problem, is it? Because honestly, if I didn't have my wine, I think I might just be a basketcase. I love the delicious way it helps me chill out and re-lax! Takes the edge off. Helps me laugh instead of snarl. Jesus liked wine! (Jesus was a cool dude, if you ask me.)

I am wrestling a major decision right now. Probably a decision I won't even need to make. But I'm worried I might have to make it. And I'm worried about which way to go if I do have to make it. Usually, I'm so..."go with your gut." And I do and then I'm over it and fine. But this is--kind of a big deal. Kind of a lot of change, no matter which way I go. And kind of impacts a lot of other people (AND me) in different ways, depending on which path I choose. So in the meantime, while there's no decision to actually make yet, I'm being a dumba** and worrying about it anyway. I'm such a dork.

Okay, I really do need to get back to my work now. My head still hurts. My eyes are dry and scratchy. And I really want my glass of wine. But I have some more to do before I leave for the day. Dear Diary - so glad tomorrow is F.R.I.D.A.Y! *sigh*

Ever do this...?

Ever furiously dump your bucket in a blog post, press "Publish Post," sit back, re-read it in satisfaction, sign out, and return to what you were doing...only to have second thoughts about what you wrote?

Second thoughts as in, "Dude. I probably shouldn't have put all that out there for everyone and anyone to read."

Yeah. Just did it. Deleted it. Feel better now.

Blogging is awesome. Therapy balanced with self-maintained damage control...all at the press of a key or click of a mouse.

Back to work.

A New Addiction...

So, SERIOUSLY. This blogging thing is becoming my new addiction.

I think it's the writer in me. I now look strangely forward to the morning hours with my coffee and quiet time. Putting work on hold for just a few more minutes. And penning my thoughts for no one other than myself. It's satisfying. I can't explain it, but clearly, I'm not the only one to find the experience so...intrinsically rich. Otherwise, blogs wouldn't be exploding all over the globe, now would they?

Two thoughts to start the day: (1) people -- on average -- are miserable, and (2) I have the best job in the world. Let me elaborate:

I drove to work today and paid close attention -- for some weird reason -- to all the cranky-ass people with whom I am blessed enough to share roadspace. Here is what I observed:

• One woman who looked like she hadn't slept in 9 years, hair a fright, rolling her eyeballs with the same source of venom that compelled her to round the corner on two screeching wheels...
• One vexed minority youth who looked like he planned to run over me or anything else foolish enough to pull out in front of him (I wisely let him pass before exiting my cul-de-sac)...
• One selfish person who didn't know that YIELD signs actually mean to...well...yield. (Wait, there's so many MORE than ONE of these people in this city. This was just from this morning's commute.)
• One annoyed father/husband driving an SUV full of family members who looked like he was ready to step out of his vehicle and educate the driver who didn't understand "YIELD."
• One brash young lady who decided her black BMW had the right to tailgate my a** all the way to work. Yeah, that's right. She works here! I stalked her in the parking lot. I think she was afraid. Lucky for her, I had my blog and coffee waiting for me, or girlfriend would have gone.down.!
• It occurred to me that the vast majority of drivers today are not experiencing Road Rage, per se. They are experiencing General Malcontent. Life Rage. As in, "my life sucks and I don't know how to fix it." It made me feel sorry for them. And grateful that--MOST days--I don't fall into this category. (Emphasis on the word "most." Muah!)

I have the best job in the world. Best team. Best management. Best physical environment. Best tools and resources to do my work. Best flexibility and work/life support. Best salary and benefits. God rocks! I totally credit Him for all the blessings He continually showers upon me and my family through my amazing career. I stop to think about all the people who are so much more qualified than I am...and who are struggling to even keep a steady paycheck in this economy. And I fall on my knees and thank God we are not in this situation. I pray we never are. Seriously. It's amazing. I mean, we're definitely not rich. But we have so much, comparatively speaking. Not just things. But relationships...health...peace. The things that make families whole and complete.

And when occasional stressors do threaten to interfere, there's always a glass or two of Yellow Tail to make it all disappear into a vapory cloud.

Happy Tuesday, Angry People of the World. I raise my glass in salute. May you find your own Yellow Tail...and soon.

The Masquerade

My personality type describes me as a "chameleon." Funny, because when Mark and I were dating, all his friends and family said the same thing about me. One person one minute and another person the next. (Some in the psychology community might call that dissociative personality disorder. HA!) In any case, it's true. I own it. It's cool.

So here's the thing.

I was staring at my own reflection about 4 inches away from the bathroom mirror this morning. Putting on make-up, getting ready for work. And the evolving physical contrast slammed me like a ton of bricks...I'm changing into my "Work Self." All weekend long, I've been running around with no make-up and my hair pulled back in a ponytail. Shorts and tank tops. Drinking beer and playing games with the kids.

Now, it's Monday morning and the sun-kissed freckles began to disappear beneath powder, lip liner, lipstick, blush, mascara, eyeshadow... Donning a corporate black-and-red power ensemble, I slipped on my red heels and positioned my cat's eye glasses. Who IS this person in the mirror?

Another side of the plain-Jane 38 year old Mommy who loves backyard cookouts, badminton and cold beer on hot summer days? Yeah. That's me.

No wonder my favorite song from Phantom is "Masquerade." It's my life, people.

Mews Muse

I understand the fact that dogs are purported to be man's best friend. I get that, actually. We had an adorable beagle named Lexie who proved to us daily that when it comes to unfaltering love, affection and forgiveness, nothing beats a dog.

Still, I'm kind of a Cat Person. Always have been. Always will be. Something about their eyes, their sleekness, their mild aloofness. They love you but they don't pander. They don't run around in circles and pee on the floor when they're excited to see you. They trot gracefully to your side and rub up against your leg. Cat-style. Awesome.

I also get why the ancient Egyptians revered them. And why certain African tribes are still terrified of them. I had this guy over to my house a couple times for a study group and he kept as much distance between himself and my cat, Romeo, as possible. Romeo had these yellow-green eyes that seemed almost "other-worldly" in their penetrating gaze. My dad (God rest him) used to call them "Boo Eyes."

But cats are amazing creatures. Every time I watch a Discovery or Animal Planet show on big cats, I find myself inadvertently holding my breath. They're such an impressive cross between softness and predatory strength.

I guess that inspires me, in a weird way. You don't have to be all cuddles all the time. Nor do you have to pounce on people and eat them for dinner 24/7. You can have long claws but keep them hidden but for special occasions. lol. I know. I'm a little scary that way, huh?

Blueberry Apple Pancakes

There's something about Saturday mornings...

Maybe it's the smell and sound of Starbucks coffee percolating from the kitchen.

Maybe it's the mild summer breezes of late August that turn my living room curtains into sage and rose butterfly wings.

Maybe it's the comforting warmth of my husband sleeping in right next to me and the knowledge that just across the hall...my children are tucked into their own little dream worlds.

Whatever it is, Saturday mornings kind of rock. I love their slow rise and rhythm. The lazy grace that spells relief from five weekdays' worth of frenzied pressure to perform, to beat the clock, to dance to the cadence drummed by executives, children, co-workers and my own crazy compulsion to be perfect.


Saturday mornings are like clean air to ravaged lungs. 

This morning, I awoke to breathe in deeply.

I'm not sure why, but even being busy on Saturdays feels different than being busy during the week. At 10:45 am, I found myself in the midst of a kitchen cyclone. A pan of turkey bacon and sausage over there. A pan of sizzling hashbrowns over here. A griddle of blueberry apple pancakes sending the subtle aroma of cloves and cardamom wafting across the counter space. Fresh garden tomatoes and green onions sauteeing in butter, soon to be blanketed by poured scrambled eggs with sour cream and sharp cheddar. A spatula in one hand. A wire whisk in the other. A knife to the right and a spoon for tasting to the left. The buzz of conversation from my husband and sons' debating world history and radical religion. The predictable, staccato tug on my shorts from my little girl. 

"I want pancakes, Mommy."

One look into those gigantic beautiful, blue eyes and I feel the rush of Saturday's easement over my tired mind. 

Despite the crazy kitchen. 

Despite the multi-tasking mania of Wife-And-Mother-At-Domestic-Labors.

"Blueberry apple pancakes?" I whisper to her, as I reach down to lift her into my arms.

"Yeah!" she smiles contentedly, as she snuggles into my neck.

"Me too, baby. Coming right up."

Thank God for Saturday mornings, Starbucks coffee, my phenomenal children...and blueberry apple pancakes.