It’s 3:00 a.m.

Here’s what’s been keeping me up at night lately:

1.  Synthetic oil.  Should I switch from regular to a synthetic blend when I get the oil in my car changed?  It costs $30 more each time (and there’s no going back) but I’d get 5,000 miles between oil changes, rather than 3,000.  Is this a bargain?  I can’t do the math.

2.  Paris.  Can I really get 5 days of fabulous clothes in two carry-ons?  Will taking only carry-on’s really save me any time/energy/stress?  And what am I going to wear anyway?

3.  The Weather.  Can I really switch over my closet to spring and pack away those winter clothes and boots.  It’s nearly 80 degrees today!  On the other hand, this IS New England.

4.  My Hair.  Should I continue to trek 85 miles north to Manchester NH for a cut and color every 6 weeks — especially with gas prices being what they are?  And who locally will give me the look I’ve come to love?  My first attempt at finding someone local was a bust.

5.  Food Prices.  I’ve been trying to eat healthier and with fresh ingredients.  It tastes better and its better for you.  But, damn, its more expensive.

6.  My Cell Phone.  Should I change from a NH to a Mass exchange?  There’s no real reason to do so, but I like the symbolic gesture.  My (603) cell phone number is my last tie to “the north.”  And while I’m at it should I get a plan with text messaging included?  If I do, that means another 2-year commitment to my current provider.  We won’t even talk about my desire to upgrade the actual phone!

 

 

More of My Favorite Things

I know its been a while, but I’ve been busy enjoying the following:

1.  Blue Moon Beer with slices of orange…yum!

2.  Flowers in my kitchen…and bedroom!  What a great way to start the day.  Especially when spring feels so delayed.

3.  Weekly Book Group by Phone with my 9 year old neice.  We’re reading “Charlotte’s Web.”  Can you believe I never read it as a child.  We have phone chats to talk about what we’ve read.  I love that she thinks its a game.  After I ask her a question, she gets so excited and asks if its her turn to ask me a question.  Are all 9 years old this adorable, or is she just playing me?

4.  “The Gilmore Girls.”  I know the target market is 14-year-old girls, but this is even better the second time around.  And the season when Luke an Lorelai are together is my all-time favorite.  How did that series end anyway?  I can’t remember.

5.  Actor David Boreanaz from “Bones.”  I have a little crush.

6.  “Bonus Dates.”  In my warped little mind, dates typically happen once a week.  So a bonus date is any time I get to see New Guy other than the standard once a week. 

7.  Cribbage.  In my humble estimation too few people know how to play.  Actually I enjoy almost all board games.  (Anyone up for teaching me how to play mah jong?)

In Praise of Praise

Remember what it was like when you were little and thought you could be a doctor, or a fireman, or an astronaut — or President of the United States when you grew up?  Why was that?

I believe it’s because as kids most of us got continuous praise from our parents.

When did that stop?  Why did that stop?

I’ve been thinking a lot about giving and getting compliments lately — mostly because “new guy” is so generous in lavishing praise on me.  Maybe that’s typical of most new romantic couplings, but not in my experience.

I think it takes a confident person to give a compliment…and to receive one.  I’m learning that while I’m very confident in the professional arena, I’m less so in my personal life — and accepting compliments on my looks or my cooking abilities is harder than you’d think.  (But I’m getting better every day!)

Getting positive feedback gives you a little lift.  I know there’s been more of a spring in my step lately.  So I’m making an effort to give more compliments.

Oftentimes I think about how much I appreciate someone’s friendship, am grateful or their help, or just look forward to seeing them because I enjoy their company.  I don’t share these thoughts with them enough.  That stops right now.

In an earlier post I shared that my girlfriend’s daughter got “Letters of Affirmation” as part of a Confirmation ritual.  I was going to wait until next Valentine’s Day to send my Letters of Affirmation to those I care about, but why wait?  I’m going to sprinkle little “statements of affirmation” on everyone I care about regularly!

For the last 25 years I’ve been carrying around this precious little piece of paper — its a poem that a friend wrote for me in high school.  It’s my own Letter of Affirmation.  They may not be the prettiest words in the world, but they mean the world to me:

You are the most stubborn flower, pounding the earth with the majesty of a horse — without “tither” in the noonday sun.  Who’s greeting now forges your soul.

You are the giggling celebration of life itself — tumbling downhill in the grass.  Free to dance, high heels at arms length, announcing “fuck it” to your nylons.

You are embracement without words.  Listening like gravity with its eyes closed.

Personally Speaking

       I have a confession to make.  I’m what’s known as a “late adopter” when it comes to technology.  I’ve never IM’ed anyone, and at work I prefer to get up and go ask someone a question rather than Email them when they’re sitting right there in the next cube!

       It’s not that I’m techno-phobic; it’s just that I prefer the personal touch.  Remember that?  Real human interaction.

       Sure technology is great when it saves time…when it makes us more efficient. But how many times has Map Quest steered you wrong?  Isn’t it just easier to call for directions, get landmarks rather than mile markers, have an actual human alert you to the latest road construction, and give you a tip about the best place to park?

       Yesterday took the cake.  I spent the morning at the Plymouth RMV (which by the way has surprisingly good customer service) because I had to transfer my license and registration.  The final step in the process was to get a Massachusetts State Inspection. 

       I was told of a local garage just around the corner.  I pulled up, walked into the office and was greeted by…no one!  There was another customer and his daughter sitting there but no garage attendee.  After a while, the near-mute customer instructed me that the correct procedure was to return to my car and drive halfway down the driveway where a sign indicated “State Inspection Line Starts Here.”  Although there were no other cars in line, I was to return to my vehicle, sit in my car, and wait until a garage employee waved me in.  Talk about a lack of personal interaction!

       I did as I was told.  But before the second song on my Livingston Taylor CD was over, I decided that I was burning gas for no good reason and didn’t need to stand for this.  I got on my cell phone and called my dealership who assured me that as long as I arrived by 4pm they’d be happy to do the inspection.  I drove all the way from the Plymouth Industrial Park to Planet Subaru on route 53 in Hanover where they offered me coffee and a computer with free internet access while I waited.   Not only did they perform the inspection right away, but they washed my car and even affixed my new license plates.  Now that’s what I’m talking about!  I don’t care how much these guys charge me for an oil change; I’m a customer for life!

       This morning I went to the local drycleaner.  As I emptied my bag I bemoaned how I had to pay to dry clean a brand new suit because it was wrinkled beyond belief when I bought it at Macy’s.  The proprietor told me that he could press it instead – at a savings to me of 30%.  What’s more, he offered to give me last week’s special discount on the other pants I’d brought in.  You can be sure I’ll be going to his place for now on, rather than any of the other 3 dry cleaners within a mile of my apartment.

       You probably guessed by now that I don’t have any patience for those silly self-check out lines at the grocery store either.  And that I’ll drive miles out of my way for a full-service gas station.  My 30-something friends think I’ll old-fashioned, but when did service go out of style?  When did having an actual conversation with your customer become bad business?  Personally speaking, I want the personal touch.

  

Heard on the Street

At a restaurant last night I overheard the following quip:

“One of the great mysteries of life is why there are more horses’ asses than horses.”

There are Places I Remember

Places I’ve been to…and those I wish I hadn’t

1.  Haleakala (Maui) vs. Oahu

2.  Stingray City (Cayman Is.) vs. Sea World

3.  The Iowa State Fair vs. The Big E (Massachusetts)

4.  Lake Tahoe vs. Paradise Island (Bahamas)

5.  Rome, Venice & Florence vs. Vienna & Salzburg

6.  Newburyport & Rockport MA vs. Gloucester MA

7.  Madison WI vs. Green Bay

8.  The Venetian Hotel (Las Vegas) vs. Harrah’s

9.  Camden Yards & Fenway Park vs. Tropicana Field

10.  Washington DC Metro vs. NYC subway

11.  Lake Dillon CO vs. Lake Winnepesauke NH

12.  San Francisco vs. Los Angeles

13.  Napa Valley vs. The Hudson River Valley

14. The Willard Hotel (DC) vs. Waldorf-Astoria (NY)

S. E. X.

It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m in line at the local Starbucks. Over in the corner there’s a 20-something couple practically devouring each other on an over-sized, micro-suede chair.  They’re not shy at all!  Why then does it embarrass me? 

 

I try again and again to divert my gaze from the amorous nook while waiting an overly-long time for my whole milk grande cappuccino with one sugar. Just as the barista finally calls my name, they get up, and head separately– yet “together” — to the restroom.  Am I the only one who notices? 

Am I the only one who doesn’t think that’s sexy? 

Am I the only one who thinks that sex in restaurant bathrooms and airplane restrooms and even glass elevators is over-rated, plain uncomfortable and definitely UNsexy? 

Let me be clear.  I’m no prude. Far from it!  I’ve had my fair share of sex in unusual places and oh the stories I used to tell.  But that’s just it…now I don’t tell those stories. 

I used to brag about my exploits.  Tell them to anyone who would listen – even to those who tried not to listen.  I guess I used to think that sex was sexy.  Now I think intimacy is sexy. 

In part, my new philosophy is in reaction to what I see everyday in the media.  I’m starting to feel bombarded.  It’s just too much.  And it’s not sexy.  It’s just… sex.  Girls Gone Wild commercials.  Jessica Simpson washing a car in her daisy dukes to sell what?  Hamburgers?   

Maybe my mom was right all along.  Maybe not flaunting it is sexy.

I’ve always believed that when it came to guys.  I prefer boxers to briefs.  And to me, a guy in a suit is way sexier than one in his swim trunks. 

I think a great date is going out dancing so he can hold me close, and I can drink in his aftershave.  But you won’t find me grinding with him on dance floor (not anymore anyway). 

Why then is it so crazy to think that men might feel the same way about women?  Maybe that’s what men’s whole librarian fantasy-thing is all about.  Maybe they actually want us to keep it under wraps – keep it special…just for them.  Maybe even men prefer intimacy! 

Who would be man enough to admit that?  And what if he did?  What if lots of them did?  How would that change, well ….everything?

Finding Comfort in a Mid-Life Crisis

     I recently found comfort in a mid-life crisis.  Not mine of course!  Rather in reading “A Walk on the Beach,” author Joan Anderson’s account of a year she spent alone on Cape Cod discovering her “true self.” 

     I’m undergoing my own life-renovation project.  So it was inspiring to read about someone who took an uncharted course and didn’t end up drowning in the Atlantic. 

     Anderson did have a tour guide of sorts:  Joan Erikson — wife and collaborator to famous psychoanalyst Eric Erikson.  The two Joans met fortuitously on the beach one gloomy day.

     I have no plans to bring in a professional on my own personal renovation project, but after reading this book I’m now taking every day as it comes, learning to “play,” and seeking creativity in the mundane. 

     This book is not a how-to manual.  Rather, as Anderson learned new life lessons so did I. 

     I’ll confess, at times I thought the Joans were a little too crunchy-granola.  But like any good contractor following someone else’s blueprints, you adjust the design to fit the circumstances.   I can’t wait to read Anderson’s two previous books:  “A Year by the Sea” and “An Unfinished Marriage.”  

Dear Cupid

Valentine’s Day is to me what Christmas is to my 6 year old nephew:  A day of infinite possibilities.  Each year he climbs up on Santa’s lap at the local mall — wish list in hand — and whispers his most secret desires.  He goes to bed on Christmas Eve and truly believes he’ll get exactly what he asked for.  Then comes Christmas morning.  He bounds down the stairs full of excitement and rushes to the living room where he’s overwhelmed by all those gifts wrapped in brightly colored paper under the tree.  He rips them open so quickly and with such glee!  The joy he feels is just pouring out of him.  I swear you can see it.

I feel the same way about Valentine’s Day and Cupid.  Every year on New Year’s Eve I whisper a prayer to that chubby little cherub and tell him all the things on my wish list:  “Dear Cupid, please make him tall…and funny…and a good listener…and…and…”

I know I said last year that it would be really great if he could own at least one suite, and a pair of dress shoes, and have a 401K plan.  But I’m starting to think that’s the equivalent of a child asking Santa for a pony — or even more likely a unicorn.  So please, Cupid, just make him nice…and sweet…and someone who likes my family…and someone who thinks I’m funny rather than crazy.  Is that really so much to ask for?

Maybe Cupid hasn’t come through these past few years because I’ve lost faith.  Now, my nephew — that kid believes down deep in his heart.  When he makes his way onto Santa’s lap he knows the big guy is going to come through.  He’s sure of it.

I certainly don’t need what’s on my wish list any less than my nephew.  He truly believes he will die if he doesn’t get a new bike…or an I-Dog…or any one of a million things.  Well, I don’t think I’ll actually DIE!  Not anymore anyway.

I’ve been on my own for more than two years now and I’m doing pretty well.  But it certainly would be nice to have a man around.  Someone to do things around the house…to help with the chores.  Someone to spend time with…to stay up late nights talking to.  Someone to go shopping with…and on day trips this summer.

Maybe I ought to just ask for the unicorn!