A Simple, Unintentional Gift

As I walked across a parking lot, I passed a woman, in her own world, on her cell phone, laughing so hard she could hardly walk.

It made me chuckle. The sound of her laugh, the happy gestures of her waving hands, the broad smile plastered wide across her face suddenly spread across my face, and there I was, smiling and laughing to myself, for no reason at all.

Aren’t infectiously happy moments wonderful?

On Perspective and Sight

per•spec•tive [per-spek-tiv]
How would you define it? I would say, it's the angle from which you view an object or idea.

My perspective of this blog has changed over the past few months. At first, I thought I’d write just occasionally, and only of the most moving experiences. I would write about the times when I personally observed someone doing something truly benevolent. Like the dog rescuer.

Then, I decided to stretch myself, to make a daily observation of human kindness. That was fascinating and fun, until Steve worked in Fort Collins while I worked from home, alone. It's tough to write this sort of blog when it's just me, myself & I.

And so I'm not writing as much as I did at first. But today, the pen flowed with ease ~ 

Today I visited Dr. Brenner, my dear sweet opthamologist. I am scheduled for lasik next week, and today’s pre-op visit was perhaps the most important of all my visits, because the exam determines the laser settings.

Doctor Brenner, who is soon to lose this client, this revenue stream, spent extra time with me, helping me determine the exact settings for my ‘near’ eye and my ‘far’ eye. She tested & re-tested and re-tested again, to make sure we had it "just right". She also answered all my questions, and checked after each response to see if I understood, and to see if I had additional questions.

An exceptionally smart, studied doctor who cares and cares and cares is such a precious commodity. My only hesitation with lasik is the loss of my best and favorite doctor. Oh, but I’ll still need annual eye check-ups! Lucky me, I’m not losing her, after all.

The Green Team

One of the pleasant surprises of adulthood, to me, was the discovery that grown-ups work together to create valuable programs. They work together to improve their community. They work together, with and without consensus, to better their world.

I suppose my own parents were simply too busy raising eight children to serve on the PTA or the HOA or a city task force. But when I was 26, I saw a newspaper advertisement for an opening on the Planning Commission. It piqued my curiosity, so I called my town councilman and asked, "What does the Planning Commission do?" He explained that the Planning Commission is responsible for reviewing land use applications and upon review, recommending approval or denial to the Town Council. The Planning Commission is also responsible for advising the Town Council on the development priorities of the Town. And other stuff. So I applied. And I was appointed.

I didn't have any experience reading plat maps, hearing applications, or weighing the benefits of locating a grocery store there instead of there. And I especially didn't have experience listening to fellow commissioners, hearing and considering their thoughts and opinions. The Town Council might have considered those prequalifications and chosen a different applicant. But they didn't. They chose me.

So, for seven spectacular years, I served my fellow citizens as a Planning Commissioner, on a board with six other Commissioners. I learned, between the ages of 26 and 34, to take the long view of a town's growth and development. And I learned the importance of working through differences of opinion, of respecting and honoring a person's key attributes even in the midst of disagreement. I ate large servings of humble pie in those years, learning that boards and commissions aren't anything like the playground or the high school clique. A commissioner who opposed me on Issue #1 might be my partner on Issues #2 and #3. Most especially, I learned to leave myself as "leader" at the door, to fall into formation, to be one of many, my passion equaling, not exceeding their passion. I was very fortunate to have received that appointment.

Fast-forward fifteen years and imagine my delight as I opened the local newspaper and read, in bold print, the Planning Commisson ~ my Planning Commission ~ headlined as "The Green Team".

Here's the story:  The current Planning Commissioners glanced at the town's "Sustainability Action Plan" and decided to take an active, VERY active role in its implementation. Our town doesn't have curbside recycling. We didn't have drop-off recycling sites, either. So the Planning Commission decided to address the problem. They created a new organization, The Green Team, to plan, develop, launch and manage a free recycling center.

In just a few short months, The Green Team's Board of Directors has partnered with senior organizations and the police department's Explorer Post to create a volunteer staff. They've formed a joint use agreement with the school district and a service agreement with Waste Management. And they've had a Grand Opening! They are now accepting weekend recycling drop-offs. They - we - are reducing our community's landfill footprint.

Their idea, coupled with their hard work, is making a real difference in the stewardship of our planet. I'm smiling a deep, powerful, grateful smile.

So ~ Here's to the Town of Castle Rock's Planning Commission. And to all community boards and commissions. There's a tremendous power for good when we work together, despite our human faults, determined to make ours a better and more beautiful world.

Amazing Authors

oh, wow!

Tonight I attended the 12 Books of Christmas Party, hosted by my friend and author Polly Letofsky. She gathered twelve of her local author friends, each a vibrant, creative woman with an inspiring story to tell.

And she invited a whole bunch of others, including me! Together we all contributed to Project Linus, a non-profit that provides handmade blankets to needy children around the world.

So yeah, how cool is that?

I've never done that before. I've never walked into a room full of authors, each welcoming and sharing a snippet of her life journey or her publishing journey, with a glass of wine in hand, just so open to dialog.

I asked Jan Haas when her book was published. She paused and said, "um ... two weeks ago!" I offered a High Five and we laughed a triumphant laugh. She said her story happened sixteen years ago, but the time wasn't right, until recently, for her to write it down and get it published. "Hmmm," I thought. I have stories in me...."

Here's to the storytellers among us, folks who have written & rewritten & edited their thoughts - and then stood behind their thoughts with a firm belief, a firm resolve that their thoughts were valuable enough to be printed and promoted and sold. Gosh, I admire that! And I enjoy it, too, every time I curl up with a book.

Tricia Downing Cycle of Hope: My Journey from Paralysis to Possibility
Lauren Miller: 99 Things You Wish You Knew Before Stressing Out
Jan Haas: Moving Mountains: One Woman's Fight to Live Again
Cara Lopez Lee: They Only Eat Their Husbands
Tracy Fagan: Gratitude, Giggles & Grace
Carmen Swick: Patch Land Adventures
Melissa Kline: My beginning
Andrea Costantine & Lisa Shultz: Speaking Your Truth -- Volume Two
Carron Barrella: More than 36 Days: Four Ordinary Men Face Extraordinary Circumstances
Lynn McLeod: From Simms to Zanzibar: A Story of Hope and Transformation
Karen Loucks Rinedollar: Working for Peanuts: The Project Linus Story
Polly Letofsky 3mph: The Adventures of One Woman's Walk Around the World

Success Defined

I've recently been following the blog and tweets of a national "big name" sales coach.

Are sales coaches 'big names'? Or just 'medium names'?

Well, he's a big name in his field.

Anyways, late last night I decided to try and connect with him on LinkedIn. I'm not sure what I expected; perhaps I didn't have any expectations. But guess what happened: Mr. National Sales Coach accepted my invitation at 6:04 this morning and he sent a personal note to me:

"Thanks for the invite Kathie!  Here's some additional contact information:  (facebook, twitter, etc.) Enough about me, where else can I connect with you?"

How very cool. Nationally-known coaches are past the place where they need to connect with every random person. And he more than connected, in the LinkedIn sense of connecting. He reached out, and in doing so, he modeled an important lesson in sales:  Engage every prospect.

But his final phrase took it one step further. "Where else can I connect with you?" implied that I, a stranger yet, was valuable - valuable enough to try to know in other places and in other ways.

In one brief sentence, he affirmed me.  And he caused me to pause and reflect: Do I affirm my connections, on LinkedIn and in every other segment of my life? Because really, when you get down to it, the way you make others feel about themselves is the most important measure of your success in this life.

So here's to Mr. National Sales Coach ~ thanks for taking that extra step, for validating me as a businessperson. It was such a little thing, and yet it meant so much.

Slopping the Hogs

Tonight, Steve and I went on a double-date with Nick and Caroline, catching J Edgar at the AMC Castle Rock 12. We followed the movie with a visit to the deservedly packed CRAVE burger joint. It was the perfect ending to a too-brief holiday.

I wanted to dine at CRAVE because it’s a newer restaurant located in an under-developed strip mall. I figured we’d be helping a poor restauranteur stay in business one more day. And then we walked in. The place was wall-to-wall people, a crush of humanity. Scribbled on the chalk board above the line cook, a sign read “78,515 burgers served since July 4, 2010.” We were going to have to wait our turn to support this fledgling venture.

Our server at CRAVE quickly landed on the Top 10 Servers list, a theoretical, hypothetical list of amazing waitstaff who have made our dining experiences “oh-so-perfect” over the years. I say “theoretical, hypothetical” because, in fact, I have no such list. I just remember the way the guys at Oceanaire took care of us on our anniversary. And the way the waitress at Augustine Grill nursed me through a late-night craving for a decadent chocolate dessert, though I walked in as they were closing up. There are those moments that are imprinted on the memory, and tonight’s server was a brilliant hue of indelible ink.

Sadly, I didn’t notice his name, which is a testament to his skill in creating a diner-centered experience as well as an indictment of my inattentiveness. The diner-centered experience, by the way, was a zany but not overpronounced menu presentation. He could speak as fast as the JimmyJohn’s commercial voice, but more distinctly. And with a smile and a wit.

And CRAVE has (until now, unbeknownst to me) 70 Yelp reviews and 248 Urbanspoon reviews averaging 4½ stars – for creations like the Colorado – a burger topped with shredded lamb, poblanos, onions, pepper jack, avocado, chipotle mayo and tomato. And the Luther – a burger topped with bacon, cheddar, egg and onion with 2 LaMar’s glazed donuts as the bun. There are 14 crazy choices in all, and I mean, crazy.

Anyways – back to our server – he excelled at quietly breezing the table to check food quality and beverages. And when we engaged him, he was really funny! – but not too; he was informative, but not excessively so. You know the difference. Simply put, his service was perfection – or as close to perfection as you can get, when a hoppin’ joint is exceeding it’s capacity by a crowd.

So, here’s to superb servers. Guys and gals who excel at the art of slopping the hogs and entertaining them, too. Tonight, we especially appreciated you.

An Original Christine Curry

by Christine Curry, 2011

Today I acquired an original Christine Curry.

I know! I am so blessed! ~ I am going to let her creation simply speak for itself.

A Different Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving and Christmas have always been, in our family, days where we invite friends and strangers into our house, to share the love and laughter that is us. Each holiday has been as unique as the gathering of people. Yana from the Ukraine, Fidelia from Nigeria, Robert from the Louisiana State Penitentiary - and many, many others - have added breadth and depth to our experience.

This Thanksgiving, however, I woke to the quietest holiday ever, just my daughter and me. She had stayed the night, a rare event, and I was glad of it. We drank coffee and relaxed and reviewed the evening's menu - dinner would be at her house - and then she was gone. For the first time in 48 years, I was alone on Thanksgiving Day.

What to do? - BIKE! - I hopped on and took a long, long ride into the crisp autumn day.

Traversing the hills of Douglas County, I enjoyed something I have never enjoyed before - hours and hours of Thanksgiving ~ literal Thanksgiving ~ gratefully thanking God for the many beautiful people, breath-taking experiences, and amazing gifts that have comprised my 2011.

I am especially thankful for this new blog, this journal of the amazing people who cross my path and brighten my life each day. I can't wait to read snippets from this blog a year from now, when I will have recorded not dozens, but perhaps a hundred impressions of people pouring kindness and compassion and creative beauty into this world.

"Every Day?"

When I first embarked on this project, my brother asked, "Are you going to blog everyday?" I said, "That would be impossible!"

This blog, you see, is about my impressions of the human world around me. I'm writing about people. Folks I meet or experience or observe. People who rock my world. So far, I have blogged every day.

But some days are alone days; today was an alone day.

So this afternoon, I thought, "Today is the day my blog becomes an occasional, not every day blog."

Then, this evening, I stumbled upon For the Love of Blogs and I found a community of Very Cool People. It's a place where bloggers like me can meet other bloggers. And admire their creativity. WOW! Some people are so incredibly talented. I might stop writing and cycling and golfing and just read blogs for the rest of my days. (No, no.) (But it's a thought.) (Check out FTLOB and you'll agree!)

The site owners describe themselves as 'several ladies who work hard to promote blogs, businesses, products and shops. Our site mainly focuses on Blog Love ...'. And it does. It's a very warm & welcoming place, full of great ideas and definitely in the business of attracting just the sort of people I'd like to meet online.

So here's to 'several ladies' who have taken a fabulous concept and morphed it into a successful business venture. They're my kind of gals!

Streetlights ... People ...

I live in a small town in Colorado, on the outskirts of Denver. This week, the town installed new canopy lights on one block of our old downtown district. They're pretty lights. "But why?" Well, the town is trying to create the warmth and ambiance of Larimer Square, a trendy shopping district in Denver. Our town is hoping to increase evening visitors.

When I first read about the project, I laughed a cynical laugh, shaking my head, because there is only one business on that block that is open after 5pm. And it's a dive bar. I thought, "Why expend so much effort to increase traffic at one dive bar."

But then I thought about this writing project, this blog. I thought about looking only to the good qualities of men.

I stopped judging and started observing.

And here's what I saw: A key group of citizen leaders, The Castle Rock Downtown Development Authority, has been pondering - for awhile, now - how they might attract more shoppers and diners not to the dive bar, but to all businesses in Castle Rock during the evening hours. They have carefully considered a variety of methods, and this one seemed to be worth trying. Hmmmm ... citizen leaders spending valuable time thinking of ways to improve our local economy. Yeah, I like that.

So here's to citizens that care enough to try seemingly silly ideas with an admirable confidence and a hopeful spirit. And here's to acknowledging 'negative thoughts' and remembering that in a certain light, the good qualities of men shine through.

Half Empty ~ Almost Full

I was standing in The Tattered Cover, reading the back cover of Half Empty by David Rakoff, thinking that I must read this book because I’m a Half Full ~ no ~ make that an Almost Full sort of girl. But I'm open to opposing views, and his, apparenty, is side-splitting funny.

And then an Almost Full thing happened. There was a sudden loud commotion. I turned toward the noise - as did everyone – to see two families reunite right there, in the bookstore. They had planned their meeting inside the store – ‘SORRY WE’RE LATE!’ – and they had planned to shout their greetings and their ongoing conversation as though they were in a private home with the radio turned up. But their sheer happiness made the sheer volume altogether worthwhile.

I wondered if everyone who observed them felt as I did: a momentary concern turned to a momentary irritation which gave way to a lasting, feel-good sensation. I set down the book and I stole another glance at the super-happy-super-loud-friends. Glad I was right there, right then.

Easier Said Than Done

Have you heard, Target is going to start it's Day-After-Thanksgiving Sale on Thanksgiving. Target is not alone. All of the retailers are debating the idea of starting Black Friday on Thanksgiving Night. I think that is sad. Can't we hold back the tide of materialism for a few short hours and let the retail employees Give Thanks without having to rush off to work?

With that in mind, today's "Make Me Smile" award goes to Anthony Hardwick of Omaha, Nebraska. He started a petition on Change.org that has thusfar garnered almost 200,000 signatures. The text of the petition is simple: Push back the opening of retail stores on Black Friday to 5:00 a.m., because a midnight opening robs the hourly and in-store salary workers of time off with their families on Thanksgiving Day.

You see, employees who begin work at 11:00 p.m. will need to sleep at 2pm on Thanksgiving afternoon in order to be rested for their shift. And that essentially ruins the Thanksgiving Feast in a household.

The media has reported that Hardwick was never scheduled to work on Thanksgiving Night; he was never in a position to suffer its effect. That makes his petition even more attractive to me. He could have shrugged off the new, earlier hours, saying, "It doesn't affect me." But Hardwick, who's position at Target is a second job, heard the private concerns of his co-workers who cannot afford to voice their objections, and decided to do something about it.

So ~ Here's to people who step out of their comfort zone in order to make the world a better place. It's easier said than done, we know. Thank you for taking that leap of faith.

Grunt Workers

Today I interacted with a grand total of four people. Just four. Two of them were dear clients for whom I thoroughly enjoy working, and I can't write about them. (I have a rule that clients/friends/relatives are verbotin on this blog. Here, I intend to write about the others that brighten my day.)

And that's okay, because the two others were, in fact, FABULOUS!

The first was Khrystine or Krystine or some variant of Christine. She's the teller at the bank. Each time I walk into the lobby, which is about once a month, she says, "Hi Kathie!" in a happy, booming voice that carries across the room. How does she know my name? I know hers, but only because she is wearing a name tag, and the odd spelling on the name tag always makes me think, "that's really Christine". I am stumped, curious, How does she know my name? Anyways, Khrystine was beyond happy today, which is par for the course for her. And so it was, as usual, a delightful experience to bank this morning.

Don't you just love it when the person paid to serve you is happy at their job? It really does carry you through the next half hour or so. I swear, the song on the radio sounds better and the traffic is calmer when I drive away from the bank. Hey, I wonder if we could get federal funding to study the effect of happy tellers on the general population. ... maybe ...

And then, after I concluded a day of househunting with my fabulous clients, I dropped by Whole Foods and made a beeline for the Deli. I was desparately hungry. And what do you know, Bob - a mature man of, I'd guess, 55 or 60 - was in the cheeriest mood. He, too, seemed to be perfectly content on the job.

You know a guy has his head on straight when, in the course of conversation, he tells you that he has only been at Whole Foods for a month, since he was laid-off his other job, and he is thrilled to be in the Deli, since he spent so much time standing on the other side of the counter, these past ten years.

Okay. Hold it there. A guy who used to stand on the other side of the counter had enough money to stand on the other side of the counter. So we're talking about a man, maybe an architect or mid-level manager who used to make real money, but today he's just making me smile. We tasted the Autumn Couscous. He said, "It's only here for a few weeks and I'm addicted. I don't know what I'll do after it's discontinued...." okay, I'll take a pint of that. "And you'll want a taste of our Grilled Salmon, it's delicious today...." okay, I'll take some of that, too.  (Hmmm. I am beginning to think, he was a sales executive!)

After a delightful ten minutes in the Whole Foods Deli, I headed for home, where I am alone again, just the dog and me.

Note to My Children, all of whom have worked as a bank teller or deli clerk: I didn't make this up! This really & truly was my day! Two seemingly inconsequential grunt workers made it special. We'll have to remember that.

Let's Ride!

Tonight I did something altogether new, something way outside my comfort zone. I attended the first organizational meeting of a new amateur masters cycling race team.

Gathered together in a small bike shop were six women and oh, I'd guess around 15 men. We were all O-L-D, as in, over 35.

Okay, 35 is not old. I'll give you that.

And, yeah, half of the prospective members have completed SEVERAL ironman triathlons. That is, a 2.4-mile swim followed by a 112-mile bike ride followed by a 26.2-mile marathon, all in one "I must be crazy" day. In other words, I was standing among some highly accomplished masters athletes.

So, how'd that feel, hanging momentarily with totally-buff-but-kinda-old people? It felt GREAT!

Everyone in that room was *just like me* - when asked, "Why are you here?" I heard guy after gal after guy say, "I want to have fun. But I'm kinda competitive and I also want to go fast."

The organizers discovered which of us were experienced racers and which were completely new to the sport. About half of us haven't a clue what we're getting into, we just know it sounds incredibly fun. And that was fine with the organizers and the experienced racers.

Everyone will contribute something of value to the team. I will plan our winter ride schedule (with guidance), while the women's team captain mentors me in the sport.

Best of all, everyone seems to want a team with a strong sense of cameraderie. Three of the members are leaving other teams. When asked "why?", each said, "My teammates are polite, but they aren't interested in friendship. I want to have fun with cycling friends."

So here's to folks that take the time and effort to organize a brand-new team. And here's to aging athletes that welcome new experiences and new acquaintances. Let's ride!

Lucky Me

Have you ever been in a funk? Just an unexpected low tide? I was in a funk today, stranded on a sandbar, and that’s never comfortable.


Lucky me, four of my closest friends called today. One offered to sleep over since Steve is away for awhile; another planned a girls night out; one planned a ski day (I can’t wait!); and one dreamed of a trip to Boca with me.

I’ve told some people that my friends won’t be subject material for this blog, unless the things they are doing are uniquely noteworthy (like Greg and Rick and Susan). Because, gosh, really, this blog could be all about my friends and all the ways they make me smile. But that would be too easy. It would also miss the point of the project.

Today, though, I am making an exception, because the thing I needed most in the world was to be near the people I love. They are each a priceless gift to me, and when I think of them, my heart is filled with gratitude.

Cultivating a Great Idea

On a recent trip to New York City, I traveled to the corner of Bowery and Houston Streets in midtown Manhattan. I think few tourists would make this trek – there aren’t any noteworthy structures, no theatres or museums. Just a little corner garden, the Liz Christy Garden.

In 1973, this little corner in the Big Apple was blighted when Liz Christy decided to make a difference. She had already organized the Green Guerillas garden group – neighbors and friends that would clear debris and plant window boxes around the neighborhood. She and her friends asked the city for official use of the land. But before they received approval, they started to work, removing the garbage, applying several loads of topsoil, installing a fence and planting the garden.

The following spring, the City approved the site as the Bowery Houston Community Farm and Garden, charging the group $1 per month rent.

A year later, the garden won the city’s Mollie Parnis Dress Up Your Neighborhood Award. The group created experimental plots and worked with horticulturists to learn what plants flourish in tough urban landscapes. Before long, they were teaching workshops and hosting plant give-aways for others who were starting similar projects across New York City. Liz Christy and the Green Guerillas had become leaders in a growing national movement to transform urban blight into a place of transcendent beauty.

The garden was renamed the Liz Christy Bowery-Houston Garden in 1986, in memory of its founder, who was also the first winner of the American Forestry Association's Urban Forestry Award.

Today, the area is far from blighted. A fabulous new Whole Foods opened across the street, and little boutiques dot the landscape. The garden really makes the scene.

Lots of people have great ideas. But few ideas linger long past the cups of coffee over which they are shared. Liz Christy and the Green Guerillas didn’t just plant the seed of a great idea. They watered it, tended it, and cultivated it until they were literally giving transplants to other projects across New York City. That, to me, is very cool.

The Driver

She stood inside the lobby, near the heavy glass doors, watching and waiting for a visitor. He pulled into the crescent drive, smiled and waved. A moment later, he was holding a meal in one hand and the door in the other. Her eyes twinkled and her smile spoke of gratitude and gladness. I stood off to the side and observed, admiring the kindness and compassion of the Meals-on-Wheels volunteer.

The Bureau of Labor Statistics reports that approximately 62.8 million Americans volunteer their time and energy in a variety of ways. We see volunteers almost every day, at school or at the library, on the youth soccer field or as I did, walking into a condominium tower. If you're like me, you have volunteered here and there over the years, but you didn't feel that your contribution was extraordinary. You were just 'helping out'.

My experience today ~ watching a hopeful woman's face brighten as her volunteer arrived ~ changed my perception. Your contribution matters. For someone, somewhere, it makes all the difference in the world.

"Judge Not"

Yesterday was a difficult day, not for me, but for the people I love. The apartment above my brother and sister-in-law’s was purposely set on fire by vandals and they lost quite a bit to smoke and water damage. And yesterday my daughter was attacked. Thank goodness she is safe, but her would-be assailant, a stranger, has left us concerned for her safety, as well as the safety of every woman where she lives.

Both incidents were life-changers. And both were caused by 'bad people'.

Today, I realize in a fresh and frightening way, Ghandi didn’t simply mean that he turned away from the hurtful people and toward the lovely people in order to think of the ‘good qualities of men.’ He meant, he looked at the hurtful people and was yet determined not to judge them, but rather to find a good quality within them.

Can I do that? Jesus commands me: “Do not judge so that you will not be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you.” Matt. 7:1-2.

I’m trying. It’s a tremendous struggle, but I’m trying …

My friend Stephanie writes a poignant and touching blog. One time she wrote words that often hit home, but especially now. She wrote, “Christ never preached "fake it to make it". He cried. He wept. He shouted out. He loved.” So I’ll try not to judge, but I won’t fake it.

While I’m struggling to“judge not,” I am counting our great blessings. My brother, my sister-in-law and my daughter are safe. That’s something we often take for granted, but today I realize it is a tremendous gift. I am also filled with gratitude for the wonderful, wonderful people who help us through times of trouble, folks who are suddenly ‘there’ to carry the weight of our burden. We are blessed.

Change Anything

Jake and I started an afternoon walk, down the street and across the valley to our favorite wander-spot, Memmen Ridge. The wind was fierce – I’d guess the weatherman was right, the gusts were probably 40mph – but I hadn’t thought about how that would feel. Turns out, wind gusts feel like leaves and twigs and small branches whipping at you and around you. Wind gusts hurt.

So we headed home.

And that was okay, because I had just set down a fascinating book titled, Change Anything.

I know what you’re thinking:  Not another self-improvement book. And I agree, too many self-improvement books can be summarized by Jiminy Cricket’s song, "If you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are; Anything your heart desires will come to you!"

And we all know, that made for a swell Disney song, but it doesn't work in real life.

This book is different. How? – It's Honest. The reason that we all gravitate toward the Disney promise is because we all struggle to change. We hear ourselves say, "I just don't have the willpower." And since we were taught that willpower is a character trait, then on a subconscious level, we find superstition far more palatable than the risk of personal failure.

Thank goodness for these authors who have taken a scientific look at willpower. Turns out, willpower is skillpower. That's right. We just need to learn the skills that will enable us to permanently change our behaviors. We can achieve our goals! It will take work, but we can succeed.

The authors teach, there are six Sources of Influence in our lives and each can be used to either promote healthy or unhealthy behavior. For each Source of Influence, they provide specific instructions on how to change your default behavior to a new positive one. It doesn't come without effort, but they teach the skills needed to succeed. It's very cool, because it's a scientific approach to change.

If you’re looking for a meaty book that teaches the “how” to change, pick up Change Anything. It’s a good read.

Patterson, K., Grenny, J., Maxfield, D., McMillan R., and Switzler, A. (2011). Change Anything. New York: Hachette Book Group, Inc.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

                  In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

                  In Flanders fields.

In Flanders Fields, by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, 3 May 1915

Today is Veterans Day in the United States. It is Remembrance Day in Canada; Canadians treat the day with great solemnity. They traditionally recite this poem from memory at the 11th hour and 11th minute, in honor of those men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice for freedom. I admire their civilian sense of duty to pay great honor and respect to their veterans on this day.

We often forget that in the great conflicts of the last century, Americans and Canadians fought side-by-side, striving for the same goal with a shared vision of freedom and peace. I am uniquely honored to have family members serving active duty on both sides of our friendly border.

So here's to both American and Canadian servicemen and women. Thank you who give and have given sacrificially for the cause of freedom.

Her Friends

This evening I fell into conversation with a stranger, a woman about my age, with kids in college, like me. We were just gabbing, about what, I can’t remember.

Suddenly, she said, “My husband died three weeks ago.”

I fell silent. She fell silent. My heart sank, deep. I tried to catch my breath. Tears filled her eyes, our eyes.

“How?” “Melanoma.”

She talked a moment about the disease, his battle, him. And then she spoke of all the people who carried her and her husband during his months’ long battle. She talked of neighbors, family, friends – she needs to write 200 thank-you notes but she hasn’t started; she’s overwhelmed.

Right now, she’s lost. She’s just kind of there, not giving, not taking, barely breathing. She said she doesn't have the strength to answer the phone. But her friends keep calling. She appreciates their persistence and hopes they keep calling, keep leaving messages.

Here’s to all her friends.  Goodness knows, they are suffering loss themselves. Yet they find the strength to give, and so generously.

Sketches & Paintings & Everything Else

This past May, the week I returned from Napa, I received two paintings from two friends. Yep, you read that right: Beautiful paintings just fell from their hands into mine.

In both cases, I felt I had received an extraordinary gift. Yet in both cases, the friend/artist was almost apologetic, as though their art wasn’t, wasn’t, … what? Good enough? Oh my goodness! They were very good! Besides, to me, the process of pouring your vision onto a canvas is a pretty spectacular thing. Period. End of Sentence. And I was blessed, so blessed I was speechless.

Okay, I’m never speechless.



“TWO FRIENDS GAVE ME THEIR PAINTINGS!”

Yes! I shouted from the rooftops and told just about anyone who stood still long enough to hear. Because I have rarely felt so honored as when a friend entrusted, gifted, his painting to me.

This past weekend, I dipped into The Frick Collection in New York City. The Frick is hosting a HUGE exhibit of Pablo Picasso’s early sketches; apparently that kid sketched constantly.



Standing Female Nude, Picasso

 I found myself standing with a crowd of people in front of three sketches of women, dated 1918, 1919 and 1920. One was a classic sketch, and Picasso’s execution of this portrait was exquisite. Unlike most art exhibits, where all the patrons stand and study silently, we strangers were talking: “I never knew Picasso was such a gifted portraitist!”… “Look at the precision! the detail! the shading!”… “Amazing!”   Hung beside the classic was another sketch, an early attempt at what he would later refine into cubism. “meh.” “maybe.” And then, a surreal sketch, this one strangely fetching, though the faces were skewed & stretched. “hmmm.” “I think I like that.”

Over 60 sketches, paired and tripled in display, so the patron could easily compare the development of Picasso, as an artist, from the late 1890’s into the Roaring Twenties. It was incredibly fascinating.

But even more fascinating – to me – is the fact that today, anything that Picasso sketched, any off-hand scribble is worth A-LOT-OF-MONEY.

A thought has been tumbling in my mind:



What if we valued the work of our hands – our very own hands – as the world values Picasso’s early sketches. What if we considered the work we do, the words we say – all that is us – as though it were valuable enough to be displayed at The Frick.

We would be different, wouldn’t we?

Unmerited Kindness

Steve and I boarded the Express A train yesterday by mistake. We should have boarded the Local A train. The difference was not readily apparent; both A trains were bound for Brooklyn, but the Express was going to fly past our stop.

When it did, we were confused. In that moment of uncertainty, a sweet older man inserted himself into our conversation. He said, “You’re going to the airport, aren’t you? Then, you need to get off this train and go across the platform and catch that other train.” He stepped off, but we paused, unsure. The door closed and the train lurched forward, taking us yet further from our destination.

At the next stop, we got off, switched sides, and took a train back. When we arrived, he was there, as if waiting for us. “Here,” he said, “follow me.” And he led us to the train we needed to board. Unmerited kindness, gracefully given.

~ ~ ~

Shortly after the plane left the ground, the young woman in the seat behind us began to shake. She felt clammy and faint. A flight attendant fetched a warm compress and then called for a doctor. In the next moments, passengers silently moved to allow her the full row to lay down, and there were two doctors attending her. One flight attendant fetched pillows and blankets, another fetched the oxygen.

Thankfully, the girl’s problem was not serious; she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for several hours causing slight dehydration and a blood sugar imbalance. A glass of orange juice and fifteen minutes later, she was fine.

So there we witnessed for the second time in an afternoon, the human spirit pouring unmerited kindness on a stranger. I could wax lyrical about the wonder of it, but simply written, it was a breath-taking day.

Without Measure

My friend Greg has recently been meeting with members of the Crips gang. Meeting, like, hosting a picnic for the gang. Meeting, like, trying to find them jobs. Meeting, like, getting into their car, helping them with a task.

Meeting, like, taking tremendous personal risks.

Greg, by the way, has much at stake. He’s a college graduate, the director of a large organization. He has a beautiful wife, two terrific kids and a lovely home. He’s a success by every societal standard of measurement.

But there he goes, meeting the scariest people.

Greg pours grace into the lives of those people, those people who aren’t even law-abiding. They aren’t repentant. They aren’t promising or even trying to be “good people”. They don’t deserve his kindness. And yet there he goes, pouring it out without measure.

Some people think Greg is naïve and foolish. But he, in his foolishness and naivete, is teaching me to quit measuring kindness. Just do it. Pour it out. Give and give and give – not to those who like you, but those who hurt you. Not to those you trust, but those you cannot trust.

I don’t know what he is teaching others, his neighbors, his friends or the Crips themselves. I just know what he’s teaching me.

Here’s to the gracious among us, those who find the strength to pour out kindness without measure.

Anyone's Race

Since I started writing this blog, I have found that some days are stuffed full of people who make me smile. Today was that sort of day.

I could write about the spectators I met along the NYC Marathon route, or the countless volunteers who took such good care of Steve and the other 40,000+ runners. But I’d really like to write about the women’s race. I only saw the top women runners for a few fleeting moments as they flew by my perch on the crowded street. Still, it’s a great story, the stuff of legends, and it reminds again that victory is within your grasp – if you don’t give up.

Mary Keitany, a 29 year old Kenyan, started the race at such a fast pace, she quickly left the rest of the field behind. The sportscasters were busy trying to calculate, not just whether she would establish a new record, but how crazy-fast that record would be. 2:19? ...2:18? …

Then, as she came across the Queensboro Bridge at Mile 15, she seemed to weaken. Her opponents were a half mile behind her ~ they couldn't see her ~ but they still had energy and spirit …

Finally, on Central Park West, the second and third placers, Buzunesh Deba (who lives in the Bronx) and Firehiwot Dado of Ethiopia pulled to the lead. It was like The Tortoise and The Hare, except that Mary Keitany was not giving up.

When I saw these three women, they were running a tight race and it was an open race to the end. Firehiwot Dado beat Buzunesh Deba by just four seconds, winning the women's New York City Marathon in 2:23:15.

During the fleeting moments that I watched the three women, I was most impressed that it was, really, anyone’s race. Each woman was flying fast - around 5:30 per mile! that's incredibly fast! - toward her personal goal. Each woman had competitors within sight, but each maintained her focus. I smiled as I considered the inner-strength and the drive and determination that each possessed in that moment. And like so many spectators, as they passed by, I turned my eyes from the street inward, and considered what I might accomplish myself, with that same spirit.

Brush It Off

Sometimes, it's the briefest interaction of the day that has the greatest impact. 
Like yesterday. I entered the subway terminal and walked to the booth. I asked the MTA man which pass I should purchase. As he started to answer my question, a woman pushed me aside and demanded a pass. Of course, I just let her push me.

Well, the MTA man wasn't going to let her treat me with disregard. He bluntly told her, “Ma’am, you just pushed that woman aside, and I won’t tolerate that, no ma’am, not at my booth. Now you wait your turn.”

The woman proceeded to hurl insults at the MTA man, and he hurled insults back. For a good solid minute, it was that stereotypical New York experience, the sort of dialog you see in the movies – but that I'd never seen in real life.

After she stormed off, he looked at me and said, “You don’t ever take abuse from no one. Else folks will beat you down.” And then he brushed her off his shoulder. I laughed, and he did it again, he brushed his shoulder and said, “You brush her off, don’t let her stick.” He laughed a hearty laugh, and then he answered my original question.

I walked toward the platform and looked back with a smile. I had just learned an important lesson. As I boarded the subway, I brushed quite a bit off my shoulder. Thank you, Mr. MTA Man.

Celebrating Sachmo

One of my favorite pasttimes is visiting the homes of great people. From Goethe’s townhome in Frankfurt to Syngman Rhee’s cottage near the Korean DMZ, each home I have visited has broadened my understanding of ‘greatness’, that intangible factor that carries a man or woman from accomplished to celebrated.

So yesterday I took the #7 train an hour north to Queens, to Corona, a humble working class neighborhood that’s a bit tumble down today. I made the pilgrimage to honor the memory of a man who has long made me smile. From "Potato Head Blues" to "Hello, Dolly!", "Mack the Knife" and his signature, "What a Wonderful World”, each Louis Armstrong recording makes me want to sing or dance or play along.

Visiting his house was a special treat, because the enthusiastic guide shared so much with the small group of jazz lovers who made the trek to Queens. What I learned at Louis Armstong's house was just what I have learned at all other famous-people-homes: success is hard work. It is really as simple as that.

Sachmo was born in abject poverty, in The Battlefield in New Orleans. As a youngster he worked an assortment of odd jobs for hustlers and pimps and theives, witnessing more bawdy behavior in infancy than I’ve seen in a lifetime. He learned to play the cornet in the Colored Waif's Home for Boys, where he was incarcerated for shooting a gun into the air. After his release - still just a kid - he played his cornet in brothels, from late in the evening to early in the morning, and then hauled coal by day for a small but dependable wage, because “you never knew when a joint would get shut down.”

By the age of twenty, he was judged to be the best trumpeter in New Orleans. He played in parades and funerals and private parties; he performed tirelessly with King Oliver's Creole Jazz Band and the Sydney Band and any other group that would provide him a platform. In Outliers: The Story of Success, Malcolm Gladwell theorizes that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to reach a point of mastery. If that theory holds water, it is easy to see why Louis Armstrong surpassed the many other jazz musicians in New Orleans during the Roaring Twenties: plain, tireless hard work.

Throughout his life, he viewed music as work. From a very young age, he listened intently to musicians and judged for himself their skill, their tone, their finess, their ability to speak a range of emotions through their voice or instrument. And then he worked on his own tonality, both as a vocalist and trumpeter. This is perhaps the significant difference between Louis Armstrong and many a musician. He never viewed himself as an artist, but rather an entertainer. It may have been this approach, this commitment to skill and production rather than an ethereal pursuit of inspiration, that thrust him into the realm of greatness.

To his neighbors and friends, Sachmo was known for his sense of humor and his great laugh - but especially for his generosity. Somehow, I am not surprised. Generosity seems often to separate the good from the great.

Next time you visit New York City, take the #7 to 111th Street. It is a long journey, but if you plan your trip just right, you can catch a live jazz concert in the Armstrong’s Japanese garden, you'll gasp at their stunning kitchen with bright blue cabinetry, and most especially, you'll enjoy a deeper look into the genius, the King of Jazz.

Never Say Never

Today I rented a bike at Pier 17, by the Brooklyn Bridge, and rode it ‘round the tip of Manhattan, up the Hudson River to the Upper West Side, and then I rode through Central Park. The weather was so warm, the sky a brilliant blue, it was all so perfect.

As I rode up the Hudson River, I stopped for a second day at The High Line, the newest bit of Open Space in Manhattan. It’s quite a place -

The High Line served for 50 years as a raised railroad above 10th Street in Chelsea, just a block from the Hudson River, but since the last freight train in 1980, it has been nothing more than industrial blight. Former Mayor Rudy Giuliani tried to have it demolished during his term in office, but a group of neighborhood activists had a different idea.

For over a decade, “Friends of the High Line” lobbied the City and CSX Transportation (the owner of the railroad) in an effort to convert it into Open Space.The project required a tremendous effort on their part, and it’s really quite amazing that they pulled it off.

Once the way was finally clear, public interest grew . In 2003, over 700 teams from 36 countries entered the design competition. The selected team, James Corner Field Operations and Diller Scofidio + Renfro, created an ingenious concept, a stunning spot that feels like an endless botanic garden. The first section opened to the public just two years ago, in June, 2009.

Today, when I visited the High Line, I was stunned at the crowd of people ‘up there’. It is the busiest Open Space that I have experienced. Though I’m not surprised. It is also one of the prettiest places I’ve ever been.

The designers considered the probability (or possibility) of heavy use, and there are ample chairs and benches; folks lounge in the sunshine and stroll through the garden and stop at the café (yes, the scent of espresso wafts across the park; how perfectly Chelsea!)

Portions of the walk intermittently flow with water – a fascinating, surprising public fountain, if you will – that the birds simply love. All along the 19 block route, visitors enjoy a stunning 360° view of Manhattan and the Hudson River.

I love reading about, and experiencing, the work that is accomplished by community activists. It’s amazing what a group of ordinary folks – people with busy schedules, with work and young kids and aging parents and all the demands of American life – can accomplish when they possess that 'never say never' vision and commitment. This particular group transformed an obsolete industrial site into one of the prettiest garden spots in America.

Little Bits of Brightly Colored Wisdom

I wandered through Chinatown in the early morning hours yesterday, intermittently pausing to watch a solitary man practice Tai Chi, or a young woman buy a pear from a street vendor. I was on my way to SoHo, and then I’d continue to Chelsea, but first, I wanted to find a group of men in a wooded corner of the Sara D Roosevelt park. When I arrived, they had already hung their birdcages on laundry lines, strung from tree to tree to accommodate their hobby.

I had heard about the Hua Mei birds, and the experience was just as I imagined. Delivery trucks rumbled by, taxis honked for no apparent reason, dilapidated coops pushed into the sky, on all sides, and ancient men sat silently as the world passed by, as their birds sung morning songs under the rising sun. Hua Mei birds possess a lovely little tweet, definitely worth the visit, but I won’t do ornithology justice here, so let’s just leave it at that.

From that corner, at Forsyth and Delancey, I headed west/northwest through SoHo and the West Village, toward the Hudson River. It was a wonderful morning for a 4 mile walk, each block so uniquely its own.

From a delicious café to an unpretentious art gallery stuffed with signed Andy Warhol prints, the day held a host of happy moments. But the highlight was the Village Stationery.

It’s a little card and paper shop, not much to speak of, until you observe the proprietor, Mr. Aslam, the pleasantest man I’ve met in New York City. As I shopped, I overheard him bless each person that approached the cash register. Not in a, “stand still; I’m going to pronounce an uncomfortable blessing upon you,” but rather a kind word, unexpectedly given. When I needed assistance, he jumped from behind the cash register and showed me where the writing pads were located. That in and of itself isn’t unusual, but it was his demeanor, his inner peace and happiness that just spills out, that was remarkable.

When I arrived at the cash register, I noticed the counter had scraps of bright paper under a sheet of glass. The brightly colored papers were each scribbled with a quote, like, “Responsible Life (living without hurting anyone – in thoughts, speech and action) is my fundamental duty”, and “Kindness is my job!” I’ve gotta say, he takes his job seriously. My personal favorite was, “My wisdom is my wealth.” Too true.

When he saw my camera, he asked if I would take his picture, but then he looked at his little idioms, not me, when I snapped the shudder. He reviewed the photo and was pleased. I think his gaze upon his little bits of wisdom was intentional.

Mr. Aslam is a blessing in his little corner of the world, and I was so very fortunate to have enjoyed the pleasure of his company for a few moments today. Like a few others I’ve written about thusfar, I hope to emulate him as I continue my own journey in life.

Occupy Wall Street ... and then the real work

This morning, our first morning in Manhattan, I decided to start at the beginning, at Bowling Green. According to tradition, this is the site of the legendary sale of Manhattan to Peter Minuit in 1626. 


J.A.S. Oertel, Pulling Down the Statue 

In 1770, a statue of King George III was erected on Bowling Green and an iron fence was installed to protect it. Then, on July 9, 1776, after the reading of the Declaration of Independence, the statue was toppled by angry citizens. The iron fence still stands, a reminder that Americans have long been known for both contemplative citizenship and mob rule.

From there I walked up Broadway – just two blocks – and arrived at Zuccotti Park, the site of the Occupy Wall Street protest. I was hoping to catch a little action, but at 10:30 a.m., the protesters were nearly all asleep.

To be honest, I arrived at Occupy Wall Street with a negative perspective. I question whether the Occupier’s individual, disparate demands are attainable, nevermind desirable.

But then I remembered the theme of my blog, which is to see the "good qualities of men". So I opened my eyes and mind, and I approached one of the three protesters. “What would you like to see happen as a result of your protest?”, I asked, hoping that he would give a persuasive explanation for his actions, something worth admiration and respect. But he just rambled about Zuccotti Park – how empty it looked before the Occupiers arrived, in contrast to it's current condition. “Look,” he said, “Look at the life it now enjoys!”

Zuccotti Park is a slightly sunken park, so your eye naturally looks out across the sea of pup tents. I looked at the tent city; it was sadly lifeless, late in the morning. He then complained – not energetically – about banker’s greed, but he didn’t know what he wanted the bankers to do, specifically. And that was it. One uncertain, lackadaisical protester.

From Occupy Wall Street, I walked to Ground Zero. It's adjacent to Zuccotti Park, yet it is a world away, a-buzz with the sound of 3,000 workmen.

I peeked in at the workmen’s gate and was hollered off by a police officer. Just then, two workmen walked out and laughed at me. Seeing a prime opportunity, I asked them about their work.

Joe and Bill are plumbers from Connecticut and Albany. The 9/11 Memorial will feature two enormous fountains, so I can only imagine the width and breadth of their jobs. The guys were starting to walk around to another area, and they invited me to walk with them. As we walked, they talked a bit about their families, the nor’easter that left Joe’s house without power, and their work at the site. They feel honored to be a part of history, as they should.

Many of the peripheral buildings are still yet skeletons in the process of being re-glassed. I didn’t expect to see skeleton skyscrapers, and there are several - they are a jarring reminder of the destruction that took place there, ten years ago.

As we walked, Joe and Bill showed me how to get to the best public overlook site, and arriving there, I met Shane and Shirley from Melbourne, Australia. Shane has done several tours of duty in Afghanistan, and he has lost several friends in the fighting there. I suppose I’d never thought about the other forces that are fighting alongside Americans. Shane opened my eyes. He talked for quite awhile, and I think he enjoyed telling an American what it’s like for an Aussie to fight in Afghanistan.

I met others, too – Annie showed me a tiny little garden near the hotel, Marcelo directed me to Pain le Quotidian ("the best patisserie"), and Sarah, a Wall Street Journal writer, helped me fix my “oops!” after I accidentally hopped the train to Brooklyn. Oh my goodness, how enriched I am to have spent my day with all of those wonderful, beautiful strangers.

A Welcome Interjection

As we settled into our airplane seats, I admired the flight attendant's classic bright blue uniform  - complete with pillbox hat! - in a private comment to Steve.

The gentleman in the row ahead of us overheard my comment and turned in his seat. "Aaaah, the old Pan Am uniform." He then regaled us with tales of a circa 1970 Pan Am flight from Jamaica to New York City. "Best flight of my life...."

"Oh, except the Air France flight from Paris to New York City. First class ticket; they poured the finest wine and oh! everything was just exquisite...."

Some people object to strangers interjecting themselves into private conversations, but I welcome the intrusion, because I am so often enriched by the experience.

So here's to our fellow traveler on the Denver to NYC flight - thank you for sharing the best of your travelog with us. And here's to interjectors everywhere: Welcome to my conversation! I can't wait to meet you.

A Sweet Lesson in Love

Yesterday I stopped in to see Chris and Bernice.

Okay, I stopped in to buy a pound of Mountain Man’s Chocolate Pecan Caramel Clusters. Yep, the big bag.

But Chris and Bernice make such a handy excuse to pop in and buy a bag of chocolate. They’ve owned the sweet shop that’s just a short walk from my house for 15 years, now, and in all the years I’ve known them, they’re always sporting smiles; they’re always a pleasure to visit.

Today I had the special joy of hearing all about their 50th Anniversary plans. 50 years. They must’ve married when they were twelve; they look so young!

As Chris was ringing my purchase, I asked them how they order their merchandise. “It must be difficult to predict what folks will buy and what they won’t," I observed. Together, they said, “Is it ever!” I asked if retailers ever get the hang of it, and they said, no. Bernice said, “We make mistakes. They’re all in the corner, we call it the clearance shelf.”

We chuckled, and then we broadened the subject from retail order mistakes to mistakes in life, in general. We all make mistakes; happily for them, they’ve learned to laugh as they grow.

It was wonderful to spend a bit of my weekend in the sweetshop. To enjoy the simple pleasures of a bag of chocolate and a young couple in love.

Gorgeous, to boot!

Tonight I went shopping for a new wardrobe. My friend Stephanie started the process, about a week ago, when she took me to Macy’s during the lunch hour. “Here, buy this. And this. And this. Aaah … fabulous!”

They were fabulous, but they were just two outfits. I needed more.

So I wandered into a shop tonight and asked a clerk for help. Soon, there were three clerks and two shoppers helping me create a whole new look.

I have often enjoyed good service in clothing stores, and I have enjoyed the girl-thing that happens among confident women, albeit strangers, in a dressing room. But I don’t think I’ve ever been cognizantly grateful for it. Tonight I am.

Here’s to women helping women leap beyond the comfort of blue jeans and button down blouses. And here’s to stepping out in a gorgeous pair of boots!