Oops!...I Did It Again

There's something wrong with me. (If you're one of my contemporaries, you're probably saying, "Yeah, there is! Wonder which thing she's going to talk about?")

Well, I'll tell ya. I am a raging wrapaholic. I have the largest, most wonderful stash of luscious ribbon and wrapping paper you could shake a pair of scissors at, but I cannot resist the stuff when it's on sale after the holidays.

Not only that, I'm not using it up at the rate I used to. As the kids in our family got bigger and bigger, their presents got smaller and smaller. Like down to the size of gift cards and iTouches. Things I could wrap in a sheet of printer paper. Where's the challenge in that? I'm an artist with a shrinking canvas.

I blame Target. And Hobby Lobby. And CVS. And every other store that sees me coming, and encourages their salespeople to nudge their provocative 75% off displays closer to my line of vision. It's certainly not my fault that I ended up with four more reels of wired ribbon yesterday (hey - I've never seen white with candy-cane binding, or hot pink with art deco circles) and some fabulous rolls of paper (you know I only buy them because I need the cardboard inside).

Yes, I did it again. And I'll do it again. And again. But I'm safe now for another year. Whew. Now let's put a bow on this and close the subject. (What? You need a bow? I have just the right ribbon!)

© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

What's Appreciated, Appreciates

I heard an interview last weekend with the parents of Ben Wheeler, a sweet 6-year-old who was killed at Sandy Hook. They are extraordinary in their strength and their search for meaning in that senseless event, and have chosen love over fear to move forward in their lives; in fact, they spend time looking at the wonders that their lives still hold, even as they are grieving the loss of their son. 

Having lost a brother in a tragic event when we were both quite young, I know the effort it takes to see the good around you in that context, so I applaud the Wheelers for the lesson they are sharing with the world. They're saying, "Wake up! Treasure what you have in your lives!"

There are so many times I get caught up in mere inconveniences and lose sight of the enormous and magical things that anchor my life; beginning with the basics many of us have that are absolute riches to others, and yet I don't stop to notice them every day. Things like fundamental shelter, nutrition, clothing, and health; the attention of good friends, the unconditional love of family and the respect of knowledgeable colleagues; transportation and other infrastructure; and the benefit of living in a developed country with freedom and sophistication there for the taking. Then, what about the ability to get an education and grow our skills and intelligence; having a source of income; access to the right professionals (medical, financial, spiritual, etc.); resources to help others and enjoy ourselves? (And I still haven't even covered everything.)

I also thought about technology and the platforms it provides—it makes my work easier and more effective, and it connected me with a beloved aunt for several years before she passed unexpectedly, and far too early. LinkedIn and Facebook are on my list as well! They keep me in touch with my amazing business connections and my special cousins (many of whom I'm just now getting to know in a deeper fashion) and have brought forward some remarkable friends from high school, unseen for decades, who add texture and meaning to my world.

I know from experience, though I don’t remember this every moment, that when I say “thank you” for something, I get more of the good that’s out there. And I sure like the good! What’s appreciated, appreciates. 

If you’ve made it this far, I have one more thing for which I’m grateful: those who read what I compose! As a writer by nature and by profession, I seek to be understood, and I’m more likely to tell you in 100 words than 10 how I feel…so thanks for sticking with me on this and some of my other tomes. You’re good eggs.

© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Remembering JoAnn

Dear Friends – During Breast Cancer Awareness month, I’d like to share with you a letter I wrote to my dear neighbor JoAnn’s mother. JoAnn, who’d completed treatment for breast cancer in late 2008, sadly died the same week my mother did, back in February 2009 – that was a painful time. She was someone I knew only for a couple of years, but we connected as only girlfriends can. She was lovely, happy; warmth personified – and I miss her every time I drive past her former house - to mine, just next door. We all know someone who triumphed over or succumbed to breast cancer… no matter their path, they showed us the valor and single-mindedness it takes to challenge a disease with everything they had to give. Here's to all the brave women who fight the good fight...and to the men, families and friends who walk beside them.

Dear Mrs. M.:

I wanted you to have this letter on JoAnn’s birthday, so I hope it arrives on time. From the moment I first met JoAnn when she moved into the neighborhood, I knew we would be friends. She was kind and happy and sweet, and we had plenty to talk about every time we saw each other.

She had a boyfriend at the time, and as it got closer to Christmas, she talked about what she was getting him and said that she wasn’t good at wrapping gifts. Well, wrapping gifts is my specialty, so I asked if she’d like me to help… and that was one of the first of many great visits with my new friend. She was funny, and so very, very nice, and talked about you and her sisters and other family members, and her wide circle of friends (she had a LOT of friends!). She loved and respected you very much, and told me that she had learned a lot about life from you. We talked about our work, and I told her about my parents (who were both not very well at that time) and my family, and even months later, she always remembered everything I said about each one. When I left that night, she kept telling me how talented I was (even though I just wrapped a few gifts!), but that’s something she never failed to do, whenever our paths crossed. I suspect that JoAnn always left everyone she spent time with feeling really special, because that was her talent. She had a rare ability to raise others up, and to always give them what they needed.

I don’t need to tell you about JoAnn’s beauty, because it was there for all the world to see. She was a charming woman, with a beautiful face and wondrous smile, and a great voice and laugh (I loved the way her voice sounded, kind of musical and a little husky. I bet she had a lovely singing voice).  When she was going through treatment, and her gorgeous hair started to come out, she called me to ask if I knew of a hair salon where she could get her hair cut with some privacy. I called my friend Margie, who is a hairdresser (and whose sister Lizzie, also my friend, died of a brain tumor about 10 years ago). I knew Margie, with her great capacity for kindness, would watch over JoAnn at such a difficult time. 

JoAnn and I went to Margie’s house.  Margie was combing JoAnn's hair, and I, sitting behind her, could see it coming out in alarming clumps that made me catch huge sobs in my throat. Margie got JoAnn talking, and the three of us were laughing quite a bit, and every once in awhile Margie would say, “How about if I cut a little more off?”  I loved watching Margie, keeping the conversation light, and at the same time so sensitive to what JoAnn was facing with the loss of her hair. She did this a few times, patiently cutting up on the length, and bringing JoAnn along slowly. After a bit JoAnn said, “Margie, just cut it all off.” She was very matter-of-fact about it. 

On the way home, I was driving, and JoAnn started crying... and so did I. I said, ”I’m so sorry about your beautiful hair – I know this must be so hard for you.” And JoAnn said, “I’m not crying about that – I’m crying because everyone’s so nice to me.” Even that situation, as painful as it was, held such richness.  JoAnn was so brave, and so mindful of finding something to be grateful for in the middle of all the loss she was experiencing.  And I had the opportunity to see both of my friends’ strength and courage and humanity that night.

When her sister Paula was going through JoAnn’s things, she gave me some items she wanted me to have. Among them was a white embroidered fabric box, which had a gold and silver metal angel in it. I gave that angel to JoAnn the first Christmas I knew her. I remember thinking that she would like it, because she had such strong faith, and would like the box, too, because she had an eye for pretty things. I was stunned that this angel had circled back to me again, and when I mentioned to Paula that was the first gift I’d given her sister, she said, "Anita, that has happened a couple of other times when I gave JoAnn’s friends something – I didn’t know it, but I was giving them back something they’d picked out for her.” We both felt that JoAnn was guiding Paula that way. I was speechless when that happened… and the fact that Paula had given me several other Christmas items of JoAnn’s , when we’d had our first connection over wrapping Christmas gifts, made me even more convinced that my friend’s heart was still with me. 

I cannot leave my home without thinking of JoAnn, every day, several times a day, because I drive past her house so often. My heart breaks that this exceptional, loving, intelligent and incredible friend I thought I would have for the rest of my life is no longer there.

I loved it that she thought enough of our friendship to introduce me to her family whom she held in such high regard; that I have gained her sister as a friend; that JoAnn and I saw the world in much the same way; that she was always striving to learn more and do more and help others; that even though I had such little time to get to know her, she had such an impact on me, as I know she has had on many others. She was – and is – a bright and loving light, and I’m so thankful to have been able to call her my friend.

© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

I've Been Skunked!

It's nice to come home from a trip, and settle back into some familiar activities, and unpack your suitcase, and then get in your car for a trip to the grocery to replenish your refrigerator, and OHMYGODWHATISTHATSMELL!!!  Yes, while I was gone, somehow my car got skunked. I'm not even sure it was an actual skunk, but since I didn't leave a sirloin steak or a bag of tomatoes under my front seat sealed up in a hot car for a week, it's the only explanation I have...unless someone came in my house while I was gone, took my car keys, and then drove my car through four states at about 800 miles an hour with the emergency brake on, making skid marks with my tires. Because all I can smell is something awfully close to burning rubber, which several sources say is very skunk-like.   

It's not full-on skunk, thank goodness. It's innocent bystander skunk, like maybe the skunk sprayed an unfortunate victim close to my front tires, and it wafted into my car like some kind of mutated Chanel No. 5 on steroids. 

It made me want to go get some of that "Febreze Stick & Refresh," the product they keep advertising by taking people blindfolded into hoarder houses with what must be dead animals under mountains of pizza boxes, and the blindfolded paid actors exclaim, "It smells like a garden! Like fresh flowers and a day at the beach! I love the way this smells with my blindfold on!" And then they take off the blindfolds, and boy are they surprised they're standing in the middle of a skeevy mess! 

Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll get some of that. I just have to figure out how to drive with that blindfold on. 

© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Push-ups on Spiderman

Over the last few months—almost four to the day—I have changed my work, my outlook, my sleeping vs. waking hours, my vittles, my ratio of music to news...and perhaps most dramatically, the amount of exercise I was getting. For example, if I were filling out a form 120 days ago that asked, "How much exercise do you get in a week?" I would have had to write in, "Which week?"

But these days you can find me mornings at my indoor community pool, middays on the treadmill, and Saturdays and Sundays on the track (walking, not running - I'm not completely insane, you know). At first, after I changed my work situation and before I took on clients as a communications consultant, I went from a chock-full schedule to an unfamiliarly slow one for a while. My colleague Joe B. gave me some great advice: "You can't market yourself all day long. If you have extra time, go to the gym twice in a day." Uh, yes, ye doubters who knew the old me. Sometimes I do that. TWICE IN A DAY.   

There are lot of us who were really active when we were younger, and as we moved through a few decades we worked more and moved less. And ate our feelings. (I never quite understood that comment until recently, when I looked back and remembered all those bowls of frustration that bore a close resemblance to Haagen-Dazs vanilla bean.) 

So I have this new schedule of work and working out that I really like, and I've passed that threshold where I hated the working out, and even have skipped over the part where I just tolerate it, and now I miss it if I can't do it. Not only that, I'm looking for other physical things to do—preferably outdoors. In water. Specifically, in the pool in my neighborhood. 

By mid-July, there aren't many summer sports items left in Target. Which is how I ended up with a Spiderman kickboard a few days ago. At first I just used it to paddle. Ho-hum. Boooooring. But then I found out I can swim with it and hold it underwater while I do push-ups on Spidey. Eureka! I can't get enough of it!  I'm working that arachnid like a power grid! My Spider-sense is tingling! (Okay, I admit it - I didn't know what Spiderman's stock phrase was, so I went looking, and lo and behold, there is a Superhero Catch Phrase Directory. Don't say I never taught you anything completely useless.) 

I was hoping to see some change; a little sign that this extra effort was making a difference. And I wasn't disappointed—I've never seen anything work this fast with such dramatic results. The Spiderman on my kickboard looks way thinner than he did last Thursday.
 

© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Happy Boobd... uh, I Mean Birthday!

Today's my birthday, and I have all kinds of great things planned. I'm leaving any minute for my morning pool assignation, and after that - after I've showered and dried off - I'm heading out for two major life events. That's right, you guessed it: I'm celebrating with a bone density scan and a mammogram! Woo-hoo!

When I called for appointments, I asked for the earliest possible...so when they offered me an 8:30 a.m. on my birthday, it seemed somehow fitting that I begin this auspicious day by taking care of myself - something I've not earned high grades on in the past.

Maybe starting a new year this way will cement my intentions for better health and fitness over the next twelve months. Maybe this is a sign, like many others I've had in recent weeks, that my life is to be cherished and honored.  Or maybe it's just this, as my friend Brenda said to me yesterday about this appointment: "You know it's going to be a good birthday when you start it out by taking off your shirt."


© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Premature Articulation

As a communicator by trade, I'm pretty careful about the way I compose just about everything I write - even quick emails and throwaway notes usually get more of a business focus from me. So it makes me crazy when I accidentally send one before it's a perfect little slice of information.

You know what I'm talking about: premature articulation. Hey, there's nothing shameful about it. Sometimes it occurs when you least expect it; when you really thought you were going to be able to finish an entire letter. Or it might happen because you're just so enthusiastic about the person who will receive your note that you hit "send" out of sheer happiness.

And it doesn't just happen electronically. Oh, noooooo. Despite my penchant for diplomacy with the written word, I've done it in conversation when I didn't have the opportunity to edit myself, like the time I told my colleague of just a few weeks, "Those are nice shoes. They're not like the ones you usually wear." Or told another friend that she could surely figure out how to develop a simple web site, because "lots of people who are stupider than you have done it."

Yes, I confess. I am, on occasion, a premature articulator. But I don't want that to be a problem in my relationship with you, readers. And I'm hoping that you'll be gracious if that ever happens between us, and act like it's not a big deal, that it happens to everyone once in a while, that you didn't feel like reading a complete blog post after all, and suggest that maybe we should just use this time to cuddle. 



© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Too Much Think!

In my last blog post (I Love the Smell of Chlorine in the Morning), I referenced my new Korean friend Kim, a 60-something avid swimmer I met during my mornings at the pool who has taken a shine to me, and I to her.

There is a significant language barrier between us, but we make do with a lingo that presents as part words, part acting out what we are trying to say. She is sometimes sad, sometimes funny, sometimes wise in her comments. I like watching her try to figure out what she wants to share with me - the feelings flutter across her face like the play of light on water.

Today, I told her that I was tired, and she said, "Why?" I said I don't sleep well, and mimed sleep, then wake, then sleep and wake again. She thought for a minute, and then laughed and said, "Oh, Nita, you too much think! That's it! Too much think!"

She's absolutely right. Even more than insomnia, "too much think" has plagued me my entire life. I analyze, and examine my analysis, and parse out conversations, and ponder why some people behave and process the way they do. I map out my own actions and develop a Plan A, B, C and sometimes D, just to be sure I'm covering all the bases. And yes, I'm one of those people who always thought themselves to be impulsive. It took four personality tests to show me that I was not the carefree imp I imagined: I am far more careful than spontaneous. I need to consider all the possibilities. Yes - yikes - I am one of those!

A friend close to my heart has told me I miss a precious moment here and there because I don't simply "enjoy the now:" I have to figure it out, and then decide if it's okay to savor it. On the other hand, "too much think" makes me a good writer and communicator. It makes me deeply observant, creative, sensitive and intuitive. I'm a more treasured and thoughtful colleague, daughter, sister, girlfriend, cousin, client and service provider, thanks to "too much think."

Oh, and a better blogger. Or not. You know, maybe I need to think about that a little more before I make that claim...


© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

I Love the Smell of Chlorine in the Morning

I wish I could say this is me...but it's not.

I have a thing about chlorine. It makes my heart beat a little faster when I catch a whiff of it. I'm not sure why, but I have a kind of love affair with pools. So when I found myself on my own schedule after quitting my day job to build another business, I made a vow to work out every day for 90 minutes... and with a pool just minutes away, of course I picked water! And chlorine!

I'm an early riser, and if I leave my house at 5:50 a.m., I can be sitting poolside by 5:55 with my feet dangling in the water, waiting for the lifeguard (who cannot be more than 14 years old) to mount his chair... and that's my cue. My morning is part swimming, part "water-leaping," a technique that I've developed where I leap forward on my toes as fast as I can and push hard against the water with my arms. The swimming part is a little choppy (I'm going to get help for that soon - I have lined up a swimming "consultant" to bark commands at me, come mid-May). But the water-leaping part makes me friends! I have met some great pool peeps. And, of course, they have met me, so I'm sure I have been referred to as the crazy water-leaper in their conversations. (Don't laugh - on Sunday, two women asked me to show them what I was doing, and they followed me. Of course, I was the most graceful of the three of us. Which isn't saying a whole lot).

But I digress... so back to my water pals: there's Mary, who hates coming to the pool but does it so her back won't hurt for the rest of the day; and Kim, who worked for a Korean bakery for ages and has been a pool member for 20 years; and Tom, who doesn't say much but smiles at me a lot; and Marie, who says the rosary on her fingers while she's exercising and reminds me about all of the traditional Italian customs I had long forgotten. Marie is my favorite today because she said, "So, how old are you? You're not 50 yet, right?" I wanted to say, "Right!," but I didn't. I fessed up that I will be 57 in a few weeks. (May 30, to be exact, in case you want to send me something. Let me know if you need my address.)

I'm proud of myself for not yet missing a day - it's been over three weeks since I started, and now I'm hooked. My arms are so much stronger, my stomach's getting flatter, my face is rosier and more defined, and my clothes are looser - those all amount to a good outcome. But the thing I love best is that I get to breathe in as much chlorine as I want. Ahhhhhh. It's the little things that make me happy.


© 2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Taking Early "Rewirement"

Wish me luck! Today is the last day of a work relationship I have had with my professional association for 34 years. I'm not retiring; no way - not yet. I'm taking a gigantic leap of faith and jumping off into the stratosphere on a wing and a prayer. Well, to be honest, not even the wing. Just the prayer.

I have the heart of an entrepreneur, and I came up with (what I think is) a great idea for communications professionals like me last May, and so far have only laid the groundwork for this initiative. I just haven't had the time or juice to pursue it while I'm working a demanding full-time job. So, with another birthday just around the corner, and my inner voice whispering to me that I'm not getting any younger, and if someone else ups and creates this business instead of me I'm going to be pretty sorry, I (gasp!) resigned from my wonderful job with my amazing employees and colleagues, and I'm going to get this done.

I have a business colleague to thank for the spin on my new career choice. She sent me a note and said, "Best wishes in your rewirement!" And, with all the love that I have for a clever twist on language, I am adopting that term as my own.

I'm scared, but it's "good scared"— just enough to move myself along briskly and with purpose. But mostly I'm excited, with all the exhilaration that comes from letting go of all the "can'ts" and "don'ts" and seeing only the possibilities that a big change can bring. And I'm not just an entrepreneur anymore. I'm also a "career electrician," the kind of professional who is learning to do all of my own rewiring. You know, for my rewirement.

©2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie   

WWF: Is There a 12-step Program?

My name is Anita and I am an addict. A Words With Friends addict.

A couple of years ago, Lori K.N. invited me to play WWF (Bless you, Lori! Damn you, Lori!), setting off a chain of events that showed me the addictive personality lurking inside me. I have always loved Scrabble, WWF's parent. How could I not? Avid reader since I was a child, sneaking an extra hour of a favorite book under my covers with a flashlight; English major; communications professional: words are woven into the fabric of my life.

So when Lori reached out with that gateway drug - "Just one game, come ON, Anita, it's easy!" - I didn't see the road ahead of me. That I would embark on an odyssey that would lead me to playing 15 games at a time; that would cause one person to unfriend me on Facebook, that would have me using words like "za" and "xu" and "vrow," and that would prompt me - gasp! - to strike up games with total strangers just to get my word high.

I am ashamed. I know I need to get this in check. This can't be good, all this spelling and triple-word-score-lusting-after. I will stop. Next week. I can stop anytime, really. Hey, you, over by the coffee and donuts - have you played before? Wanna have a game?

Rice Cakes = Love

I currently have five bags of Quaker's gluten-free rice cakes sitting on top of my refrigerator. And I am worried that in short order, that number will rise.

Why? Because that's been my elderly father's gift to me every time I'm at his house lately. I don't know whether he forgets he gave me one before (I really don't think that's the case, because he's a pretty sharp fellow) or he thinks I'm going through them at the rate of one bag every few days (that's possible) or he just thinks they are the greatest thing since sliced bread (yes, that's it - because they ARE his replacement for sliced bread). It's particularly odd when he asks me over for dinner and offers me a caramel rice cake with my chicken and salad. Not a good taste sensation. But you do a lot of things when you don't want to hurt someone's feelings.

I finally decided that these increasingly frequent bags of rice cakes are like party favors. It's my dear old dad saying, "Thank you for coming, and here's a little treat to take home with you. Please come again." There you have it: rice cakes equal love. Come to think of it, there's still plenty of space left on top of my refrigerator.

©2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie  

Whether (or not) Report

Whoever is weary of waiting for spring, raise your hand. No, not that one. The one with the wool glove on it.

I can only speak for the East Coast, but I'm tired of all the temperature teasing. Come on, already - where's the March "out like a lamb" we are promised by the proverb? We get one or two days of 60ish temperatures, then a whoosh of cold, then snow flurries...and we can only conclude that Spring is toying with us, taking her sweet time to be fully sprung and laughing at the outfits we concoct during this in-between time.  

Should we dress for morning or afternoon temps? Boots or not? Is a down jacket over shorts too edgy? Dare we venture out in sandals for a pedicure on a warm day, or will we be mocked by the falling mercury in the thermometer's glass? 

One thing I know for sure - there's an infallible method to keep warmer weather at bay. Just pack all your winter clothes up  and store them for next year. And then listen closely for the seasonal laughter that will surely be woven into the ice storm that follows.
 

©2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie  

I'll Have Sound, With a Chaser

About twice a month, I go for an acupuncture appointment. This is fairly new for me, and started because I have a good friend training to be certified in acupuncture at the moment. She is pursuing her second (and her dream) career, and I am getting educated by her on the benefits of Chinese medicine. She's not certified yet, so she introduced me to a classmate who is.

On the occasional Saturday, I arrive at Tai Sophia Institute, have a chat with D., my amazing acupuncturist, and she decides where all the needles are going to go for best effect that week. I love every minute of this treatment: I love lying in a dark room on a massage table with white sheets and soft pillows, shutting off my brain, and knowing that the needles are clearing the way for my body to balance its ch'i (energy) and bring me peace. And I also love the "quiet noise" that I know is coming when D. says, in her great Russian accent, "You want some sound machine?"

Yes, D.! I want some sound machine! Because when she turns the dial to "Crashing Waves" and leaves me to incubate in that small, dark, calm space for 15 minutes, I see this picture: beach chairs, white sand, foamy water, good friends, a few Stella Artois and lots of sun. It's the kind of place where I don't have any projects waiting to be finished, where everyone in my life is taken care of and doesn't need me, where I have no commitments or concerns that can't be put on hold. It's a "don't worry, be happy" kind of place.

It's so nice that whenever anyone asks me these days, "Can I get you anything?," I want to say, "Yes, please. I want some sound machine. Make mine Crashing Waves, with a side of Stella. And a big helping of ch'i."

Move Over, Rachael Ray

Mom, in her twenties.

This is a love story.

I'm not writing it just because it's Valentine's Day. I'm writing it for my mother, because she died on Valentine's Day, just four years ago.

My mother wasn't the kind of parent I could go to with a problem, or have deep talks with. But she was the loving mom who stayed up all night with me when I was in junior high as I suffered through writing a paper (a thought that has amazed me throughout my communications career, when the words cannot leave my mind and my fingertips quickly enough). She was the mom who read voraciously and passed that on to me - another career builder. And she was the faithful, affectionate and uncomplaining healer who was tireless with five kids through earaches and messy stomach flus and general ailments.

She was the mother who lost her only son - my funny, smart, handsome brother Pat - in a drowning accident when he was only 21, and somehow she and my father did not stop living. They kept raising me and my sisters through the grief and loved us all the way up to adulthood, and into caring and productive women.

She was also the mom who, in my fuzzy memory, had at least one nervous breakdown during my childhood, and who'd been given electroshock therapy after my youngest sister was born, when it was still too new to know enough about it. And who, as a result, would lose patches of time, so that sometimes we'd arrive home from school in the afternoon to find her still in her robe at the dining room table with a cup of now-cold coffee; almost as if she had not moved since we left for the bus earlier that day.

She was fun and funny - from her, we learned the "sheet dance" when we were folding clothes. She had us put on "whoopee socks" to polish our wood floors with bright orange Johnson's wax while we perfected our skating technique. She was one of the first people I knew of to go into the Hair Cuttery when it debuted in the early '70s and ask for a "haircut and a blow job," innocently not knowing what she was saying. Then there was the day she sadly told her friends her eye doctor diagnosed her with gonorrhea (when she really meant glaucoma).  And once when I came home from high school to run lines with Tommy Wheatley, with whom I was "starring" in Bye Bye Birdie, she ran into the kitchen to make him a banana cream pie because she wanted him to stick around and be my boyfriend. (He never was, but we were pretty good friends. Banana cream pie or not.)

She was easy to love some days, tougher on others. She gave me a run for my money when she was old and ill, but in those last few months, when Alzheimer's was added to her dementia, she stopped being angry about her stay in the nursing home and just smiled and adored me when I was with her. One day, when we were watching TV (she loved the Food Network), she turned to me and said with a sigh, "I wish Rachael Ray was my daughter." I, who was spending all my spare time with her, was pretty jealous of Rachael Ray, who as far as I knew had never visited my mother once.

My sisters and I stayed up with Mom the night before she died on a Saturday - Valentine's Day 2009. It was a day that is forever changed for us, that will always be, first, the day she passed, before we think of flowers and candy and cards.

After she died, I found a letter she wrote to her sister but never mailed. She was about the same age as I am now, and she wrote about feeling hurt and out of sorts because all of us kids had moved on, and she didn't know what to do with herself. It breaks my heart - my Valentine's Day heart - that I wasn't wiser at a younger age about what's really important, that I didn't take more time back then to make her happy, to give her what every parent wants: not gifts, but more time with their children.

Still, I know that I did right by my mother, and loved her imperfectly but well. I know that she knows that. And even though I'm not Rachael Ray, I think my mom was pretty glad to have me as one of her girls. Happy Valentine's Day, Mom.

©2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie  

Shopping for Free

So it's January 26, and I finally gathered all the things together from Christmas that I needed to bring back to the stores...and then some. You see, I consider the Christmas grace period for gift returns kind of an amnesty for all the other items I bought during the year that I can't find the receipt for, or found in a closet in a bag with the receipt - but that somehow never made it to my car.

Today was Return Day. I had all my bags organized, and knew which ones had receipts and which ones I had to feign surprise about: "Are you sure  that's not in the bag? I could have sworn I had it in there." Among the things from the holiday I was returning (woolen accessories, age-inappropriate presents and indeterminate household items) were two pairs of summer pants, three pairs of sandals, a decorative pillow I got for a sofa I no longer have and two children's aprons.

I promised myself I was on a returns-only mission; no shopping. I kept thinking that all the way into the first store, when I discovered that I was too late to have the charges reversed and the money put back on my card, and would have to have STORE CREDIT. Ah, store credit! That guilt-free shopping spree—electronically transferred to a gift card—that feels so clean and good and right, because nothing's coming out of my wallet. Except, of course, for the money I spent the first time. Duh.

There's a kind of dance that goes on in my head when I have that unexpected windfall-that's-not-really-a-windfall. The practical, fiscally responsible me says "Keep your eyes down. Don't look around, Anita. Save this to shop for someone's birthday." And the fun-loving, financially carefree me says, "Look, you work hard. You deserve this! And how smart are you to return summer stuff and be able to buy winter stuff with it?"

I'm not saying the responsible me never wins. She does, most of the time. But today, that other me just made so much sense. And I have a new jacket and shoes to prove it.


©2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie  

Playing the Kindness Card

#26actsofkindness has got to be the best hashtag ever created.

After the unspeakable sorrow of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting, there was the inevitable feeling of powerlessness for all of us who watched and heard and knew not how to help. But news anchor Ann Curry communicated an idea after the tragedy that has taken root: she tweeted the concept #26actsofkindness, to prompt people like us to do a kindness for each of the 20 children and six adults who lost their lives. Thousands of people have tweeted back to her about the things they’ve done for others as a result. Last week, I caught a program where Curry was being interviewed about the effort… and it struck a resonant chord in me.

I like to think I live my life like this anyway – seeing where a kindness would help someone and just doing it. But there was so much more to this movement that I made a vow to do this, too. I loved the idea of being more mindful, of knowing that these 26 acts I will send out into the world early in 2013 are in honor and memory of those beautiful Newtown souls that left this earth too soon. I floated the idea to my staff, and asked if they wanted to join me in this effort – and, wonderful people that they are, they committed without hesitation. When we each have our 26, we’re going to share our favorite one with each other. Between us, over the next few weeks, we will be sending 130 more acts of kindness out into the world that might not have happened were it not for this prompt from the universe. That’s amazing! And it’s just a small piece of what could happen if most of the people in the world played the kindness card even one more time than they might have done otherwise, to pay tribute to someone they know (or know of) who deserves a legacy of love.

So here’s my challenge, friends – can we share this out even further? Can we compound the interest on this incredible notion to make it richer and more meaningful, and help it touch more people? I think we can. And then we’ll have to create a new hashtag: #100trillionactsofkindness

©2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie  

Well-traveled Words

Last April, a news story on NPR caught my ear: debris from the tsunami that devastated Japan in March 2011 had navigated to North American coasts. Soon, more wreckage from the storm: a Harley-Davidson motorcycle found off the shoreline of British Columbia, Canada; and a 66-foot, 160-ton concrete and metal dock that lumbered onto the beach in Newport, Oregon.

But this one piqued my interest the most: the soccer ball that traveled more than 3,100 miles to the shores of Alaska.  It was retrieved by a radar technician, who recognized the language of the handwriting on the ball and brought it home... to his Japanese wife, Yumi.  She discerned that the ball belonged to a student named Misaki Murakami - the writing reflected his classmates’ signatures and the name of his school. Through Yumi’s efforts, the now 16-year-old Misaki, who had lost all of his possessions in the devastating storm, was found. The ball was the only personal item he could reclaim.

Even in our connected world, even with the loss and sadness that the tsunami recalls, stories like this one about a boy's returned keepsake inspire awe and a sense of balance. The words on that soccer ball made it special, solved the mystery of its origin and owner, and brought joy - again - to a young man who needed to know that sometimes what we lose comes back again. And it showed all of us how very small the world is after all, no matter what language we speak.

©2013 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie   
Reprinted from my editor's letter in Mobility Magazine,  August 2012.

All Juiced Up

Breakfast: Two carrots, two apples, one stalk of celery. Lunch: rinse and repeat, but with an orange in the mix, carried handily to work in my new stainless steel Thermos. Yes, folks, I'm juicing! And to make sure I keep it up, I'm going to write about it here from time to time. 

After just one day (yesterday), I woke up this morning with memories of one of the most vivid dreams I've had in years. I won't bore you with the details, but it involved an extra Christmas tree someone brought into my house and left in my dining room, a high wind that kept blowing my front door open, and a guy from high school I kept calling an unsavory name. I don't know if at this point he deserves it - I hope not - but he sure did then, and in my dream he was still 18 and a jerk. (Hey, I just realized HE was 18 and I was... more than 18. Not fair!) I can only attribute it to the juice, which, according to my extensive research (I'm not kidding - I really checked this out) helps you absorb most of the nutrients from fruits and vegetables, makes you think more clearly, adds energy, boosts positivity, revs up your immune system, blah blah blah more good stuff. What none of my research said is "makes your dreams so real you have to fight off a monsoon to close your front door, and then run down to your garage to get tools to fix the door, and then you fix the door, and it blows open again, and you say to yourself, 'I really need to call Boo to get that door fixed.' " (Boo is my house doctor. He's brilliant.) 

So now I'm wondering: if I change the fruits and vegetables, can I control my dreams? Will beets make me feel more grounded (you know, because they're a root vegetable) and will grapes make me a more "raisinable" person in my sleep? (This is getting really bad. I'm going to stop soon, I promise.)  One thing's for sure. I'm going to keep changing up the ingredients until I start having dreams where I'M the one who's 18.