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