Girls Rule

I know some amazing women.

Women who were second moms to me as I scrambled forward through the years, who came together in a blend with my own mother to offer life lessons, figuratively moving my face ever so slightly to make sure I looked up instead of down.

Women who listen to my dreams, who sit with me over coffee or adult beverages to talk about work and life, who make the right noises when I cry and then laugh moments later, who are happy for me when I'm in love, and get mad with me at the men who have wronged me. (Not all of them wrong me, but it sure seems like a disproportionate number of them have. At least, that's what me and my girls think.)

Women who rescue: who don't say "you'll have to let me know if I can help you" - they just show up and say "give me a job." Women who insist you cannot go through surgery by yourself and fly across states to take care of you, or help you move, or take care of tasks after someone has passed that you thought you could handle alone but ended up in complete, paralyzing overwhelm.

Women I've worked with, and some with whom I still do, who are so remarkably intelligent and meticulous about their work that I trust them implicitly with mine, who make me smarter and more curious just by being around them, who don't stop until they find solutions, who want to make their mark on the world through accomplishments earned with great talent and a good heart.

Women who are closing off a much-loved job with sadness but are less concerned about their own opportunities than they are about finding spots for their suddenly untethered team members. 

Women like my twenty-something niece, who craves adventure and pursues work in that field, knowing already what she wants - something that many of us don't find out until much later.

Women like my sisters, who, even though we may not always see eye to eye, show up in force when there's a crisis; no questions asked. (Well, to be fair - sometimes a few questions are asked, like "How did you let this happen?" or "What were you thinking?")

Women who faced grave illnesses with pragmatism and triumphed, or those with terminal cancer who had such moxie I would sob after I got off of a phone call with them, and even today re-read the emails they sent me, experiencing again their last words, which seem imbued with more gravitas and wisdom now that they are gone.

Yes - on this International Day of Women, when many will stay home from work to make a point (I cannot, because I work there already!), I'm adding my voice to this moment, because I really do think girls rule.

Boys: most of you are okay, too, but this is not your day. Oh - wait... I will represent you through the words of Eagles guitarist Glenn Frey: "Except for a few guitar chords, everything I've learned in my life that is of any value I've learned from women." Amen, Glenn.

© 2017 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Except for a few guitar chords, everything I've learned in my life that is of any value I've learned from women.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/g/glennfrey251756.html

Except for a few guitar chords, everything I've learned in my life that is of any value I've learned from women.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/g/glennfrey251756.html

Shut Your Eyes and Think of...Anything Else

It's my quarterly "money meeting," and I'm seated in an office with my accountant and my financial planner. I suspect I am a cliché in this practice: a word nerd who hates math. I wonder what percentage of their clientele are made up of people like me; creatives that shine well enough in their respective professions to have resources to protect and invest, but not a clue as to how to make that happen. Thank goodness for all those kids I hated in grade school who aced their math classes. They are saving whole communities of poets and writers and painters from ramen noodles after 60. 

I show up dutifully for these meetings, I write the tax checks required, I listen to reports on how my SEP and my personal accounts are doing, I sit as my female accountant and my male financial planner talk over me and plan my future like parents over a child at dinner. A child who has her index fingers in her ears while saying "lalalalala." 

Sometimes they give me paperwork that needs signing, and I pose a few questions just so they know I’m sharp enough not to let them get away with tricking me into anything (I’m not). When they ask me, as a courtesy, whether I want my money to go in this fund or that one, I furrow my brow and say, “What would you do if you were me?” and then zone out and think about what to get at the grocery store on my way home as they are answering.

Luckily, this works for all of us, and my trusty team of two has done a good job for me over the years. And when I'm feeling particularly unintelligent on my side of the table, or my head starts to hurt from too many numbers, I comfort myself with the knowledge that if they had to write an article or develop a communications strategy, they would be the ones feeling as if their brain was plugged with cotton balls, and they were surely going to fail the test. 
 
© 2017 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Love, Actually

Valentine's Day. It's a day that has changed for me over the years - sometimes it holds romantic love and surprises; sometimes not - and one year, sadly, it became the day my mother died. But no matter what, it's always a good day to spread some sugar around. And I'm not talking about the candy-related sweetness: I'm talking about the love kind.

To my family, which is, like most families, imperfectly perfect, I love the history we have, the heritage we share, the memories of childhood and awkward young adulthood and the grown-ups we have become. I love knowing that you have my back, no matter what. That one phone call from me will bring you running, no questions asked. And now that we're all getting older, I love seeing that we're letting more of the small stuff go in favor of the big things. In favor of love.

To my colleagues, I am honored to have so many business pals whose intelligence and savvy and overall kindness and decency and desire to do good work has strengthened my own professional abilities and values. Because of you, I have a network that is broader and deeper than I could ever have imagined; I have friends in places all over the world who are glad to hear from me when I write or call; I am connected, always, to someone who knows something about everything; and I know people I can call on to help other people who need a particular talent or knowledge or skill. Because work isn't just about work. Sometimes it's about love, too.

To "my" kids - the older ones and the young ones, the ones I'm related to or not...thank you for your openness and honesty and for letting me think, most of the time, that I'm the cool aunt in your lives. Even though you stop kissing and hugging and even speaking at times, I know you love me. I just know. Because I was you once. Love doesn't need to be talked about. I get it.

To my lost loves and last loves, thank you for seeing me at my best when I might not have deserved it, and thank you for the lessons, intentional or not, the great ones and the painful ones, that showed me what I want and need. You've helped me learn about how to love a little better the next time around.

To my friends, the ones I never see and always see, the ones who sit in my heart and pop into my head...thank you for being another family for me. You show up when I need a boost, you make me laugh with you and at myself, you meet me for coffee or dinner or drinks and as much conversation as I want, you join me on trips, you help me move, you take care of me and let me take care of you, and you never show up empty-handed. Because even if you can't see it, I can: you're always bringing love.

And to Suzie, the frazzled checker at my grocery store; and my mailman Ralph who brings my mail up to my door even though he doesn't have to; and Sandy, my neighbor who likes to stroll over and tell me all about the other neighbors and probably tells them about me; and to the thousands of other people I hear about or meet through the course of a year for a second or a minute or an hour... I love you too.

See? Today's not really just about flowers and candy and sweethearts. It's about love, actually.

Happy Valentine's Day.

© 2017 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Out of the Mouth of Baby

I am struggling lately. I struggle with whether to tamp down what I want to express in this changing environment because an individual will invariably make a comment I don't want to associate with. Then I worry about hurting the feelings of someone I care about or inviting a harsh conversation if I delete it, and on occasion I will remove my entire post just so I don't have to make that choice - I throw my post under the bus in the name of friendship!

But I have things to say. I have seen ultimatum-type posts from others who say "That's it! No more, and if a friend I am connected to posts something that says this or that I will unfriend you, and if you don't like it, you can unfriend me now." And sometimes I've done that, because if we censor each other for expressing concerns - as long as that happens with thought and integrity and honesty - then who are we? Not America. If that's your preference, to disengage, I will honor that: it likely means we were not real friends anyway. But nobody puts Baby in the corner.

That's why I loved the Women's March on Washington this past weekend, magnified in so many places, inside and outside our country. And I ask you: how can these numbers, this energy, this passion not make all global citizens sit up and take notice? It was a phenomenon for these times. Bravo to those who participated and those who supported this celebration of all the things that cannot be heard, or are not possible to say, if we're stuck in the corner.

Like the people in my life who are closest to me, and those who may not be in my immediate circle of influence but are wonderful role models and leaders, I demand openness and candor and transparency...and the option to speak my mind.

Nobody gets to tell me I should shut my pie hole and look the other way when there are lies openly, flagrantly spoon-fed to a waiting public, hoping to see something different. Well, different isn't better, folks. It can be, but I don't see it. I know what I expect from a coworker, a friend or boyfriend, a boss, a leader, a colleague... I expect to have a comfort level with the way they speak and act, and to respect them even when I don't agree. That's not an unusual assumption.

So if you want me to hold my tongue on the sidelines instead of speaking out when I simply cannot bear what I see and hear, then we should part ways with no rancor. Because Baby doesn't like the corner.  

© 2017 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Carrie On

I am not a Star Wars fan. I saw the first one, and then life intervened, and I never was compelled to see another.

But I was, and am, a Carrie Fisher fan. My fangirldom came from the work she did and the post-teen-Princess-Leia woman she was. I loved the way she created painful, searing, remarkable humor; the way she told stories with surgical precision —"Surrender the Pink," "Delusions of Grandma," and "Wishful Drinking." I admired how her mother's most selfish tendencies were handled in "Postcards from the Edge" with care and understanding. I treasured her genuine portrayal of real women on camera, and how she often stole the scene when she did. How she told off movie execs and other critics - in the way so many of us who don't look like we did at 20 wish we could - and said, "I swear, when I was shooting those films I never realized I was signing an invisible contract to stay looking the exact same way for the rest of my existence.”

I loved her openness and honesty about herself; about her struggles with regular human issues and superhuman mental health issues, and the generosity and self-deprecation she employed to keep moving forward and to help herself and others heal.

She was candid and gutsy, and from what one can tell about her through interviews and close friends' reflections, she closed off her life - full up to her Leia double-donut hairstyle - with integrity.

She could be counted on to point out that the emperor had no clothes, even as everyone else was admiring the cut of nonexistent finery. Kind of like what's happening today. Maybe she could see the future when she tweeted, "You know those days when things keep getting worse faster than U can lower your standards?"

Yes, Ms. Fisher, we know. Thank you for doing it right. We're so sorry you're gone, and not just for your talent ... because we would love to have your voice right now. But there is a lesson in your passing. Those of us who are witness to the parade, and wonder why so many are not pointing at the nakedness ... we need to get our Carrie on.

© 2016 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie 

Shampoooooh

I went to a new salon a week or so ago. The hairdresser came highly recommended by a friend I trust, who gets great haircuts, so I gave this new place a go. When I called to make an appointment, they took my name and gave me a date and time, and then said, "Oh, by the way, the price of our haircuts is between 'whaaaaat number did you just say?' and 'ohmygosh.' " They didn't actually deliver it that way. They gave me dollar amounts, but that's how I translated it.

So I went, and it was as trendy as I would have expected; the kind of place where they offer you a drink when you check in, and your name is emblazoned on the wall in three colors of neon chalk with the other clients in your time block (Hello to Jane C! Mike F! Anita B! Susan P!). There's an eclectic mix of doodads hanging from the ceiling - things like blow-up beach toys and dreamcatchers and other totchtkes. Shereen, my hair artiste, took me to her station, and we both looked at my sad headful of follicles and talked about what it needed to be when it grew up. Then she handed me off to Quentin, who settled me into a massage chair, revved it up, floated a silky black reverse cape around me, and leaned me back for the shampoo.

This wasn't just any shampoo. It came attached to a scalp massage that was so luscious it had to be illegal in at least 10 states. And it went on, and on. Ohhhhh, Quentin. It was so indulgent, so delicious, so dreamy that I'm pretty sure I had that involuntary leg reflex that dogs get when you scratch them, and I really hope that gutteral noise I heard was coming from the woman getting shampooed across from me. At one point in my delirium I was even thinking I might try hanging beach toys and dreamcatchers from my own ceilings, it seemed like such a great idea.

But alas, like most heightened physical experiences, it ended too soon. I was led, blinking and woozy, to Shereen, who did, in fact, give me a great haircut. I happily paid a king's ransom for the experience, and will probably go back for my next cut, even though what I really want is ... well, you know. They had me at the shampoo.

© 2016 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie 

Man + Cat

This isn't really a story about a cat. But it is a story about a man.

I saw him last weekend, when I was driving home on a sunny Saturday morning after having coffee with a pal.

This man was standing on the island between two busy roads, near a traffic light. He was around my age, maybe a little older. He had all the sadness of the world in his face, and dirty hands and fingernails, and soiled clothes that hung on his thin frame, and scuffed shoes that backed up to a trash bag which probably held a few miserable possessions. And he had a ripped piece of cardboard for a sign that said "please help" at the top, and "MAN + CAT" underneath that.

It pained me so, that "MAN + CAT"sign. There was no cat to be seen, and I wondered if he thought nobody would help if it was just him, but they might if they thought there was a needy animal involved. I couldn't help him that morning - I wasn't close enough to him to get to my purse and move over the two lanes it would require to hand over some financial compassion before the traffic light changed.

I try to give whenever I see someone like him. People have many different feelings about this; that someone will use the money for drugs or drink, and it will not make a difference in their lives. But here's what I believe: when we give someone like this money, it's not just about the currency. It's a way to  say "I see you," rather than averting our eyes and pretending we're suddenly very interested in the middle of our steering wheel.

We cannot rescue everyone. And yes, there are people who do this artfully, for a living, and are not the needy folks that some others are. But you know what? When there is a person who is clearly hungry, who seems not to have seen a bed or a bath for days on end, it doesn't make sense to spend a lot of time weighing whether one individual deserves charity more than another. I often repeat something a friend said to me years ago about giving others money: "What's a little to us is a lot to someone else."

I wish that I could have given a little to "MAN + CAT," and taken just a bit of that sadness out of his face, for a second or two. Because I'd like him to know he was worth helping, with or without a hungry pet.

© 2016 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie