Heaven

Today is the 45th anniversary of my mom’s passing.

In some ways, it seems like a lifetime ago. Ironically, it was exactly the amount of her lifetime… since she died at the age of 45. 

I woke up thinking about her… although, I think of her every day.

I thought about what she might be doing in heaven today. 

I think about her being with my dad.

I often imagine them on walks in the garden in front of the Louvre in Paris… because Paris was her favorite city.

I think about her sipping an ice-cold drink on a hot summer day. Her skin would be sun-kissed from swimming in the pool, and she would be casually twirling the ice in her cup. 

I think about her playing tennis in the park with her friends.

I think about her playing bridge with my grandparents on a Saturday night.

I wonder if that is what heaven is like for her.

I like to imagine that heaven is whatever YOUR happy place is.

A place where you enjoy your life without pain. Without angst. Without worry. 

A place where you are always surrounded by people you love. 

I imagine it is peaceful. Tranquil.

I imagine it is the “life” you dreamed of having.

Or the one you had, but without any physical or emotional pain attached.

Maybe it is not even a place at all.

Maybe it is just a feeling.

Like warm sunlight on your face.

Or a walk on the beach.

Or curling up with a good book while listening to a thunderstorm.

Or watching the snowfall.

Or hugging someone you love.

For me, the most magical days are when life is simple.

When my body is relaxed… and my mind is at ease.

When the sky is blue with big, puffy white clouds… and a gentle breeze.

When I am hanging out with family or friends… and laughing.

When I am playing tennis and feeling invincible.

Heaven is probably a state of mind more than a state of being. 

So, in memory of my mom today, and for anyone who has lost someone they love, I hope Heaven is a place where everything is wonderful… EVERY day. 

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Quilting in Quarantine

I know. I know. There must be at least a dozen of you wondering if I stopped writing due to a peppermint bark overdose or something more dire.  

I am happy to report that it was neither.

I just took a long hiatus from writing this blog to start a podcast and focus on my life coaching business.

Meanwhile, haven’t we all been hiding for the last few months? 

Covid-19 along with Quarantine 2020. It has been quite the rollercoaster.

For those of us lucky enough to stay healthy by staying at home, there were some real benefits to this bizarre period in history. Benefits like:

  • Deeply connecting with our families. 

  • Taking more walks. 

  • Cooking at home.

  • Spending less money.

But then there is that pesky Third Law of Physics: 

For every action in nature, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

In quarantine terms, that translated to:

  • ONLY seeing your immediate family.

  • Walking the SAME path so often that you start to recognize the same piece of gum stuck on the sidewalk… and that empty beer bottle carelessly tossed behind a random bush.

  • ALWAYS having to cook every meal.

  • And for many, a substantial decline in income. 

It’s Groundhog Day for sure… accompanied by a whole new vocabulary. 

How often did you say words like Global Pandemic, Social Distancing, Stay Safe and Shelter, Shelter at Home, Coronavirus, Covid-19, Viral Load, and New Normal before this year?

The latest in fashion trends seem to totally focused on what kind of face mask you are wearing to the grocery store.

For me, quarantine began with high hopes of nesting and project completion. 

But here is my report card from the last 9 weeks:

  • I organized my dresser drawers… but never filed a single piece of paper in my office. 

  • I washed my dog once… it was awful for both of us.

  • I washed my car once… but since I only go to the grocery store twice a month, I didn’t bother to do it again.

  • I unclogged my OWN shower drain. Well, I didn’t actually do it. But, I did provide moral support to my husband while HE spent 45 minutes fishing out the most disgusting mass. My own hair causing the problem.

  • I hoped to finally start writing the novel that I have been meaning to write for 20 years… instead, I wrote exactly ONE blog. This one.

  • As for the title of this blog, did I actually learn to Quilt in Quarantine? That would be a big fat NO, I just liked the alliteration. The closest thing I got to quilting was making a face mask out of a paper towel with two rubber bands that I saw on Facebook. But I quickly learned this was not a viable nor safe option.

Here’s what I did accomplish:

  • I watched a lot of Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime: Anne with an E (all 3 seasons), Homeland (final season), Ozark (season 3), Hollywood, Normal People, and way too many Two and a Half Men reruns. 

  • I spent way too much time looking at social media. I am not proud of it, but in my defense, there were a lot of really funny memes and gifs to sift through.

  • I particularly loved the recipe for the new Coffee Margarita. It’s just like coffee, except with a margarita… and NO coffee in it. 

My husband and I took long walks every afternoon and then implemented our own daily Happy Hour. The coffee margarita (with no coffee) is perfect for this daily celebration of surviving another Groundhog Day.

Aside from my family on the mainland, the person I miss most during this quarantine period is my hairdresser. How that is not an “essential service,” I will never understand. 

But here’s the thing, no matter how mundane staying at home 24/7 is, I have never felt more grateful. 

Grateful for the planet healing itself from the decline in carbon emissions. 

Grateful to be healthy. 

Grateful to live in a beautiful place with so much natural beauty.

Grateful that we have the technology that allows us to talk, text, email, and video chat around the world. 

Grateful to those on the front lines who kept our food supply chain intact, kept our deliveries coming, and to all the doctors, nurses, fire, police, and other essential services that kept us safe.

May we all get through this with more appreciation for all that we have and can do TOGETHER… even if we never got around to writing that novel or learning how to quilt.

Stay safe. Stay healthy.

P.S. Forgive me for any typos. I am out of practice and rushing to a Zoom cocktail hour with my junior high school girlfriends. :)

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Trigger Foods

It all started with the Peppermint Bark from Costco.

I bought it for my daughter.

No that is not a rationalization, she legitimately loves Peppermint Bark.

But then, I tried it.

And unfortunately, it was to die for.

So, I ate some for dessert after dinner.

But then, I found myself nibbling on it during the day.

I don’t eat a lot of sweets, but I do allow myself a piece of dark chocolate each day.

I foolishly thought Peppermint Bark met my criteria for dessert.

It was dark chocolate after all.

But who was I kidding? Only the bottom layer is dark chocolate.

The rest is straight up white chocolate and candy.

The truth is that sugar is NOT one of my trigger foods.

My trigger foods are in the bread and dairy products category. Especially melted cheese on bread products like pizza, quesadillas, grilled cheese, macaroni and cheese, etc.

Basically the diet of a five-year-old.

These foods are my Kryptonite.

These are the foods that bring my inner Superman (woman) to her knees. Once I start, I cannot stop.

When I am eating white flour and dairy products, I cannot recall why I ever gave them up.

My brain lights up like a Christmas tree.

I feel happy. Almost giddy.

I am pretty sure drugs and alcohol probably do the same thing… which probably should have been my first clue.

Usually after I indulge in my forbidden food groups, it takes a day or two to notice any real changes.

But then, my body starts to swell.

My weight starts to go up.

My cravings go through the roof.

My body starts to ache.

I get tired.

I am hungry all the time.

I suddenly need more comfort food--Bread, pasta, ice cream, potato chips, cookies, cakes, pie… because everything is now fair game.

Trigger foods.

We all have them.

It’s just a question of which one(s) ignite YOUR “on” switch.

For most people, it is sugar. Once they taste it, they cannot stop.

So why did the Kirkland Peppermint Bark take me down the rabbit hole?

Maybe it was the perfect balance of dark and white chocolate.

Maybe it was the dairy in the white chocolate.

Maybe it was the finely crumbled candy cane bits on top.

Maybe because it was both soft and a little crunchy.

Maybe because the pieces were jagged… making it acceptable to break off a small piece at a time. That way I could not really pay attention to how much I was a consuming.

All I know is that ever since that peppermint bark made its way into my pantry, I cannot stop thinking about it.

It’s dangerous stuff. You have been warned.

Meanwhile, I need to seriously detox before Thanksgiving rolls around and my real trigger foods show up to challenge me all over again. Can you say stuffing? What are your trigger foods?

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On Hiatus

It has been a while since I have written.

Six weeks to be exact.

It had been so long that my own website locked me out… and I had to go find my password to get back in.

I didn’t mean to abandon my readers nor cause concern for my friends and family who kept asking, “Is everything okay? You haven’t been writing your blog lately.”

Yes, everything is fine.

I just got busy. I know that’s not an excuse, but it is true. I started taking on more coaching clients, teaching more yoga classes, and am still juggling a few TV projects.

I have been listening to multiple podcasts, audiobooks, attending webinars, and reading more books.

I really liked the Demi Moore’s memoir Inside Out and Nora Ephron’s I Can’t Remember Anything.

But then, as I mentioned in my last post, I started to have writer’s block too.

Like most things, when you get out of the habit of doing something (exercising, eating right, filing paperwork which has inexplicably stacked up too) I find it harder to get back to it.

It turns out writing is kind of like that too.

So, I am just writing to say hi… and to tell you everything IS okay.

My best friends from junior high school came for the 2nd annual visit. We ate, drank, laughed, cried, hiked, complained, played games, bonded, and shopped. We wandered into the Kate Spade outlet store and had fun trying on things that I would never be able to wear in Hawaii. We took this photo which looks like we were in Manhattan in the 1960s.

My husband and I won a Mixed Doubles tennis tournament this past weekend.

This always makes me happy. Not just the winning, but just playing. Playing with him AND playing well.

And yes, of course, winning feels better than losing… and losing is exactly what I did in my Women’s Doubles quarterfinals.

I am happy to report that my dog is barking less when I meditate in the mornings…

Except this morning when he barked at the birds on the roof for almost the entire 20 minutes.

No one is perfect.

I might write again next week…

Or maybe not until next year.

But rather than feeling blocked (the writer’s equivalent of tongue-tied) and then weirdly ashamed, I am giving myself permission to just see how it goes. :)

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Writer's Block

I feel like I should call every blog post: Writer’s Block.

Because every Monday, I ALWAYS think I have it… again.

It’s like a condition. Like social anxiety. Or fear of public speaking. I feel it coming on like the flu.

I THINK I suffer from writer’s block because I have made writing more important than it is.

I treat it like a job. I treat it like I am being paid to do it. Or like I am being graded on it.

I keep claiming that I am a “recovering perfectionist” (a term I borrowed from another writer), but the truth is that I am still deep in recovery. I am making progress, but clearly the perfectionist shows up regularly whenever I sit down to write. Judging the ideas. Blocking the writing.

EXCEPT emails. No problem with emails. That’s how I started writing in the first place. Just writing weekly emails to myself: A diary of sorts. There was no pressure. It was fun. Just an outlet.

But then I had a full year of emails and I thought maybe I had a book.

But it wasn’t quite a book, so it became this blog. Then I HAD to keep writing. There is a part of me thinks that I should get back to writing a book, but that’s just an excuse to not write the blog.

It’s an ugly spiral.

Then I find myself in the laundry room doing another load of dirty socks and underwear or emptying the dishwasher.

Anything to avoid writing.

You have heard this all before. It’s the same old story. This is what I refer to as the “old tapes.” I had a massage therapist years ago that coined that phrase. She used to say that when we are feeling down we choose to play our “old negative tapes” to torture ourselves.

Now I spend my days coaching people to “burn those tapes” and replace them with new ones. Positive ones.

I think I need to book a coaching session with myself… and hit publish on this post.

Happy Monday!

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Birthday Surprises

I know. It’s Tuesday and I missed my Monday deadline, but I have a really good excuse.

This weekend I surprised my eldest daughter for her 25th birthday. I had not celebrated a birthday with her since she was 17 years old and living at home. She had left for college (2500 miles and two plane rides away) eight years ago, and after college she was traveling around the world and/or always working in remote locations. Now settled outside of Portland, it was the first time I could spend her birthday with her in years.

It was my middle daughter who hatched the plan to surprise her for her birthday. If she was willing to travel all the way from the East Coast to the West Coast for the weekend, I thought it would be fun if I flew in from Hawaii and she would have two surprise weekend guests.

My eldest daughter’s girlfriend was the one who orchestrated the whole weekend with us. She arranged to pick me up and told my daughter that she was going to pick up her friend “Steve” from the airport and give him a ride home. Since they live about 45 minutes from the airport, they had made plans to have dinner with a friend in the city beforehand.

My daughter did not realize that “Steve’s flight” came in very late. 10:45pm. She was exhausted after starting work at 6am, so she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. But when she scanned the terminal for a twenty-something 6’4” man, she was completely gobsmacked to find ME sitting on the bench in front of baggage claim. She ran into my arms and we hugged for an impossibly long time… and then we both cried a little. It was very special.

A few days later, on her actual birthday, her girlfriend and I pretended that we had not made any plans for the day. We would spend the day doing whatever she wanted to do. She wanted to go back into the city and walk around the world famous Rose Garden in Portland and then grab some lunch. On the way there, I kept thinking about the song “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.” They had never heard the song, so, I Googled it and played it on YouTube. We cracked up at how dated it sounded 50 years later. But, ironically, they ended up singing along to this classic tune as we drove towards the city.

After our walk through the Rose Garden, we told her that we had to pick up a little delicious surprise. We blindfolded her so she would not see the airport signage, but we arrived too early and ended up sitting in the cell phone waiting area for quite awhile. Her blindfold started to annoy her. We told her the surprise was “not quite ready” giving her the impression that we were probably getting her a cake or something delicious to eat.

Finally, we pulled up to the Arrivals, but we couldn’t find her middle sister anywhere. I jumped out to look for her, but an airport cop told me that we had to move our car. I called her sister to find out where she was, and she insisted she was standing outside the Arrival area. She even texted me a photo. It was then that I realized that she was upstairs at the Departure level… which I inadvertently blurted out loud in frustration. When her older sister heard the word Departure, she started to put the pieces together.

The birthday girl was onto us.

In addition to the annoyance of driving around in circles, my eldest daughter became annoyed that she was still blindfolded. We circled the airport one more time before locating my middle daughter at the Departure level. At which point, the my eldest had guessed that her sister had flown in to surprise her and ripped off the blindfold. She teared up a little when she saw her, but then quickly said it was because the blindfold made her eyes hurt. She joked that she was a little disappointed that she wasn’t a cake.

That was the only glitch of the weekend. If it had been five minutes earlier. No slip of the tongue with the Departure word, and had her sister known to take one more escalator down to baggage claim, we would have pulled off two airport arrival surprises perfectly. Oh well.

We spent the rest of the weekend talking, laughing, and eating. My middle daughter slept on the sofa and I slept on an air mattress in the living room. I had sprained my lower back the weekend before playing in a tennis tournament, so the combination of jet lag, a very sore back, and an air mattress did not afford me much sleep. I think I averaged 3 or 4 hours a night. My eldest daughter and her partner offered me their bed multiple times, but I am not sure it would have mattered where I slept… I could not sleep.

Monday morning, we got up at 4:30am so that my middle daughter could make her 6:45am flight back to the East Coast. My flight did not leave until 9:45am, so I had three extra hours in the airport. I didn’t mind. I had work to do. I had downloaded about a dozen podcasts, three Spotify playlists, bought a new book, and just discovered a Sudoku and Solitaire app on my phone. I was good to go for a three-hour airport wait and a six-hour flight home.

My heart was so full from spending the weekend with my older girls that I could have floated home. Who needs more than three hours sleep?

It turns out I do.

When I landed back in Hawaii, I felt like a train had hit me. I could barely climb into my husband’s car when he met me curbside. We went straight to our favorite hole-in-the-wall and ate fish tacos. I indulged in a good old-fashioned ice-cold coca-cola. My drug of choice when I have hit the wall of exhaustion.

My battery was recharged and I was ready to finish writing my blog.

But when I arrived home, the usual Monday suspects were waiting for me: A basket full of dirty laundry, a dishwasher than needed to be emptied, an empty refrigerator, and a dog that needed my full attention. Needless to say, that is why it is Tuesday… and I am just getting around to publishing my post for the week.

A small price to pay for an awesome surprise birthday weekend with my older girls. I loved every minute of it.

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Farewell to Rhoda Morgenstern

My brother forwarded me an article from the Los Angeles Times this morning written by one of my favorite television critics: Mary McNamara.

The article was a tribute to the late actress Valerie Harper, but it was really a love letter to the iconic character that she played on television: Rhoda Morgenstern. If you are too young to remember the Mary Tyler Moore show, it is worth finding on Hulu and then coming back to read this tribute.
https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/tv/story/2019-08-30/valerie-harper-rhoda-morgenstern-cool-appreciation

I had forgotten that Rhoda Morgenstern was probably my favorite character growing up.

She was what I loved best about the Mary Tyler Moore show.

She made me fall in love with New Yorkers before I ever even went to New York for the first time.

She was probably why my first friend in high school was the "new girl from New York."

She was probably why I developed my self-deprecating humor.

She was probably the reason I tried wearing a head scarf to the Renaissance Fair in the 6th grade… which looked totally dorky by the way.

She was probably the reason I gave my daughter Morgan the nickname: Morganstern.

I loved Rhoda…. and I love Mary McNamara for reminding me how much Rhoda unconsciously influenced my life. In fact, everyone I have ever met has asked me if I am from New York? Even New Yorkers.

The answer is no. I just sound like one.

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People Pleaser

“You can please some of the people all of the time. You can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.”

-John Lydgate… but Abraham Lincoln was the one who made this quote famous.

I love this quote. Take my blog for example. A few weeks ago I wrote a post about my birthday and how I felt that life is actually getting better with age. My brother was the first one to read the post and said, “I didn’t like this week’s blog post.” When I asked him why, he said that he didn’t feel it was an accurate depiction of my life. He said it made me sound like I wasn’t happy for most of my life.

Naturally I became defensive. 

Either he misread the intention of my blog. Or I didn’t articulate my feelings well enough. Or I am not grateful enough for the life I have had. Or I have rewritten my own emotional history. 

Of course, I started to second guess my birthday reflections. Then I started questioning my ability to write. Then I started questioning my ability to appreciate everything. Yes, it took me down a rabbit hole. (It doesn’t take much to do that.)

Following the birthday blog, I received the following texts, emails, and comments:

  •  Happy belated birthday my friend. I absolutely loved your blog… it really resonated with me!!!

  • I am so glad that you have found real happiness for yourself. You deserve it.

  • The piece you wrote was terrific. Of course the subject is very much on my mind… and I am sure others in this category.

  • I agree!! Happy Birthday & thanks for the post. We think alike :-)

  • That was so right on the money! Thank you for sharing this.

  • I can totally relate. 

So, of course, I sent these “reviews” to my brother to tell him that he was “wrong” about my birthday post. But then I realized that neither of us were wrong or right. 

Writing a weekly anecdotal blog is always going to resonate differently with different people. For example, I have one friend who likes the ones where I write about food and nutrition. Who doesn’t like a blog post with a title like, I Really Miss French Fries? It turns out my brother doesn’t. He actually called me after that one and said, “Enough about food already.” LOL. 

One of my friends likes the posts where I write about my struggles with my imperfections. 

Another friend likes when I write about the television business. 

A few of my male readers favor the ones I write about marriage and raising a teenage daughter. 

My sister likes the blog posts about our family. 

My oldest brother was an English major (and a bit of a literary snob), so I am sure my colloquial writing and loose punctuation gives him major anxiety. But his favorite posts are when I tell a story with an "O’Henry” ending.

My other brother only likes the blog posts that specifically mention him. 

So when I write, I just have to remember that I can’t please everyone. But isn’t that a great reminder for life? It literally applies to everything: What you wear. What you say. What you like. What you don’t like. So the lesson is that as long as we’re not hurting someone else, and it makes YOU happy, then do it. 

Except when it comes to making dinner tonight… because I have a family full of picky eaters.

And I still try to please everyone, but I will save that for another blog post. 

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Laptop Drama

So a few weeks ago, I was home alone and decided to do some work on my laptop in the living room.

It was a hot summer night and I didn’t feel like sitting in my office. I almost always work in my office, at my desk, sitting in my chair. I envy people who actually use their laptop for what it is intended to do: Work on your lap from anywhere. Occasionally, I will remove my laptop from my office and take it “out” and sit on my bed to do some work. But it’s rare. I think it is generational. I was raised to type at a desk. First on actual typewriters and then later on a desktop computer. I only switched to a laptop a few years ago, so I still have trouble “remembering" that it is portable.

Anyway, it was really warm in my house that night, so I was wearing shorts and I forgot to put something on my lap between my legs and my computer. I felt like such a millennial. Sitting in my flannel pajama shorts, a tee-shirt, working on my laptop and actually having the television on too. I must have been working quite intensely because an hour or so went by and I felt my legs get warm and a little sweaty. I lifted my laptop up and placed it back on a pillow. About an hour later, I noticed my entire left leg was quite red and splotchy. I figured I must have gotten a heat rash from the warmth of the computer, but I didn’t think too much about it.

Until the next day.

While most of the redness was gone in the morning, there was one large red splotch remaining. It was really red and bumpy. It was kind of itchy, but I knew not to scratch it. I figured I must have gotten a rash from perspiring and the metal of the computer touching my skin. So I put some anti-fungal cream on it. Yes, somehow I thought the cream that works for athlete’s foot was a good idea for my leg. It’s not as crazy as it sounds. I did that for about two days, but nothing changed. I then asked my dermatologist about it. She thought it might be an allergic reaction and suggested cortisone cream for a week.

But nothing changed.

I then realized it might have been a burn. I used various menthol-salves recommended for burns. No change. I started using Vitamin E oil. No change. Then I tried Coconut Oil. Supposedly it cures everything and is delicious for cooking. No change. I used Aloe Vera gel. That’s what you should use on a sunburn. A week later… no change. Then I bought some expensive aloe-based hydrating cream that was supposed to repair any skin damage. They have to say that because it is expensive. Slight change. Probably had more to do with the passage of time than the actual lotion. The bumpy redness started to disappear, but it just turned to a dark brown splotch. It began to look like a birth mark. It was (in)conveniently right below my shorts and tennis skirts, so I was constantly reminded of my latest blemish. And by blemish, this thing is the circumference of a small apricot.

People kept asking what happened to my leg. I thought about just telling them it was a birthmark, so that I wouldn’t have to admit that I was using my laptop on my bare legs and burned it. Somehow I turned this unfortunate situation into a shame-fest that it was MY fault and I should have been more careful.

Then last week, I randomly get an email for an immediate recall notice from Apple my particular laptop (MacBook Pro). The notification said to check the serial numbers immediately. My serial number was a match. It turns out there is a faulty battery in this model and it can overheat. In other words, it is a FIRE HAZARD!.

Well that explains the burn on my leg. No my computer didn’t catch fire, but my leg almost did. They instructed me to contact an authorized Apple dealer near me. Guess how many authorized Apple service dealer there are on my island? ONE. Not good. I called them and they said it might take a week to be able to get to the repair, but I needed to drop it off right away.

My first thought was not about the potential fire hazard nor the possibility of a permanent scar on my leg from the burn, but the fact that I need to write my blog post and I cannot do it without my computer. Yes, clearly I have my priorities straight.

I brought my computer into the Apple repair store and begged them to let me keep my computer until the new parts arrive. They said they are technically supposed to confiscate the computer as soon as they learn about the problem, but they agreed to let me hold onto it long enough to write this blog post.

Thankfully, Apple will be paying for the cost of the repairs. But here’s a question, do you think they will be interested in reimbursing me for the dozen different tubes of anti-fungal, anti-itch, hydrating, skin repair balms, creams, and gels that I bought? I think it might be cheaper if they just send me a new computer.

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Age Is Just A Number

Today is my 55th birthday.

This morning my sister-in-law called to wish me a happy birthday and we were commenting on how time flies. I asked her, “How is it possible that we are in our mid- 50’s already?! She said, “Time is flying at warp speed now. “ I remember being little and my grandmother always saying, “Make sure you enjoy your life because it goes by in a blink… especially when you are young.”

While I know that is true for most people, it was not for me. When I was young, I thought time crawled at a snail’s pace. As a child, I always felt like there were very few choices. It was just a series of obligations. Things that you had to do to get to the next thing: Going to school. Doing homework. Doing chores. Going to Sunday school… where time didn’t JUST stand still, it felt like the clocks were actually moving backwards.

When I was a kid, I often felt bored and couldn’t wait to be a grown up. It’s not to say that I had an unhappy childhood, I just put a lot of pressure on myself to succeed. I wanted to get good grades. I wanted to get into a good college. I wanted a prestigious career. I had big dreams and felt that I had to remain vigilant to get there. I was wayyyy too serious in college… at the complete expense of having any fun.

I saw life as a ladder that I needed to climb. I thought that if I fell prey to the distractions, I might fall off and never get to the top. The top of what? I have no idea.

Somehow I thought that if I studied hard and worked hard, I could have a car, a house, a family and a career. That would be the end game. The goal. The blue ribbon of happiness. And you know what? I achieved all of those things…

But I was still not happy. I created my own prison of obligations.

Time continued to move slowly. When I worked in the television business it was like surviving quicksand. Endless meetings. Endless piles of scripts to read. Endless politics. And even if you survived the quicksand, there were crocodiles waiting to eat you alive. Or at least that’s how it felt to me.

The point is that I was so busy surviving my life, albeit the one I chose, that I forgot to have fun. Everything I did was for a purpose. While other people seemed to be enjoying themselves: going to concerts, festivals, happy hours, long vacations, summers off, or just had weekend hobbies that they loved, I was too rigid with myself. I was obsessed with always having to get all of my work done. I needed to be home with my family on the weekends because I worked so much during the week…. but then I worked nights and weekends too. I needed to make sure that I was a good wife, good mother, good daughter, good sister, good neighbor, good executive, and a good friend. I just forgot one thing:

To be good to myself.

I was 35 years old when I took up my first hobby. Tennis! This was not ONLY my first hobby, but my first sport. Yes, I skipped PE in high-school. I wrote a note (and by wrote I mean forged) to be excused from PE class. I didn’t think I was athletic because PE was all running, push ups and pull ups. Little did I know that there was a whole world of sports that didn’t involve running around a city block on cement in poorly constructed sneakers wearing a hideous cotton/polyester PE uniform. But I digress.

I took up tennis when my former assistant at ABC (thank you Michelle) told me that I needed a hobby. She could see that I was over-worked and exhausted while raising two toddlers at home. So, I took a 30-minute tennis lesson once a week. It was all I thought I could afford in both time and money. Eventually, I made the decision to join a tennis club to meet other players and learn the game. I still only allowed myself one or two hours a week to play. I was absolutely terrible, but I loved the game. After my time on the court, I would rush to take a shower and get back to work or back to my family and make-up for the time I was gone. I envied the people who would lounge by the pool. Or sit at the bar and have a drink with friends. Or even stay for lunch or dinner on a regular basis.

When I played tennis, I noticed that the time would fly. I remember thinking that tennis represented a life of leisure. Someday I would be able to play longer than just one hour. Someday I would be able to work for myself and create my own schedule. Someday I might build leisure time into my very busy life.

But it wasn’t tennis specifically that was missing from my life, it was about developing hobbies. New friends. New thoughts. New interests. It was about expanding my horizons and taking care of myself. But I made the mistake of making tennis my ONLY outlet. So when I got injured (ironically from playing tennis), I had no other ways to manage my stress.

It was after I turned 50 that all the pieces started coming together. I left my corporate life. My tennis injuries (finally) healed, so I could start playing again. I went back to yoga. I started writing a blog. I become a Yoga Instructor and a Life Coach. I could be my own boss. I could make my own schedule. I could take the extra time for myself and find out what makes ME happy.

So I did all of those things… and then some.

And you know what? Time started flying.

And you know why? Because I started having fun.

This is what my grandmother meant by: Enjoy your life because it goes by in a blink. I just did it backwards. So now I am trying to help others discover what makes them happy… or at least happier.

As for turning 55, I spent the entire weekend playing in a tennis tournament with my husband and youngest daughter. We all won a trophy in our various divisions. If that isn’t the best birthday present ever, I don’t know what is.

So, yeah time goes fast when we are having fun…. and I am starting to do that in a big way. People love to assume that I because I left my television career that I am retiring. My response is: Heck no…I am just getting started!

My 6th birthday. A swim party in my backyard with a Flintstones cake.

My 6th birthday. A swim party in my backyard with a Flintstones cake.

Keep Your Eye On The Ball

I know what you are thinking. Sports metaphors are a cliché and you are not a sports fan, so you figure you can skip this post.

But keep reading anyway.

This past weekend I was playing in a big tennis league tournament (Sectionals). The top doubles teams from my island were pitted against the top doubles teams from the other islands. The winning team(s) would go to the National tournament this November in Arizona.

In these kind of matches, I’ve learned it is easy to let your nerves get the best of you. When I am nervous, I tend to hold my breath. If I hold my breath, I don’t move as well. My legs will start to feel heavy and I will run out of energy fast. It was a hot and windy day and the rallies were long. I made a concerted effort to focus on my breath and watch the ball.

My doubles partner and I won the first set. The opponents won the second. We played a 3rd set tie-breaker, but ultimately we lost by 3 points. While we were disappointed that we didn’t make it to Nationals, we felt proud of how well we played and how close we came to winning.

On my drive home, I thought about what cost us those last three points.

A large crowd had formed and I remember looking over to see if our other teammates were there. Due to the gusty wind conditions, tennis balls were flying over from the other courts. Officials were walking on and off the courts to referee the final rounds. There was a lot going on. And when we were down to the final points, I think both my partner had simply taken our eyes off the ball and started watching our opponents.

It cost us: Game, Set, Match.

It got me thinking about how this metaphor truly applies to other things in life.

When I sat down at my desk this morning to write my blog, I found myself doing a million other things. Yes, obviously, I went to finish the weekend laundry first.

Then I found myself emptying the dishwasher. Responding to emails. Reading my horoscope. And then, of course, there was the rabbit hole of social media.

Some of the news was important. There was another brush fire on the island today. The fourth one in the past two weeks!

But it was also actress Betty White’s 97th birthday, so I had to read that article. I met her a few years ago, and she claimed the secret to her longevity was vodka and hot dogs… which she eats daily. She is a unicorn, I do not recommend following that dietary advice.

Then, there were the baby bulldogs posts on Facebook, and the koala bears at the zoo, and some of my friends had posted new vacation pictures on Instagram.

You get the picture. The next thing I knew, it was afternoon and I had not started writing.

I took my eye off the ball… again.

Monday is my writing day and we know what happened two weeks ago when I didn’t write. Not posting a blog led to a week of self-doubt and questioning everything else because I was focused on the “weeds not the garden.”

So, just a reminder. It is easy for us get distracted by the opponents, those rooting for us, those rooting against us, household chores, or the social media rabbit hole of celebrity birthdays, and adorable animal videos.

But if you want to be successful in your day or in sports:

  • Show up.

  • Be on time.

  • Do the work.

  • Watch the ball. YOUR ball.

And, of course, don’t forget to breathe!

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Weeds In The Garden

As a perfectionist, I have to admit that my single worst habit is focusing on the one thing that is not working… instead of the multitude of things that are. 

While I cut others slack, I am a drill sergeant when it comes to myself. Last week for example, I accomplished every single thing on my to-do list. I even signed two new clients.  But all I could focus on was that I didn’t write my blog post on Monday, which led to a minor existential crisis. I think I was just tired from having a house full of people the week before. Or I might have had writer’s block. Or maybe a little of both.

Rather than chalking it up to just “one less Monday” blog post, I began to go down the rabbit hole of darkness. I decided that I would probably never be able to write again. And therefore, I would no longer be able to continue writing my blog. Of course, if I couldn’t even write a weekly blog, how could I possibly find the motivation to write a book? Something that I have been meaning to do. That tailspin led me to questioning my ability to teach yoga, build my practice as a life coach, or finish anything else… ever again.

Yes, skipping one blog post created quite the spiral of irrational thinking.

A few days later, I was working with one of my clients who was getting down on herself for not completing one of her weekly goals. I recognized that paralyzing self-doubt. She completely neglected to acknowledge all of the incredible accomplishments that she had made over the prior few weeks. When I reminded her of all of her recent successes, her attitude shifted and her energy visibly lifted.

For many of us, we choose to focus on our imperfections, rather than our achievements. It’s like focusing on a weed in the garden, rather than noticing all of the beautiful flowers.

Take my advice: Don’t focus on what is NOT working. Focus on what IS! Write down everything you have accomplished. Today. Last week. Over the past year. Big or small. It all counts.

And remember, sometimes the weeds are just wildflowers, so make a wish and keep going.

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Family Game Night

A Family Game Night always seems like a good idea… in theory.

It checks so many boxes.

It gets the kids off their electronic devices.

It stimulates conversation.

And it is considered good old-fashioned fun. 

But the problem with Family Game night is it can turn ugly…  fast. 

My husband and I have had a regular Scrabble game that we have been playing several times a week for 16 years. I thought I was a truly excellent Scrabble player until I met him, but he is on a whole other level. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of victories, but he wins about 2 out of 3 games.

My theory for his winning streak is that when we play, he takes a ridiculous amount of time to take his turn. I have tried to discuss this with him, but he claims it’s just “propaganda" to distract him. But there is no distracting him because he has laser focus. We take the game VERY seriously. Additionally, I tend to get antsy waiting for my turn. So I often get up to empty the dishwasher, do a load of laundry, or bake cookies. When I was a television executive, I used to read scripts while we played. I could finish a 60-page script during one game of Scrabble. He claims I take just as long when it is my turn, but it simply is not true. In a nutshell, I think my brain goes numb while I wait for my turn. 

This week, my oldest daughter and her girlfriend are visiting and since no one in my family is willing to play Scrabble with us anymore, we had to move on to other games. The first night we started with Cards Against Humanity. If you haven’t played this game, it’s like Mad-Libs... if Mads Libs were X-rated and totally inappropriate. Of course, this is exactly why people love the game so much. My sister-in-laws came over and one of my sister-in-laws was killing it. I think she won about 16 rounds. I won about 2. It was not my night.

Night two, my oldest daughter thought it would be fun and nostalgic to play Sorry. She was already talking smack before the game began about how she was going to be the winner because she was so good at the game. I barely remembered how to play, but I guess I pulled a few good cards and made a handful of strategic moves. As my oldest daughter started to fall behind, she blurted out, “You know this is actually a game of luck?” I calmly retorted with, “Only when you are losing.” 

I ended up winning the first round, but admittedly, it was just luck. My husband decided to take my place in the second round. He didn’t remember how to play either. But it’s designed for 8 years old and up, so he figured it out. The next thing I knew, both my oldest and youngest daughters were screaming that he somehow managed to get ahead of everyone. He won the next round. I actually think they should rename the game to “Sorry, Not Sorry.”

My oldest daughter was throughly frustrated. She needed a win. She suggested that we play Rummikub, a game which she claims that she was the “reigning champ” in high-school. But after my husband won the very first round of that game, the tensions started mounting. That is when oldest daughter dug the two-minute sand timer out of the box. My husband was insulted. He claimed that he doesn’t take any longer than anyone else. All the girls burst out laughing.

During his next turn, I went to do a load of laundry. When I returned, he was STILL “thinking” about which tiles to play. Clearly, the two-minute sand timer was no longer functional. We had to move on to a digital timer. My daughters continued to tease him for the insane amount of time he was taking. He evoked his favorite statement, “That is propaganda used to distract me.” I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.

We played a few more rounds until we were all punch-drunk with fatigue. My youngest daughter won the second round, but in spite of being on a roll, she threw in the towel and went to sleep. Even the dog left to follow my daughter to bed. I was down to the last tile when my husband laid down a key tile that would have permitted me to win the game… allowing us all to finally go to bed. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw me get excited, and he pulled the tile back onto his rack. Yes, at the expense of getting closer to finishing the game, he purposely blocked me from winning.

My daughter then made a killer strategic move and finally went out. She won the round and won the game and felt much better about winning something. 

My husband tried to take credit for her win by admitting to holding back the key tile that would have allowed me to go out. We both gave him a death stare. 

Yes, that’s how competitive we all are. 

After two nights in a row of friendly Family Game Night, we think we needed to have a cooling off period.

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My Weekend With My Cousins

This week’s post was written by a special guest blogger.

We went to my uncles’ house over the weekend to meet my cousins for the very first time. My mom warned me that I was to be a good houseguest. I was not exactly sure what she meant. I was just happy to see that when she was packing a suitcase, she packed a small bag for me too. I was excited to get in the car and head to the airport. 

We boarded a small prop plane and sat in a tiny seat in the first row. I sat on my mom’s lap and she had our two carry-ons stuffed under her feet. When the engines came to life they roared like loud thunder and it hurt my ears. I started to shake, but my mom held me tightly. The noise did not stop and the ride was very bumpy as we made our way from Maui to the Big Island of Hawaii. My heart was racing the entire time. Eventually, the plane landed with a big thud, but I was happy when those noisy engines finally stopped. 

When we got off the plane, the runway felt hot under my feet. The air was sticky. I was feeling both very nervous and excited all at the same time. I was really thirsty too. One of my uncles was there to greet us. We put our bags in his car, and I got to sit in the front seat on my mom’s lap. The cool breeze of the air-conditioning felt good on my face. The ride back to my uncles’ house looked unfamiliar. Although I was born on the Big Island, I don’t remember anything about it. 

When we got to their house, I was greeted by my three cousins. They were bigger than me and we were excited to all meet each other at first. But all of a sudden, one of my cousins growled, then they all jumped up and started to attack me. Like lightning, my mom picked me up by my leash and collar, and lifted me to the safety of a nearby sofa. I wanted to go home right then and there.

Things calmed down after that. My cousins Rollie (Pollie) is a Boston /Jack Russell Terrier mix. He is five years old, which is two years younger than me, but he is also three times bigger than me. He is the only male in their house, so he acts like he’s in charge. He was the one who growled at me first. I think he is also the most spoiled of my cousins.

My other cousins are all girls. There is Ginger (Snaps), who like all her siblings, is a rescue dog. She is a Whippet/Bull Terrier mix. Her sister Koa is Shepherd/Rottweiler/Lab mix. They are both 12 years old and about four times the size of me. I think they are too old to really care about my visiting, but their size and loud bark made me keep my distance. I do have a fourth cousin named Niki. She is a greyhound mix, but she hides in the bathroom all day and night except when it’s time to eat or take walks. So we never really saw each other. That probably worked out best for both of us.

Rollie was my biggest challenge. Mom says that we are both spoiled male dogs with a lot of energy, but since I was the guest, I needed to be on my best behavior. Admittedly, I struggled a bit. There were a lot of smells on my uncles’ farm. They have chickens, pigs, cats, and the four dogs. It made things very confusing for me.

First, I made the mistake of gobbling down a bowl of dry cat food at the front door thinking they were dog treats. I ate them so fast that I threw up on my uncle’s favorite reading chair an hour later. Mom had to clean it up with a mixture of stinky white vinegar and water. She was mad and I was a little embarrassed. Of course, I couldn’t wait to try more of that cat food when they refilled the bowl later, but Mom put an end to that.

When my mom and uncles went out, I got to go in the car with them. They said they were concerned if I was left at home with my cousins unsupervised, they might confuse me for a chew toy… and really bad things could have happened.

Then there was a little mix-up about where to go to the bathroom. I wasn’t exactly sure. They had a lot of area rugs and dog blankets in their house, and the closest grass area was down a big set of stairs outside. It seemed awfully far away. So I might have made a tinkle on one of the dog blankets mistaking it for a wee-wee pad. Later that evening when it was pouring rain outside, I might have used one of the area rugs to make a (tiny little) poopie because it seemed more convenient than going out in the pouring rain. 

Mom came flying over with the stinky white vinegar and water solution again. She told me that, “I was not a good boy.” She might have told me that, “I was a bad dog.” My uncles, on the other hand, were more understanding about my “accidents.” They reminded her that I was just a dog.

I really like my uncles a lot.

My biggest problem was that I could not stop licking my backside and scooting my tushy across the cool floor. It was kind of itchy. My uncle thinks I might have something called a blocked anal gland. I don’t know what that even means, but Mom says that we might have to go visit the vet tomorrow. There is nothing that scares me more than the vet… except for being forced to take this family photo. 

It’s hard being a little white fluffy dog.

Rollie (top left). Me (top right). Ginger (bottom left). Koa (bottom right). Niki was hiding in the bathroom.

Rollie (top left). Me (top right). Ginger (bottom left). Koa (bottom right). Niki was hiding in the bathroom.

My Version of Resting

I am sitting in bed. Well, technically on the bed. Trying to rest. I came down with a wicked sore throat last week and it got progressively worse as the week went on. 

The last time I had a cold was well over a year ago: Spring Break. We went on a family ski trip. Let me be clear. The cold did not come from being cold on the trip. And when I say ski trip, I had actually opted out of the skiing part. I rarely leave the warmth of the fireplace at the lodge. But the thing was that my husband had had a head cold right before the trip. So with an overheated hotel room, zero moisture, and recirculated air, I had his nasty head cold by the time we got home.

Before that, my last cold was the year before. Ironically, that was Spring Break too. My husband had had head cold prior to that trip too. Then he had a mild relapse on the trip. Lots of congestion. Lots of snoring at night. By the end of that trip, I had a nasty head cold too.

Do you detect a pattern here?

But for the past year and some months, I have managed to stay quite healthy. My husband has had a few head colds, but the last time he got sick I quarantined him to the guest room and sanitized everything within an inch of its life. Miraculously I stayed healthy. My daughter had a few colds this year too, but I still managed to avoid those too.

But last week, my husband casually mentioned that he had a sore throat. Later that afternoon, so did I. Unfortunately, I could not blame him for this one, since he was only a few hours ahead of me on symptoms. And even more unfortunately, I did not take it seriously. I proceeded to go about life at my normal hyper-speed.

By the weekend, I felt like crap. My throat was so sore that I took myself to a “doc in the box” clinic. When the doctor asked me to "open my mouth wide," I almost could not do it. My throat felt like it had been sewn shut. They did a rapid strep test. Which was negative. They took my blood pressure. Took my temperature. Listened to my lungs. Checked my ears, eyes, and nose. Everything was normal. If it weren’t for my raging sore throat, I would have had no symptoms at all. The doctor asked me what I had been doing to try and remedy my sore throat. I proudly told her that I have been:

Making and consuming homemade chicken soup.

Drinking herbal tea with lemon and honey.

Drinking lots of water.

Using herbal throat lozenges.

Using an herbal throat spray.

Gargling with warm salt water.

Taking Zinc.

Taking Vitamin C. 

Taking Advil at night.

She gave me a huge smile the way a teacher beams at their favorite student. She said, “Great job! What about resting?”

Suddenly, I heard the proverbial record scratch.

Resting? Um. Well, not exactly.” What I didn’t tell her was that all week I continued to teach two yoga classes per day, played tennis, had meetings, ran errands, went grocery shopping, cooked meals, did dishes, and (of course)  did laundry.

She sent me home with the marching order “to rest and try menthol throat lozenges.” I tried to lay in bed. But, it was really hard.

Apparently, I am not good at resting. I ended up paying bills, answering emails, scheduled meetings, and wrote this blog post. I only got up a few times: To feed the dog. Make breakfast for the family. Make lunch for the family. Finish the laundry. Do the dishes. Take out the garbage. Sort the recycling. In the late afternoon, I went with my husband to sit on the beach… because it was Father’s Day and that made him happy. For dinner, we went out for Mexican food (his favorite) and I skipped the margarita.

I think that counts as resting… Right?

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Intentions On The Mat

Many years ago, I went to a yoga class where the teacher asked us to set an intention for our practice. I found myself becoming anxious by this simple request. It reminded me of blowing out birthday candles and the pressure to make the perfect wish. I felt my inner-perfectionist bubbling up to make the right decision. What is the right intention? Should it be a literal intention like, “I hope I can touch my toes today.” Or should it be a more spiritual one like, “I hope I become a more patient person.” Or should it be more global like, “I hope there is peace in the Middle East.” I was so in my head about picking the RIGHT intention that my time was up and I came up with nothing. I spent the rest of my yoga class thinking about what my intention should have been.

A few weeks later I took another yoga class, where the instructor asked us to set an intention OR a dedication for our practice. I felt liberated by the option to “dedicate” my practice to someone else. Something about “intention” was just too daunting, but “dedication” felt easier. I just needed to think about someone who needed positive energy sent their way.

I came to love the power of dedications so much. I saw truly miraculous results when I started dedicating my practices to family members and friends who needed help through difficult times.

We do powerful work on our mats when we take the time to breathe, stretch, exercise, meditate or just be still. Not just physically, but energetically.

There is power in thought. There is power in setting an intention… even when we rename it and call it a dedication.

By dedicating your practice to someone you love, you are sending energy to help heal them or to encourage them, to support them or just to hold them closer in your heart.

Now that I teach my own yoga classes, whether it is in a public class or a private session, I always have my students begin in a comfortable seated position, ask them to place their hands to heart, bow their heads, and take a moment to silently dedicate their practice to someone or something that needs their love and attention.

You don’t need to practice yoga to set intentions or dedicate your energy to someone or something. You can do this when you meditate, before you go to sleep, or any time you find a few moments to just be still. It is truly powerful stuff.

I highly recommend finding a few minutes each day to sit quietly and dedicate your silence to someone or something special. It can even be yourself…

You might be amazed by the results.

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The Blame Game

It’s summer time and my big fear looms large: What will my youngest daughter do with herself without high-school and sports to structure her days? Of course this is a rhetorical question. The answer is that she will stare at her phone for the next three weeks until she leaves for sports camp.

Smart phones provide her endless hours of entertainment, distraction, obsession, companionship, and addiction. My daughter is no different than most teenagers. She says that HER attachment to her phone is not her problem. It’s MINE. The other day she claimed that I blame everything on her cell phone. 

When she is moody, I blame it on her phone.

When she is tired, I blame it on her phone.

When she forgets to pick up her wet towel off the floor, I blame it on her phone.

When she cannot hear me calling her to set the table, I blame it on her phone.

When her room is a mess, I blame it on her phone. 

When her acne flares up, I blame it on her phone.

When she forgets her water bottle for sports practice, I blame it on her phone. 

When she gets a bad grade on a test, I blame it on her phone. 

This is simply not true. Okay, maybe a little true.

Meanwhile, my middle daughter overheard this conversation, and, in solidarity with her younger sister, said that she could totally relate. My middle daughter claimed that when she was in high-school, I blamed everything on her wearing halter tops. That was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. But then she went on to explain that when she was in high-school, she would occasionally complain about headaches. Allegedly, I said that her halter tops were putting a strain on her neck and might be the cause of her headaches. According to her, I didn’t stop there. When her teenage acne flared-up, I also suggested that the elastic or the lace of her halter top or her exposed back was causing irritation against her skin. And then, I blamed her occasional indigestion on the elastic around the ribcage, on her halter top. She, also, said that when she was feeling stressed, I insisted that the tie around the halter top neck was putting undue pressure on her spinal cord and causing her to feel anxious. She went on to say, I also blamed her poor test grades on halter tops, citing the same theory that halter tops were causing pressure on her spinal cord, constricting blood flow, and resulting in pain while taking tests. She disproved this theory as she did fine in most subjects except math. Apparently, she was just bad at math. I have no recollection of any of this. Although, when she recounted it, I began to recall that I suffered from headaches and neck pain when I used to wear halter tops in the ‘70s and again in the ‘90s when they made their comeback. So, maybe. Just maybe, some of this might be true. 

Feeling kind of defensive and sheepish, I decided to call my eldest daughter and see if she remembers anything that I chronically blamed during her high-school years. I was sure that she would come to my defense and tell me that she had no idea what her younger sisters were talking about. Surely, she would tell me that they are just trying to deflect their unwillingness to do chores and be accountable for their shortcomings. But my eldest daughter didn’t hesitate when asked. She gleefully jumped on the bandwagon and said, “Oh yes! You blamed everything, from bad grades to dishes left in the sink, on sleeping too much and watching too much Food Network!” 

Sigh.

I took this all in. I felt I needed to confess my shortcomings as a mother to someone, so I called my sister. She listened. She laughed. And then she said with her infinite wisdom, “It’s probably genetic. Whenever I am cold, I tell my kids to put on a sweater.” I reminded her that our Bubbie (grandmother) used to do the same thing… and I do it too.

So I guess what I learned from this is that when I spend too much time staring at MY phone, I get tired, unmotivated, crabby, forgetful, and less focused on my priorities. 

When I used to wear halter tops, I got headaches, felt anxious, and stressed.

When I watched too much television or slept too much, I did not feel like doing much of anything.

And when I was in high-school, I did all of these things too. We just didn’t have smart phones, but everything else was pretty much the same. So, I just need to lighten up and let my youngest daughter be a teenager. The good news is that next month she will be in sports camp, so at least she won’t be on her phone.

At least, I hope.

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Tech Wars

I know that I seem to complain about my technological woes a lot lately. It was just a few weeks ago that I devoted an entire post to my endless frustrations with passwords, which continues to be an on-going battle. But during the last few weeks, my patience with technology has been tested to an extreme. 

I was in the midst of completing my Life & Health Coach certification requirements and there were several key pieces of software that I needed to interface with in order to finish the course. All the coursework, homework, and worksheets were delivered on either Google Drive or Dropbox. This would have been okay except that I couldn’t remember my password to Dropbox, and it turned out that I actually had two different Dropbox accounts. So, it was always a treasure hunt every time I went to find my working documents.

Then there was Google Drive. Google Drive is a little bit of a mystery to me. I know that it is where I store all of my files and have been using it for the last few years, but I have mostly stabbed my way through the dark. It probably didn’t help that one of my Google Drive shared folders got corrupted and I didn’t know it. I just knew I couldn’t find my files. So in order to complete my 45 pages of paperwork, I did a lot of cutting and pasting, dragging and dropping, and good old-fashioned re-typing. Basically, I wasted hours trying to figure out how to just find my files, gather them, and send them back to my instructor. I had done the work, I just had no idea how to find it and deliver it into one document. I needed help, but didn’t even know what questions to ask. I know I took the long road and stayed up until after midnight two nights in a row going through hoops it get all done.

I only had one thing left to do to complete my coursework: Create and launch my new website. I had been working on it for about six weeks. It was my husband who suggested that I build my own website using one of the templates from a company like GoDaddy. My middle daughter helped me select a template and taught me how to navigate the website to make changes. My youngest daughter picked the font and helped me pick a color palette. My sister-in-law helped me with the photos. A close friend gave me final notes on the viewing experience. I edited and re-edited. I tweaked and re-tweaked. I must have changed the template more than two dozen times. The big green Publish button loomed large in the corner of the screen each time I worked on the site. I was so nervous about that button, you would have thought that it controlled the nuclear launch codes and that the fate of Western Civilization was in my hands.

Now that my coursework was complete, I was finally ready to hit that big green Publish button to go live. It was super scary, but when I did it I felt truly excited. I waited for something magical to happen and then GoDaddy sent me a big “Congratulations” notification… and told me that I was ALMOST there. I just needed to do one more thing: Check in with my 3rd party domain host. 

Uh-oh.

There are certain terms that make the hairs on my neck stand on end. 3rd party domain host definitely fall into that category. The notice indicated that all I had to do was log into my Google account and change the A-record. Sure, no problem. If only I knew what an A-record was. But I dutifully followed the instructions and logged into my Google account. The only thing was that  I wasn’t certain if that meant my Gmail, my Google Suite, or my Google Drive. I have multiple Gmail emails, I am not sure exactly what the Google Suite does, and I told you I already have issues with my Google Drive. If that wasn’t bad enough, apparently my Google File Stream was no longer functioning properly. You don’t know what that is? Don’t worry. Me either.

So I typed in various usernames and passwords going into the bowels of my Google account. I finally stumbled into portals called Admin and Domains. I tried to open those portals, but they wanted additional passwords, and none of my usual suspects were working. I was out of ideas at this point. I attempted to reset my password, but nothing came up through my emails. So I called the GoDaddy support line. I confessed to the advisor that I thought going live with my business website would be as easy as hitting the bright green Publish button. The GoDaddy advisor named Brian calmly explained that the A-record was just a fancy name for an IP address and I just needed to change the number. Of course, IP address was on the short list for terms that make me highly anxious. But I did not reveal to Brian that I was on the precipice of an anxiety attack. He talked me through the various screens through the Google account. We ended up back in the bowels of Admin locked doors and eventually got back to that final dungeon known as Domains. But there we reached the end of the road… again. No usernames nor passwords were opening the door to this nightmare. Perhaps if I had spent more time playing video games like Dungeons and Dragons, I would not be so daunted by these technological roadblocks.  But, alas, my video game expertise ends with PacMan and Tetris.

Brian spent over an hour on the phone with me only to tell me that he could no longer help me. He told me that I would have to reach out to Google to unlock this. Reach out to Google?? That’s like saying I don’t like a post on Facebook, so get Mark Zuckerberg on the phone. Google was not going to answer an email or a phone call. They don’t have to answer. They control the world. Their help desks are notoriously bad or non-existent. I wanted to tell Brian that I could not slay this dragon alone, but he had bid me farewell. With no other choices, I emailed Google support and typed in a very specific request: "I need to change my A-record to launch my GoDaddy website, but because Google controls my domain name. I need assistance to unlock this portal called Domains." And then I waited.

Surprisingly, someone answered my email within 30 minutes. Her name was Ana and her response was that she couldn’t help me because I didn’t leave a phone number. I was both excited that someone responded to my email, and simultaneously pissed off because my phone number was clearly stated at the bottom of my original email. I quickly emailed Ana back with my phone number and told her to call me any time of day or night! Suddenly, my phone rang. I could not believe my good fortune. Google was calling me back!!!

Unfortunately, it was not the Google help desk, it my daughter asking when I was going to pick her up from school. I looked at the clock and realized I was already 15 minutes late. When I finally arrived at her school, the carpool lane was empty and she was sitting all by herself. I apologized profusely for being late and explained that I was in computer hell. As I was trying to explain my computer nightmare of A-records, admins, and 3rd party domains to my teenage daughter, she just looked at me blankly. By this time, I realized that I might have been losing it. My voice was at a fever pitch and I had worked myself into a full-blown frenzy. I was angry, frustrated, confused, overheated, and ready to pop a gasket. Perhaps had I not been so sleep-deprived from staying up until after midnight two nights with software glitches to turn in my final paperwork, I might not have been so crazy. But I now I was fully over the speed limit.  

As soon as we got home, I took a deep breath and went back to the dark depths of Google suite myself. I was determined. I wasn’t exactly sure I could even remember how to get back in, but I did. I got to the final locked door and I started typing every possible username/password combination I could remember. But nothing. It would not even send me a prompt to reset my password. That is when I noticed at the very bottom of the screen in tiny little font, there was a phone number. I knew that it would most likely be a dead end. After all, I was on a Google website, there was no way that someone from Google was going to answer the phone and answer my question. But I dialed it anyway. Someone named Jeff answered the phone right away. He sounded bright and cheerful. I couldn’t believe it! When he said, “How can I help you?” I almost started crying with relief. I was about to be rescued from my desert island. I took a very deep breath and said, “Jeff, I am going to warn you. I am normally a very rational, intelligent human being, but right now I am feeling frighteningly unstable and dangerous.” Thankfully, he had a sense of humor and asked again how he could help. I told him the whole story and he said he would attempt to help me unlock the door so that I could just publish my little website. He said that he could probably help, but wanted to clarify that I had not actually called Google. I proceeded to debate this. I was on a Google website, so this must be a Google helpline. He said, “No. You’ve called GoDaddy tech support.” Wait, how was that possible??

Well, it turned out that my original domain name was purchased from GoDaddy, but when I set up my Google account years ago, Google locked me out of my ability to change the IP address… aka the A-Record! So, GoDaddy could not help me since Google controlled it. But somehow Jeff was able to provide me with a special numeric code/username that would allow me to finally reset my password, so that I could get in to change the A-record. And yes, finally, I was able to get in and change it. After that, I needed to go through another series of unlocking doors to make sure that Google doesn’t continue to control this domain so that I can interface properly with my own website. The whole thing took another hour. Jeff from GoDaddy saved the day! He sat with me on the phone like an aerospace engineer guiding a person onto a lunar landing. He made sure that not only the astronaut landed safely on the moon, but safely splashed back down to earth too.

The scary thing is there is no way I could have ever done this on my own. Something as simple as launching a small business website was nearly impossible because GoDaddy and Google were having some kind of proprietary corporate pissing match. Under the guise of working together synergistically, I was just an innocent bystander caught up in this perverse Fortune 500 tech war. Apparently, this corporate proprietary nightmare is becoming more common place. Apple, Google, Microsoft, Samsung, etc. are all making interfacing more and more difficult. It is simply a way of controlling more of the marketplace.

In the end, I published my new website and then proceeded to change it another half a dozen times as my inner-perfectionist needed to keep editing and changing the aesthetic. As for Google, they did eventually send me another email. Only to say that they were closed for the evening and that someone would try me again in the next 2-5 business days. But the best part was that they had the audacity to immediately send me a survey asking what I thought of their on-line support?

Needless to say, Google did not get a good report card, but Jeff at GoDaddy got all A’s!

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Game of Thrones - Finale

Whether or not you are a fan, you probably heard that last night was the final episode of the epic drama: Game of Thrones. I realize Game of Thrones is like a religion for some people, so I have to tread lightly here.

I, for one, was not surprised that it was so anti-climactic. After Daenerys Targaryen scorched King’s Landing to the ground in the penultimate episode, it reminded me of the old saying: “What are you going to do for an encore?” Sure there were a few spectacular moments in the finale: Jon Snow standing in the snow face to face with the dragon, Jon Snow and Dany’s final kiss, and Jon Snow facing off with the dragon in front of the Iron Throne. Basically, anything with Jon Snow.

But everything else just felt kind of arbitrary and snooze-worthy. Tyrion declaring who should become King was rather absurd coming from the position as a prisoner who basically committed treason. And why did everyone just agree with him like it was some kind of book club meeting rather than a centuries old battle for kingdoms? As one Vox TV critic wrote, "The whole scene felt as though it had been transplanted from a different show — The West Wing, in particular.”

I think the cast and crew were getting tired at the end. Admittedly, they had been standing around in the snow for a lot of months. (Winter was coming… and never seemed to leave.) I think their fatigue resulted in a couple of snafus on the set during the last few episodes. In episode 4, someone had a left a Starbucks coffee cup on the dining room table in front of Daenerys. Oops! It has since been digitally removed. But then, during the final episode, a plastic water bottle was accidentally left at the foot of one of the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms. This kind of stuff is not ideal for a show that has gone to great lengths to build a mythical world from a long, long time ago. Not to mention, a show that has been on the air for 8 seasons, with 10 million viewers, and has budgets upwards of $10 million per episode (about 3x the cost of the average TV series). You would think someone would be looking out for these things?

But the die-hard fans don’t care about a few anachronistic props that have accidentally made their way onto the screen. Nor do they care about anti-climactic finales. The loyal fans are mourning the loss of their Sunday night appointment television. They are going to miss the battles, the beheadings, the dwarf, the dragons, the wolf, the three-eyed raven, the power struggles, the betrayals, the villains, the heroes, the prostitutes, the brothels, the excessive drinking, and the incestuous romances. I suppose the only possible substitution might be watching the actual news.

I have no inside track to this show. I watch completely as a spectator because my husband loved it, as did many of my friends, so I just went along for the ride. But I get the feeling that they are gearing up for a future feature film. My prediction is that the dragon comes back. A white walker is still in the midst. And we have not seen the last of our remaining Starks, Lannisters, and Knights of the Realm. 

Meanwhile, for those of you who don’t want to bother watching the whole eight seasons, and at the risk of spoiling the ending, here is it is:

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