Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from 2013

What would we do without Sondheim?

A few nights ago, I caught the last hour of an HBO documentary Six by Sondheim .  Unfortunately since I was late, I only got to see half of the show—3 of the 6 by Sondheim if you will.  As I watched this documentary about this very talented man, I was reminded of when I first saw one of his musicals.  Years ago, I was flipping channels in the television and happen to stumble upon A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.  I liked the title, it was unusually long. The opening song’s lyrics had such promise and grandeur as the star Zero Mostel sang in a baritone voice “Tragedy tomorrow, comedy tonight !!” I watched the comical misadventures of Pseudolus, enjoying the clever songs, such as “ Everybody Ought to Have a Maid .” I was about to write off that this was a just a silly, bawdy musical comedy, with only interest in tickling my funny bone. Then,  a duet with Michael Crawford (Hero) and Annette Andre (Philia) singing a beautiful song called “ Lovely ”. The melody sent chil

Hats off to Mary Bailey!

When I first saw the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life , like everyone else, I was touched by the story’s moral was everyone has a purpose in life. If one person in your life was missing, it would make a huge impact on the future. However, that’s not the only lesson I learned after watching this movie.   As we know, George Bailey is the main character. James Stewart played the part well—he was very human and we empathized with him on his ups and downs of life.  However, there is another character that I found to be as good a role model if not better than George’s Everyman . This was his wife Mary Bailey played by Donna Reed with quiet dignity and presence.  I searched the internet and found I wasn't the only one that appreciates Mary Bailey . From the beginning, Mary was a plucky (hey, that’s a word you don’t hear every day!), determined and resourceful person. She became the main component on transforming a rundown house into their cozy family home.  She was the one that was able

Is it the thought that really counts?

I do so love reading articles that conjure up memories! I recently read an article in O Magazine July 2011 (I’m a little bit behind!)  called The Cure for a Compulsive Helper by Diana Spechler.  The article was the author’s account of 30 days of mindful helping. She shared that there were times in her life when she thought she was being helpful, but since it was unsolicited, her help became almost to the point of meddling.   I got to thinking of an incident in my life and how I identified with Ms Spechler’s well-meaning nature. A few years ago, a manager that worked with my husband lamented that she didn't have many professional clothes. The owner was promoting her to another apartment complex that was larger and she wanted to look the part. She was petite like me, so my husband suggested that I help out. I had been working at an office for a while and had collected many business separates. I went through my closet and picked out a couple of my professional cast-offs.  The n

Ow! My eyes!

A few days ago, I was watching TV with my husband. The Jimmy Dean sausage commercial came on the screen.  The Sun and his wife sitting at the breakfast table eating the fully cooked Jimmy Dean sausage patties.  When there is only one patty left, they both jab it with their forks. As a test of wills, they commence in a stare down contest. Of course, the wife conveniently forgets she is married to the Sun. When he raises his eyebrows, she is blinded by the implied rays.  At the end, he takes the last sausage patty and chastises her, “Didn't anyone ever tell you not to stare  at the sun?” At the end of the commercial, I turned to my husband and declared I didn't think her husband was very nice. I suggested that they should have added at the end, the Sun shares the sausage patty with her. Or better yet, gives her the whole sausage patty since she probably has retinal damage!  My husband replied that the whole commercial was silly because how can a person be married to the Sun

Found: a change of perspective

There have been times I've been searching for a lost item—be it my car keys or my shoes—I can’t find it for the life of me. I tear the house apart, and doggedly quiz my family (Are you sure you didn't see them? Really, really?) After a fruitless search, I feel very frustrated, throw my hands up and quit looking. After a while, I retrace my steps--I do need to find these items, especially if I’m heading out the door! Inevitably, I find the item only when I search differently. For instance, when looking for my car keys, if I dug my hand through my purse, I now need to dump all of the contents out.  If I've been looking underneath the bed for my shoes from the left hand side, I switch to the right. It got me thinking how this new approach is relative to life experiences. Sometimes, we get so wrapped up in looking at a problem one way that with a fresh pair of eyes, it can be view as an opportunity. For example, a fender bender is a tragedy when it occurs. The look of the

All that camouflage!

One of my guilty pleasures is watching Project Runway . I find it fascinating that the designers can look at a piece of fabric and envision a sassy or an innovative dress. I get a real kick out of Tim Gunn and his signature catch phrase, “Make it work!” as he critiques the competing designers. I have often used this phrase in some of my parenting skills. A few years ago, my husband mentioned he wanted to try his hand at fly fishing, but didn't have waders. It was a few days before his birthday, so I figured Perfect! That’s what I would get him! At the time, he worked weekends; on the Saturday before his birthday, I took our son, who was seven at the time, to Sportsman’s Warehouse . This store is huge, packed tightly full of every sort of camping, hunting and fishing gear imaginable.  What I didn't know, but became painfully aware as soon as we entered, was in the middle of the store, they have on display a life-like wilderness scene. To complete this display was many taxi

Drop that bread!

A few nights ago, my family and I went out to eat at Smoky Mountain Pizzeria Grill , a local restaurant that specializes in Italian food. Evidently, that night everyone in the valley decided to eat here as well. We soon discovered this when we saw many people milling around the entrance, sitting on benches, all with a glazed look in their eye. As I gave our name to the hostess, I asked how long of a way it would be. I was informed it would be 15-20 minutes.  We decided that would be fine and we sat down on a cushioned bench, joining the other hungry patrons. Sitting a few feet away from the other diners wasn't pleasant. The aromas of garlic, marinara and pesto hung heavily in the air, making my stomach gurgle. If I hadn't figured it out, my son kept reminding me how hungry he was. I caught myself surveying the dining area, seeking out empty tables just vacated that may soon be ready. Then, out of the blue, another host started walking through the waiting lobby with a baske

Table Topics Take Two

The other day I was attending a Toastmasters International meeting. When Table Topics rolled out, I was called to make a 1-2 minute impromptu speech on the question: when was the last time you went camping and what happened? I shared that I didn't particularly like camping—my idea of camping was staying at a Holiday Inn with a black and white TV. I had married a man who loved camping—he could take a knife and a sleeping bag and he was set!  I ended my short speech with the last time we went camping, we compromised by staying in a campsite with showers, sinks and restrooms. After I left the meeting, I was able to digest the question more thoroughly and came up with a deeper answer to:  What happened the last time you went camping? The last time I went camping was with my husband about 16 years ago.  We were at a camp site near Pioche, NV that had showers and bathroom facilities.  We compromised, since camping is not my favorite vacation and my husband would take his knife and

How's the haircut?

Isn't it amazing how a bad memory can stick to you like a wad of gum in your hair? You try to remove it, but in order to do that, you need to cut off some of your hair? At first, you’re apprehensive, but in the process, you end up with a nice hair style? At the beginning of my career, I was working at an apartment complex.  I must have upset my boss by interrupting him when he spoke to me.  I hadn't realized I was in a bad habit of talking over him. I was so anxious to prove I was on top of all the assignments, but in this process, wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise. One day, he held up an eyeglass case and said this signified when it was his time to talk. In front of the other staff, he actually held up the case while he spoke to me. I was embarrassed by his demeaning ways. I didn't put any credence in his opinion. I wrote him off as being a mean old man! For a while, I carried this memory like a wad of hardened gum in my hair. It was brittle and would have

Feeding Julius

Let it be known when I arrive at the zoo, I turn into an adventurous kid. This latest trip to Zoo Boise was no exception. I am game to whatever was offered. Walk with the wallabies along an enclosed pathway—you betcha!  Go into a greenhouse and be surrounded by delicate butterflies—of course! My husband and son patiently go along with me as I explore in the contained wilderness. There’s a feeling of connection and somehow this zoo has honed it to letting us mere visitors feed certain animals. I got all excited that there was a feeding barn. There were machines that for a quarter filled my hand with pellets that I was able to feed the baby goats and sheep.  They happily licked up the pellets from my hand and their big, sparkling eyes begged for more.   I was only too happy to oblige. I was rushing to the pellet machines and feeding them bunches of quarters at a time, like I was trying to win a jackpot. As we left this exhibit, we walked past the sloth bear habitat. A woman from th

Threads unraveling

I was disappointed when I logged into my Facebook page months ago to find that Threads of Mystery was no more. This game was the hidden object persuasion—the scenes (fashion institutes, sidewalk cafes and theaters) very colorful, French themed with facts about Paris popping up each time the scene would change. As you would go through each scene finding the designated items, stars would be earned to advance to the next level. The back story was a ghost of a famous clothes designer was trying to figure out who murdered her. Though it was a grim back story, the scenes were very pretty! I would play this game frequently. I felt it was not a waste of time, but rather brain training. It fascinated me how many items could be hidden in plain sight. Also, interesting how I would automatically look at the top of the screen if the clue was airplane. Many a time,  I would have to reset my thinking--the airplane was a picture located in a magazine on the bottom of the screen. The one thing t

Open Wide and Say Aha!

A dentist appointment has never been my friend. I would love to be one of those people, like my son, that can go to the dentist and be told, “Good check up! See you again in 6 months!”  No, what I got to hear from the dentist was what my next painful procedure would be! One dentist put a digitized picture of my teeth onto the office computer screen. He was using technology to draw attention to all of the work needed in my mouth. As he would draw circles around the bad teeth, like a swirling Doppler radar, he would summons his dental assistant to see the decay displayed on the screen.  I would remind him, with gauze in my mouth, he should be happy that there was so much work to be done; I was responsible for sending his kids through college!  After that appointment, I found another dentist. Sorry, kids, no Harvard for you!! I couldn't understand why I had such teeth trouble. It wasn't like I ate rocks coated with sugar every day! One dentist answered my question by stating

These are the breaks!

Funny how time flies when you’re injured? A few weeks ago, I broke my ankle.  It was all quite by accident. That morning, it was a sunny day and decided to go for a walk during my break at work. I tried to reach out to a couple of co-workers to join me, but didn't receive any responses. I figured, hey, we weren't nuns and didn't need to go out in pairs! I slipped my cell phone in my pocket since I was trekking out alone as a mere precaution. As I walked along the block, I was enjoying the moment—the sun warming my face, the birds chirping, and the gentle breeze cooling my arms. I was all alone. I ventured further, resetting my mind with nature. Staring at a computer all day tends to make you forget there is a world outside. I work in a business complex and there is a canal that cuts through the property. As I turned onto the gravel path, a runner jogged past me, ear buds divorcing her from all that surrounded her. I figured she, like me, was communing with nature her

Explain that song, Mr. Jones!

A few weeks ago, I read about the passing of country legend, George Jones. I remembered the first time I completely misunderstood one of his greatest hits. The song I heard when I was a pre-teen was his classic He Stopped Loving Her Today.   I thought this may be different from the Country Western songs I was used to hearing. His voice was low and melodious, not a twang to be heard. Also, there were strong violins instead of brassy fiddles throughout the song. Country Westerns songs were not my favorite, but this one seemed different, so I gave it a listen. However, I was puzzled by the lyrics: why was the main character “all dressed up to go away”? Where was he going? I recalled in the beginning of the song, the man “went half crazy now and then” so I assumed he was going to a mental hospital. This notion was further validated with the lyrics “soon they will be carrying him away” –I figured he was in a straight jacket and had no way of leaving on his own.  I thought that was an o

Hands

A couple of Sundays ago, as I held hands with my son during the prayer at church, I was made painfully aware how fast time goes by.  No longer was his hand tiny, like when I brought him home from the hospital. Nor was it miniature as when I walked him to his Kindergarten room.  Now, his hand was taking the form of a young man, strong and a bit larger than mine. He held my hand firmly, not grudgingly like a few years ago when he would die of embarrassment if he was caught holding his mother’s hand.  Memories flooded into my mind—the clay plate my husband made me with our son’s tiny hand prints embedded in it, the construction paper turkey my son made in 2 nd grade. Then a memory came back that was not so pleasant and whimsical, but downright terrifying.  The memory began when my son was 3 years old. We were living in an apartment complex in Las Vegas. I had the day off and was busy doing laundry in the community downstairs laundry room. My son was playing outside only a couple

Create your own mantra

For the first few years of my son starting school were very challenging to say the least. Due to his Asperger’s Syndrome, sitting quietly in a classroom was extremely difficult for him.  Many a time were my husband and/or myself called by the teacher with our son’s latest issues—not participating in class, or having a meltdown because things weren't going his way. After a while, my husband came up with a mantra for our son: Be good Listen to the teacher No fits No crying Do the activities Each morning before our son went on the school bus, he was told this mantra. Soon, he was able to repeat it. After a few months, the calls from the teacher stopped. We learned in the parent teacher conference that our son was performing much better.  We told her the mantra and by doing so, she was able to remind our son if he was going off-task. I was so impressed by our son’s transformation that I decided that everyone should have a mantra. It had to be easy to remember, inspire to t

The Proposal Moon

The following is the Tall Tale speech I delivered and won at the Area level Toastsmasters International competition . Enjoy!! Jerome McCormick is an inventor who lives in a town a stone’s throw from Bliss ID. His latest invention is a powerful laser that will write messages on the moon. He will market it to companies that want to advertise on a global scale. When this invention was in prototype mode, he asked his friend, Billy Gleam, to help him test it. Billy promptly wrote, “Will you marry me, Denise?” on the surface of the moon. Denise, his girlfriend of, was so taken by this grand gesture that she immediately said yes.  After they married, this message is still on the moon, so each full moon, Billy shuts down the one main street to reenact his proposal to Denise. Jerome wishes he could be this grand with the love of his life, Elizabeth Sooner.  What’s not to love about Elizabeth? She is the kindest, gentlest person in the town. Even the animal kingdom knew this. Why else wo

Hey, hey that's a tractor!

For a few years now, I have heard the Country Western song by Craig Morgan “International Harvester.” Being from the city (Santa Monica CA and Las Vegas NV)  I had no idea what an International Harvester was. In fact it took a few listening of the song to figure that it was about farm equipment.  The gist of it is it’s about a farmer who is unapologetic for slowing down traffic. To quote the singer: “cussing at me won’t save you no time, Hoss!”  Some of the lyrics sounded like foreign words to me (County 4-H, combine driver??) Later on, when I would hear the first notes of the song on the radio, I would switch to another channel, I couldn't relate to it at all. That is until I moved to the rural community of Middleton ID. There is an abundance of farm equipment on the spring time highways that you share the road. Crop sprayers, threshers and tractors abound during the morning commute. It was somewhat unsettling to me since I was only used to seeing cars, trucks and buses on th

You don't know what you can do until you have to do it!

There I was sitting at the area speech competition for Toastmasters International , waiting for my turn. A few minutes ago, I had just received news that the Tall Tale speech that I had practiced at my club to rave reviews, was too long. At the practice run, I had clocked in at 6 minutes, 4 seconds, which was great when I thought the speech was supposed to be 5-7 minutes long. However, I was just informed by the competition official time keepers that the Tall Tale speech is 3-5 minutes.   Currently the speech I had prepared for was over by 1 minute 4 seconds, instant disqualification. There were two other gentlemen that were in the Tall Tale Competition as well.  The first man started pacing back and forth quietly lamenting that he thought he had 5-7 minutes as well to give his speech. The other man confidently announced, “That’s what I planned for!”  He reminded me of Sergeant Harvey Walden IV from Celebrity Fit Club .  This former Marine sergeant was always barking tough, motiva

With these few words...

A few years ago I was on my way to work at a temporary labor and office agency.  I was walking down a flight of stairs and my mind was completely occupied. I was thinking about the day ahead of me—what positions were needing to be filled, and how many interviews would be generated from the want ads placed in that Sunday’s newspaper. I was going into work mode, complete with a serious façade. A man was walking up the stairs in the opposite direction. I barely noticed him, until he stopped on the stair and said to me with a bright smile “Good morning, I’m thinking this and I’m just going to say it -- you look nice today!” He said this without being salacious, and he seemed genuine.  I smiled in return and kept heading down the stairs. I looked at the dress I was wearing, a bold red striped dress, one of my favorites. I was touched that he made a sweet compliment. Throughout that whole day, no matter what pressures were at the office, I had an inward smile due to his kind words. To

After a bit of time...

Months ago, after watching the news about the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary , I was definitely shaken up. I was brokenhearted when I learned that the principle heard the gunshots and ran out unarmed to protect the kids. I was deeply saddened to see the reports of the children ending their brief lives in the classrooms. Then, other reports began to emerge—ones of heroic teachers helping their class escape the bedlam. Then there were other inspiring reports of teachers having the presence of mind to barricade themselves with their class. These brave teachers kept the children calm, insisting that the “good guys” would come and kept their spirits up by singing songs.  Since I’m a parent, the instant I heard of this horrible news, I’m not ashamed to say I had to fight the overwhelming urge to hold my son out of school the next day.  Try as I might, this nagging question “What if this happened to my child?” scratched and clawed at my brain, insisting on being answered. I forced mys

Winter--my 4th favorite season

Each year I dread the first day of winter-- I have never been a big fan of the cold. I attribute it to being born where the weather was pretty much sunny and 74 degrees. Just like in the move LA Story , Santa Monica’s weather is sunny and breezy, the winters very mild. I seriously don’t remember having a large winter coat—a lined windbreaker was able to ward off the cold. When we moved to Las Vegas, we experienced hot and dry climate. We would replace our windshield wipers because they were so sun damaged that they would rot off! When winter came, it arrived with no warning. Around October, one day the weather was normal and the next day—WHAM! A cold snap hit the valley, dropping at least 20 degrees! A few Januarys ago, when I was a Junior at UNLV in January, classes literally stopped when it started to snow.  Granted, it only lasted a few hours and probably the technical term is a dusting, but it was the most amount of snow we had ever seen! Now living in Idaho makes me realize

Songs beyond Rock a Bye Baby

Years ago when my son was an infant, nighttime feedings were really popular at our house, especially at 1 am.  It would have been enjoyable to sit and listen to the silence if I hadn't been so dead tired. The padded rocking chair was dangerously too comfortable as I sat there with my infant son feeding him his bottle. After he finished his formula, I held him against my shoulder and rubbed his small back, waiting for his contented noise (read burp) to let me know he was ready go back to blessed slumber.  However, the awaited noise came, but his bright, blue eyes stared back at me, no sign of going back to sleep.                 I figured this was a good time to sing a lullaby to him, a nice quiet song, not a toe-tapping Broadway melody. Besides, I was still in my pajamas.                 I had read many articles stating that it is not the words that lull the baby to sleep, but your voice that is so soothing.  I was beginning to sing the classic, Rock a Bye Baby , but I was ne