Making New Year's Resolutions

Originally published in the Dunwoody Crier

I’m not one for making New Year’s resolutions.  Sure, there were all those years when I resolved not to gain the usual five pounds I put on every winter. That never worked. The good news is I managed to take the pounds off in the spring, though that challenge seems to get harder every year.

I’ve worked out regularly for ten years now, so I don’t need a resolution about exercise.  Yes, I could resolve to walk more frequently, but I know it won’t happen. Instead, I’m going to pat myself on the back for regularly visiting the the local gym to work out.

Maybe I should simply resolve to continue doing what I’ve been doing—resolve not to take anything for granted. It’s all too easy for things to fall by the wayside. For example, I try to write every day, but it takes an effort to pick back up after I return from vacation.  In that spirit, here are the things I’ll continue in the new year.

Write: Whether I’m editing or starting from scratch, writing daily is a must. I write for two weekly papers, different columns for each. I was already pleasantly busy, and then I took on a new challenge. This year, I wrote my first cozy mystery and plan to complete the first draft of book two by early January.  I expect book one to come out no later than February, and I hope to write a third in 2020 in what I’m calling my Dickens & Christie Mysteries. Hint: Dickens is a dog, and Christie is a cat.  I’ll leave it to you to figure out for whom they’re named.

Work out: I see a weekly session with my trainer as a necessity. I had to find a new gym and new trainer in 2019, and I’ve been delighted with Amir at the MJCCA. Many thanks to the Crier reader who recommended him. I miss my workout partner of ten+ years, but we manage to meet for lunch or coffee from time to time.

Happily, I also reconnected with Mary Sue, another friend with whom I took yoga class until our instructor retired two years ago. Because we’re both eligible for Silver Sneakers, and I knew she worked out at the MJCCA, I got in touch. Now we’re attending yoga classes and the occasional Pilates class together. Knowing we’re counting on each other to show up keeps us going.

Connect with friends: Make time for lunch and travel with girlfriends. I’m fortunate to have friends from all walks of life—high school, college, my teaching days, and my corporate days.  Add to those longtime friends the ones I’ve met in the Dunwoody community through yoga, writing, and my column, and I’m a lucky girl.

Read: It’s simple. Read at least two books a week, maybe more.  Of course, if I hadn’t taken up writing mysteries, I’d have more time to devote to this pastime.   Lately, I’ve gotten so caught up in my writing that I often go upstairs to my office in the evening to write instead of to bed with a book. Whereas reading was once my only passion, I’ve now added writing.

Carpe Diem: Make the most of every day. Enjoy day-to-day life with my husband and take pleasure in the simple things in life. Whether we’re eating a home-cooked meal, dining out, seeing a movie or a play, watching our favorite shows on television, or chuckling at the pets—we have much to be thankful for.

Perhaps the overarching resolution is to wake up every day saying “Life is good.” The rest will follow.

Find my books “The Ink Penn: Celebrating the Magic in the Everyday,” “Lord Banjo the Royal Pooch,” and "Coloring with Lord Banjo" on Amazon. Contact me at inkpenn119@gmail.com, and follow me on Facebook, www.facebook.com/KathyManosPennAuthor/.

The Joy of Vacationing in the Mountains

I am pleased to announce that Bienvenue Press has chosen this blog to run as part of their "Front Porch" series.   This is the second time they've selected one of my submissions for their website, and I am tickled pink! Enjoy.

Taking time to say thank you

"Taking time to say thank you" was inspired by a family funeral we attended earlier this year and published as a column in the Dunwoody Crier. 

How often do you take the time to let someone know they’ve made a difference in your life, that something they did or said influenced you? ...

What's all this about aging?

Are there more and more and articles about aging lately, or do I notice them more because I am, gulp,  aging? Perhaps the number of articles is increasing because the baby boomers are in their 60s and 70s, and there are so many of us.

Whatever the reason, I seem to see one a day. One I found intriguing was a Wall Street Journal article, “What is the Perfect Age?”.  Folks were asked the age they’d like to return to, or in some cases, remain. The answers varied depending on what was most important to the individuals.  Some wanted to be at their peak fitness level.  Others wanted to be at the prime age for career growth.  Some preferred age 50 for the freedom afforded by having an empty nest and still being relatively physically fit. Fifty, in fact, was the age most often selected.

I laughed when I realized that older folks didn’t want to return to their 20’s or even their 30’s. Does that mean that none of those surveyed wanted to return to the age when they may have thought they knew it all but didn’t?  The age of partying, searching for the right career, or just a job fresh out of college? On the other hand, the younger crowd wanted to remain in their 20’s, maybe because 20 somethings see 30 as old.

One thing most agreed on is that no one wants to look or feel old. I liked the response from one person who said he’d like to keep the wisdom he has at 60 but have the body he had when he was in his 30’s.  That makes sense to me. I don’t want to give up what I’ve learned, but I wish I could work out, bicycle, and more without tiring out so quickly and without some of my increased aches and pains. And I’d love to have the skin I had in my 30s, but not if I have to trade what I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older.

I also want to keep the schedule I have now.  Gone are the days of working 50-60 hours a week in corporate America. Admittedly, at times that schedule was rewarding, even fun. Other times, it was highly stressful, particularly the few years I worked for a boss I just couldn’t please.

These days, I work out in the mornings several days a week, just as I did before I retired. What I don’t do is head downstairs to get my cup of coffee and immediately head to my desk to start working. Now, I grab the newspaper and take that cup of coffee to my easy chair where I peruse the local news before shifting to my tablet to read the WSJ and maybe play a few rounds of Words with Friends. When I’m not off to the gym, I go to my desk to write and catch up on email. Yes, life is good.

The last paragraph of the article had me smiling and nodding my head in agreement even though I'm not yet part of the age group cited.  "People at 65 to 74, the so-called time affluent, reported having more fun than any other age group, according to a 2016 study of 3,712 adults 25 and older released by Age Wave and Merrill Lynch.  The ones having the least fun were those ages 35 to 54."

What age would you choose as the perfect age?

 Let me know what you think by emailing me at inkpenn119@gmail.com

Finding Humor in a Tale of Woe

I couldn’t do anything but shake my head and laugh in disbelief as this tale of woe unfolded.  It all started at 1 AM in the MARTA parking lot upon our return from a trip. “We’re not going anywhere; the car won’t start,” groaned my husband. He tried again, and luckily it started.

Because he came home with a bad cold, my husband got up early Thursday to head to Urgent Care and took my car because, you guessed it, his wouldn’t start. Sick as a dog, he came home, tried unsuccessfully to start his car, and went to bed. I figured, “No worries; he can rest and call AAA tomorrow.”

Fortunately, he felt worse Friday, so  I called AAA. They couldn’t start the car either and towed it to the dealership. I call it fortunate my husband felt worse, because he couldn’t fret over his car much less drive it, nor could he deal with the service department, and that was a good thing. Why? Because this saga continued for nine days.

The dealership called to ask what was wrong with the car; it started right up for them.  They seemed to doubt my story until I reminded them AAA had the same problem. I described the icons that appeared on the panel, and they responded, “We can’t fix the problem if we can’t replicate it.  Want us to run a diagnostic and charge you?”  What else could I do? I didn’t want it back without an explanation.

They called that night to say they’d keep trying on Saturday and call me.  Cool, except I got no call day two, and it was now New Year’s weekend. Tuesday, day five, I spoke to someone who promised to call right back. Then I took my still sick husband to the doctor and discovered he had bronchitis.

In all, I spoke with three folks Tuesday and Wednesday who promised to call but didn’t. Even the parts department got in on the act because the switchboard bounced me to the wrong area twice. Finally, day six, a woman answered the phone, said, “Give me 15 minutes; I’ll call you back,” and she did.

She told me they still couldn’t identify the problem, but there’d be no charge. By now, we were beyond ready to pick up the car. Day seven, I dropped off my husband and headed up the road.  My phone rang, and I heard, “What keys did you give them? They can’t find them.” I suggested they look in the glove box for the valet key, as I was pretty sure I hadn't given them that one. The next call was, “I thought you said there was no charge; oh wait, now they agree—no charge.”

Wait, there’s more. I was right; I had not handed over the valet key, and our set of keys was somewhere at the dealership. Yup, we left another message but got no response. Day eight, we drove back. I found someone who swore he’d looked everywhere for our keys and would have to make us a new key and fob. I told him he didn’t know how lucky he was that my husband was sitting in the car and not standing in front of him. After an hour of waiting, this guy figured out the fob wouldn’t be in until the next morning. Honestly, all I could do was laugh.

Back we went day nine, prepared to leave the car and keys for 90 minutes and have lunch out. The manager assured us he’d get it done in 45 minutes, so when my phone rang 45 minutes later, I expected to hear, “Your car’s ready.”  Instead, I heard, “I have to pick up a fob. Would you like to bring the car back another day?” Was he kidding?  I replied,”Get the fob; we’ll wait.” Hearing this story, the restaurant manager comped my beer and suggested I switch to hard liquor. After two hours, the call came in that the car was ready.

I continued shaking my head in disbelief as I wrote this story and never did pour a stiff drink. I made do with my usual glass of wine. 

Thoughts?  I'd love to hear your comments at inkpenn119@gmail.com.

Blame it on the eclipse

I’m blaming my rambling on the eclipse. On August 21, entire swaths of the nation were caught up in eclipse fever, and Georgia and the Carolinas were part of the mania.

 

Did you have friends who traveled for the viewing? One Atlanta couple texted us Monday that they had stopped far short of their preferred destination after going 51 miles in two hours, so I was just as happy that the Clampetts, as my husband refers to us, shared our one pair of eclipse glasses and watched the phenomenon from our driveway.

If an eclipse can cause large parts of the population to take leave of their senses and sit in traffic for hours on end, perhaps it can cause my brain to hopscotch around. The idea of writing about music was triggered when I heard mention of Bonnie Tyler. I’d read she’d be singing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” at some point during the eclipse, but it didn’t sink in until a local pop station snarkily said, “Bonnie Tyler will be culturally relevant again for the first time in thirty years.”  Can it have been that long?

 

I heard that comment right after enjoying a new song.  Yes, me, a new song. I’ve since discovered it was “Something Just Like This,” but as is typical for me, I couldn’t catch all the lyrics as I was driving down the road.  What first caught my attention was the mention of Achilles and Hercules, and those names made me think of the Crash Test Dummies hit from the 90s, “Superman’s Song.” From there, my mind jumped to “I’m Not Crazy; I’m Just a Little Unwell.” And voila, I’d moved into the current century.

After sharing my music tastes a few weeks back in my newspaper column, I felt compelled to alert the media, or at least my readers, that I do listen to newer music on occasion. I only listen to the radio when I’m in the car running errands, so I don’t hear new music often.

I’m also a button puncher and move between NPR and several music stations.  That’s how I heard “Something Just Like This.” Via button punching, I stumble across both old and new songs that resonate with me. 

Last year I sang along to “Just Give Me a Reason” by Pink.  Google tells me it came out in 2012, though it seemed to be on every station in 2016. The male artist on the song sounded familiar, and it turns out he’s Nate Rues of the band Fun. Fun’s hits are just plain catchy: “Some Nights,” “Carry On,” and “We Are Young.” Are my music tastes sounding a tad more modern yet?

I hear a good mix of old-time rock ‘n roll along with newer artists like Adele, Coldplay, Taylor Swift, Bruno Mars, Mechan Trainor, and even Justin Bieber.  I was surprised I liked “My Mama Don’t Like You” since it’s a Justin Bieber song, and I’m predisposed to dislike him. Mechan Trainor’s “All About That Bass,” is also among my newer favorites.  I consider a 2015 song new, don’t you?

Phew! I feel as though I’ve been punching buttons in my brain just as I do on my car radio, and I’m amazed I was able to trace all the leaps back to the beginning—Bonnie Tyler.  To be honest, I can’t blame my rambling thoughts on the eclipse; my brain works this way all the time.

Follow me on Facebook to stay up to date on book signings and to see pics of Lord Banjo!

Hitting the jackpot in retirement

No, I’m not talking about winning the lottery or heading to Vegas; I’m not talking about money at all.  I define hitting the jackpot in retirement as finding joy.

Reading “The Biggest Surprises in Retirement,” in the WSJ prompted me to take stock of how I’m faring one year into retirement, using the surprises outlined in the article.

The joys of taking a risk

The article defines risk-taking as “Trying or learning something new, and risking your time and energy (and perhaps your pride) in the process.”  The example was a woman who learned to play the guitar and now plays in an ensemble.

I see self-publishing a collection of my newspaper columns as my risk. Though I’d already written the columns, I had to learn how to write an introduction, back cover blurb, press release, and marketing plan, and how to create author pages on Facebook and Amazon. What else have I learned? That I had plenty to learn.

The easy part was leveraging my community contacts to place the book in local shops in time for the holiday season. The hard part has been plugging away at my marketing plan since then. I like to say I didn’t bite off more than I could chew, just more than I had planned to chew.  √ Jackpot

Free time at last

“Even though retirement today … is seen as more ‘active’—more ‘purpose-filled’—many readers told us that ‘active’ isn’t mandatory. That it’s fine simply to…chill.” It seems the biggest difference is that we retirees have more freedom to choose what we spend time on.

My choices? See matinees and hit the bicycle trails with my husband on weekdays, write every day, take yoga classes, work out.  I chill by reading every night, playing WWF and lingering over the WSJ with my morning coffee−except for mornings at the gym−and by taking naps. Naps are one of my greatest indulgences. When I worked, there was no time to read the WSJ, and I certainly couldn’t take naps.  √ Jackpot

Losing yourself

“Walking away from work … [can be] more painful than you anticipate.” Says one former executive, “My biggest and most unanticipated retirement adjustment was my temporary loss of self-value.” Thankfully, that hasn’t been my experience, perhaps because I’d discovered my passion for writing before retirement.

The same exec continues, “Having burned both ends of the candle for 40 years, it was a shock … to suddenly find myself and my calendar no longer in demand.” Not a problem for me. In fact, I sometimes feel guilty that I’m not working hard enough to market my book, but I keep telling myself, “You don’t have to work as hard as you used to; you’re retired.”  

√ Jackpot

The ties that bind

Now, this one did ring true for me. We’ve all heard it’s difficult to make new friends the older you get, but that’s not been the case for many retirees.

I enjoy keeping up with friends, old and new, and more free time makes that even easier. Email and Facebook help me stay connected with the friends I made from 32 years in corporate America, and lunches and coffee klatches help me sustain local friendships and create new ones. As one retiree observed, “Happiness in retirement is directly related to the people you spend time with.”  √ Jackpot

Final assessment? Yup, looks like I’ve hit the jackpot. 

Memories of the Big Top

Can it be?  When I read the article announcing the demise of Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, all kinds of memories came to mind. Yes, yes, I’ve heard the stories about the mistreatment of the elephants, but as children, we didn’t know any of that.  I still shed a tear over the scene in Disney’s Dumbo when the mother is chained up because she was thought to be violent, but that never stopped me from enjoying the circus.

My first recollection of going to the circus is the time my aunt took my younger sister and me to Madison Square Garden.  I recall the sensory overload of the sounds and smells and seeing a man on stilts up close and personal. I came home with one of those little flashlights, which I promptly used to read beneath the covers at night.

 

My strongest memory of that first experience, though, is the adventure we had getting home to my aunt’s house.  I don’t know how we got to the circus, but we tried to go home on a bus. The driver wouldn’t let us bring my sister’s stroller on board, so my aunt marched into a shoe store in Manhattan and had them wrap the stroller in brown paper so we could get on the next bus with a package−not a stroller.

Does anyone else remember the children’s book, Toby Tyler?  It told the story of a young boy running away to join the circus and was not only a chapter book but also a Golden book.  I remember the book and the 1960 Disney movie. Both were classics. According to Wikipedia, it influenced a generation of young boys who grew up dreaming of joining the circus.

A young Carl Sandburg thought Toby Tyler one of his favorite books (even better than Adventures of Huckleberry Finn). Harlan Ellison credits it as influencing his decision to run off with the circus.

My husband says he never did get to run away to the circus, and now he never will.  I liken this to his continued yearning for a pony, which he keeps alive even today by watching Westerns. I’m sure he fueled his childhood circus fantasy by watching the circus movies we all remember.

The Greatest Show on Earth, the 1952 academy award winner with Charlton Heston, Jimmy Stewart, and Betty Hutton is one I recall seeing over and over with my parents. Instead of football, I remember lounging around on Saturday and Sunday afternoons watching classic movies. Though I couldn’t readily call the title to mind, I immediately pictured Burt Lancaster in Trapeze starring beside Tony Curtis and Gina Lollobrigida.

And then there was the 1962 musical Jumbo, a standout for me because I saw it at Radio City Music Hall. It wasn’t a huge hit back then, though it starred Jimmy Durante, Doris Day, Stephen Boyd, Martha Raye and, of course, Jumbo the elephant. I can still hear “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World” sung by Stephen Boyd.

I wonder whether the 2007 book Water for Elephants was such a huge bestseller not only because it’s well written but also because the story takes place in a circus.

Oh well, the Big Top will soon be gone, and future generations will no longer dream of “running away to the circus.” How will this sentence end in years to come? I want to run away to …

Lewis Grizzard: Thanks for the Memories

I hadn’t thought of Lewis Grizzard in quite some time; that is until I read an Atlanta Journal-Constitution article titled, “Remembering Lewis Grizzard on his 70^th birthday.”  It’s hard to imagine that this popular columnist who died at age 47 would have been 70 this year and harder still to imagine him as a 70-year-old.

I can somehow see him, though,  as a modern version of Mark Twain, the Hal Holbrook version.  As that thought popped into my head, I was googling Lewis Grizzard only to learn that there is a similar one-man show dedicated to him and that the Los Angeles Times had, in fact, called him “A Mark Twain for our generation.”

Further googling revealed that he originated the saying, “Life is like a dogsled team. If you ain't the lead dog, the scenery never changes.”  It seems I’ve heard that quote all my life, but I never knew it was his. Married four times, the last time just a few days before he died, he also famously said, “Instead of getting married again, I'm going to find a woman I don't like and give her a house.” 

Before he was a columnist, he was the youngest sports editor of the Journal at the age of 23 and later executive sports editor at the Chicago Sun-Times for three years before returning to the AJC as a sports columnist.  His years as the humor/lifestyle columnist are the ones most of us remember.

How he also managed to write 18 books is beyond me.  Just seeing some of the titles again makes me laugh:

• Elvis is Dead and I don't feel so good myself
• Shoot Low, Boys - They're Ridin' Shetland Ponies
• If I Ever Get Back to Georgia, I'm Gonna Nail My Feet to the Ground(inspired by his stint in Chicago)

Raised in Moreland, Georgia and a graduate of the University of Georgia, he often referenced his childhood and his love of the Georgia Bulldogs in his columns. Did he exaggerate?  Well, yes, as do most good comics. On making the New York Times Bestseller list, he said, “I am the only person from Moreland, Georgia who ever made the New York Times Bestseller List...I am the only person in Moreland, Georgia who ever HEARD of the New York Times Bestseller List..." 

His popular writing led to standup comedy and speaking engagements, and you can find recordings on YouTube and DVD.   He appeared on the Johnny Carson show and even played a Sugarbaker brother on “Designing Women.” I listened to a snippet or two on YouTube and wished I’d heard him when he was still with us.  The good news, though, is that the books are still here. I may just have to add a few to my reading list.

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A birthday or a birthday season?

That seems an easy choice. I’m a firm believer in the birthday season.  Long ago, but not far away, a co-worker introduced me to the concept of the birthday season. The season stretches from the moment you receive the first card, email, phone call, lunch, dinner or gift all the way until the very last of those occurrences.  Who wouldn’t like this concept?

This year, I received the first card from a former co-worker at least two weeks before my birthday.  At that point, my husband stated somewhat indignantly, “The season doesn’t start for at least another week!” By ten days out, though, he had started giving me a card a day.  On two days, the cards were accompanied by flowers, and on several days, dessert.  (I know he’s partial to the desserts since he has such a sweet tooth.) 

As I started up the stairs to my office one day, I was greeted by a series of cards arranged on the steps — from my husband and the four-legged children.  And, my girlfriend who started the season sent me a second card and called me!  Now, that’s the spirit.

The season continued with dinner and a gift from one sister, and the arrival of a gift from the out-of-town sister, who was born exactly four years after me on the same date. My husband and I have been out to dinner two nights, and I’ve had one lunch out with a girlfriend who has a birthday just a few days after mine.   If you’re on Facebook, you know there’s a flurry of birthday greetings on and around the actual date, always fun to read.

While visiting a neighborhood shop a few days after my birthday, my husband picked up another gift and explained the birthday season concept to the owner. That prompted her to send him home with a complimentary candle for who else? The birthday girl.  The season may begin to wind down soon since the official date has passed, but for now, there’s yet another dessert waiting in the fridge and lunch in a few days with two more girlfriends.

The great thing about celebrating a birthday season is that I always have the perfect response when someone says, “Oh, I’m sorry your card will be late” or “Can we schedule your birthday lunch in a few weeks?” The answer? “No worries; that just makes the season last longer.”

As I said in my thank you to all my Facebook buds, in the spirit of Yogi Berra, the birthday season “ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”  Isn’t that the way it should be? 

Car Memories

This blog was inspired by a high school friend who’s been taking a trip down memory lane by posting pics on Facebook of the cars he’s owned.  Following his story has made me think that I’m a bit of an oddball in that I’ve only owned three cars.

First was the ’66 Mustang my Dad bought me when I was in college.  It was black with a red interior.  I was constantly having the transmission rebuilt, but it was still more economical than buying a new car.  I finally had air conditioning installed in the 80’s when I quit teaching.  When you teach school and have summers off, you can get away without AC.  When I got my first office job and had to wear pantyhose to work in the summer, AC was a must. My Dad paid $600 for that car, and that’s what I got for it when I finally gave it up.

Next up was my red Honda Prelude, and there’s quite a story about that car. I had a friend who took plenty of business trips and always parked at the airport. She came home from a trip and couldn’t find her car in the parking lot. The lot had no record that the car had ever been there, but finally after much back and forth, the car was declared stolen and she settled with the insurance company.  A year or two later, she got a call that her car had been found, in an airport parking lot.  Just as there are today, there were several parking lots at the airport, and I can only think that they didn’t compare records and she was confused as to which lot she had parked in.  She never, ever admitted she might have been confused.

The insurance company didn’t want anything from her; they just wanted her to know her car had been found.  She knew my Mustang was on its last legs and worked out a deal for me to buy the lost car.  I also drove that car until it dropped.  I think what did it in was my driving it too far when it overheated one time.  After that, it was never the same.

That prompted me to buy my first and, so far, only new car.  I purchased my 1998 red Acura Integra and still own it.  As I’ve worked at home for the past sixteen years, it still doesn’t have 100,000 miles on it.  I see no reason I can’t make it at least to 2018 and hit a twenty year anniversary with this car.  It gets 25 mpg around town and runs just fine.  Do I occasionally wish I had a more modern radio or even a car with a bit less road noise?  Sure.  Do I want to spend $30 or $40K to get these little luxuries?  Not hardly.

These days when I take a road trip, I drive our 2007 Toyota Highlander Hybrid because a bigger car makes me feel a bit safer.  My husband keeps saying that the next new car will be his as if a 2007 car is old.  I think he’s only joking, but you never know.  Even that car only has around 65K miles on it. The hybrid battery is due to go out soon, and I keep hearing that mentioned as a reason to buy a new car.  Harrumph!  Again, I ask, “Do we spend $3-$5K on a new battery or $30-40K on a new car?”  Do we go on several nice vacations or buy another car? That’s a no-brainer to me.  I'll go for vacation memories over car memories anytime.

Have a comment? Write me and Puddin’ at The Ink Penn.

Learn | Work | Play

Shout it from the rooftops: I have officially entered the “play” phase of my life. Yes, I am happily retired from a 32-year career in corporate America.  It’s not that I haven’t played throughout my life, but now play will no longer be reserved for weekends and vacations. I can’t believe the day has actually arrived, and I couldn’t be more pleased.  When my financial planner casually mentioned during our annual session that I could retire when I was a “certain age,” I replied, “the end of that year or what?”  When she responded, “No, on your birthday,” which happens to be in January, I was amazed and a bit hesitant.

Retiring is a big change, especially when you consider not working again, or if you do work, certainly not with the same income you’ve been bringing in. So, as many folks do, I agonized over it for a bit and told myself I was pretty happy with my job and could work a year or two beyond that date as long as I was still enjoying myself. 

At that point, I was having a grand time. I worked essentially for three bosses: the BIG boss for whom I did most of my work, his direct report whom I supported in a variety of ways and finally my actual manager.  For my official job for my immediate manager, I managed a team of two talented folks who did the real work of writing training manuals and communications.  The work I did for the top two execs involved executive communications, employee engagement, and meeting planning--work I enjoyed immensely.

That situation came to a screeching halt when my BIG boss started a six-month leave of absence. When he left, 60% of my work went with him. After a reorg, I was asked who I could let go in my little 3-person department, and I replied, “Me” and explained how the team could function fine without me and suggested various leaders they could work for. We dodged that bullet, but my peers and I began reading the tea leaves and anticipating some kind of lay-off.  If you’ve ever worked in corporate America, you recognize this scenario: Strategies change, we centralize, we decentralize and do it over again, and it’s often difficult to see rhyme or reason in the decisions.

The good news for me is that my job was eventually eliminated, and I received the typical corporate package to safely carry me beyond my planned retirement date. The bad news was that 2/3 of the employees on our team were also let go, including my two folks. 

It has been a bittersweet few weeks since we got the news. I am ecstatic for myself but sad for those who are faced with finding new jobs.  Many had worked for this company for 20-40 years, so it’s a gut-wrenching change. We’re all staying connected via a Facebook group, and I'm confident people will eventually land on their feet.

Had the last few months not been so tumultuous and unsettling, I might have continued to agonize over retiring sooner rather than later. Instead, I was eager to go.  So, picture me not only shredding the work documents I've collected while working at home the past sixteen years, but also breathing a sigh of relief, enjoying my initial taste of freedom, sleeping in, eating lunch out, and having more time to write. Life is good.

Puddin', the office manager, guarding shredded files

Have a comment? Write me and Puddin’ at The Ink Penn.

Wine Drinkers Rejoice

Why? Because TIME magazine just reported that wine, especially red wine is good for you. Yes, I’ve read similar reports before, but this particular article somehow seemed more convincing to me.  Could it be because I drink a glass of wine almost every night and wanted someone to tell me I should keep it up? Perhaps.

When I saw the title of the article, “Here’s what happens when you drink red wine every night,” I groaned, thinking it would be an admonishment to stop drinking, accompanied by some scary medical picture. Just like the stories of old about eggs, bacon and other tasty foods being bad for you, the take on wine has been all over the board.

This time, though, Ben-Gurion University researchers set out determine “how safe and effective it is for … those with well-controlled type-2 diabetes … to drink moderately... [because] people with type-2 diabetes are more likely than the general population to develop cardiovascular disease and have lower levels of heart-protective HDL cholesterol ...”

Their test group included 224 people who fit this profile and who did not currently drink wine, and each one was assigned to drink one of three liquids daily at dinner: five ounces of mineral water, dry white wine or dry red wine.  Over the two years of the test, they also followed a Mediterranean diet.

OK, so far so good. My husband and I kinda, sorta follow a Mediterranean diet because I’m Greek and like olive oil, olives, feta cheese and the like.  We eat plenty of lean meat and fish and green vegetables. No mineral water for me, but I have a glass of red or white wine most nights, and except when out with friends, usually keep to only one glass. So what were the results of the two-year test?

 “… Red wine drinkers had significantly increased their levels of good HDL cholesterol and had a more beneficial cholesterol ratio compared to the group that drank water, [and] … were also the only group to experience a significant drop in components of metabolic syndrome.” The other bit of good news was that both red and white wine drinkers said they slept better.  Regardless of whether the participants drank water or wine, there were no adverse effects.

If you enjoy a nightly glass of wine like I do, this is great news all by itself, but it gets better:

The results made sense to Dr. James O’Keefe, chief of preventive cardiology at Saint Luke’s Mid America Heart Institute (who was not involved in the study.) He noted that the high resveratrol levels and unique antioxidants in red wine would all contribute to a positive result and that red wine with dinner would lower your blood sugar level. “The post-meal spike in sugar is one of Americans’ main sources of inflammation, which contributes to everything from diabetes to dementia to heart disease and arthritis, he adds.” A little red wine with dinner “makes your system more able to sop up the sugar and the calories that you’re consuming.”

Like many of us of a certain age, I worry that I’ll eventually develop dementia, and I already have a touch of arthritis. I take Aleve and apply ice to soothe my arthritic joints. Now when I sip that nightly glass of wine, I’ll consider it another weapon in my fight to stave off arthritis.  And hey, if it helps ward off dementia, I’ll drink to that too.

The art of the garbage disposal

Say what? Is there an art to using the garbage disposal? Well nooo, but you can create art while using it. Just ask my husband. How? By running the disposal without first checking to see what may have slipped down into it.

I must admit that I was the first and only member of the family to clog it up, by putting potato peels in it.  Thankfully, my husband took it apart and cleaned it out, and it worked fine. And, one of us ruined a stainless steel teaspoon when it fell in.  The spoon still looks like a spoon but is pretty rough around the edges. I can’t bring myself to throw it away though we never use it.

This latest episode made me smile.  I was reading the paper after dinner when I heard an awful racket coming from the kitchen.  I knew right away it was the garbage disposal and kept expecting it to be turned off—more quickly than it was. When the noise finally stopped, I walked in to find out just what had been destroyed. My husband stepped away from the sink, and I reached in to find the first piece of my oldest set of measuring spoons—the metal ones we all had back in the 70’s. First came the bent tablespoon, then the cleverly twisted teaspoon, followed by the relatively unscathed ½ and ¼ teaspoons.

In all fairness to my husband, he is the resident dishwasher, so if anyone is going to reshape something in the disposal, it would be him.  I occasionally wash my breakfast and lunch dishes, but he washes the dinner dishes every evening after we eat the dinner I cook, so he has many more opportunities than I to get creative.

The resulting design from this episode was so intriguing, that I immediately began seeing possibilities. Perhaps this garbage disposal art could be mounted on a wooden plaque.  Better yet, the plaque could include a written warning: Beware the garbage disposal.

Can’t you see an Etsy listing in our future?  With a catchy name?

  Disposal Design

    Clever garbage disposal art 

I can't find my mot juste!

And you’re thinking, “Mot juste? Does she mean au jus? Has she lost her mojo or her mind?” Well, hopefully, I haven’t yet lost either of those. Instead, I’ve found a new word.

When my daily email from A Word a Day (AWAD) came across the wire one morning, the word for that day was mot juste. Such a fancy word with a delightful pronunciation, mo ZHOOST.  Follow the link and click on the sound symbol to hear how it’s spoken. What does it mean? the right word.  Now imagine someone saying with an upper crust tone, “I just can’t seem to find the mot juste.” 

That’s my issue. These days, I seem increasingly unable to find the right word when I’m in the midst of a business phone call or a casual discussion over lunch.   Picture me raising my hand in the air as if trying to pull something out of the clouds.  When I’m on business calls, no one can see me do that, but trust me, I do it all too often. And whether or not they see me, they hear me groping for the right word, or pardonne moi, the mot juste.

Even worse is using the wrong word and then trying to backtrack to correct myself. Heaven forbid anyone would think this former English teacher unknowingly mixes up her words.  I wonder whether the AWAD team has a word for that faux pas. Do you, like me, always know the minute the wrong word has left your mouth and then frantically attempt to call it back? I certainly notice and cringe when anyone else misspeaks in a meeting, especially when it’s a senior executive hosting a conference call or webcast. 

Today I cringed when an exec said, “My team is working to ‘adopt’ to our new structure,” when what she meant was adapt. To her credit, though, she was able to stand on stage and host a lengthy meeting for hundreds of people without groping for the mot juste, as I probably would have. The mix-up that makes me crazy, though, is someone saying, “That’s a mute point,” when the mot juste is moot. That happens so frequently, I’m waiting for Webster’s to update the dictionary. 

I feel so much better now that I’ve ranted about my mot juste issue. And while writing this and googling how to spell pardonne moi, I stumbled across several French expressions I plan to adopt, not adapt.  I think speaking French may be the solution to my problem: break into French, bamboozle the audience and buy a minute or two to search further for the right word. For now, I’m adding excusez-moi and je suis désolé to my usual pardon. Anything more will have to wait until I someday take that French immersion course I’ve been dreaming of. Of course, now I’ll have to come up with a way to call those French words to mind when I need them. It may be easier to chant, “mot juste, mot juste,” as that word is now imprinted on my brain. 

Musical Minions

Yes, we’re behind the times at our house. The new Minions movie is out, and we’ve only just watched Despicable Me.  It’s amazing what you can miss when you’re not taking young kids to the movies. The last children’s movie craze we got in on was Shrek, probably because much of the humor was geared to adults. 

Only after watching the Shrek DVD several times could I catch all the witty song lyrics.  I told myself I bought it to show over the Christmas holidays that year to entertain my out of town guests, but they didn’t seem to enjoy it quite as much as I did. Could that be why my 80-year-old aunt snored gently through it? No matter. Do you remember the dancing scenes at the end? That memory alone almost makes me want to watch it again. It’s always the music that gets me.

Though Despicable Me didn’t seem quite as witty as Shrek, we still got a kick out of it.  As a bit of a word nerd, I wondered whether the kids realized that minion was a word long before these funny little characters hit the scene. For the foreseeable future, folks may picture a minion as an acrobatic yellow creature instead of “someone who is not powerful or important and who obeys the orders of a powerful leader or boss.” I wonder how long it will take for the latest popular definition to make it into Webster’s. 

For me, the minion movies hold the same musical appeal that Shrek does. Isn’t it interesting that these movies seem to always include a few songs from yesteryear?  I laughed aloud when I heard Boogie Fever and You Should Be Dancing. And, I’m thinking I may have to run up to Redbox to rent Despicable Me 2.  That soundtrack offers Y.M.C.A from 1978, Mungo Jerry’s In the Summertime from 1970 and a bit of Bob Marley.

Hmmm. I wonder whether the music selection is carefully chosen to keep both parents and grandparents engaged as they accompany the little ones to the movies.  That thought prompted me to google the soundtrack of the new Minions movie.  I can’t prove there’s a sinister plot to snare the adult audience, but the song list sure seems to support that theory.  It’s the soundtrack we baby boomers know and love from our younger days, and that means our kids grew up surrounded by the same sounds. I’m betting most folks will recognize these songs:

• Got to Get You Into My Life
• I’m a Man
• 19^th Nervous Breakdown
• Purple Haze
• Happy Together
• You Really Got Me

Your trivia quiz for the day is to recall who performed the songs way back when. And, if those song titles made you smile, you’ll want to check out the full list which also includes some television theme songs.  I’m beginning to understand why Minions is now the second-biggest animated opening film of all time, surpassing Toy Story 3. Shrek the Third, the only Shrek movie I didn’t see, still holds the top spot.

I may have found the ticket out of the summer TV doldrums. Before we start binge watching House of Cards and Homeland, I think I’ll rent Shrek the Third and Despicable Me 2.  Heck, we could even hit a movie theater to see Minions on the big screen. Stranger things have happened.

Rockin' Memories

Can you believe it? The Rolling Stones are on tour and were at Georgia Tech’s Bobby Dodd stadium last week. There were plenty of jokes and cartoons about them with walkers and canes...before they hit the stage.  You have to love this playful review from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:

“Centuries from now, historians will stumble upon footage from a 2000s-era Rolling Stones concert and gape.

‘How old are those dudes?’ they’ll wonder, refusing to believe that a bunch of guys ranging from 68 to 74 years of age were capable of such visceral showmanship, such heartily performed songs, such unbelievable stamina.

But yes, as we’ve witnessed every few years for the past couple of decades, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Ronnie Wood and Charlie Watts – the Core Four of Stones Inc. – hit the road with a package of muscle and might and OK, a few more wrinkles.”

A reference to the Maroon 5 song Moves like Jagger made me wonder whether there might be Maroon 5 fans who don’t know what the phrase means.  Is that possible? And Jagger still has those moves, even in an outdoor concert in steamy Hot’lanta. Atlanta humidity is a killer, and I’d love to know Jagger’s secret to acclimating to it and dancin’ and prancin’ at age 71 as though he were a mere 30.  Could it be the dancin’ and prancin’ that sets him apart from his droves of baby boomer fans with knee and hip trouble?

The Stones and the Beatles were major players on the soundtrack to my high school years, but the Beatles released their last album in 1970, while the Stones have kept on rockin’. I wonder what it says about me that I prefer the Beatles and have Beatles and Paul McCartney CDs but none of the Stones?  I do like the Stones, but given a choice of seeing Paul McCartney or the Stones in concert, Paul would win hands down.

I saw him when he played Piedmont Park in Atlanta a few years back, and it never crossed my or my friends’ minds to leave when there was a downpour in the midst of the show. I’m pretty sure they’d all be with me in choosing McCartney over Jagger. On the other hand, my sister who’s four years younger than I would likely go for the Stones, so perhaps the preference is age related. 

As one rockin’ memory leads to another, I recall having a flashback to the first time I heard the Beatles song Hey Jude, a flashback triggered by a WSJ article in which author Tom Robbins reflected on his first encounter with the song.  Back then, I had a tiny transistor radio.  That was how I listened to music, unless my Mom took me out to purchase a 45 and on rare occasions an album—and yes, I know I’m dating myself. One night as I lay in bed, I heard Hey Jude on a station I could only pick up very late, I guess after Atlanta stations went off the air, and it was weeks before the local stations started playing it.

Ah yes, the good old days. The evolution of the musical listening habits of the teens of the 60’s and 70’s would make a fine research project for a budding musicologist.  Meanwhile, picture me playing my Beatles CDs as I continue my trip down memory lane.  

Remembering Vietnam

My husband is a Vietnam vet, belongs to several veterans’ organizations, and participates regularly in veterans’ activities locally and across the US. Our most recent event was the Tan Son Nhut reunion in Pigeon Forge, TN where close to 150 folks—veterans and their significant others—gathered for four days of camaraderie and shared memories.

The Tan Son Nhut Association was established “to respect all of those service personnel…as well as the many civilians who served at any time during the Vietnam conflict at the great airdrome at Tan Son Nhut, Air Base,” and membership is open to those who served in Vietnam January 1959 to April 1975 with some connection to Tan Son Nhut, even if it was just passing through.

The weekend activities included a bus tour of Gatlinburg and parts of the Smoky Mountain National Park, a Friday evening banquet, the dedication of a memorial bench honoring Vietnam veterans, a book signing with author Joe Galloway and plenty of free time for mingling in the well-stocked hospitality suite.

Banquet speaker Paul Galanti, an American POW in Vietnam for nearly seven years, flew 97 combat missions before he was shot down and captured in June 1966. He opened his presentation with the Tale of Two Cities quote: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” and went on to speak of the encouragement he received from a fellow POW after returning to his cell from a grueling ten-day torture session. Back in his cell, he heard tapping and the message that he was lucky—lucky to be alive and still have before him the possibility of going home alive, unlike so many soldiers in Vietnam who lost their lives. That positive spirit shone through in his talk with his fellow veterans, both on and off the stage.

Joe Galloway, co-author with Lt. Gen. Harold G. Moore of We were Soldiers Once…and Young, was also at the banquet and signed copies of his book the next day. If you haven’t read the book, you may recall the 2002 movie We were Soldiers Once with Mel Gibson and Madeline Stowe. Galloway was a reporter during the war and in 1998 was awarded the Bronze Star with Valor for his bravery in carrying wounded off the field under fire during the 1965 Battle of Ia Drang.

The banquet, special events and hospitality suite were all outstanding, but the highlight of the reunion was the opportunity for these veterans to reminisce, to discover what happened to mutual acquaintances and to speak candidly of their experiences with those able to appreciate their stories. Several of the wives commented that they learned more about their husbands’ time in Vietnam from these conversations than they had ever learned one on one at home. 

In addition to dedicating a memorial bench or plaque wherever the reunion is held, this year the association is implementing the TSNA Scholarship program which will provide one scholarship per year to a descendant of a Vietnam veteran. To see more information about the new program, read the article on the TSNA website in the June 2015 Revetments.

Their motto is “All included, none excluded.” Are you a Vietnam vet?  Did you pass through Tan Son Nhut somehow, someway? Why not consider joining by completing an application at this link? Go a step further and attend the next reunion. You’ll be glad you did.

Honeysuckle High

It was the first weekend of May, and the weekend weather was perfect—pollen dying down, temperatures in the 70’s-80’s, and low humidity. We had a leisurely alfresco lunch at a local restaurant to celebrate a friend’s birthday and then enjoyed cocktails with friends on their screened porch in the evening. That day alone was enough to warrant the thought, “Life is good.”

But wait, the next day was a continuation of the contentment. With the morning temps in the high 60’s, we loaded up the bikes and hit the Greenway. We were pleasantly surprised to get our first whiff of honeysuckle as we set out and then were overwhelmed with the scent for several miles. The path was lined with blooming honeysuckle vines on both sides, and we must have hit the honeysuckle high that day.  Sounds like a song title, doesn’t it? Worthy of John Denver?  You decide.

It was so beautiful that we were inspired to ready our screened porch for spring, including hanging a new “hubby handcrafted” light fixture.  After two hours of hard work, we were more than ready for the next phase of the day—relaxing on the clean porch and then dinner under the new light. All these porch activities will soon be followed by weekend mornings ensconced on the glider with coffee and the paper, the dog at our feet and the cat on the prowl chirping at the birds. 

  Yes, indeed, “Life is good.”