The 100

"Can We Talk?"

Have you ever had that feeling that the resonant sound of noise and people who have visited your home is echoing in the stillness after they've gone? A burst of laughter or a question still hanging in the air? Turning sharply in response to a noise that isn't there but the energy of it is almost palpable? Hearing noises that I've never heard before simply because there was so much going on all the time. Letting the music play or the television chatter in another room to avoid listening or thinking too hard? 

Do you know in your heart that that sweet, charming little old man who occupied your house before you, is sitting in the garden enjoying the rhododendron blooms?  Calling to you perhaps to join him on a summer evening. I'm not crazy. It happens all the time. It doesn't frighten me, startles me sometimes. I wonder does it happen to you - this sudden space to hear your own breathing in the wee hours of the morning when the world is sleeping? 

But I'm also asking if you might consider participating in a sort of collective wisdom. It strikes me that instead of asking myself into the silence I could ask you. I think I'll call you, 
"The 100" What? A Nest4One Community of Practice if you will. Imagine we have the time to set beach chairs out in the sand and laugh at ourselves. 

I think there's stuff to share. I think I wouldn't be the only beneficiary of your wisdom. I just want counsel first from the people I know and trust. Who will give me the skinny on what to expect and insight into what to avoid. Not about the noises (well maybe). About the little everyday things that I thought would be easier 4 one, but are not. The myriad of things I suddenly know absolutely nothing about! 

So how would it work? Well, here's what I'm thinking. I'll float an idea or a question via email hoping to get your thoughts, ideas, feedback, you name it. Then I'll craft stories and publish the collective thoughts here. You'll get the credit (unless you don't want it) but it might just be the seed of a story and a dialogue, a conversation from a good idea we've shared. 

Question is, do you want to be, are you willing to be part of the 100? Expect that email in the next day or so. It will look something like this...or that and thank you. I'm really fortunate to have so many creative and interesting people in my life.

To Market with Alvin & Dinner 4 One

Secret #1 is to have a friend like Alvin. Someone you can text at 7 am on a Saturday morning to see whether or not he or she feels like braving the crowds or the weather to find something wonderful to eat or drink! And Alvin shares. Even more important. You know, buy a quart of something and split it. 

First we found coffee and a spot in the sun to enjoy it. Almost too warm. We sat down
at a table with a couple from Avon, NY. Margaret and Sam venture into the city to visit the Rochester Public Market on Saturday mornings to find deals and enjoy the mayhem. And mayhem it is. Friends, couples, families with dogs and kids and strollers. Market baskets bumping into each other as we jockey for position in front of one vendor or another. 

The smells are incredible. 

Secret #2 is to take those few minutes and share a table or counter with other
market goers. Chat about the weather, the news, our neighborhoods and most important what looks good that day at the market. Margaret and I got into a debate about wasting food when cooking for yourself or for two. Long since retired she pointed out that they don't eat as much as they used to. I had no idea. Watching my folks I guess I should have realized but I didn't. How does one person or two buy in the quantities available at a farmer's market and not have too much? How much can be made into soup or canned
or frozen. All three of which take time; lots and lots of time. The one thing none of us
seem to have. We laughed about spending Sundays making soup or chopping vegetables with friends and a bottle or two of wine. An idea worthy of consideration! 

Secret #3 we decided, was NOT planning ahead. The key to a successful Saturday morning was a bare bones shopping list. The rest to be decided by what looks good or what's in abundance or in season or ready to be eaten or can wait until later in the week. Be open to the possibilities. Try something you're not sure about. It's July. So strawberries are done, blueberries are making their first appearances along with corn and other veggies. Flowers are everywhere. My favorite part. I bought a CSA membership last year because they had an "all u can pick" flower garden. Too much food but I had flowers all over the house from June until October. I didn't do it this year in hopes that it will be better to enjoy the market every couple of weeks instead.

Secret #4 is taking the time to make Saturday or Sunday evening dinner. Triano's had these really nice 6 oz filet mignon for $5.99 a piece. The raspberries are beautiful for a little bit longer. Small World bakery had freshly made Country Multigrain Bread. A leisurely dinner and a bottle of Pinot Noir. Marinated (Wegmans basting oil, salt & pepper) filet, the first of the local yellow squash I grilled. An arugula salad with raspberries, feta, walnuts and balsamic vinagrette. Oh and I grilled a slice or two of that bread too. Just enough for one with leftover squash for a sandwich on Sunday afternoon. This could work! 

Five Days: I agreed to do what?

Truth be told, it's July 3rd (you likely know that already). It’s the start of a long holiday weekend for many of us. The birth of our country. Independence Day.  That's just about 18 days from dropping Bran off in Maryland. I've been settling in, sleeping less than I'd like (I think the house and kitty are mourning his absence and being extra noisy at night). Must be something I ate. Shift it off to the kitty I think. Yes, that works. It is sort of true.  

I'm clever like that. 

I've been getting a clearer picture of what life will be like for the next couple of years. It's not as if I don't understand it's permanent but I promised to help out with his "stuff" until he gets enough of a handle on things to either send for it or sell it. Take your pick. Somehow I agreed to keep the truck running - drive it, make sure it gets inspected, fix what breaks, update the software on his computer (aka, take it out for a spin every week too) and make sure his bills get paid.

Wait a minute. Where was I when I agreed to all that? 

What was I thinking?  

It's like being asked a question while I'm on the phone. You know that moment - when you hear yourself say yes, because you just weren't paying enough attention to what you were being asked and truth be told, just didn’t want to be bothered to figure it out. "Mom, can I - fill in the blank?"

Kids are sly like that. 

I love this photo. I've used it again and again as a training visual. I've a fantasy that I look like that. That I smile when I talk. Make everyone feel we're all gentle and pretty and everything is all right. Let's call her Grace. See those perfect teeth? Her nails? Hot diggity dam.  

HEY, I was BUSY! Meeting deadlines, in the training room, trying to find time to paint (deadlines there too), worrying and obsessing over all the little details that go into helping a "grown ass man" get enough of the right type and color socks and underwear to go off to camp. What? It's Boot Camp. Still counts. I'm not sure he'd given it that much thought either. Too immersed in his excitement and dreaming of the places that he'll get to go see. I don't blame him either.  

So the first week I parked the truck on the "inside" and used my car. Means I can't use the garage. I hate that. Not clever at all. So what's my alternative? Week two I switched the cars back and forth. What a pain in the ass! This week I parked the car in the garage and I'm driving the truck. Barreling along in that 1995 Dodge Dakota he loves so much, radio blaring, wind in my hair. Wind in my hair? Forget it. The air conditioning works great. Next week I'll park the truck in the garage (yes, well we'll have to see how that goes) and I'll drive the car. Same problem though. What a pain in the you know what! There's a whole other blog to be written about me and my feelings around parking outside when it's raining or snowing or too hot. This is not a good solution. I'll just have to keep thinking. Research my storage options at night. 

He has designs for restoring the truck and taking it with him someday. I'll bet that's not such a chore when you work on those ships. Did you know that close to 90% of the worlds' goods travel by sea? I didn't. Never gave it much thought. I'm sensing a theme here. How many of the things I do are not being done with my full heart and mind? How much have I missed? How will I catch up? 

A poem or a rhyme – an image of Horton the Who comes to mind, but it’s not I suspect, a moment to rest or to dig in my heels, so instead it's a rhyme and a poem from that heart. 

From “All the Places You’ll Go”

 "You’ll get mixed up of course,

As you already know.

You’ll get mixed up

With many strange birds as you go.

So be sure when you step.

Step with care and great tact

And remember that life’s

A great balancing act.

Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.

And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?

Yes, You will indeed!

(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!"

So, thank you Dr. Seuss. I loved reading your stories aloud every night. The Cat in the Hat, Green Eggs and Ham, I am grateful he thought to include me, I am.

Six Days

Quiet. 

Puzzles and Rainbows.

Thunder is rolling somewhere far away. The last of the rain is working its way from leaf to the ground. The birds, singing to the raindrops and a bright red cardinal, chirping at me through the open door keep the world from feeling absolutely still. Waiting for something. I don't know what. The fan is running but I've gotten so I don't hear that anymore. The AC kicking in. My grassy green meadow is heavy with green and the deep dark smell of wet earth in the summertime. 

Ace is gone. He is somewhere 32,000 feet in the sky; most likely napping instead of worrying about making his connection, which is good. Headed home to the puppies and the work that’s been building since he arrived. Air conditioners that won’t run because grass has gotten into the intake valve or bent props from obstacles that could not be avoided. Anxious Captains of boats that have been lifting and swaying, alone and still in the warm waters of south Florida.

Far more than 24 hours has zoomed by. It’s not Six Days. It’s MINUS 11. What was I thinking when I decided documenting this each day was a good idea? It's sort of like deciding that you're going to put a new message on your voice mail every morning. You know, “Good morning, this is Pat, today is…” I did that for a while. Good for customers perhaps, but very hard to keep up. I suspect it was my attempt to slow down the march of days... 

At Six days I was in the training room. Too busy to worry or obsess.  Answering questions. Sharing everything I can think might be relevant, might help them get the most from their investment of time and energy. Except this. They have no idea what's happening outside these rooms. And I have no idea about them. I'll get snippets here and there. Traveling stories or the relative comfort of their room and the food. I’ll stay focused and deliver.

At Five days I was in the training room too. A good day, busy playing hide and seek with the enhanced feature sets always found in beta software. At Four days, packing and sorting and running out for last minute items. Dinner on the water. 

A CELEBRATION! A request from Bran at the start to his sea-going journey. At Three days? Time spent in the car. 345 miles. A family event – the best and easiest way to be sure he got to see his Grandparents before he left – and they get to see him. Dad turns 90 in October and best case scenario, Bran won’t be back until the fall of 2015. Day two? Was at rest. New Hampshire is beautiful in June. The mosquitoes are fierce but there are moments. No wonder they live there. The isolation would make me nuts. 

At Day One? In the car. 528 miles and 12 hours, through three major cities. Unavoidable perhaps, but FORGET Google Maps! It's 7:30 pm. The only restaurant for miles and miles closes at 8. Just in time, fish tacos and sunset. 

Day Zero. Is there such a thing? Ground Zero. No, that's a bad metaphor in my mind. How about the first day, Day One in an ascending value stream? Zero was somewhere between 11:59 and 12:01. Yes, Bran - Day One. Up, packed and ready by 8. Can’t drag him out of his early morning coma for the most part. Except on Day One. We have time. Doesn’t matter. He cannot rest. Breakfast is attempted and discarded.

It’s a beautiful spot. A young man, a leader (I’m not sure how that translates to rank) who has already told me how special Bran must be to be participating in an international program with 400 applicants each month, 25 acceptances, just 12 or so in each class. Navy blue t-shirts and jeans – their uniform for the next three months. Black steel toed shoes and socks in the hot sun. It was over in an instant. His bags out of the car and gone. I'd been afraid of that. He’d left his sunglasses. I got to run in. He was annoyed, but grateful. 

I cannot imagine being the mother of a soldier. This is hard enough. My heart goes out to each and every one of you. Proud and fearful. I am grateful. 

439 miles and home. 

Seven Days

Curls

Remember? The first time you took your first born for a hair cut? Maybe for mothers of boys it's more of an event. Happens sooner? I don't know. It was important. Soft, shiny little curls falling to the floor like a whisper of the future to come. I have one of them tucked safely in an envelope. Then they start to grow up. There's the phase where they let it grow out for a while? You walk in the door one afternoon and it's all gone? 

It will always grow back...

Today, after a long, long day, I returned home for dinner to find the military cut he'll need to sport for the next 12 or 13 weeks. It still comes as somewhat of a shock. It helps me laugh at myself. 

He used to grow his hair long in protest because his dark hair and skin tone almost guarantees that the US TSA a**holes stop him at airports. 100% of the time, if his hair is long and his beard is anything unkempt it takes him forever to get through an airport. I know they have a job to do but it seems like the power hungry, self important ones should be weeded out. You know what I mean. I hate to say it but the female TSA agents are the worst. Especially in small airports like Rochester NY. They sneer down their self important noses at him as if he's not quite good enough and must be a terrorist. 

His passport, his MMC and TWIC cards are sitting on the kitchen table like a black travel wallet beacon warning me there are just hours left. 

Ahh...wait. Wait. Regroup. The danger from the power driven seems so at odds with those whisper light curls. Bad/Good. Innocence lost. ACH! Back to those soft little curls that seem so Sampson-like, you're hesitant to snip them off. Strength like innocence should be kept at all costs? Perhaps not. Each at their own risk. A mother could drown worrying that what's been done can't be undone or was interpreted in the wrong light. 

The curls are gone. He's ready. Last evening of Steam - which truth be told - I don't know what that means. I don't know what games it drives or the friends he argues and laughs with during one game or another. Just that I need to log on every week to let it update a midst ten different, if this, then that. I should probably write it down, but I'll get used to it. 

Don't worry if you need to reboot. Hard shut downs happen. He can't take it with him. No room aboard ship. He's packed. Proud that I didn't peek or re-add anything he's already taken out. I can do 14 months. NP. I know how to reboot. Happens all the time. 

Eight Days: PF Changs

"Did you hear about PF Changs?" 

"No?"

"Data breach. Just heard about it on the news. I'm telling you only because I know you go there sometimes..."

I haven't been to PF Chang's since the last time I was in Tampa. That's May of 2012. Brandon's graduation from UT. Mongolian Beef. Lettuce Wraps. Crispy Green Beans. Dumplings. We started visiting PF Chang's accidentally as a marker. Big transitions. First here in Rochester, then Florida. This last visit in 2014 (just in time for a data breach) to mark his transition back to the sea. 

Malware can invade a POS (Point of Sale) system (aka Windows, Linux, doesn't matter) when they swipe your card. Cash from now on! Except that the Bank has just sent a letter informing us that they may or may not allow us to use our ATM cards in foreign cities (you know, like Boston) or countries if they don't deem it as safe. They didn't specify just who makes that decision, when or why. Begs the question of why they can't find a better, more customer friendly way to handle it. 

It could create a host of new issues for traveling - and as I'm in worry mode anyway I might as well worry about that. What's the back up plan? So I get a couple of delicious little Mom moments to savor. An American Express card first. That's an easy one. An extra sweat shirt. What? I can do that. You know as well as I do I'm going to find that hidden in a drawer somewhere six months from now anyway. 

And a Visa. Credit lines that will be there if he needs them. The payoff for keeping all these things in line for so long. Now because I have a brain that just CAN'T let things go, I asked myself...

"Self,  we have a whole fleet of Merchant Marines. How do they get paid while their at sea?
Or do they? A season is anywhere from 120 - 240 days.
Who pays their bills while their gone?"

I'm sure now there is, a system that is, but it's not on the list of things I can know about ahead of time. 

                          Let go. Let go. Let go. 

                                 Distracted by what I did find, which helps. 

So the Merchant Marines came first. 1775 to be exact. (www.usmm.org)  Before the Navy, the Army, the Marines and certainly the Air Force.

"On June 12, 1775, a party of Maine mariners, armed with pitchforks and axes, inspired by the news of the recent victory at Lexington, Massachusetts, used an unarmed lumber schooner to surprise and capture a fully armed British warship, HMS Margaretta, off the coast of Machias, Maine. The men used the captured guns and ammunition from the ship to bring in additional British ships as prizes. American privateers soon disrupted British shipping all along the Atlantic coast."

From it's humble beginnings, now there are two types of Merchant Mariners. Those associated with the US Navy who work on non-military vessels that provide logistical support. In WWII, 1 in 26 Mariners died trying to ensure that the US Military had food, arms, supplies and logistical support. That's a greater percentage of war-related deaths than all of the other US Service branches. Talk about unsung heroes. 

And then there are those who serve aboard commercial or private vessels. These vessels come under the auspices of the US Coast Guard, sort of. The ships are owned by private corporations. The crews are organized military style within the Mariners Unions but get paid by those private concerns. But, like any other sea going vessel under a US flag their behavior is governed by the US Coast Guard. 

I just want to point out here that I am now using terms like Mariners and vessels and ships. BOATS are not what powers goods and services around the globe.

I had no idea. D Day was made possible by a civilian mariner fleet we rarely hear about. They don't receive pensions or recognition or protection from the American government. They don't get parades or wear medals on their uniforms. They can't be honored or buried as part of the civilian effort in wartime - but they are responsible for ensuring that the American economic systems stays afloat and that our military can function. 

So much for a data breach. I'll just add it to the list of things that happen so that I can learn how little I knew when I started these posts. Here I was, sure I thought this was about me and my avocados. Did I tell you that this all started because he was looking for a cheap way to travel? Sometimes you can book passage on a commercial ship...

Nine Days

Tampa 2008. Off to college.
Renting a snazzy blue Mustang to deliver him to campus seemed like a fun thing to do.
We had to make a few trips but it was a kick and a half! 

Do you remember those shopping lists for camp? I’d forgotten about them. Trying to figure out if they really “mean” 14 pairs of socks and finally going out to buy another 6 pairs “just in case”. Mud, rain, stormy seas could happen all in the same place couldn't they? It’s more difficult when you’re not in charge you know. Moms can make whatever decisions they want and take the heat for being wrong or being a self-admitted over-protection junkie.  Now it’s a mix. Of surprise at his wisdom, practicality and stubborn adherence to the same routines he developed when he was three. Buttons are bad.

• 1 pair of leather work gloves (brand new – the ones in the garage will not be good enough)
• 1 flashlight (he has a head lamp – thinks it will suffice – I did sneak another one into his bag)
• 6 pairs of black socks (It took me years to get him to wear black socks. He was convinced these were only for funerals. I guess we went to more than our share.)
• 1 pair of shower shoes (So, what are shower shoes? Flip flops? I hope so. That’s what he got. For the first time we discussed other people’s fungus. Oh yuck!)
• 1 wallet (He’s got that one under control already)
• 1 watch (A watch? He’s always used his phone. So he went and bought a Casio Module No. 3198 3299.)
• 1 ditty bag (ditty bag? What’s that? I had a travel bag that came with a corporate luggage thing from one event or the other.)
• 5 white thermal undershirts (REALLY? He has, on only one other occasion worn an undershirt. The summer he lived in Houston and had to work in an office, it was required. He wore the traditional Italian version. His Grandfather would have been proud. Except that he walked a mile to work in the 90 degree heat and it was an extra layer.)
• 5 white thermal pants (long johns) He was hoping to get away with taking his skiing thermals but they are black. We’re guessing that these are worn under his uniform and black probably won’t work. Have you ever tried to find thermal underwear in June? Thank goodness for Amazon Prime!
• 1 bathing suit
• 1 bathrobe (I am totally appalled at how much a simple bathrobe costs – especially if you don’t want to look like your grandfather in it – think light blue with piping at the edges.)
• 1 pair of tennis shoes (black)
• 14 pairs of white athletic socks (Let’s hope they don’t have to be actually stain free.)
• 14 pairs of underwear (briefs or boxers) I wanted to laugh. I really do. Do you think they only get to do laundry every two weeks? Sigh. Of course. Another Yuck! 
• 10 pairs of undershirts (crew neck) We screwed up here. We’d had about enough shopping at this point. Neither one of us are any good at it anyway. Malls are overwhelming and expensive. I’d rather be drawing or painting or in the garden and he would rather be doing anything else. We were no longer paying attention to anything but surviving the list, so some of them are v-neck. Mom Fail! I know it.
• 2 combination lock
• 2 pairs of pajamas (OK, so a t-shirt and undies will have to work – pajamas are for girls and sissies.) 
• 1 pair bedroom slippers (Can the same pair of flip-flops work? Good.)
• 3 pairs gym shorts (No problem as that’s all he wears no matter what the weather.)
• 1 navy blue sweatshirt 
• 1 navy blue sweatpants
• 1 pair all black ANSI approved steel-toe boots (He took himself off to the Boot Supply depot and some very nice folks explained how important these are, fit him twice, waterproofed them and told him to come back before he left so they could be sure. Thank you Redwing Shoes in Rochester, NY).

Honestly I really, really wanted to put his name on everything. I didn't. I promise, I didn't, but this list made me feel like I should. Clearly I need to stop thinking about this. OR I could slip little notes into his luggage. OK. OK. Did you ever put little goodies into their lunches went they started the first grade?  

I only added one important item that was not on their list. I added a first aid kit. A few band-aids, some advil and assorted items for when you’re far from home and just need to take care of yourself. And because I’m his Mom I snuck in a couple of candy kisses. I’m like that. I hope they don’t melt. Maybe I’ll go back and put them in a plastic bag. Oh, what about a sewing kit? It’s going to be hard to resist. I’ll likely get caught. And I’ll find my mother’s additions in a drawer somewhere six months from now.

Definitely put those kisses in a plastic bag.

Ten Days

   It’s quiet. 

A glorious sunny morning reflected in the rainbows sparkling off the crystal that hangs in my kitchen window. All year long, if the sun is out – OK in upstate NY you have to treasure those things. What was I saying? Oh yea, if the sun is out I have a crystal hung in the window because somewhere between 7 and 8 am it sends rainbows from floor to ceiling. Spin it gently and the room is awash in colorful lights. I hope that I never stop noticing it. The walls are white for that reason. Wherever I am, I want my kitchen to face east. I’ll be painting it white and hanging a simple crystal in the window.  I love sunrise. 

   Sox is sleeping at my feet. 

He’s been out to check the perimeter already and returned for breakfast. He’s hoping I’ll go out and water the flowers, maybe weed here and there so we can wander around the yard together before the day begins. He's thinking there’s time for it. He knows when there’s not. He’ll flop onto his back on the warm stone steps so I can stop to rub his belly. 

  Goofy cat.

Just 10 Days left. In less than ten days, I’ll be waking up in a strange bed at the ocean’s edge. I’ll be admiring the view and looking for rainbows. There will be meditation in the watching the sunrise over the water. Brandon no doubt, will be awake in another room anxious, intensely excited to start the next chapter in his life. Bet on it – his bags are packed and he’s ready to leave. We have all day. Breakfast will be a short affair. I’ll want to linger. It will be very hard to resist laughing at him outright.

He will not appreciate it.  

It's his sunrise and he knows it. Dreaming about his future. How great is that? To be so full of hope and promise. It seems to me that's something many of us need to recoup. Why not? It's a season of opportunity. Spring flowers and all that. This time, it starts with a sunrise facing the Atlantic Ocean and listening to the soft sound of the water beckoning.

Such a romantic notion. 

I can't think who gets the credit for helping me understand that. I think I'll thank Ted. Yes, I'm sure it was him. There's more than one pirate on this journey. 

Cleared for Duty

Peace is not with me tonight. It will have to be. OK.

Well maybe not but I'll do the best I can.
I AM...

Preparing to watch Brandon leave for the journey that likely spans the rest of his life. I can't know the number of days. I can't rely on a parent organization or FB to help me figure out where "he is" as I could when he participated in Semester at Sea. There's an APP for that. Don't think I haven't already downloaded it and spent time figuring it out. I have no idea which of my peeps already know that commercial vessels are tracked around the globe. I'll learn. 

He took this picture at Angkor Wat. I don't think he'll be writing a blog like he did then. SAS. Semester at Sea is a program for college students and what they call "Life Long Learners" that takes a semester to circumnavigate the globe on a converted cruise ship. The library used to be the casino! It was the trip of a lifetime that eclipsed his other "trip of lifetime" to Fiji, Australia and New Zealand between his junior and senior years in high school. People to People; started by Eisenhower to encourage student ambassadors to travel the world.  His first solo airplane ticket was a birthday wish at 14. 

Preparing to be thrilled, proud, worried. And preparing to be in my "Nest 4 One". 

His wish? His best case scenario means I'll not see him again until September of 2015. That seems like forever. It's not without some humor that I'm thinking this day seemed farther away just like that one does now. That one is very much farther away. I asked him tonight if he was excited. "YES!" I asked him tonight if he were nervous. "Some". I asked him tonight what was the one thing he was looking forward to the most? "The OPEN SEA. A backpack, a duffle bag and the world - destination unknown."   

Somehow what should have stayed months away is less than two weeks. HOW did that happen? I'm not obsessing. OK. Yeah. Yeah. I'm trying not to obsess. Was I not paying attention? Why is it that I did not raise someone who wanted to stay within a radius of say, 500 miles? I'm usually proud of that. I will be (damn it) before I have to drop him off. (http://www.seafarers.org). An Apprenticeship. A path to his dreams and his future.    

Circa 2002 or so. Perhaps I should have know. A family reunion. Getting his younger cousins into trouble building a stone path in a park stream...

Circa 2002. Waiting for his brother to "get over" being sick on board a quick trip around Philadelphia harbor. We were there for the Fourth of July. EVERYONE should spend at least one 4th there. Walk the history trail and check out the Liberty Bell. Long makeshift security lines and metal detectors that summer. The guards were still wearing full armor and AK-47 machine guns. The boys loved it. 

Preparing to be the self-contained, cheerful, organized, busy parent he has come to appreciate. I am preparing to smile. I am preparing to be the bravest of Moms. No tears for me. I will be dropping him off. He'll pull his bag and a backpack out of my car and be gone. It will take only seconds. He'll slip away in a minute.  I won't be prepared and I'll struggle not to call him back. I can't. I know that. He's a grown ass man after all. 

He'll be patient but roll his eyes and wish me well. Likely after a good breakfast at whatever hotel we land at the day before. He might let me hug him if no one is around. People are certain to be around. Everyone has to check in between 7 and 10 am. This is Brandon. We will be there long before 10. 

Tears will run their course down along my nose and cheeks all the long way home. He'll never know. Isn't that in the Mom job description? 

Preparing to be proud and overjoyed. 

Wisdom is Empty.

I had an opportunity to forgive and of forgiveness...

And, in a split second of stillness, I took it. Are you thinking that wisdom is knowing? Are you thinking that knowing makes you more competent or skilled and that maybe that's full instead of empty? I'm pretty sure I thought so. I was wrong. 

So, here's the set up (you have to have the back story), and I want to tell Bob M. to go get himself a cup of coffee or a scotch and settle in. I took on a project. It had a lot of potential. It had risk, but I took it anyway. It was for a client I had worked with closely in the past. A client who could be unpredictable. It was for a client who was at odds with another client in the same firm. Even if I didn't know it at the time - I should have.  I know it doesn't sound like a good idea. It was worth it. Not because it wouldn't blow up. Of course it did.  

My client, well he was sorry I'd gotten caught in the middle. The other client? A woman who I had considered my friend, was not nearly as forgiving. In fact, she went out of her way to ensure that I "would never work in this town again!". The firm? Well as coincidence would have it, some chirpy little woman from purchasing called me to let me know the rules had changed. In a fit of self-protection the firm had decided that all small business and sole proprietorship vendors would have to carry millions of dollars in additional insurance. I was in California - far away from home - trying my best to help manage a family emergency. I made some very difficult choices and walked away. 

It's not to say that I wasn't angry, because I was. I was also relieved. How could anything be worth that kind of BS? And I was scared to death. The income hit alone should have forced me to make a different decision. It didn't. My oldest son had just graduated from college. It was paid for, in full. But I carried that anger and stress with me for a long while anyway. I tried to shake it and couldn't. It sort of ebbed away on it's own over time. 

One day not long ago I got a note from my friend. She invited me out for a drink. Now here's another choice, right? I could have said no. The ever present thirteen year old that lives inside my head certainly wanted me to. Hah! Take that! Wait, how many lines ago did I say I'd forgiven and moved on? 

But there's that pesky stillness again. Yes, sure of course. I'd like that. Would I? 

She was there at the bar with a gift bag in her hands. Her fear and sorrow palpable. It overwhelmed my instant of stillness - it filled it. I let it. I'm not sure it was by choice, but I just couldn't bring myself to dishonor her courage. Alex and Ani. I had never heard of them before. They are "committed to building a culture that focuses entirely on mindful actions." It's a lovely little bracelet. I'll wear it with her intent. 

"I wanted to do this publicly. I want our friends to know. But this is good too. I'm sorry I was such an asshole."

Stunned. By the past maybe. Question is, am I gracious enough, capable enough, secure enough? Some days, I am. I chose empathy. So here's where this gets interesting. And of course, turns into that charming opportunity for personal growth. Stinky bits those are. 

During the first glass of wine. OK, maybe the second, she started to talk about her work with the Dharma Refuge. Something since she'd left the firm. Yep. Either way it's good for her. Two Buddhist monks were coming to Rochester for a fund raiser - the Dali Lama has his US center in Ithaca - not far from here. A Sand Mandala. I've always wanted to see that. Convergence, coincidence, stumbling across your own silliness perhaps? Was I willing to help? Oh ye of little faith. Even I know opportunity when it slaps me in the face. 

So I found myself on a sunny, but still chilly morning driving two Tibetan monks to Nazareth college in time to start their first meditation. I don't care what's going on in my actual, every day world. I stayed to watch. I listened, listened and tried to participate in their meditation. It's fascinating even if I didn't understand it. They use an apparently simple and humble system. The "sand" is made of very finely ground sacred marble dust from Tibet. The colors are mixed from non-toxic dyes from India. They use funnels, cones and small scrapers to paint an intricate design. 

I was mesmerized. I took some pictures. One of these two gentlemen monks asked about the phone app I was using. STOP RIGHT THERE. He pulled his Iphone out of his robes. The present and the profound swished into a day-glow river in my optic filters. My sense of humor fully engaged I did my best to help him upload TruHD. Turns out Monks have a sense of humor too! 

You know what's coming don't you? I had to ask the flood of questions that had been building. That's how I learned about the sacred dust, the company in India that provides non-toxic colors, the funnels, cones and scrapers used to create a mandala. And here's how the story goes. Why non-toxic? Because the Mandala is transitory. It's gathered up at the end of the meditation and distributed into a nearby moving body of water. Tibetan Monks do not want to poison the water supply.  I think I was sort of shocked. After all that work? 

What? Wait. I'm not sure I understand.

So he explained. The Mandala is a prayer. A meditation. It's transitory. The vessels and tradition that goes with the transition from finished mandala to moving water are part of the process. They are the wisdom of meditation. As soon as you're full of the wisdom of one experience, the experience, the Mandala, the prayer becomes part of the wisdom. And the wisdom becomes the question.  

Wisdom is empty. 

Once you think you have it, it simply flows into your next moment of insight. The next instant of stillness. So I had this incredible day. I had the opportunity to see in my mind's eye - the grace and light of forgiveness. Because I was able to forgive someone else. And later that day I was able to share that story with a room full of people open and waiting to hear it. 

I see a small bowl that fits into the palm of my hand. It's light on the inside but solid at the edges and rough in the palm of my hand. Fades away into water. It's a painting I've yet to figure out how to paint. Oh yea, and today is my birthday. I chose today. 

Namaste. A Sanskrit word that roughly translates into, I bow to you. Thank you. 

About That Chain Saw

So, the last time I mentioned to someone (oh wait, it was a man - my neighbor) that I wanted to buy a chainsaw, he hurried over with his own and asked me what needed to be done. His horrified look made me wonder just what trouble he thought I could get into. Somewhere between vaguely amusing and annoying. I went out and bought one that very same afternoon. The boys and I tested it out on two or three seasons of branch crashes in the yard. Chain saws have to be emptied though - otherwise they leak oily stuff all over the garage floor. Yuck and smelly mess. One year we put plastic underneath it. Better. Still a mess though. The chains fall off and they need repair. I hear it's all because I wasn't taking good enough care of my tools. Can't even think that with a straight face - never mind say it. 

I'm hesitant to mention that I can't find it. How does one go about losing a chainsaw - exactly? It's not that small. As most people will tell you, I don't keep a lot of extra stuff around. Has a kind of vicious looking rotating chain that's hard to miss. I must have loaned it to someone or given it away - right? 

I need it back. 

The winter of 2013/2014 was difficult for the trees in the backyard. I lost some pretty good size branches. And like that last snow on the driveway, I saw the branches had fallen, inspected them briefly to be sure nothing or no one got injured as a result of landing hard enough to shatter - and left them alone to wait for better weather. Yesterday I got a good look. Oops. I should call the tree guy. In the last ten years I've spent thousands of dollars pruning trees, removing trees and gathering up the remains of tree branches that decided suicide was indeed the answer. If only I could have talked them out of it. My trees don't listen either. I don't want to call the tree guy. Would rather have the deck instead this year. Or finish the front steps. 

Positive spin is that my yard has lots of sunshine now. Less bugs and small critters. Did I tell you about the Red Tailed Hawk, the Owls? How about the Red Foxes? They're really lovely to watch. Sometimes in the middle of winter they come out in the morning to sun themselves on the snow. Very cool. I must have complained about the family dozen Deer that insist on using my yard as their personal playground. There is of course the story about the horse that ate my garden and then that turkey that landed spread eagle on the front steps. No? Another day perhaps. 

But, this is why I felt compelled to check for survivors when those branches came down. Happy to report that no one was injured as a result of the latest round of branchicides - except of course for the trees. I probably have to trim back those gaping splinters - but they are way high - and I don't like ladders all that much. What to do, what to do? I know, I know, call the tree guy.  

I could cut it up for firewood, by hand. I must have a hand saw. OK maybe not, but I could totally justify buying one of those. Don't even have to argue with myself. Every newly "Nest 4 Oner" should have a decent hand saw. Hard to believe I didn't buy one when I got the sledgehammer. I love sledgehammers. Nothing quite so satisfying as the explosion of whatever comes in contact with it at the right speed. Good exercise. No need for the gym.

Like my other tools, I'll need to paint the handle pink. No lie. I buy tools that have flowers on them or something "made for women" (as much as I loathe that distinction) so that any contractor or male of the species who is not paying attention, does not mistake it for their own and carry it away with them. Oh, maybe that's what happened to the chain saw? 

Maybe someone left it in the yard by the old woodpile. I hope not. That means it's ruined. I'll have to go look. Good thing it's a beautiful day outside.      

Flat Tires in the Rain

                       Sat Chit Ananda ~ Truth, Consciousness, Bliss ~ A Mantra                          

A college student. A laughing, cheerful group of energetic young women headed to NYC. I can't remember why. We got stuck in a toll lane at the entrance to the George Washington Bridge in 85 degree weather - it had just started to rain. We'd tripped out of the van one by one, in spaghetti straps and shorts circling the van trying to figure out what to do about a flat tire. We got all sorts of help ~ crossing three lanes of traffic to get to us. No easy feat on the GW bridge. A cop, shaking his head at the antics he's watching from the other side of the guard rail. Several interesting offers later, and in no time at all - without spending a dime, we were on our way.  Still laughing and eager to get where we were going, confident that every moment would be as rich as the last. Not at all concerned that we were driving at break neck speed on a re-inflated tire. 

                        Sat Chit Ananda ~ Truth, Consciousness, Bliss ~ A Mantra                         

$311.00

That's how much I spent yesterday afternoon to replace one (1) tire on my car. That and 100% of what was already a busy afternoon. It doesn't matter what kind of car you drive - a flat tire is the great equalizer. Bran was doing me a favor - running to Wegmans for groceries while I was helping a customer. He took my car. Easier. It's dreary, cold and raining. He heard it grinding as he hit University Ave but didn't notice the flat until he was done and loading groceries back into the car. Life lesson - when you hear a grinding noise, STOP! 

Did you know that different tow truck drivers have different stuff? Some have "breaker bars" and some do not. First phone call seemed so reassuring. Roadside assistance had everything set to go and the driver was on his way. You're all set Bran - no problem! You'll be home (with that full load of groceries) in no time. I'll deal with the tire later. Don't worry about all that expensive shrimp. It's fine. Book Group tomorrow night. 

Lug nuts are on too tight. What? It will have to be towed. 

                         Sat Chit Ananda ~ Truth, Consciousness, Bliss ~ A Mantra                        

"Driver wants to talk to you, Mom." 

"Where do you want us to tow your car lady?"

Can you hear the silence? Where should he tow my car? The dealership? It's still under warranty. Probably doesn't matter. And no, it doesn't. Reference the $311.00. 

"Did you hear me? Where do you want us to tow your car? The next driver will have to know. You'll need another work order..."

OK, so I need to call Roadside Assistance - again. Doug instead of Katherine. Confident, reassuring - well trained. I love that! "Don't worry we'll be there before you will." At this point, it's clear I've got to go get the groceries. And Brandon. 

So, there's the truck. A Dodge Dakota long bed - restored to it's original black with fine red racing stripes. Bran loves that truck. The truck he's been waiting to own since his grandfather bought it new in 1994. Parked next door in my neighbor's garage to protect it from the weather and snow. 

Still optimistic, bouncing along in the truck, thinking I'll just get there in time. It's already 2:00. I need to get back to my desk. 2:15. 2:30. Call Roadside Assistance ~ again. It will be another 15 minutes. Call the dealership to find out if there is anything else I need to do. 

                         Sat Chit Ananda ~ Truth, Consciousness, Bliss ~ A Mantra                          
                     
Service is on the phone. They will call me right back. OK. 3:00. 3:15. All I need to know is...what I don't know. I really wanted to be clear, optimistic and logical. I did. I was completely calm for Thing one and Thing Two. Thing Three? Not so much. Thing Four? Not at all, not at all. Call the dealership back. I just need to know what to expect - after the tow truck shows up. On hold again - for the Service Manager this time. Dave picks up. "Are you the Service Manager?" No, he's on the phone. I explain, yet again. I need to know what to expect. 

"Well what's the problem? Sounds like everything is taken care of. The tow truck driver will get there eventually. There's nothing else to know." 

Can you hear his self-talk? "Some crazy dimwitted female driver." I hate that. I really hate that. I just need to know what to expect. I need to get back to my desk. 

All it would have taken is someone to say, "we've got your back". Is that so hard? 

                        Sat Chit Ananda ~ Truth, Consciousness, Bliss ~ A Mantra                          

"Mom, you might be headed down the rabbit hole now. Take a deep breath! Remember what the Monk said, You're only as big as the smallest thing that pisses you off" Cute. I am the rabbit hole at the moment. We laughed. Felt better. "Steve" calls back from the dealership. 3:30. Steve, who is also NOT the Service Manager wants to know why I'm so upset. HE hangs up in a huff. All I needed was someone to say, 

"We've got your back. 
They'll bring the car here. We'll call you when it's ready." That's it. 

"Well, you know if you called Roadside, and the tow truck driver is there, I don't know what you need from me?" 

I need to know about replacing the tire, Steve. 

And I kid you not, "...let me transfer you to parts, so they can tell you if we have the tire in stock." I'm on hold - again. I'll call back. 

Tow truck driver hops out of his truck with a little metal box and a wrench. It's still raining but he doesn't mind. You already know about the breaker bar. He's quite proud of himself. Pops off the tire. The baby tire is rigged under the car somehow through the rear cargo. I get a lesson in where everything is and what it's for. And in the car I bought "almost new" - there's a beat up old spare. Will it work - yes it will. Fine! Great! Am I done yet? It's 4. 

"Your tire is shot. Sliced open. And I can see you drove on it (insert - dimwitted female driver here), so it will have to be replaced. Might want to ask why they gave you such a bad spare. Look here. If it were new none of this would be smooth."

Tosses flat, disfigured tire in the back of my car, slams the hatch shut and I'm on my way.

                        Sat Chit Ananda ~ Truth, Consciousness, Bliss ~ A Mantra                          

I went home. 

Call parts back. It's Doug. Doug? Yep. Doug says, "...don't worry we've got you covered, but why did you go home? Can you go out (in the rain) and tell me what brand of tires are on your car so I can see if we have them in stock?" 

Thing Five or maybe Six, I can't tell, I'm insane. Doug tells me it's fine. He can help. I tell him my story  as I put on my coat. It's still raining. I CAN recenter myself. Doug can help. Thank heavens for Doug One and Doug Two. 

"In fact, the Service Manager, Doug is right here. Doug? Yes, Doug. I'll tell him your story. Please come right on over. We'll fix you right up. The coffee is hot and we're happy to help." 

Note to self - next time, call Doug!  

                        Sat Chit Ananda ~ Truth, Consciousness, Bliss ~ A Mantra                          

It's Four Fifty Four. Doug Three is there waiting. He's grim when he tells me how sorry he is. Please have some coffee while I take care of your car. 

But, I want to meet Doug Two, "from parts". A big friendly fellow who shakes my hand firmly and smiles, explaining about tires and brands and why Pirelli is best. I thank him again. I tell Doug Two and Doug Three that I just really needed to have someone say, "We have your back, we'll take care of this mess and you'll be on your way!" Doug Three and I chat at length while I wait. Perhaps training is best? Service Advisers don't get corporate training on empathy, which is nuts. They aren't taught how to help a stranded customer address "what happens next". So finally calm enough to share some thoughts on training - a passion for me. Perhaps the Service Advisers could take the same training that's provided for the folks who answer the phone at Roadside Assistance? Doug likes the idea. We talk more. I can help. 

And it's Five Forty four. Traffic's a mess. I am calm. I am centered. 
I am back at my desk. I know now I'll need to think about a back up plan for when Brandon leaves again and I need help with my car. It's Six thirty three. 

Thanks again to Doug One and Doug Two and Doug Three.