Rubber stamps.
Posted: February 16, 2012 Filed under: memories, work Leave a comment »
I’m a bit of a perfectionist. And I’m not saying that’s a good thing. There are times when I’m sure that I should let it go, but I want my work product to be as good as I can possibly make it.
I think my clients appreciate it. And I know they trust that I’ll do my very best for them. And I do.
But I wasn’t always like this.
A perfectionist, I mean.
My first job. I was about 10. Maybe a little younger – I don’t know for sure. My dad ran a magnet factory. Yup, folks, you heard me right. A magnet factory.
How’s business? Picking up! (yuk yuk yuk)
What an attractive business!
Strongest in the magnetic field.
You know, opposites attract.
Yes, I’ve heard ‘em all.
But I digress.
So my dad hired me when I was probably still in elementary school.
My job? To stamp the manilla envelopes. Small ones. Coin envelope size. Inside each was a sheet of magnutties – a sheet of scored magnetic rubber that you could break apart into 50 (or was it 100?) little teeny rubber magnets.
All I had to do was ink the stamper and stamp the envelopes.
Really big piles of envelopes.
I’m not saying it was hard, but you know what it’s like. Sometimes the stamp isn’t even. Sometimes some words don’t show up right.
I’m guessing I had an 80% success rate.
And that would have been peachy keen…except that when I messed one up, I didn’t set it aside. Instead, I’d put it in the middle of the pile so no one would see it.
At 10, that seemed like a reasonable plan. Who would know?
Turns out, I hadn’t thought it through. Because when the grown-up employees put the magnutties into the envelopes, it seems they noticed the crappy stamping job.
Maybe it was the incredible humiliation of what I’d done that drove me to do better. Or rather, drove me to higher expectations of myself. Or maybe, I learned that getting caught doing a bad job was so darn unpleasant that I’d do anything to avoid that again.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter what the motivation was. But here I am. Driven to over-deliver, to please, to exceed expectations.
And when the ink coverage isn’t good and the envelope is not up to par, I fess up and take responsibility.
That’s just how I roll.
Volunteering runs in my family.
Posted: February 14, 2012 Filed under: memories 2 Comments »
My grandmother was a professional volunteer. By 1963, she had given more than 10,000 hours to Sinai Hospital. They gave her a gold star pin and a diamond to commemorate her. Later, I remember a silver bowl she was awarded. But I know – for sure – that my grandmother did not volunteer all those hours for recognition. She loved her “job” and took it very seriously.
My mother has volunteered ever since I can remember. She has served Mildred Mindell Cancer Foundation in virtually every capacity – including President. She’s always been active in something. And I’ve always admired it.
What stands out for me the most is that, when I was in first grade, my mother was chair of June Jubilee at our elementary school. And she ran the silhouettes booth (I think my Aunt Phyl helped at the booth?). I remember how hard she worked. But mostly, I remember being so proud. MY mother made the most fun day of the school year amazing. And she bought me a Lemon Peppermint Stick – one of my favorite and stickiest treats.
Well, I suppose I am genetically predisposed to volunteering. I do my part in several organizations. I’ve worked hard. Mostly, I’ve found it tremendously rewarding. No recognition necessary.
But even though I’m a little shy about what I do, I would love to help my organizations get recognition. Who wouldn’t, right?
Cabot Creamery Cooperative (disclosure: this fab 1200 farm family owned coop is a client of mine) is sponsoring a new iPhone app – RewardVolunteers, that does that. You can log your hours for your organization for the chance to win cash and prizes for you and the organization. And think of the publicity. And how cool it would be to show how engaged the volunteer base is?
You can take the Husker out of Nebraska, but…
Posted: February 8, 2012 Filed under: memories Leave a comment »
So remember I mentioned the collection of postcards I’ve saved?
This one makes me teary-eyed. October 2, 2002.
Name Game
Posted: January 30, 2012 Filed under: kids, memories | Tags: boys names, brio trains, caboose, long train, thoughtful gift, wooden letters 2 Comments »
When each of my boys was born, my friends Risa & Howard sent wooden letters to spell the newborn’s name. (And a caboose and engine, of course.)
Think they’d be surprised to know that the long train with all three boys’ names lives in plain view all these years later?
It was such a wonderfully, thoughtful gift. Maybe I’ll pass the letters down with the brio trains someday…
Postcards from the Edge
Posted: January 28, 2012 Filed under: kids, memories, travel 2 Comments »
I’ve saved every postcard that our family has received since the kids were born. I thought the boys would appreciate having them.
Stored in a vintage wine bottle basket, they quietly sit on a high bookshelf in my bedroom.
But I know they are there.
The basket caught my eye this morning and I had to take it down. I spent time with every card and smiled as I remembered the boys’ excitement as they looked at the pictures and I read them out loud…
I’m a little ashamed.
Posted: January 19, 2012 Filed under: family, memories 2 Comments »I should have been glad to see her. I should have been friendly.
I should have said hello.
But I didn’t.
I should have asked how she’d been. I should have told her she looks so much like her mother did.
But I didn’t.
She couldn’t see me. But I could see her. It’s always been that way. And I let it stay that way today.
I’m not proud.
But I just couldn’t bring myself back to look into the past. Or rather, I chose not to.
I’m just a girl who loves her boots.
Posted: December 25, 2011 Filed under: memories 8 Comments »Back in January, 2005 when I started this blog, that was the tag line – “I’m just a girl who loves her boots.” A lot has changed over the years.
Lately, I’ve heard from some friends who said they miss the boots.
So the boots are back.
Call it nostalgia. Or whatever.
I’m not looking to write the blog I started a week shy of 7 years ago. But this does feel comfortable and familiar.
For now.
Happy judgment-free holidays to you.
Posted: December 23, 2011 Filed under: family, girlfriends, kids, memories, mood, parenting, work 8 Comments »I came across a post I wrote 6 years ago today. And it still resonates. I mean, really. What the heck is balance anyway? My boys were 7, 8, and 10 at the time. A lot has changed in our world.
But not that much.
Parts of Speech
[originally posted 12/23/05]
Judging others is a dangerous hobby. Without all the facts (and you never have all the facts) it is impossible to understand someone’s decisions, motives, choices on all fronts. Now that doesn’t mean that we can’t relate to others’ issues, challenges, etc. Two things I’ve learned over the years come to mind:
1) You don’t know what happens in someone else’s house.
2) Never say “I never would…” in reference to someone else’s choices. You might one day when faced with the same situation.
I’ve been stewing about something that happened the other day. In order to let it go, I’ve decided to write about it. I drove some kids (including some of my own) to an after-school class. One of the kids was unable to carry his stuff in, so I dropped them all off, parked the car, and, sans coat, trekked across the parking lot to bring the kid his stuff. I was cold. I had a sick kid at home I wanted to get back to. My father had a procedure that day and I couldn’t go sit with my mom while she waited because of my kid at home who needed me. My work was behind schedule due to the same sick kid and the construction noise at the house was really getting to me and to that same sick kid, who cried about his head hurting for hours. You get the picture – the day was not a cake walk. (I always wanted to say cake walk – I hope I used it correctly!)
Walking into the school, I ran into a friend. Not a “hang out all the time” friend, but someone I like and socialize with occasionally. After saying hello, she took a hard look at me and said:
Balance is a verb.
It felt like a punch in the stomach. She has balance so never looks harried? I am unbalanced? I am incapable of managing my life? What exactly was this wisdom she was (unsolicited, I might add) presenting to me? She had no idea what I had done for the past month, let alone for the day. I was really irritated. How superior.
After a day I asked a close friend, who I respect tremendously, what she thought. She said:
Bitch is a verb too.
Happy Erev Chanukah. Merry Christmas Eve. I’m planning on a judgment-free holiday.
Night #3
Posted: December 22, 2011 Filed under: family, memories 4 Comments »
When the boys were little, we had a part-time nanny named Sarah. She was wonderful and I was so grateful for her.
I believe she made these candles with the boys in 2001, though it might have been 2000. They’re colored cellophane and construction paper. Nothing fancy, but very clever.
Obviously, I liked them since I still have them. Every year, we put them up, one candle at a time. And they make me smile.
I wonder if Sarah imagines that we still embrace the wonderful projects she did with the boys all those years ago?
It helps to get it off your chest.
Posted: December 21, 2011 Filed under: family, Food, memories 4 Comments »
Photo credit: http://www.sxc.hu/profile/daveg147
Those of you who know me know that I seriously dislike (read: despise or abhor) mustard.
It’s the smell. Oh, and the taste.
And while it’s not always been easy – as mustard is pretty darn ubiquitous – I’ve managed to keep it out of my mouth for the most part, save a vinaigrette now and again.
But life hasn’t always been this sunny.
And today, I confronted my demons.
When I was a kid, my mother used to make doctored baked beans. That means that she took a can of Heinz and added stuff to it to make it taste better. Or so she said. When directly confronted, she told me that there was no mustard used in the creation of this delicacy.
But it tasted like mustard to me. And one day I caught her.
Fast forward a bit and there’s the crab imperial. Another denial, but I knew better. There was definitely mustard in that dish. No doubt.
Today, more than 35 years later, I told her I knew what she’d done. And how it has affected my life. How I may never recover. And you know what? She doesn’t remember at all. (Though she did apologize.)
Of course, she is forgiven. (And I hope she realizes this post is all in fun.) But it’s a great reminder that our kids know what we’re up to and they’re hip to our game. (Always wanted to say that.)
So don’t lie to your kids. Not even about mustard.
