Can I Offer You A Coupon For Your Next Visit? (A slight rant...)

Once upon a time, in a quaint era not so long ago, conducting a purchase with your local department store was a quick (and yet, pleasant) experience that went something like this….

Clerk:   Good afternoon!

Me:        Hello!

Clerk:   Cash or Credit?
Me:        Cash.

Clerk:   That will be $18.52.

Me:        Here’s a $20.

Clerk:   And your change is $1.48 (handed to me along with my receipt)

Me:       Thank you!

Clerk:   Thanks for shopping and have a great day!

Time Elapsed:   Only a few moments!

However, somewhere along the line, what should be a very quick transaction has turned into a lengthy and mostly self-service process, as well as an invasion of personal privacy. Disclaimer: Please don’t read this as an indictment of the wonderful clerks working at these stores. They are great people and I know they are just doing their job – going through the steps forced upon them by their management team. And most often they are doing so with a smile! I know it isn’t their fault which is why I try to remain patient and polite.  However, submitted for your evidence (and perhaps only slightly exaggerated), the following scene from a recent shopping experience has become all too common...

Clerk:    Good afternoon!

Me:       Hello!

Clerk:    Did you find everything you were looking for today?

Me:       (Lying because it isn’t worth going into the fact that they are continuously moving product to remote and obscure store areas in order to encourage people to wander aimlessly about searching for the items on their list.) Yes.

Clerk:    (Holding up my new workout top) Oh this is really cute, I haven’t seen this here before.

Me:       (Voices in my head: Man, I hate it when the clerks assess my purchases. Thankfully I’m not buying anything embarrassing today like feminine products or a Nickelback CD.) Thank you.

Clerk:    Will you be using your reward card today?

Me:       No, I don’t think I have one.

Clerk:    Oh (looking disappointed), in order to receive the sales prices on all these items, you need to be enrolled in the reward program.

Me:      Do you mean that I won’t get any of the sale prices that were marked on all this stuff unless I give you my personal information and sign up for your program?

Clerk:    Well, it’s really just your name, address, phone number, and email address.

Me:       (Voices in my head: Yes, that would be my personal information). You know, I really don’t want to have to keep track of another discount card.

Clerk:    It’s no problem! If you ever don’t have it with you in the future, you can just enter in all your personal information and we’ll find you! Or we can give you a handy key ring card to always have with you!

Me:       (Voices in my head: Great.)  Well, I guess I don’t really have a choice.

Clerk:    It will only take a moment and you can do it directly from the keypad….

Me:       (Maybe 3 Minutes Later) – OK, I think I’m now enrolled.

Clerk:    Great! Hmmmm….doesn’t seem to have entered into the system. Let me just quickly re-enter the information.

            (Minutes Later) All done!

            (Finishes ringing up the items)

Clerk:    Cash or Credit?

Me:       Credit.

Clerk:    Can I interest you in a “store name” credit card today?

Me:       No thank you.

Clerk:    You’ll qualify for an additional 15% off your in-store purchases today…

Me:       No thank you.

Clerk:    You’ll be eligible to receive numerous offers...

Me:       (Voices in my head: Am I stuttering here? Speaking pig latin?) No thank you.

Clerk:    Could I have your zip code please?

Me:       No thank you.
Clerk:    It just helps us to determine where our shoppers are from...
Me:        No thank you.

Clerk:    Could I have your email address so that we can send you valuable offers?

Me:       No, I’d rather not. Thank you.

Clerk:    Ok! (Eyeing me suspiciously like "why wouldn't anyone want to receive all our valuable offers?")  No problem!

Clerk:    Just go ahead and slide your card through the machine…

Me:       (Voices in my head: Argh…why do they have to make every machine different? I have to put on my cheater glasses on just to see which way to swipe it through!)

Clerk:    Just hit cancel for credit or the green button for debit and then enter your pin number.

Me:       Oooookay…

Clerk:    Looks like you qualify for a $5 rebate with your reward points, would you like to use those now?

Me:       (Assuming that will add more time to this transaction) No thanks.

Clerk:    Will you just verify the amount...

Me:       Ok…

Clerk:    Then just go ahead and sign…

Me:       (Grab the electronic pen to sign – most of the reader screen doesn’t work so my signature looks absolutely NOTHING like my actual poorly written signature – however, apparently this doesn’t raise any questions about the validity of my signature as the transaction is then approved)

Clerk:    (Pulls out receipt) Would you like the receipt with you or in the bag?

Me:       I’ll take it – thank you.

Clerk:    Well, it looks like you saved $684 today! (Voices in my head: or some other equally inflated amount.)

Me:       Great…thanks. (Voices in my head: Can I please go now?)

Clerk:    At the bottom of your receipt, you’ll see a link to a survey about your experience today. We would really appreciate it if you would complete the survey and you’ll then be eligible for fabulous prizes!

Me:       (Holding my hand out, desperately hoping to get my receipt and my purchases which are being held hostage through this entire transaction.) Sure. Thanks.

Clerk:    And just one moment, while I print out a valuable coupon for you.

Clerk:    Ooops…I guess there’s one more coming….

Clerk:    Well, it’s your lucky day – here comes another coupon…

Me:       (Voices in my head: And another tree falls in the forest….)

Clerk:    (Handing me the receipt….finally!) Thank you so much for shopping with us today. Please stop by again soon.

Me:       Thank you!

Time Elapsed:   I now have to return to the store to buy a box of hair color since I have gone gray in the time it has taken to complete this transaction!

Now, before you point out the obvious and tell me that much of this could be avoided if I would just use cash – let me assure that I’m aware of that. But unfortunately, I NEVER carry cash (repeat to all would-be muggers reading this…I NEVER carry cash). I’ve been using a card quite efficiently for a number of years. However, it’s only in the last year or so that I’ve noticed an elevation in the number of steps required to complete a transaction.

I do appreciate quality customer service and I appreciate all those who work in the stores that I love to visit. It’s just that sometimes, by the time I’ve completed my purchase, I feel like I should maybe invite them over for dinner or something. I mean after all, they know me better than my husband at this point. They have all my personal details, they’ve seen every personal item that I’m purchasing, and I feel like we’ve really bonded with this time spent together.

I guess I've ranted about this long enough. Thanks for listening and before you go, it's your lucky day, let me just print a couple coupons for your next visit....

Free To Be...You And Me

I was shocked to see a headline on CNN announcing that a good friend of mine was turning 40 years old this year. This friend and I spent countless hours together when I was an elementary aged little girl in the early 1970s. And it is from this friend that some of my most core beliefs about what it means to be a woman, what it means to be a man, and how men and women should relate to one another were formed. My friend was incredibly popular and I’m sure there are many people who share my warm memories of listening to stories and singing songs together…maybe even some of you. My friend came to me in the shape of a 12” hot pink album cover and was called “Free To Be…You and Me.”

It is likely that few children of the 70’s could have escaped the impact of this album. The background story is that Marlo Thomas (“That Girl”) was a new Auntie in 1971 and as she was reading stories to her baby niece, she realized that all the little girls were princesses who wanted to grow up and be stewardesses, nurses or mommies. She thought it was important to create some stories for her niece to understand the wealth of opportunities that were actually available to her. The album was created along with some names you might recognize and remember: Diana Ross, Michael Jackson (before he got just a little too “Jackson”), Alan Alda, Roberta Flack and Carl Reiner to name just a few. It consisted of songs and stories with titles like “Boy Meets Girl”, “Parents are People”, “It’s All Right To Cry”, and “William’s Doll”. Each lyric and story were poems in themselves telling the little girls and boys listening that it’s OK to be who they are, it’s OK to dress the way they want to dress, it’s OK to cry (or to feel), it’s OK to accept other people’s differences, and it’s OK for boys to want to play with dolls so they can be good parents someday or for girl’s to want to grow up to be doctors, truckers, or astronauts.

I played this record continuously and non-stop on the stereo console in my parent’s living room. At least until my mom (who remained patient through the first hundred or so plays), forced me into my bedroom or the basement where I played the album on my light blue plastic Fisher Price record player. The record had an accompanying “book” within the album cover and I would pour over the pictures, the lyrics of every song, and sing at the top of my lungs while occasionally acting out the stories whenever the mood happened to strike. (On a side note, I think it might have been about this period in my life when my brother Steven started calling me “geek” on a pretty regular basis. I’m not sure if there is any correlation but I guess I should acknowledge that it is a possibility.) Anyway, I loved this record and every song on it. “Free To Be…You and Me” became an anthem for me…and for much of my generation.

I lived in, what was at the time, a very gender-traditional household. My dad went to the office every morning while my mom stayed home and managed the house and the family. In our family’s free hours, my dad and brothers would hunt, trap, ride motorcycles, clean guns, and build things. Meanwhile my sisters, with their long hair that went down past their butts, talked on the phone and tanned in the sun, while I played dolls and cooked Cinnamon Crisps with my Easy Bake Oven and dough that my mom had left over. I don’t remember my parents ever saying to me “Theresa, you can do whatever you want to when you grow up.” But yet, somehow, I knew that was the case. Maybe because of the songs that I listened to on “Free To Be”, or because of the shows I watched on TV (Mary Tyler Moore, That Girl, Scooby Doo), or maybe because they just didn’t have to say it. While I might have chosen at that time to play with my Drowsy doll instead of a baseball, I know that my parents would have supported my choice to do either. And though I grew up to prefer talking on the phone with my friends about boys, had I wanted to go hunting with my dad, I know that he would have never hesitated to bring me along. Though the gender roles in my family seemed to follow the traditional lines of the 1970’s, there was an undercurrent in the way my parents raised me that allowed me to believe I could be or do anything. Geek or no geek, I was free to be me.

When I saw this article about the 40 year anniversary of this album that was such a huge part of my childhood and the formation of who I am, I immediately got nostalgic and sought out the album so I can share it with my grandchildren (and, yes, admittedly, to enjoy it as a possible guilty pleasure occasionally in the privacy of my own vehicle.)  Though it is 40 years old, the messages are still relevant for today’s children. Sure, we’ve made great strides in gender equality and the acceptance of differences over the years, but as proven by headlines of bullying, drug abuse, and school shootings, the work isn’t done. Apparently, not every kid has gotten the message that it’s OK to just BE who you are.

I want my grand-daughter to know that it’s OK if she wants to wear purple tutus every day, or purple ear muffs even when she is indoors and it isn’t cold. I want her to have fun playing with dolls and having pretend picnics on the floor of our living room; and yet to also know that there are no limits to what she can be as she gets older – her interests and her talents will know no boundaries.

I want my grandson to have a blast making car noises with his toy trucks, or laughing with such glee when he gets to destroy a block tower that I’ve carefully built. I love to see him rough and tumbling and know that as he continues to grow, his fascination with things like motorcycles, tools, and sports will grow along with him. But I also want him to know that it’s OK for boys to have caring, nurturing spirits as well.

I hope that these are the principles that I passed down to my children. I do know that they will raise their own children believing in themselves and accepting those around them. And I’ll try to remember these messages myself as well because even now as adults, we are occasionally faced with gender issues or acceptance issues.  It’s important that we always remember that we truly are  “Free To Be”.

"There's a land that I see where the children are free

And I say it an't far to this land from where we are
Take my hand and come with me, where the children are free

Come with me, take my hand, and we'll live

In a land where the river runs free

In a land through the green country

In a land to a shining sea

And you and me are free to be...you and me"

"Expanding To Fit" Or..."Why My Leggings Are Making Me Gain Weight"

I’ve noticed a personal trend lately that maybe you have been experiencing as well. It seems that many things in my life “expand to fit”. Whether it is the size of my purse, the length of my to-do list, or the amount of extra storage space available in my house, it seems that I somehow manage to expand to fit a roomier expanse.  I fill a larger purse with essentials, continue to add items to my to-do list until my days are full, and even though I purge our storage room each year, it somehow manages to fill again with things I can’t throw away.  Unfortunately, the thing that brought this trend to my attention was the impact that the recent fashion trend towards stretchy leggings and long sweaters is having on my physical body – to be blunt, I seem to be “expanding to fit”.

Looking back, I can see that fashion has played a part in my body size throughout many passing trends. As a teenager in the late 70’s/early 80’s, the trend was designer jeans such as Gloria Vanderbilt (yes, they were actually considered high end designer at the time and couldn’t be purchased at Kohls), Calvin Kleins, and Vidal Sasson (apparently he made jeans too – not just hair products); but more important than the fancy name was the fit, the designer jeans had to be tight. Not just form fitting or body skimming, I’m talking about “lay on your bed and inhale deeply just in order to zip them up”. Once you managed to get into these jeans, there really wasn’t room for anything else – such as anything crazy and decadent like a bite of carrot or snip of celery – so it made it quite a bit easier to manage your weight.

The designer jean trend was soon followed by the first phase of the leggings trend. As you probably already know, if you live long enough, you will see most trends come around once or twice and this was the first appearance of stretchy leggings in my fashion history. They were set apart from today’s legging styles only in the fact that they had stirrups on the bottom, for what reason I can’t even imagine. In any case, with sudden room allowed for strenuous movements (like breathing), these pants allowed me the comfort to expand my food intake. And as a result, my body expanded to fit the leggings.

I’ve been through more of these trends than I can tell you over the last 30 years. Tight, baggy, thinner, heavier. It seems to be a very circular and repeating path. And now I find myself once again in a world where the current fashion is based on comfort and warmth – black leggings paired with layers of tunics or long knit sweaters. Cute? Yes. Good for my tendency to expand to fit? Not so much.

So in the spirit of New Year’s, I’m going to make a resolution (or several). Sure…I’ll try to eat better and try to get more exercise because I want to be healthy and I want to be around for a long time to enjoy all the moments ahead of me. But I’m also going to resolve to balance my leggings wardrobe with a fair amount of fitted clothing that, while definitely less stretchy and comfortable, will also help me fight the trend to expand!

As a side note, the trend to expand isn’t always such a bad thing. I’ve noticed the concept in other areas of my life as well. Just when I think my heart is full with the love for family and friends, someone new comes along – a new baby is born or a new friend comes into our life, and wouldn’t you know, our hearts expand to fit. I’ve also noticed that sometimes the bigger you set your goals and your dreams, somehow your life seems to expand to make room for them.  Maybe that’s the trade-off for having to deal with an occasional expanding body and if so, count me in. My body will continue to change – expanding and contracting - for the rest of my life but as long as my heart and dreams always continue to grow, I think that I can be happy in a world that is sometimes expanding to fit.

"Mommy Fail"

"Mommy Fail"...it's a phrase I've been hearing a lot lately - from young moms, older mothers, and even some dads. It refers to those moments when we as parents are not perfect and when we, through an action or lack of action, word or lack of the right words, let down our children in some way - whether it is a real or only a perceived failure.  

I think young mothers today are in a very challenging position. Many of them work outside the home and then come home at the end of the day wanting to compensate for their absence and wanting to achieve perfection as parents. Our culture tells them they can do it all and that it has to be done by hand, from scratch, and with no shortcuts or breaks. Their situation, though challenging, is probably not unique or much different from challenges faced by their own parents, and the culture of the parents before them. We all want to achieve some level of perfection. We want the best for our children. And we fiercely protect them from anyone who might cause them harm. So it is these "mommy fail" moments that strike us very deeply, when it is revealed that sometimes, we are the ones who might cause them disappointment or hurt.

I'm not talking here about clear and lasting failures. I know that many of you have had different experiences than my own. Some of you were abandoned by your parents in one way or another. Some of you experienced true failure at the hands of your parents. That is a completely separate kind of failure to what I'm talking about here. Those kinds of "fails" are certainly more powerful and not as easily forgiven. I'm only referencing the little moments that we all have when our "human-ness" comes through and cracks the shield of our perceived perfection, forcing us to step off the parental pedestal.

My own kids are grown now which allows me the luxury to look back over the years and how they were raised. I think I was a good mom and I think they would agree. But, sometimes, as Julia Roberts said in "Pretty Woman", "the bad stuff can be easier to believe." Or from a parent's perspective, sometimes it might be easier to remember because our own failures haunt us. 

I've had many "mommy fail" moments. To give you an idea of the kind of brief second in time that I'm thinking of, I'll tell you a quick story about one morning when the kids were little and I was trying to get them ready for the day and get myself ready for work. We were running very late and I knew that I would be late for work that day. It must have been winter because I remember the kids sitting on the floor in the entryway working to put on their boots and jackets - just not apparently quickly enough for me that morning. I snapped at them...something like, "Oh why do you guys have to make everything so hard?!?" I looked at their faces and immediately saw my own failure. I could read in their eyes at that moment that they thought they'd let me down in some way, that they thought they weren't doing it "right". I knew I was wrong. I tried to laugh it off saying to them "oh, that's right, because you guys are the kids and I'm SUPPOSED to be the grown up, right?" Chances are, because kids are so resilient, they went about their day without any issues. But for me, as parent, I carried it with me all day (and apparently for the 20 years since). I was angry at myself for starting their day with a scolding. I was concerned that not only might I have ruined their day, but God forbid, perhaps I had caused them some kind of lasting damage. As parents, we are harder on ourselves than any of the most stringent of judges. 

I'll be honest to tell you that I remember a fair number of these kinds of moments. Some are silly and looking back, I can laugh at the situation and at myself. I can see that I was just a woman, just a person, just a mom, trying to do my very best in every moment and sometimes hitting the mark...and sometimes failing. There are other moments, that might be equally silly and certainly not any more meaningful, but for some reason, I still carry them with me wishing I could turn back the clock and have given myself more patience with situations, and with myself.

Before I give you the impression that my kids lives were littered with my parental mistakes, let me say again in my own defense, I was, and still am (I think), a good mom. These are just moments that we all have - whether it is as parents, or spouses, or siblings, or children, or friends, when we fail to do the perfect thing in the perfect moment. I have no idea if my kids remember these moments. Though I can recall them, of course my hope is that my children remember the millions of other moments that were the opposite of failures - moments filled with laughing, talking, singing, understanding, loving. After all, I am a child of parents too and I couldn't list for you any of my parent's failures, though I'm sure if I asked them, they might recall a few of these kinds of moments from their own experience. Instead, I recall all the moments that they were just there, loving me. The people who love us, maybe especially most of all our children, forgive us for being human. They see us, flaws and all. They see the whole picture. And love us anyway. Maybe we should follow their lead, and forgive ourselves as well.

In each moment, we can only do the best that we can do in that moment. Most of the time, it's amazing and wonderful and we have every right to be very proud. But sometimes, we fall a bit short of perfection. I think it's OK for our children to see that and to know that perfection, though a noble goal, is rarely attained. It's OK for our children to know that we all do our best and in those moments that we perceive ourselves (either justified or unjustified) to be failures, we are really just moms, or dads, or kids, or sisters, or wives, or friends...and we are not only what that moment holds, but rather we are the sum of a million moments rolled into a lifetime.

Forever. Amen.

Another Christmas has ended and I am thankful for many blessings. I had family, and love, and more memorable moments than I could ever count. But there is always one moment for me that I anticipate each year, and that stands out more than any other each Christmas. That moment is when my mom softly squeezes my hand as we finish praying the "Our Father" during Christmas Mass. Holding hands, as the congregation prays... "For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen", my mom always gently holds my hand just a bit tighter over the words "Forever. Amen."

Growing up, attending Mass every Sunday was not so much required as it was just a normal part of our living. As much as eating, and sleeping, and breathing - we went to church on Sundays. As I look back over the many hours that I've spent in a pew sitting between my parents, it is their hands that I remember most clearly. My mom's hands holding the missalette and guiding me with a pointed finger to our current place or the current hymn, when I had lost my place. My mom's hands folded in prayer as we kneeled side by side. My dad's hands - often good distraction for a child during Mass. Whether he was cleaning his fingernails with his long pocket knife or playfully "trapping" my hand to the pew as we stood in a silent hand-wrestling competition, he was always present and always open to the humor of a moment.

I pay a lot of attention to hands. For years, I've taken pictures of people I love - and I always like to pay special attention to focusing solely on their hands. Our hands tell our stories and they are where our character is revealed. When I think of any person that I know, that I love, one of the first images that I call to mind is always that of their hands. Though drawn to these images, I was never really able to articulate what caught my interest until sometime this last year when my Dad sent me an email about an old woman who  relates the story of her hands and I realized, her thoughts were exactly my own. Our hands have touched, have experienced every thought, emotion, and action throughout our lives. They are marked with our stories. They are as imprinted and scarred as our hearts are with all the memories of our lives.

I look forward each year to attending Christmas Mass with my mom - though it is late at night, often times brutally cold outside, and always after a full day of holiday celebration. I look forward to it each year for that one moment. When our hands are connected and she gently squeezes mine - telling me with her hands in a way that is stronger than any words, that she loves me. I have many photographs of the hands of those in my life, but in my minds eye, the image of hands (and of love) that is most prevalent is that of my hand in my mom's hand...and all the love that is there. Forever. Amen.

My Hands...

Mom's Hands...

Dad's Hands...

Following is an edited excerpt from the email that my dad sent me with the old woman's story of her hands...

"Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. My hands have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when, as a toddler, I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my husband. They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They have wiped away tears, clenched in anger, and trembled with grief. They have held my children and grandchildren. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life. But more importantly, it will be these hands that God will reach out to when he leads me home and there I will use these hands to touch the face of God.'

So John and I got kicked out of Bethlehem. True story.

So John and I got kicked out of Bethlehem on Friday night. I am not making this up. Of course, it wasn't the real Bethlehem - but instead, was a Living Nativity in Longville, MN. The idea is that you drive past a series of vignettes where actors are recreating the story of Christ's birth. It sounded interesting to me so I talked John into driving through on our way out to dinner that evening. 

I thought it was strange that the first vignette we saw was the stable scene and I thought it even more unusual that the "Baby Jesus" was laying in the manger while Joseph leaned on a near-by wall talking to one of the wise men, and Mary stood in the opposite corner drinking a coffee. John asked what I thought so far and I said "I think it would be more believable if Mary wasn't drinking a Starbucks". 

The second vignette was the Inn that turned them away - with a sign on top that read "NO RMIN" (honestly, you can't make this stuff up.) The innkeeper seemed to scowl at us as we continued on our way.

At the third vignette, the shepherds stood in the nearby field with their sheep. We slowed down as one of the shepherds approached and signaled to roll down the window. He very kindly said "I'm sorry but Bethlehem is a one-way street and you are going the wrong way. Would you please back out the way you came in?"

"Oh man," I said to John, "we just got kicked out of Bethlehem!"

Well, by now, my interest was certainly piqued so I convinced John to drive through once again - the right way this time. Yes, it made much more sense this time. There was Luke writing the gospel, and then Mary and Joseph journeying on their donkey. We then again, came upon the shepherds in the field and as we rounded the corner, a light came up on the Angel proclaiming the birth of Jesus. There was a man dressed as the angel strapped to a tree no less than 40 feet above the ground. Fantastic!

We drove past the innkeeper again and then were back to stable. Now everything was as it should be - Joseph stood by protectively as Mary held the baby in her arms. 

We had been thrown out of Bethlehem, but thankfully we found our way through eventually.

On a much more serious note, as we left, the image of Mary looking down at her child was an image that I could not shake from my mind. On a day when so many mothers had tragically lost their children. I think I needed the Living Nativity on Friday. I needed to be reminded about what this season is really about. And, more importantly, I needed to remember that sometimes we need to put down our coffee. Sometimes we have to be fully present in the moment. And, always, we need to hold closely those we love.

Don't Honk. I'm Pedaling As Fast As I Can.

The 1960’s era cherry-red Plymouth (or Dodge or Chevy, I don’t know for certain) was only remarkable for a few reasons that I can recall. First of all, it was owned by my Grandma Hart, and second, because it was always one of the first things we saw parked in her tiny garage when we came to visit her in Pine River. And finally, because the rear bumper was decorated with a bumper sticker that always made me smile, “Don’t honk. I’m pedaling as fast as I can.”

My Grandma had a terrific sense of humor – she laughed at the world, and was also never afraid to laugh at herself. She loved to tell stories and she surrounded herself with things that would make people smile – cartoons all over her refrigerator, quirky knick-knacks and such. She was an artist – painting, sewing, and crocheting were just a few of her many talents. My Grandma was also a lifelong learner – she never stopped having an interest in a wide variety of topics. And she fed her hunger for knowledge with constant books by her side. While Grandma could be completely fantastic through the eyes of a little girl due to her love of dolls, comfort foods, and laughter, she was in fact a very no-nonsense woman with a strong dose of common sense. Grandma was a hero to me and the traits that I so admired in her are things that I try everyday to model in my own life. She taught me so many lessons about being a strong woman and about being a good grandmother. I remember one of the very last times that I visited her in the hospital. A nurse came to check on her while she was sleeping and I was sitting by her bedside. The nurse asked if I was her granddaughter and I nodded. Then, she asked, "how many grandchildren does your grandma have?". The question struck me as I thought for just a moment and then replied “My grandma has many, many grandchildren. But she always made me feel like I was the only one.”  The nurse said “Ah, that sounds like a very good grandma.” Yes. She was. And she continues to teach me lessons even now.

I thought of Grandma one day at work this week, as I was rushing to figure out which priority was truly most important and working to get all the priorities accomplished, scrambling as fast as I can to get it all done. While also thinking about all the holiday tasks that have to be completed at this time of year: gift buying, wrapping, sending cards, entertaining, events, etc.  As everything rolled through my head, I suddenly clearly saw Grandma’s car in her garage and that bumper sticker saying “Don’t honk. I’m pedaling as fast I can”, and I smiled just like I used to do everytime I saw it 30 years ago. I know that if she were here, Grandma would remind me that of course some things NEED to be done, but some of the stuff is just…stuff. It isn't really the priority. She would remind me that this time of year should be about honoring what is really important – remembering all the people who have impacted my life, and loving all the people who are part of my soul. She would tell me to focus on what is important and maybe not to “pedal as fast as I can” but instead, to “pedal only as fast I need to”. There is a difference.

So, thanks Grandma, once again, even after you are no longer here with me, for continuing to teach me lessons. I will keep pedaling through this holiday season, but I plan to pace myself – accomplishing what has to be done while focusing on what is important.  Don’t Honk…I’m Enjoying the Moment.

PS: Because many of my readers are family, I'm sharing the following story with you as a post script. Years ago, I asked Grandma to write me a story about what Christmas was like when she was a little girl and this is what she shared…

"Each year about 3-4 weeks before Christmas, Ma would board a train for Chicago. There, she and Pa would buy our Christmas presents and each year some new tree trimmings. About 2-3 days before Christmas, my brother Leo would get the Christmas tree and set it up in the living room. Then a goose was killed and dressed. Ma usually made our Christmas dresses for the school program and of course knitted stockings, always black. We generally had new shoes ordered from Sears. On the day before Christmas, chores were done early. After supper, the dishes were done and the old tin tub brought in and everyone had a bath, then we hung our stockings and we kids were sent to bed. The older girls scrubbed the kitchen floor with lye soap and a scrub brush, then the tree was trimmed and presents were arranged. We were wakened to come see what Santa brought. I can still see the tree, the top almost touching the ceiling, all the candles lit, and all the gifts around it. One trimming I remember most was a fragile little red bird with a feather tail and if you blew in the beak, it whistled a bird call. One year, my sisters Lillie, Rosalind and I got a fur neck piece to fit over our coats and a muff to match. I remember it most because we were allowed to wear them to school and one evening, we were trudging home through the snow and a neighbor driving a team and wagon with a load of fresh sawed lumber, stopped to give us a ride. When I was boosted up, I leaned on the lumber and got my muff all full of resin from the lumber and got soundly scolded when I got home. Usually in our stockings by the chimney, we had a small bag of candy, an apple and an orange but one year my brother Leo filled our stockings with apple and potato peelings. He got scolded for that! My sister, Bessie, would come with her husband and children for dinner. Then we got to play with our toys while the older ones visited. I always remembered the house where I was born as a big house. Years later, as an adult when I saw it again, I was amazed how small it was and wondered how we all fitted into it!"