Stop and Pay Attention (Don't Be Sorry)

I was flipping through cable channels recently and paused on a show that followed a family in the days leading up to and just after the birth of their second girl. The mom was a bit overwhelmed, tired and grumpy. I could so relate. At one point I’d been there myself surrounded by dirty diapers, an attention-demanding 19-month old and a helpless yet ravenous creature who seemed intent on sucking my life out through my breasts every two hours on the dot around the clock.

The next 18 years are a bit of a blur, and many memories are fuzzy. I know I was crazy busy getting kids out the door to school, getting myself to work, getting dinner on the table. While my military husband was working 12+ hours a day or away from home for weeks or months at a time, I was driving — to ballet schools, saxophone and viola lessons, soccer and volleyball practices and games, sleepovers, drama productions, band concerts. Our frequent moves as an Army family made packing, unpacking and my job hunting regular activities along with getting used to new homes, new schools, new friends and even new languages (German; West Virginian accents).  

Apparently something worked over those two decades. My now-grown daughters are smart, independent women who quickly adapt to change. They are kind to others and care about finding ways to make our world a better place to live. Each earned her bachelor’s degree and found jobs upon graduation. Both made good decisions about the men they chose to marry. 

I like to think that their success as adults is due, in part, to all the driving I did while they were growing up.

As I was watching the young mother on that TV show last week, I had fleeting thoughts about the advice I would share, such as how one way to get a toddler to quit causing mayhem during nursing time was to have a basket of books nearby so baby’s feeding time becomes associated with quiet Dr. Seuss reading time. Or how if that mom ever volunteers to chaperone a middle school dance, it’s best to fade into the background instead of trying to teach the other chaperones how to dance the Macarena. (I promise she will hear about the embarrassment she caused for years and years.) 

In reality, however, none of these sort of parenting pointers really matter. That mom, like generations of moms before her, likely will figure out how to raise her children to become decent members of our society. 

The one thing I wish I could share with her is the one thing I wish I’d done more of during those crazy, busy years: I wish I had stopped and made a conscious effort to imprint into my memory more of the wonderful everyday details of raising my children — the casual dinner conversations, the giggles during silly movies, the joy on their faces when they brought home report cards. 

I’m damn good at giving advice based on hindsight. In this case, though, I plan to listen to myself. When I’m old(er) and feeble(r), I want to remember more of simple yet important details of my life today — the wake up calls of birds and frogs during my early morning walks through the park; the swirls of purple, orange and pink sunsets over the Gulf of Mexico; the sweet smell of orange blossoms floating on Florida breezes each spring; and the relaxed look on my husband’s face when he naps on Sunday afternoons.

Starting today, I will stop more often and pay attention to my life. Will you?

Meatless and Happy in Florida

About three years ago I eliminated anything that had a face from my diet. We’re talking beef, pork and chicken as well as creatures from the sea. If it has a nerve system of some sort, it’s not going to be found on my plate.

The decision to become a vegetarian was a long time in the making. I’d always hated cutting up beef and coming across a stray blood vessel. Icky. Really icky. The best poultry industry invention ever was the boneless chicken breast. This form of meat let me avoid looking at bones and imaging cute feathered critters running around the farmyard. Oh, and I was openly laughed at in Austria when I politely asked, in German, if I could have my trout brought to the table without its head. Europeans don’t seem to care much when their fish dinner is staring back at them. Freaks me out.

So following the path of my youngest daughter, who had been a vegetarian for more than a decade, I took the meatless plunge.

The goodness:

• I’m a cheap date. The cost of a plate of veggies along with a side salad beats the heck out of filet mignon on the menu price list.
• My long-time guilt about being a cruel human being has abated, at least where my eating habits are concerned. (Other cruel tendencies I have are best left for another blog post.)
• I’m doing my best to save the environment and feel good about myself for this. Do you sense smugness?

The badness:

• Restaurants in this part of Florida have a pitiful and well-deserved reputation for making life difficult for vegetarians. I've been to fabulous vegetarian-only restaurants in other states. Why can't I find one in the Tampa Bay area?
• I feel horrible for the anxiety I cause others who worry about what to serve me to eat or who worry about choosing a restaurant when we go out socially. Seriously, don’t worry about it. I am very, very good at finding something to eat and I am clearly not starving.
• I eat too many other fattening things, so the vegetarian lifestyle hasn’t made a lick of difference in the size of my britches. Bummer for my bum.

Biggest bad of all? The smell of a big, fat medium-rare steak or hamburger just off the grill. Don’t let any vegetarian feed you the line that a Boca burger is just as yummy as a beef hamburger. They are full of it.

My husband Frank eats meat, and I cook meat for him, family and friends because I truly have no desire to impose my food choices on others. I still wrinkle my nose if I come across something gross, but I’ll go ahead and throw it in the pan because I’m generally like cooking for people and want them to enjoy their meal.

One final confession: I occasionally snag a bite of Frank’s sirloin steak or pork tenderloin, and my mouth gets deliriously happy for just a moment before I imagine that cute little animal on The Simpsons bleating, “Lissaaaa, donnn’t eeeeatttt me.”

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Best place I have visited as a vegetarian: India. Lots of meat-free folks in this country with tons of menu choices. I was a happy, happy traveler. By the way, you cannot get beef in McDonalds in India — chicken or veggie burgers only.

Worst place I have visited as a vegetarian: Hong Kong. I couldn’t figure out what I was eating most of the time, and even the vegetable noodle bowl had unidentifiable meat products. Seriously, anyone who considers scrawny chicken feet something that’s menu-worthy needs to have his or her mind examined.

Websites to visit if you’ve got nothing better to do:

• Meatless Monday — A non-profit initiative of The Monday Campaigns in association with the Johns Hopkins’ Bloomberg School of Public Health. Also check out the Washington Post article or listen to the NPR story about Meatless Mondays.
• American Heart Association Vegetarian Page — I fall into the ovo-lacto vegetarian category, if anyone gives a hoot. Love my cheese!
• GoVeg.com — A page about vegetarianism from PETA, so if PETA pisses you off, you might want to skip this link.

Thoughtful, Rant-Free, Unbiased News: The Christian Science Monitor

I had a journalism professor who required students to subscribe to the Christian Science Monitor for the semester. As a heathen, I was slightly offended. Add the word “christian” to anything and I’ll pull out my best ACLU rhetoric about separation of church and state, freedom from religion, blah, blah and blah.

Well, color me surprised. With the exception of a single religious column in each issue (at the time, it was a Monday-Friday paper that arrived via the postal system), the Monitor provided what I discovered to be the most unbiased, in-depth global news coverage available. Just today when I checked the website, I found pieces about surrogate mothers in Syria, sanctions in North Korea and Indian polo at 11,000 feet in the Himalayans. And

instead of virtually useless USA Today soundbites, the reporting provides sorely needed context and background.

I continued my subscription after the class ended and kept it up for years. Sadly, like many newspapers today, the Monitor suspended its printed publication last year. Fortunately, it still has a robust website and a weekly print edition. I have subscribed.

I think the publication describes itself well, so I won't change the words: “Straight News: Without slant and without rant. Discover the one news source that gets to the heart of what matters. With intelligence. With integrity."

If you are ready for thoughtfulness in your news and a halt to the hysteria of talking/screaming heads, check out the publication.

Rant: Dog Owners Are on My List

Warning for irresponsible dog owners: Stop right here. Don’t read this. I’ll just piss you off.

I’ve been walking a lot lately for a few reasons: 1) I really prefer to go outside to exercise, even if it is 95 degrees, because fresh air is good for my mind. 2) My ankles think they’re older than the rest of my body, so running is painful. 3) A trip to Santa Fe and Taos in September has several days of hiking on the itinerary; therefore, training is in order between now and then so that I don’t embarrass myself on the trails.

My favorite walking route is through Eagle Lake Park, a beautiful Florida setting with an entrance just down the street from my home. Getting there before 7 a.m. means fewer people, dozens of rabbits nibbling grass, a better chance to spot the elusive fox squirrel and listen to the soothing cacophony of birds greeting the sun.

A few deep breaths and stress begins to melt away until… Until I come across the first pile of dog crap right in the middle of the trail. Can you hear my silent screaming?

So instead of spending my time looking up into the treetops to spot an osprey or hoot owl, I’m having to watch my step.

No, I am not a dog owner. Still, what do dog owners not understand about picking up their dog’s excrement? If they find their own dog’s poop so disgusting that they can’t bother to be considerate to others, why’d they get the damn dog in the first place? Do they really think that their own dog’s crap doesn’t stink?

I know that not every dog owner is thoughtless. My deep and heartfelt sincere appreciation goes to those of you who carry little plastic bags on your walks.

Rude dog owners beware: I’m the bitchy old lady down the street who you hate and I’m watching you. (Especially the chihuahua owner who seems to think because her dog is little, its little piles don't count.)

Employed? Unemployed? Nope. Introducing DKR Communications

Instead of slipping on the high heels this week, I allowed my feet to go commando and flipped open the laptop at home. Introducing DKR Communications.

Here’s the deal…

A little more than a month ago, I let my boss at Syniverse Technologies know that I was ready to try something different. To get back to my writing and editing roots. To stop driving 40 miles each way to work. To stop working 50-60ish hours a week on top of the time I spend in the car. Four weeks later, I’m sitting here at my kitchen counter writing a blog entry.

I know, I know. Blog writing won’t pay the electric bill. Just to make it clear, I do have paid work on my agenda. One, I’ve turned my former employer into a client. Apparently I’ve fooled the people there into thinking I have some skills, so I’ll continue to work on special projects for Syniverse as long as they’ll have me. Executive and investor communications have been on the agenda this week. I also scrounged up other work with a New Jersey-based company. I’m converting a white paper to an industry publication article and developing a couple of case studies.

So, no, I am not unemployed. Just self employed. I need to get used to saying that, I suppose.

Am I worried this won’t work out? Of course. Am I missing my friends (and they were friends more than colleagues) at Syniverse? Very much. Already. Has NPR withdrawal started because I can’t listen to my shows on the way to and from work? Yup.

Now for the flip side. This morning I took an hour walk through Eagle Lake Park — an hour I normally would have spent sitting behind the wheel of my car on my way to work. And I swear that the scowl lines between my eyebrows are beginning to fade.

Maybe, just maybe, this will all work out and produce a happy ending.

Facing, Conquering a High School Reunion

The dreams — and not the good kind — began a couple of weeks before a recent high school reunion party. Anxiety, sweaty armpits and feelings of inadequacy, the same feelings I often experienced in high school, filled each dream and remained after I awoke.

What the heck?

Why should I — a 50-year-old woman who earned a master’s degree, has remained happily married to the same guy for 30 years, raised with my husband two intelligent daughters who didn’t move back home after completing college, and traveled the world both for pleasure and for business — feel anxious about seeing a group of people more than three decades after having left adolescent hell?

Have you figured out yet that high school was not one of the better times in my life?

More often than not, I felt like a social outcast lurking on the fringe of the popular cliques despite having known many of the members all through elementary school and junior high.

Could have been that I wasn’t a joiner in an attempt to be a ‘70s free spirit who shunned organized activities. Could have been that I had an inability to make witty small talk and smart retorts. Could have been my horrible teenage skin and hint of female mustache. Could have been that I was a member of the band and an oboe player. Could have been that my shyness was mistaken for snottiness. Could have been a lot of things, imagined or real.

So after failing to lose five (or 10) extra pounds and to perform the requisite number of pushups needed to sculpt my upper arms, I visited a salon to eliminate stray grays and wax my upper lip, donned a new dress that would properly support and display half-century-old cleavage, and headed to the festivities.

What happened? I had a good time.

So a week or so of reflection time has left me with the following:

• I still am and probably always will be uncomfortable and unskilled with small talk, though that’s nothing new.
• I still am racked with anxiety in social situations, though a glass of red wine helps soften the edge, as evidenced by the reunion Facebook photos in which I am tagged. This is not new knowledge, either.
• I still feel like I’m teetering on the rim of the “in” group circle and more likely to fall off instead of in, but I don’t care much at all. This is a newer realization and one I’m glad has finally sunk in. Takes off the pressure.
• And apparently I had an impressive ass back in the day. Turns out my future husband wasn’t just saying it so he could get a better up close and personal look at it. (Thank you, gentlemen. Your short but sweet reminiscing about my 16-year-old backside made my day.)

Most importantly, I learned there are a lot of good people out there with whom I attended high school. I hope our paths cross again soon and we can have a conversation in a Starbucks or at a cafe, where my social skills work much better.

Welcome to Diane's Blog

Blog evangelists generally have the same list of must-does for any wannabe blogger:

• Have a focus for the blog’s subject matter
• Write for your audience
• Post regularly

I am clearly screwed. I have no clue about where this blog will go. I have no idea if anyone will read anything written or if he or she will come back for another look after the first look at my drivel. Oh, and I have an occasional problem with commitment to tasks, so the “post regularly” part is threatened before I even put up this first entry.

One other blog requirement I hear repeatedly is to be authentic and transparent. Warning (or relief) for readers: No sharing of my deepest and darkest secrets will take place in this venue. I don’t even think about those things myself as some things are best left untouched. You know what I mean.

I hope you join me on my blog journey and that you’ll share your comments and suggestions along the way.