What Time Is It? NOW!

As I spend yet another early morning killing valuable time waiting for the sun to rise so I can get back to work to continuing doing stuff I have been dreading all night, it is with great irony that I find an unfinished blog dated January 2013 called The Time Is Now.

Apparently it was a message to myself, as the time is usually ‘not yet’, ‘almost’, ‘pretty soon’ or ‘someday’.

They are the answers to big questions such as “When will you start doing what you love?”,  “when will you stop doing what you don’t love?” and “when will you finally become who you were meant to be?”

Answers to small things are so much easier.

Hot fudge sundae? Yes please!

When would you like a fabulous dress that is on sale and fits you perfectly. Now please!

I have no relatives and I’m giving away my fortune to strangers- would you like some? Sure!

It’s the truly life changing questions that require us to get out of our comfort zone and put some effort into our dreams that are easily put off. How ironic they are the same dreams that can transform our lives from just trying to get from the start of the day to the end of the day without losing it, to finally feeling alive and wondering why it took us so long to wake up and start living.

I’m not going to edit my blog draft, because the point is abundantly clear, even in its raw form. The trick is living it instead of just reading it.

The Time is Now

If I told you that NOW is the time

The time to move

The time to learn

The time to grow

The time to love

The time is NOW

What would you say?

In a minute, after the laundry, maybe tomorrow?

If you believed you only had a short time left on this earth,

Who would you made amends with? Call them.

Who would you thank? Thank them.

Where would you go? Go.

What stress would you remove from your life? Get rid of it.

The time is now to do what you must do, what you want to do, what you’ve dreamed of doing.

Don’t worry, the “have to dos” will still be there, tugging on your sleeve, trying to keep you from rising above it all like a balloon trying to break free of its tethers. But what about the "want to dos"?

Now is the time for “I wish I could one day… some day”.

Living in the shadow of the memories of loved ones whose one days were taken away.

When it’s warm.

When I feel better.

When I get a new job.

When I have no more obligations.

When I retire.

When?

Lose weight?

Start exercising?

Go to Hawaii?

Soon. Eventually. Maybe next year.

But here’s the thing: It is next year.

And have we started yet?

Stop the Presses- It's the End of an Era

Stop the presses! 

I just got this newsflash: a local newspaper is discontinuing their ‘junior’ paper carrier jobs… for good.

Back in the day, we were paperboys, regardless if we were a boy or girl. We walked the streets after school (when we could wait until the afternoon for our news), dragging around bags heavier than ourselves, nearly tipping over until we delivered the first few to make the weight more manageable. 

Now, a car slowly creeps by in the wee hours of the morning, whipping papers out the window into snowbanks or bushes or - in the case of my older delivery person- carefully placing each one on the doorstep, leading me to believe he learned the importance of good paper placement back when he was a paperboy. Back when it was a job to be proud of.

Yes, it was a job- probably our first job.  We learned to earn our own money to buy our own stuff. And we learned that if the stuff we bought was penny candy our money wouldn’t last more than a swallow. But if we bought something like a scribble pad and colored pencils, or splurged on a model from the craft store, we could enjoy that investment for weeks.

If you were a budding entrepreneur, you’d act as a general contractor, sub leasing your route to friends for a piece of the action on the days you weren’t in the mood.

I remember when carrying papers was often secondary to checking up on an elderly neighbor whose only visitor of that day, week or even life was the paperboy .

When my brother Stephen was a paperboy, he not only knew the names of his customers, but also the names of their kids, grand kids and pets, not to mention what each house would offer him for a snack.  In some cases, he knew more about his older clients then their own families did, coming home with information about their health or living conditions, even helping one of his diabetic clients tend to her ulcerated foot when he realized she could not do it herself. He was a paper carrier, companion, dog walker and personal assistant who left each house with more than he dropped off- usually an envelope with money and a list of grocery items he delivered the next day.  He was so important in their lives I wonder if they read the newspaper at all, or they just paid to have a daily visitor who cared.

Paper boys knew who they were delivering to, and the tips were personal with a sincere thank you, sometimes along with a cookie or a date nut bar home baked by the customer which we would eat on the route, delivering the next paper with the added bonus of a chocolate fingerprint.  

We were even little debt collectors, given a list of the ‘deadbeats’ whose papers would be shut off if they didn’t pay up.  Our service was so personal that we often knew why that bill was unpaid, as some of our older clients clearly lived below poverty levels, and when asked to bring in their mail along with the paper we'd carry in a hefty load of ‘final notice’ bills back when they tried to embarrass us to pay by printing that on the outside of the envelope. We knew their circumstances so well, that we’d sometimes go into our own tip drawer to mark the account ‘paid in full’.

The image of kids delivering their afternoon papers reminds me of the innocence and simplicity of times gone by; when our local news was truly local. When the newspaper was still made only of paper, and when everyone seemed to know someone who wrote, printed, sold or delivered it to us. It was a chain of humanity, and the paperboy was an important part of that chain- the face of the newspaper.

Delivering the paper helped us to learn about news personally impacts lives, as our customer would retrieve the paper and immediately read the headline aloud - sometimes followed by a gasp or sigh. They would go to the death notice page and tell you a story about friends and neighbors listed there as their eyes glistened. Or they would ask if we wanted a laugh and read their favorite cartoon to us. 

Yes, we knew how the news affected its readers, up close and personal. We knew more than anyone ever gave us credit for. But no one asked us what we thought.  

We were just paperboys.

And now we are gone.

Don't Bum Me Out

Does anyone say ‘bummer’ anymore, and who made up that word anyhow?  If you don’t know what it means, it refers to anything that really stinks, which may just be the origin of the word.

Here are a few things that bum me out:

A long day at work. A long commute home. A long, boring speech. Being the one who gave the long, boring speech. Boring meetings about nothing. Having nothing to do when I’m antsy. Have something to do when I’m exhausted.

Sour milk. A sour attitude, mine or anyone else’. Fruit rotting too fast. Fruit Flies. Time flying too fast by when you are having fun. Bad days that never end. Wondering if there really is a light at the end of the tunnel.  Being trapped in the tunnel.

A construction crew setting up outside the front door on a planned quiet day off.  An overnight snowstorm on a work day. Wearing crappy snow boots to work and forgetting my shoes. Wearing shoes to the gym and forgetting my sneakers. Going into a full blown panic attack looking for my wallet that I forgot was hanging off my wrist.

Going from free parking to paid parking at work. Dings and scratches on car from expensive parking lot. No change for the meter. Store right next to the meter with a sign WE DO NOT GIVE CHANGE FOR METER. Change for the sake of change. Crappy ‘groundhog day’ stuff that never seems to change.

Spilling coffee on a white shirt at the start of a work day. Ending up with an even bigger spot on my chest that looks like a bull’s eye or something worse caused from the expired stain cleaner. Finding out too late I had a suspicious brown stain on the bum of my white pants after sitting on a piece of chocolate in the morning. Realizing I walked around all day like that. Realizing what everyone thought was so funny that day.

Burning the roof of my mouth on hot pizza.  Choking after food goes down ‘the wrong pipe’. Choking when I need to excel. Popping out a swear word at an inappropriate time. An eyelash hair in my contact lens. Getting the hairy eyeball.

Strange sounds from my car engine at the start of a long road trip. Strange sounds from my stomach at the start of a long run. Water level comes up instead of going down when I flush. Strange computer messages that suggest my life is about to be erased, and for just a moment thinking that sounds like a great idea. Too many ideas at 3 a.m. Not enough ideas in the middle of the work day.

A dry cough at night that keeps everyone in the house up. A productive cough in the middle of a meeting. Not having a tissue when I seriously need one.

Staring at a blank page not knowing where to start. Starting something I can’t finish. Looking at a full page and throwing it away because it stinks. Having the person on treadmill next to me sniff loudly, look in my direction and move.

Awkward endings to a column.

Still Thankful

For the past several years, I've made a Thanksgiving list of little and big things I'm grateful for. But not this year.

Not that I wasn't grateful, but there were bigger things going on in my life I was not all that thankful for that I had to deal with, which demoted my thanksgiving list to the bottom of the bigger 'to do' list.

But in this peaceful hour as the New Year begins, I reflect back on some of the little things that made me smile last year, and find myself hoping for new reasons to smile in 2014.

And realizing any day is a good day to be thankful, here is my short list:

Waking up in a rush for work, then remembering its Saturday. 

Finding the perfect little Christmas tree. Finding out its only $8- score! Businesses who sell Christmas trees for $8. The peaceful glow of a tiny tree with lights on it.

A neighbor who gives you an ingredient you are missing half way into your recipe. Having the time to cook just for the love of cooking, not because I got home late and I’m starving. Not actually knowing what real starving feels like. 

Frequent buyer reward programs.  A paid off credit card.  Celebrating Christmas by ‘being’ instead of buying.

Running friends who help me get my butt out the door on frigid winter days. Getting into a car made warm by the sun on a cold day.  My wildly diverse group of friends who teach me every day, viva la difference! 

People who put the food divider up for you at the grocery store. People who help seniors put their food on the counter. Helpers. Seniors. 

Little kids who want to go on the biggest roller coasters.  Seeing little faces light up when they meet the height requirement. A little hand grabbing yours because they want to sit with you on a ride. Little kids saying “I wuv you” (insert heart melting here).

People who are told they don’t have long to live, but live on. Appreciating every ‘bonus’ day of our lives. Beating the odds. Placing a 10-1 bet in Vegas in April for the Sox to win it all. Red Sox beards. World Series wins. Aspiring to world peace.  A piece of gold birthday cake with buttercream frosting from Coffee Time.

Familiar routines. New adventures. Doing. Learning. Exploring. 

Vacations that recharge you. Looking at vacation photos and videos that bring you back to that moment. Getting excited when I recognize places I’ve visited when I’m watching TV. Doing something new ‘just to say I did it’. 

Being strong enough to do push-ups and sit ups. Having the discipline to actually do them.  Strength of character.  All the great ‘characters’ I’ve met in my life.

Seasonal honey dipped cider crullers from ‘you know where’.

Strangers who make eye contact and say ‘good morning’ instead of staring at their smart phone.  Pleasant people. Being pleasantly surprised. 

People who ask if you need help when your car hood is up. Being able to say “no thanks” because I can check and fill my own oil.

Having access to a gym and showers at work. No excuses. Discovering I can catch up on reality TV on my kindle while running on the treadmill. Not having to talk Doug into watching Project Runway at home anymore- score! 

Fist pumping. High fiving. Not being left hanging like Tom Brady. 

New hopes. New dreams.

A new year.

Fixing Christmas

 I am not a professional handyman, but I know when something is broken.

Including my Christmas spirit.

Each year I make some attempt to imagine we are the perfect family that lives in Lifetime movies (but not the one from the Christmas Shoes please). I buy my Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the reject pile and bring it to life with a blankie and some love. I tune into the 24/7 holiday music channel on my way to work to try to alleviate my stress filled commute. I even eliminated shopping for the perfect presents that are never, ever perfect in exchange for quality time, including an annual December trip that is our gift to each other.

Coming home from this year’s trip, I was determined to rally over the next two weeks to bring back that lovin’ feeling I’d lost for Christmas.

But the morning after we landed, my fingertips turned white with frostbite as I shoveled water laden snow and ice chunks at three houses.
Back to work Monday, I pitied the poor driver who lost their muffler over the holidays as I changed lanes to get away from the booming sound, only to realize the poor driver with the muffler issue was me.

That’s Ok, it’s just a muffler, I’ve got this.

Day three at home I awoke at 4:30 a.m. to “get lots of stuff done” before I drop my car at the shop, only to find the heat was out. After an hour off and on the phone and trying to restart the burner myself so I wouldn’t incur massive after-hour fees, I succeeded for a moment, quickly finding out that I could still take a hot shower, albeit in my bathrobe down the cellar, as every pipe seemed to explode with steaming water because our pipes had frozen in the 3 degree temps overnight when the burner ceased.

Which brings me to this moment, typing fast before something else bad happens, wearing my $1, one size fits all Target mittens, which are about all I’ll be able to afford after we pay for the Christmas trip, muffler and oil burner fees to come. Ho, ho… oh no.

But this is not the least of my or your problems, and I know that.

Bills will be paid, snow will get shoveled, and mufflers and oil burners will get fixed.

But those we have loved and lost are still sorely and sadly missed every day. And while it is life’s little aggravations that we lament about to anyone who will listen, it is the underlying feeling of loss that can break us, little by little.

Yes my holiday spirit is broken, perhaps beyond repair, but there is a band aid I use every year to get me through the season. It’s the memory of the night my brother Stephen and I saw Rudolph.

It’s a reminder of the beauty of the season, youthful innocence and faith that anything is possible if you just believe. It’s a memory I’m blessed to have, and share each year.

I call it The Night We Saw Rudolph.

Twas the night before Christmas on Webb Street in Salem. Stephen is five years old and trying desperately to fall asleep amidst the holiday excitement and anticipation of Christmas morning.
I tell him that if Santa comes and he is still awake, he will fly right by and not bring him any toys. Just then, someone drove into the driveway of the liquor store that use to be our neighbor and put their brake lights on, causing the bedroom to glow in a bright, red light.

His eyes grew as big as saucers as he looked at the window, then at me, and muttered “Rudolph…!” just before falling asleep.
From that year forth, every Christmas Eve Stephen would turn to me and say,“Remember the night we saw Rudolph?” and we’d laugh at the memory. But as we grew to adults, I began to respond, “That wasn’t Rudolph, it was….” and before I could finish the statement he would give a little smirk and say, “SShhhh, it was Rudolph” and we’d just smile.

My brother has been gone 14 Christmases now, but I still tell this story to anyone who will listen. Because looking back, Stephen was right.

It was indeed Rudolph.

Ruminations on Meditation

Onto Day 2 of my mediation challenge!

Or should I say Days 2-8 as I couldn’t find enough time to do the suggested one meditation a day, so I now have to cram seven at once, which I’m pretty sure is not recommended by Oprah. Or Deepak. Or anyone for that matter. 

But at least I haven’t quit. 

The total time of seven meditations is now over two hours long, 95% of which I expect to be music without words over a pretty nature photo. But thankfully, I notice that there are ‘cliff notes’ under each segment that encapsulate the theme which, I convince myself, is better than nothing.

Day 2: Empowered Me. The theme is ‘equanimity ‘, which this English major had to look up. As it turns out, it is a state of psychological stability and composure which is undisturbed by experience of or exposure to emotions, pain, or other phenomena that may cause others to lose the balance of their mind, otherwise known as ‘nearly impossible’. I move on to Day 3.

Day 3: Confident Me. The meditation is, are you feeling burnt out, distracted and disconnected from the world? I answer YES! and jump to Day 4. Not because I’m too lazy to see what the answer is, but because I’m starting to get the hang of this meditation thing; enough to know they never really give you an answer that doesn’t involved looking within yourself or asking the universe.  

Day 4: Refer to Day 3, as I’m now so distracted all I seem to grasp is something about two caterpillars turning into butterflies as I pour my 3^rd cup of coffee and break into full blown hot flash.

On Day 5, I got fired from meditating. At least it seemed that way as I didn’t get my daily taunt, aka reminder, of my failed attempt to do this thing. I can’t lie, I was a little relieved. But I also wondered if Oprah is indeed so powerful she knew that I wasn’t taking it seriously and deleted me from her program.

On Day 8, I got flurry of emails for days 5-8 and was glad it seemed to be a computer glitch, nothing personal. Feeling a little bad about not concentrating more, I try to go back to the Day 4 mediation to see what I missed, but they have blocked access, because who in their right meditation mind would go back several days to cram? Geesh!

Days 6-8 are: Resilient Me, Fearless Me, and What Do I Want, which totally throw me off as they didn’t use the word “Me” in Day 8. I then begin to wonder why “Me” is so important to meditating in the first place, as it seems pretty selfish and suddenly…HELLO McFLY… I think I get it. 

It’s so simple really. 

In this fast paced blur of where we need to be, whom we need to be and what we need to do, it has become almost impossible to find a moment in the day to just breath, and remember who we are deep down in our core.  

We are all so different, but we are all “me” in our own way.

And ‘me’ thinks… no, ‘me’ KNOWS… that I’m not cut out for this meditation thing.

Namaste, my friends.

Namaste.