Accomplish a lot while you wait!

Even with our instant news, instant photos, instant everything society, we still have to wait a lot and we don’t appreciate it. We get antsy when we have to kill time in the checkout line at the grocery store, so they created jiffy lines to speed us along. We get cranky and horny (over use of the horn) waiting for traffic to budge during commute times and we sure don’t like waiting for our computers to download, upload, reboot and defrag.

My husband’s business is all about waiting. His company creates on-hold music and messages for busy businesses that have to put customers on hold while they hook them up with the department or person the customer needs. I do the female voice on these messages and it’s fun to think I can entertain those who have to wait for whom they really want to speak with.

“Thank you for calling Flackmeiszer’s Vacuum Repair and Sales. We’re sorry to have to put you on hold, but one of the Flackmeizers will be with you in just a moment. While you wait, I’d like to tell you about our fantastic new vacuum cleaner, the Dust Bunny Buster by Electrosucks. This amazing machine is so powerful it’ll suck the grout right out of your tile floor if you’re not careful! The Dust Bunny Buster. Not recommended for families with small pets.”

Hurry up and wait...

Sunday, December 18, 2011 will go down as one of my most favorite Christmassy days ever! We are at my bonus daughter Kristi’s home for the holidays and it’s a bustle with expectant excitement in its purest form; children. As grandparents, we’ve missed this part of the season since the days our children were young. For two decades we’ve only been able to share Christmas day celebrations. There is so much more to this season than December 25. Parents of young children please don’t miss this precious week BEFORE the day of.
On Sunday morning Terry and I woke to the smell of bacon frying. Ted (my bonus son-in-law) does a ritual, Sunday morning breakfast which includes pancakes, hash brown potatoes, fresh farm eggs and the best hot coffee around. I laid in bed letting my nose sell the rest of my body on the prospect of getting out from under the cozy covers so I could take part in the breakfast celebration. My ears joined into the nudging by focusing in on the laughter and camaraderie of our grandchildren, Tanner 13, Kyle 11 and Kaytee 9.
The morning also held a massive dose of gratitude on each of our hearts. Just two days earlier, Kristi’s living room had been crowded with eight paramedics as an ambulance waited in the drive-way to rush an incoherent Tanner to the hospital. That morning he had fainted at school and Kristi brought him home, concerned he was coming down with a bug.
When he awoke from a nap and was unable to tell Terry who the quarter back for the Patriots was (even though Tanner is a devoted fan of the team) our apprehension thickened. An hour later he was at Children’s Hospital in Boston.
Terry and I were thankful we were able to be there for Kyle and Kaytee when they got off the school bus at 3:15. The children were consumed with concern for their older brother when we relayed the alarming information in the most alarmless way we could muster. That afternoon, we all went through the motions of ordinary life waiting for updates like a mother in labor waiting for her next contraction. The afternoon dawdled into evening when we were given the best news, no tumor, no meningitis and no stroke.
At 11:00 PM Tanner had been inspected inside and out and had regained his speech and cognitive abilities and was released from the hospital. The final opinion was that he suffered a complex migraine headache probably brought on by hormone changes of early adolescence. Whew!
Back to the magic of December 18. Ted and Kristi’s gift to us was a trip into Boston to attend the Holiday Music of the Boston Pops. I’d always wanted to go to Concert Hall and it was truly a dream come true. We got all dressed up as if we were prepping for a family portrait. The boys looked like clones of Justin Bieber and Katie sparkled from her blingy boots to the sparkles in her long French braided hair.
The last encore song the orchestra played was I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. When I heard the line, “just like the ones I used to know,” tears filled my eyes remembering the happy Christmases my mom and dad created for my sister and me. What a gift we can give our children by being what this season is all about. It’s about love and joy. I’m so grateful once a year our society makes a big deal about love and joy. “May all your Christmases be light.”

Every year just a few days before Christmas I start looking for the Christmas letter written by the mouse family that lives in our house. Mrs. Cheddar (Mozzarella) is the one who writes it and I’m sure she’s a SHE because she leaves writing it to the last minute. I’m always amazed that she finds the time to write, considering how busy she is.

Well, the letter came today and as usual I love sharing it with you all (with her permission of course).

Dear Friends,

Merry Christmas from Washington State! We hope you all had a great year! As you all know by now, I hate Christmas letters because most of their authors brag about where they’ve traveled and what their kids are doing. I don’t even know half the mice I read about in those letters, but I know they scored big points to win the soccer tournament and that they got straight As.

Our cousin Mickey’s Christmas letter is the worst one every year. He’s so obnoxious. He thinks he’s such a big deal. Just because he’s rich and famous he thinks we can’t wait to read what he and his family are up to. What a bragger! I’m surprised he doesn’t attach a copy of his income tax return so we all know how much money he made. We just got his letter today (that’s what prompted me to write ours).

First of all it ticks me off that he puts his photo at the top of the letter and it’s obvious he’s had numerous face lifts. (How can you not change with time?) Anyway he and his family (he’s on his 79th wife) just “summered” in Aruba and are now on a big deal cheese tasting spree in Wisconsin. Last year they went on a Disney Cruise (on a ship he owns) and his wife got cooking lessons from that rat in Ratatouille (I think his name is Remy). Big deal. I learn all I need to know from Rachael Ray.

34 moves last year!

TRADITION!

As I get ready to have a Thanksgiving feast at our home, I’m a little troubled. I have so many questions and I’m not sure I’ve come up with the answers that make me happy.

This is my first low-carb Thanksgiving! If it were just Terry and me, I’d be fine, but I wonder if I should impose our new lifestyle on our family, especially when I’ll be messing with TRADITION?

How will they like mashed cauliflower and gravy as opposed to mashed potatoes and gravy? Should I make both? I’ve got a wonderful new cookbook Marla gave me entitled Paleo Comfort Food and there’s a recipe for bread using almond flour (which we love) and I could make dressing out of it, BUT what if it isn’t as good as what we are all traditionally used to? And how dare I break tradition? Is it too late for me to start a new tradition? What if all the new dishes I make flop and no one will ever want to come back for Thanksgiving? Am I willing to risk that?

Dare to mess with "tradition"!

Well, now that my troubles are on the table, I’ll address each one. How will “they” like mashed cauliflower? I don’t know because I’ve never mashed or tasted it mashed. I heartily believe in the cardinal rule (does “cardinal come from the bird or the high up guy in the Catholic Church?) to never try a new recipe on company.

William James said the words in the title. We really do see through the eyes of our own experience and each of our experiences is different, so when we come onto a situation we see it from our perspective. It’s almost like we all wear different lenses.

While on a radio show an older woman called in and told that when she was very young a doctor told her parents that she was autistic. The parents had not heard of autism and they thought the expert said their daughter was “artistic.” Their child was obviously not displaying “normal” child behavior, so with all the care and concern of devoted parents to help their child thrive, they proceeded to fill their “artistic” daughter’s life with crayons, paints, art supplies and crafts. The woman is a college graduate, articulate, joyful and successful.

I know there are degrees of autism, but my point is; there is power in labels.

Using the internal timer

Terry and I went to the beach on our anniversary last week (23 years) and while he was driving I suggested we play a game.

This weekend my husband and I attended our 50th high school class reunion. We were in the same class together and were good friends, but we never kissed or anything. We just liked each other. Terry was the emcee at the party and we had 180 class mates and spouses who seemed ready to play and enjoy the night. It was a delightful evening and I had to really reflect the day after, why it was so magical to me. I figured it out!

One of my adult relatives who shall remain nameless has SES (Squeamish Eater Syndrome). I love her in spite of her affliction. As a mother, I’m familiar with squeamish eaters. Out of my three kids, only one was a real squeamer, Joanna. The list of foods that could bring on her gagging reflex was endless. The best way to get the gaggers into her, with their valuable vitamins and nutrients, was to buy a food processor and purée the identity out of them. Most children are not as bad as Joanna was and I’m pleased to report that as an adult, she has made friends with many of her childhood food enemies.

As adults, most of us have a fairly tolerant palate, but there is a line that is drawn somewhere right around giblets. That’s probably why we call them giblets and not vital chicken organs, and why we call squid, calamari, and calves, veal.

While on our summer vacation in July, I made notes about the events I wanted to share with you. This one was on the top of the list.

My husband Terry loves to watch professional football and I like to watch it with him, however, I wouldn’t go out of my way to watch every single game throughout the entire season if he didn’t care or wasn’t here. Over the years, I’ve enjoyed learning the rules of the game from him and of course I get a kick out of some of those adorable quarterback bodies in their tight uniforms.

In the beginning I had a couple of terminology misunderstandings cleared up which Terry found particularly amusing. My comment after hearing the announcer exclaim, “So-in-so is a pro bowler,” was, “Wow, imagine being a great football player AND a professional bowler!” Terry explained a pro bowler is a player who is so good he gets to play in the pro bowl (some big deal game once a year). Another time during a game the announcer said, “So-in-so is ‘playing hurt,’” and I said to Terry, “If I were that cry baby’s coach, he’d be off the team before he knew what hit him!!” Of course I learned the player wasn’t “faking being hurt,” but was actually playing with a terrible injury.

Leilani, one of my subscribers to Inner Kiddies wrote to me in response to one of my daily surprises (a free email I send out that is either uplifting, humorous, thought provoking or just plain silly. Here was the message she responded to followed by her response: Einstein said, “We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.” While I helped create an unhappy marriage for 15 years I NEVER took advantage of my sense of humor as a powerful tool to change my circumstances. We can't be angry and joyful at the same time. Pick between the two today and watch your problems resolve or escalate.

Leilani wrote: “No kidding! I have a special talent. I can see the bright side of absolutely anything. I’m not an eternal optimist. Those people drive me nuts. I’m just drawn like a magnet to silver linings—even when they’re rusty.

My Young@Heart took a SHE turn with an email from a Flybaby and it prompted me to find a very funny article written by a columnist for the Seattle Times who in turn went on to become a very famous food critic in the Northwest. His article gives you the man’s view of a SHE. The article follows this email.

Dear Pam and Peggy,

Many of you struggle with disorganization as I do. Remember I am in nervous remission. But in that nervousness, I don't let my messy tendencies get out of hand. In other words my home is never more than 15 minutes to company ready (and that is for the whole house).

“Inner Kiddies, Inner Schmiddies!!! I don’t get this inner kiddy thing!!! I don’t have time to do justice to my real kids let alone some fantasy inner child in me!!! What if I don’t have an inner child? Why do I care anyway? Aren’t you just blaming your bad behavior on somebody else when you say your inner kiddy made you do it? The whole thing sounds a little psychitzo to me!!!” Jessica

It’s very seldom I receive cranky emails like Jessica’s, but when I do, Nelly (my inner child) begs to answer them. I don’t let her because I know she’d say: “Shut the fuss up!” Then we’d be in trouble for our childish outburst. When I received the above email, Nelly must have been napping because all that came to my mind was how much my life has changed since I met her. By the way, I don’t “blame” Nelly for inappropriate behavior. I address the “behavior” as inappropriate and I get to the source of the behavior which is usually that of a child. Nelly is a child and she lives within me. She keeps me young, frisky, optimistic and lighthearted and when ignored will get my attention in ways that tend to sabotage my good intentions.

All is well. Come on, you can say it. Take a big deep breath and say, ALL IS WELL. When you say “all is well” and you are bombarded with buts, those are buts that are powerless if you will do this exercise! It is something I was taught as a child by my grandfather and it has served me for well over 60 years. It will help you too. Oh, and it’s kind of fun!

First, imagine that your mind is like your home. Like your home, it has a front door and YOU are in control of whom you let in (those would be thoughts). So imagine the doorbell rings and you go to the door and open it to see a huge long line of Darth Vaders, mixed in with a bunch of Eyores and let’s throw in a big bad wolf or two. Each scary character has a different sign: gloom, doom, fear me, worry about this, what about that, I’m angry, why me, wha, wha, wha, (you get the idea). The line goes as far as you can see! Now, all you have to do is say “All is well” to the first Darth in line with his sign and he will vanish. Each and every negative character will disappear with your words “all is well” because those words are like magic on negative thoughts. You are in control of the front door to your mind and you have protection just as you are in control of whom you allow into your home. The words “all is well” are as affective on negative thoughts as a can of mace would be on an unwanted intruder.

The Vicarious Bite

My husband and I went to a neighbor’s surprise birthday party last Saturday night. It’s always exciting for me to go to this home. The couple is exotic. The birthday man was a concert pianist turned executive of a company that bottles hydrogen peroxide. He has an adorable Belgium accent and is movie star gorgeous. His wife, who is also stunningly beautiful with a tall, slim body crowned by a head of flaming, (not from a bottle) red hair, was an opera singer turned wife, homemaker and mom.

The house is enchanting. It actually looks like an Italian villa perched high on the hill overlooking its own vineyard (all the neighbors are wondering when our resident herd of 36 elk will decide to frisk among the rows of baby grape plants). The two children (nine and five) have their own quarters! The children’s quarters would suffice for most of us to live in beauty and comfort for the rest of our lives.

We arrived with our donation to the potluck, hot chili from my freezer. (I’m on a low carb diet so beans are out until I weigh 120 pounds.) I always make double batches of stews, soups and chili and freeze half. For this party I mixed three different batches (no two are ever alike) spanning three different seasons from last year. The combination was an interesting melting pot of past chili feeds. If anyone would have asked for the recipe (which they didn’t) I wouldn’t have had one.
One of our neighbors brought a homemade German Chocolate Cake for dessert. Michelle is the best baker in the neighborhood and the cake looked alluringly attractive. Nelly (my inner child) said, “We can have some can’t we?”

“No, sugar is poison, remember what we read in Why We Get Fat?”

KATHY ROBERTS COINED THIS ACRONYM: DING DONG DO IT NOW GIRL

DON'T OVER NEGLECT GIRL

Kathy is a longtime friend, sister reformed slob and owner of Tidy Tutor University. She's fun, funny, talented and creative and if you haven't checked out her website, please do! She has tons of videos to share. www.tidytutor.com

Have you ever thought that when we procrastinate we are really over neglecting? As pros at procrastination we could say we are master neglectors. I can’t think the words DING DONG without thinking next about the Wicked Witch of the West which automatically calls up that memorial tune sung by the Munchkins.

So little Munchkins, what if we thought of that old wicked witch as something looming over us that we have to do and we keep putting it off and she gets bigger and bigger and wickeder and wickeder? When we DING DONG, the witch dies! She’s done, gone and we’re free!

If you have something looming right now, sing along with the lyrics below and get the feeling of having that looming task done, then DING DONG.(do it now girl and don't over neglect girl).

Want to sing the song?

We Can't Hide Body Clutter

I was deeply touched by Marla and Leanne’s courage to be honest with us about the issue of their body clutter. It’s embarrassing to admit to being in denial on a subject as personal as our bodies. As clutter goes, there is nothing with which to compare to our body clutter. We can’t stash it like we can household clutter; we can’t store it in the attic, basement or some storage facility. We can try to move it around by wearing control top panty hose or tight jeans or try to cover it up by wearing loose fitting clothes while we stay in a state of denial, but eventually we have to face a moment of truth.

I am just like Leanne in that over my adult lifetime I had lost and gained the same twenty pounds at least eight times (I’m older than Leanne). That’s 160 pounds I’d lost before I faced my moment of truth. I had 35 pounds to lose. My denial caused me to go three years without facing my body clutter and had I continued in my mode of denial I could have gained 70 pounds in six years. It took holding a five pound bag of flour in my hands and feeling the weight of it to wake up and realize I was carrying the equivalent of seven five pound bags of flour around. Today, if I could somehow strap seven, five pound bags of flour to myself and try to wear them for a day, I wouldn’t be able to do that. Yet my little body had carried that burden until I woke up.

Eight almonds and a lot of denial

Reality lives off-line

I’ve been on vacation for a week. One of the highlights of the respite was having lunch with one of Terry’s professors. Mr. Mott made a profound and lasting impression on my wonderful husband. (Thank you Mr. Mott.) Terry has so much respect for the man he cannot bring himself to call him Robert or, God forbid, Bob. Mr. Mott and his wife Edie are in their nineties and both sharp mentally, mobile and healthy. I asked both of them at lunch in a very nice restaurant, “Do you have smart phones and are you on the internet?” Mr. Mott uses a form of email I won’t go into, but otherwise the couple agreed that at their ages they were enjoying life just as it is without the invasion of technology. They both agreed that each day was so filled with thankfulness they are mobile and healthy there was no room for anything else.

During this vacation, I took the six days off from the 21st century and never once even looked at a computer. I didn’t answer anyone’s emails or write my weekly Young@Heart for the last week of March. I just lived in what I’ll call a techless world. Yes, I was party to using the GPS while we “Yelped” our way around San Diego and yeah, once I talked on Terry’s cell phone (which is now a very smart phone thanks to Flylady’s Robert), oh and yes, I used the computer timer on the oven in our condo we lived in for a week, but the rest of the time I enjoyed the real world right in front of me just like Mr. and Mrs. Mott.

There were times when I felt a little like a beloved family dog. Marla, Robert and Terry spent a great deal of our living room time on their thingamajig of choice while I sat and talked to myself, read a little, wrote on a yellow pad and played "retro" Solitaire. (That’s a game you play with a standard deck of real playing cards, dealt onto a real table.)

Challenge Accepted!

I received an email the other day challenging me on my motto “Make it fun and it will get done,” and it caused me to pause. The woman had said something about fun not leading to happiness and since I think happiness is the most important goal we can ever have, (I think it’s more important to be happy than to be organized) I had to think seriously about my definition of fun.

The word fun can conger up vacations, yachts, fast cars, parties and any of the stuff of brochures luring us in to spend money. The brochure brand of fun doesn’t make us happy. I know that from experience. Last summer Terry and I won tickets to a Wine and Jazz Festival in a park in Vancouver. The brochure was glitzy! The thought of a Wine and Jazz Festival made me happy, but in reality I only like a certain kind of jazz (much of it reminds me of being a young mother with the relentless and repetitious sound of young kids saying, “Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama”) and I’m not into expensive wines that you are expected to taste and then buy by the case. It was hot the day we went there and we’d never heard of the person who was jamming up on the stage, so we walked through the park and went home. Wheeeeee!

Clooney's Refrigerator

Young@Heart by Pam Young

My son Michael and his wife Meredith were invited by the FOX network to go to the Super Bowl and Terry and I were invited to babysit the two grandchildren ages eight (Jackie) and eleven (Brooklyn). I have such fun with these two!

The first night we were with them, when it was bedtime they both wanted me to tell them a bedtime story. Since they sleep in separate rooms I sat in the hallway with the light on so they could both see me if they sat up and it was easy for them to hear me. I love to make up stories because I never know what I’m going to say myself. I guess I should say Nelly (my inner child) loves to hear my stories or maybe she’s the one who makes them up? Whatever, I love to do it.

Rabbit ears, elephants, and donkeys

Young@Heart by Pam Young

In his breath-taking book Many Lives, Many Masters , Dr. Brian Weiss M.D. (a renown and highly reputable psychiatrist) said, "The steady day-in and day-out pounding of undermining influences such as a parent’s scathing criticisms, could cause even more psychological trauma than a single traumatic event. These damaging influences, because they blend into the everyday background of our lives, are even more difficult to remember and exorcise.

A constantly criticized child can lose as much confidence and self-esteem as one who remembers being humiliated on one particular, horrifying day. A child whose family is impoverished and has very little food available on a day-to-day basis might eventually suffer from the same psychological problems as a child who experienced one major episode of accidental near-starvation. Those day-in and day-out poundings of negative forces have to be recognized and resolved with as much attention as that paid to the single overwhelmingly traumatic event."

Pam here: I loved what Dr. Weiss said and I’ve realized because of my daily attention to Nelly my inner child, I have been able to neutralize the day-in and day-out poundings of the past by becoming aware of her against the background of my daily life that’s going on now. When we shine our attention daily on the inner child, and confront negative behavior in the moment, using love, understanding and compassion, we can almost be like our own psychologist helping ourselves to remember and exorcise the source of any bad behavior.

Loving yourself is NOT a selfish notion!

“Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.” Martin Luther King

When I read that quote by King I imagined myself at a staircase. (I was at the top going down.) Then I thought, ‘that’s funny, I wonder what most people envision?’

So I asked my subscribers if they imagined taking the first step up or down. It really doesn’t matter because it’s a metaphor for stepping out on a mission in faith. I spent my entire morning fielding the responses and out of more than 100 who responded only three of us picture that first step going down.

I guess some could say I need to “get a life” spending time on this, but I was really interested in the age of people and what they thought. One of the “downers” was 37 and the range in age for the “uppers” was between 28 and 72. What I loved were some of the thoughtful responses so I’ll share some of them with you. I really didn’t think it was going to be that interesting, but it sure was! I’ll tell you at the end why I think I envision stepping down instead of up.

From psychology of dreams, going up represents a climb from unconsciousness, into consciousness, so a person, who envisions climbing up, has made a resolution to begin something in the conscious awake state. The climbing down represents taking what you know from the conscious level and looking for roots of a problem or the seeking for a resolution from the unconsciousness or dream state.

Joanne