If you read Once a Little Girl, you know I L-O-V-E, love to camp and I love adventure. Today, I had some adventure in a tent. A brand new experience for me: A tent sale. I H-A-T-E, hate shopping. If I could, I’d only shop with a catalog, the internet, and a glass of wine. My daughter, Duckie, loves to shop. And I love Duckie. So today off , after breakfast, we head to the Wilton Tent Sale. Great finds can be had there for the patient and persevering. I’m one of those.
Did I mention Duckie loves to talk? She processes everything out-loud. The tent sale is a 60+ minutes away, so Duckie has lots of time to tell me everything that’s on her mind. I get a chance to practice my listening skills. Duckie works at the local grocery store as a courtesy clerk. She’s one of those people; she bag groceries and loads them in customers’ cars. Duckie has the low-down on everyone. She loves people.
Wow! So many people stuffed in one tent: People going up and down the aisles in willy-nilly. We are like
Did you know that our property is supposed to revert to the state after our death? Our Founding Fathers deliberately designed property to be “on loan” in order to prevent a royal class, or a class of the ultra-wealthy. Imagine how different we might live our lives if we considered ownership temporary.
In my corporate career, centered in science and industry, I learned what gets measured, gets attention. Measurement is the first step towards improvement. Thus we pay attention to Gross National Product (GNP), National Debt, Unemployment Rates, etc. In other words, measurements of national economic prosperity.
Manufacturers measure things like cycle time, re-work, defect rate, variability, and so on. These are measurements of efficiency and effectiveness.
In our careers, we measure income and percent pay increase, and ratings on our performance reviews. We measure our success.
On a personal level, we keep track of our HDL/LDL, our BMI, our Blood Pressure, our weight, our dress size, and the hairs left on our brush each morning. This is how we measure our health and beauty.
What if we took the approach of the Tibetan country of Bhutan?
Gloria Feldt’s most recent book, No Excuses, haunts me. It is beautifully crafted and written. Her call to political action is compelling. After all, as Stephanie McNulty points out in The Philadelphia Inquirer,
women are finally gaining a foothold on political power through the Americas-except in one nation…the United States.
Ms. Feldt, Gloria, wants to change that. I had an opportunity to sit down and listen to her vision, and her call to live a life with intention.
Gloria learned at an early age what it felt like to be an outsider. The only Jewish family in small-town Texas, she also learned a respect for
“Last year, we sent sheets to Cuba. My wife’s grandmother had surgery, and the hospital had no sheets.” Rainier Andres (Ray) is an American citizen who came to these United States with his mother. He has no brothers or sisters and his father is still in Cuba. Ray reminds me of a documentary I saw last Fourth of July: “Citizen U.S.A.: A 50 State Road Trip,” by Alexandra Pelosi. These new citizens brought tears to my eyes.
Ray was a teenager when he came to America, he was too naïve, or perhaps too filled with machismo to understand the dangers. Ray considered
On a chilly spring morning, my sweetheart, G-Money, and I meet in the city to have lunch.
I am already in Chicago for my final class of the winter term. I coaxed G-Money to join me for lunch. I took the Metra, where I found this silly sign. The idea that stolen purses are on the prowl and lurking in Chicago still tickles me.
An overnight at the Chicago Field Museum. What could be more fun for kids than exploring through Egyptian tombs, holding tarantulas, and wandering amongst the dinosaurs? Well, doing all that and more in the dark, and way, way past bedtime; that’s what.
Arrive early, and pick out a place to set up camp. We bring sleeping bags and an air mattress for the old bones; ours that is, and just the sleeping bags for Bradaigh, 8 and Emma, 7. There are tons of families vying for space under the mastadon and saber tooth tiger. We opt for a spot under some African ceremonial masks. It’s out of the popular traffic pattern. We set up camp, grab our flashlights and get going.
G-Dad and I notice right away something unanticipated.
“A penny for your thoughts.” What if we donated a penny for each Tweet or Facebook post we put out there? Let’s ask people for a penny in exchange for their thoughts on a topic; politics, the Gulf oil spill, Afghanistan. Think of the money we could raise. Just think of the good you could do. We could provide books to every child. We could feed the hungry. Amy Ferris leaves
“I salute you,” said Barb, squeezing my elbow and pointing to my ruby-red stilettos. “I love those shoes.”
“Oh, I do love these shoes,” I replied. “But my feet have changed. I’m all flop-footed. This might be the last time I wear them.”
I love my Sassy Shoes also know as Come-Get-Me Shoes (CMG Shoes.) I have several pair: black, red, velvet brown, and a glittery golden faux snake-skin. When I wear my CGM Shoes, I feel sexy and fashionable. Until recently. My heels slip, and the shoes clomp to the floor in a most uncharming way. Last winter, to my embarrassment, a Good Samaritan grabbed me by the elbow and said, “Here, let me help you.”
“I know, I have the same problem,” said Barb. She demonstrated her own