Category: Rules To Live By

Love Author and Tiffany’s

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I like  passionate people. Once I met a loving, passionate man at Tiffany’s.

When I was in college, I had tons of part time jobs. (I’ve always loved to work!) One pre-Christmas season, I worked as a page at Tiffany’s — the fabulous big store on Fifth and 57th. My job was to answer the clerk’s tapping on the counter to collect the  little capsules full of cash and send them through these fast  little tubes. Then I’d wait for the receipt and run that back to the cashier. I haven’t been in  Tiffany’s in probably 20 years but I’m doubting they still use this lovely, archaic payment system.

Any way, about this passionate person.

One day Leo Buscaglia came in to the silver department at Tiffany’s. He was with a couple of younger men. They were just browsing. He was incredibly nice to everyone. (Go figure, an inspirational speaker who spoke and wrote about  Love oozed love.)  

I knew who he was because I’d seen his specials on Channel 11, Chicago’s public television. But no one paid any attention to him. New Yorkers are notoriously blasé about their celebs. I introduced myself to Leo and said I was a fan.

“You know,” he said, “You are all so nice here, you should wear name tags so we can get to know you and thank you personally.”

“Yes,” I said. I liked the idea, because as far as anyone knew, I was just a page. No one knew my name. I thought I’d bring it up with the woman in the back room who hired me (whose name I no longer remember).

But the next time I was in the back room clocking out, the spinster-ish woman told me I must no longer wear my hair in a French Braid at Tiffany’s. “It’s just not right,” she said, implying some kind of tawdriness. I didn’t get it.

I quit after the Christmas season. I’d gotten a job as a front desk clerk at the Hilton International in the World Trade Center.

But Leo Buscaglia was the highlight of my Tiffany’s career.

I’m reminded of him when I get inspirational quotes like this one. “Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time… It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other,” from Leo Buscaglia.

Power of Niceness

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I am really struggling with one of my daughters (Let’s call her C). She’s 10. Every single thing that comes out of my mouth, C can/will/does contradict.

I am tired of this and have asked her to make today a radically, completely, goody-goody nice day. Extreme niceness would be such a refreshing change. And it works. Why does my husband, Chris, have a Broadway career despite his steady slowing Parkinson’s Disease? The man is just plain nice. Over the years he has cultivated so many friends. He has no ego. Of course, talent helps.

I am in the middle of the book, “The Power of Nice: How to Conquer the Businesss World with Kindness” by Linda Kaplan Thaler and Robin Koval. It’s chock full of examples about how one simple act of kindness – helping someone with their luggage in the subway, let’s say – can change your world. In business and in life.

I have always been an exceedingly nice person. And at times, I do feel the sting. I think people have equated niceness with dumbness. In Gretchen Rubin’s book, “The Happiness Project,” she talks about research that shows negative people are perceived of as smarter people. I can think of a few examples of this at work (but since it is Lent and I’ve given up gossip, you’ll have to fill in your own names.)

While the negativist may win in the short-run, to sustain a long-term Broadway career, you mustn’t be all crabby and egocentric. You must be nice.

I would love to share this blog post with my darling C, but I’m afraid she’ll contradict me and be embarrassed by me. Mothering is not for the faint of heart. Or for the woman who is so nice, she is a doormat for her 10-year old. Niceness also means being nice to oneself and standing up for rightness.

This post relates to my Number 2 Rule – Escape through Literature. I got a lot out of “The Power of Nice” and “The Happiness Project.”

FLYlady and Me

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I’ll admit I am a very messy, disorganized person. But I can change. I swear I can. I still have not unpacked my suitcase from Las Vegas three weeks ago. But I’ll do it. today, I swear. Right after I go to Bible Study, church, a discussion on public school, the girls’ basketball game, read the Times, make dinner, do the laundry, etc.

My dis-organizational skills are getting in my way. Last night when it was time to take Hayden and his friend to the Bar Mitzvah at Chelsea Piers, I couldn’t find his friend’s address. I had just written it down. Last weekend, I lost the car keys.

Okay, but at work, I’m organized. It only took me like a week to unpack my boxes when I moved offices. I don’t know why I find packing easy and unpacking hard. It’s true when I unpacked at work, I had the support of my online Flylady friends.

I have followed Flylady, Marla Cilly, for maybe ten years. She is my household help (and workspace) guru. I must continue to follow her.  When I started following her, she had about 10,000 adherents. Maybe now she has 100,000. I am not alone in having a chaotic, stash and dash  lifestyle. http://www.flylady.net/

The FLY part of Flylady stands for Finally Loving Yourself. And here’s my distillation of her three rules (you know, I love rules):

1. Get dressed to your shoes every morning right when you get up.

2. Keep your kitchen sink clean and shiney.

3. Follow simple morning and evening routines.

You think it sounds easy? It’s not. But it’s so worth it.

Tiger Woods

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Ask me if I care about the infidelity of Tiger Woods. My answer is a loud and clear No!

Let me rephrase that, “No, thank you. I’ve had enough.”

Besides, I’m trying to find the good. I just finished writing an article about women artists in Haiti making gratitude journals for income. That, to me, is worth paying attention to. 

Who wouldn’t want to read about people making a positive difference? Do we all really want to feast on the latest celebrity to implode?

Let’s face it. It’s hard to praise. It’s easy to criticize. It’s hard to create. It’s easy to destroy. (Even in this blog post, I’m going negative about people going negative.)

But let me try to remember My Rule Numer 5:  Expect the best, love what you get.

Maybe I’m thinking about all of this, because I have given up gossip and criticism for Lent. I’m feeling righteous. And it’s really hard. (My friend Barbara told me not to give up both — one or the other. But heck, I’m an overachiever!)

I want to go through life finding the good in people. It’s actually harder to be happy, joyful, optimistic than it is to critical, snarky, mean.

Does anyone have any good news? I’m open to hear it.

God in Las Vegas

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They don’t call it America the Beautiful for nothing. God, this country is beautiful. I visited Las Vegas two weeks ago.

Wasn’t too interested in the usual things people go to Vegas for. To me, casinos are like Chuck E. Cheese for sedentary grown ups.  Not that I don’t like being sedentary. Not that I don’t like Chuck E. Cheese, but on the few times I’ve taken my kids there, I’ve left with a massive headache and a lot less money in my pocket. I’m not too interested in The Strip, because I have a problem knowing what to do when I’m overstimulated — too many lights, sounds, people. (That’s why I prefer Central Park to Times Square in NYC.)

I am into nature. I find God in nature. I find beauty in trees.

I am an unashamed tree hugger. I will hug a tree every chance I get. You can ask my kids. I make them hug trees too. I say out loud,  “Thank you, old tree, for being here.”  In Vegas, I didn’t hug a tree, but I discovered a canyon.

With only a couple of hours before I had to catch the plane back to NYC, I asked the front desk clerk what sight I should take in. “Red Rock Canyon,”  she said without hesitation. I never got to thank her.

It was other-worldly beautiful. The snow the night before made the whole thing look like a moonscape. The red of the rock. The white of the snow. The gauzy grey clouds. The ocean-blue sky.

Every turn on the 13-mile scenic drive caused a gasp in wonder. “Purple mountains majesty.” Indeed. 

When I left the scenic drive, and was back on the highway, I noticed so many cars pulled over on the shoulder. The drivers were all standing beside their cars, looking up at the canyon walls, the snow, the sky.

I bet just about everyone who saw the canyon that day pulled over to photograph it on their phones or pocket cameras. I did.

To me, the sights of the natural world around Vegas are so much more compelling than the lights of the Strip. Maybe the tourism board doesn’t promote the natural world near Vegas because the visit doesn’t add to the region’s economy the way casinos do.

Yet the sight of Red Rock Canyon covered in snow stimulated me in a deep spiritual way. In a way no manmade luxury hotel could ever do.

I twittered that afternoon that seeing the Red Rock Canyon covered in snow made me believe in God. Someone replied, asking me then if Ansel Adams was an atheist? I don’t know. All I know is that trees, rocks, clouds, and natural beauty inspire awe.

That afternoon reminded me that I am small and the world is big. For me, that’s a God moment.

Remembering My 7 Rules

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1. Pile on the people (modified to pile on the useful people)

2. Escape through literature (modified to escape through the arts)

3. Remember your hoops of steel (priorities! priorities! for me, my work and my kids!)

4. Create a secret garden (shhhhhh! it’s a secret)

5.Expect the best, love what you get (from horses, kids, and yourself!)

6. Live everyday as if it’s your last

7. Embrace uncertainty

The underside of the upper bunk

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It is a spiritual experience looking up at the underside of the upper bunk. The fabric of the covered board is a retro brown and orange pattern. Yes, my twin 10 year olds’ matching Target quilts are trendier and prettier – purple and pink and full of LOVE. But there is something soothing about that orange and brown tacky plaid when I’m snuggling Catherine and looking up at the underside of Charlotte’s bed.

More than the look of the patterns or the feel of the fabrics, it is that moment in the warmth of my middle child that I treasure.

Soon, so soon, my girls will be taller than me. They will want me to give up our nightly cuddle. I can’t bear to think about that. I love the smells of the three kids as they’re about to tumble down the rabbit hole of sleep: their peachy, dewy, freshly brushed smell. So delicious.

I lay beside each of my darlings, cuddling them to sleep. For years, the first one to get snuggled has been Catherine, the middle child on the bottom bunk. I feel safe beside her, cocooned there, looking up. Then, the little one will call for a snuggle, and then, from the adjoining room, my 12-year old son, will call, “Mom, tuck me in!”

And then, after all that cuddling and tucking, I’ll drag my own sorry self to bed where no one snuggles me to sleep and there’s not much of a view to look up at.

Remembering Clint

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I was walking with Clint and Adam on Claremont, heading home from work. They were headed to McSorley’s Pub and invited me to join them. Clint had never been there. I had been there too many times in college. I begged out – kids, husband, dinner to make. (I had wanted to and now, of course, I wish I had.)

For some reason as we walked to the subway that night, we got talking about our cell phones. They both told me I had to get Google Maps. Clint said it was great for getting around the city, for finding your way.  

People are complex. It shows in their friendships. Like the friendship between Clint and Adam.

“Clint and Adam were best friends? But they’re so different!” Charlotte, one of my 10-year olds, told me a few days ago. Not so different – both handsome, quick-witted, global. Their thirty-something year age difference didn’t seem to matter.

Clint saw beyond perceived differences in people. He seemed to make and keep friends easily.

Clint was devoted to his unlikely and diverse family of friends. I realized this during the worship at the fall board meeting a few years ago. During that service, the presiding bishop asked family and close friends who knew each new missionary or had walked with them on their life’s journey to stand. I felt too embarrassed to stand up for anyone, although I knew and liked some of the new missionaries.  

The Vangs are members of the United Methodist Hmong Community of Minnesota. They were being commissioned to serve in Southeast Asia. When the Vangs names were spoken, Clint stood. He stood very tall, very happy, very proud. He was not embarrassed. Afterwards, he hugged the Vangs tightly.

A colleague told me that Clint had a heart for Southeast Asia. It surprised me. I don’t know why. Yes, Clint had a folksy, Texan, big-hearted charm. I just had not seen Clint as the global, diverse, loving man he was until that worship when I saw him hugging the entire Vang family. He was such a gentle giant.

As a tribute to Clint who cultivated such a diverse group of friends like Adam and the Vangs, I, too, want to stand for people who appear different. I think, even better than Google Maps, that was the way Clint found his way around.

Remembering Sam

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“I’d like to take a year off to photograph sunrises every day for a year,” Sam had said. “I’m funny like that.”

We were walking out of 475 on Claremont from work at the same time one day, maybe a year ago. This creative and poetic side to Sam Dixon surprised and impressed me. I can’t remember the context of our conversation. Did he say we wanted to photograph both sunrises and sunsets? Was it the beauty of the day’s sunset that sparked this conversation?

I remembered this snatch of conversation on Wednesday when I first heard Sam had been in the Hotel Montana in Haiti during the earthquake. It seemed no one had survived. I felt deeply sad. Sad that Sam wouldn’t get to take that year off to capture those daily miracles.

Then I heard that Sam was rescued on Friday. I laughed to myself and said, “Shoot, I’m going to tease Sam about that conversation. I’m gonna’ ask him when I see him, ‘Will you take some time off now to photograph the daily sunrise?’ I’m gonna’ tell him, “I couldn’t get that conversation out of my mind.” I was so glad he was alive. So glad. Then, on Saturday night, I learned that he hadn’t been rescued at all. So sad.

I remembered one of my last conversations with Sam, a few weeks ago. I was looking for Paul Kong, his predecessor at the development fund, on the 15th floor. Our offices were all discombobulated since the downsizing over the last couple of months. We didn’t know where to find each other. I hadn’t realized UMCOR had moved to the 15th floor. Then, I saw Sam.

He was back in his old office – the same office he’d had when he headed the evangelism department a few years earlier. At that time, occasionally, I’d find myself perched with a notebook in front of the big man and his big desk. He was always accessible, always smart, always kind, always easy-going, always funny, always good with a quote.

“Hey,” I stepped into his office. “You’re back in this office?” I asked. He had his old view of the Hudson, the Palisades, the George Washington Bridge. “It’s nice here. Must feel familiar?” I asked him.

“Yup,” he said, smiling, nodding, looking around. “Kinda’ like coming home.”

I hope that in his death, Sam really is home, more home than in his 15th floor office, more home than in his own home. Maybe in death, Sam is getting to take in the daily sunrise. Maybe, in some way, he’s a part of it.

One way I’m going to remember Sam is by paying attention to the daily miracle of the sunrise and the sunset. I might even photograph a few, just ’cause Sam didn’t get to.

Lunch in Akumal with Joanna

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We sat in our bathing suits and cover ups in Akumal at La Luncheria, the kids’ favorite breakfast and lunch spot.

We talked about running. We agreed we would run a 5K in 2010.

I told Joanna how proud I was for her great review in the New York Times last month. She is having a great career.

We sat at the counter. My kids snuggled onto my wooden chair, crowding me, eating tortilla chips off my plate (my mother would hate that!)

That night, we met up again after dinner at the Snack Bar, the thatched roof outdoor dining part of Club Caribe. The kids and I sat at a long table with her mother and a million of her sister’s fiance’s family.

Joanna’s sister knows about blogging. She advised me to update my Google Profile, have a good “About” page, link more to others.

Joanna and I have been friends for more than ten years. We met at the Depot Theatre when she was in Radio Gals and I was teaching the Depot Apprentice Program. I had brought my students to the Depot to watch a real live play rehearsal. The kids fell in love with her in Radio Gals. What’s not to love? She is extremely smart, talented, funny. She can write, act, teach, sing, play instruments. She and I have had comedy gigs together – my highlight? Our comedy/improv show, Saturday Night Live, at the Princeton Public Library. She has been my writing coach. She hosts this great monthly, new work showcase, the Happy Hour Salon, one Friday night every month. http://joannaparson.com/