Oh No, My Mother Just Joined LinkedIn

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My mother just requested to join my network. What should I do? Soon she’ll be telling me to change my profile picture, get a hair cut, rewrite my status update, stop cursing. (I tell my son that last one!)

On the other hand, I may need a job recommendation and we have worked together. Seriously. I was a guest lecturer in her college classroom. And she’d be there if I needed her. It’d be a way for us to be linked if our phones went down.

I’m not sure. I’ve just felt that social media was my realm, my playground. And I’m doing great without her. I’m growing up, Ma.

I know Facebook is not far behind. Facebrag has a competitive edge. Who has the cutest kids? The most friends? The wittiest comments? Me, Joanne Woodward, Lou Stellato.

Yes, she’d get to see a lot more photos of her grandkids. And read a lot more of my writing, including this post. So I better stop writing now.

I do write to be read. And I do love my mother. So, yes I’ll accept her request to connect to my network on LinkedIn. After all, their tagline is: Relationships matter. Yes, they do. Especially the online relationships between parent and child.

Reading at the Art Share

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I locked up my bike. I was pretty nervous about the reading. I used to perform a lot. But it’s been a while. I do presentations for work, but that’s not the same.

Reading my own story, I could be judged, not just on my performance but on my material. I had signed up to read at the New York Insight Meditation Center Art Share. http://www.nyimc.org/ Not exactly the stress of Amateur Night at the Apollo, but still, stressful.

Just breathe, I reminded myself.

Buddhism and its practitioners are known for non-judgment. What a great concept — not judging.

I was reading a story that I knew to be funny, poignant, true. It was a mash-up of a few blog posts, one of which was about a mindfulness walk on a retreat.  As I walked, I took out my phone to snap  a picture and then it happened — I got caught in the web of social media — answering emails, texts, updating my Facebook, all while trying to meditate. I had gone on the retreat to get away from it all, but unwittingly plunked myself right back  into the thick of it all. https://mbcoudal.wordpress.com/2010/11/12/blue-cliff-monastery/

The reading went well. I got some laughs, some nods, some smiles.

After the reading, I felt that post-performance high — that arm-stretched-in-the-air pose of a gymnast who has just nailed her floor routine.

I bumped into an acquaintance who was about to teach a yoga class. She told me that my reading went well.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling grateful.

That’s when I realized the purpose of doing a reading or blogging or putting myself out there — is to turn acquaintances into friends. And to feel grateful.

I got on my bike. I rode home feeling proud and humble at the same time.

Cash Flow

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This photo does not really have to do with the post. But Friday night the sunset beyond Riverside Park was so lovely.

Chatting with Joe, the financial advisor, I discovered something — our resources are finite! That’s amazing. Like my energy level on a Sunday night after a long weekend, I cannot go on indefinitely and neither can our financial hemorrhaging.

I have blogged about how I am oblivious to money. https://mbcoudal.wordpress.com/2011/03/03/stocks-and-numbers/ Money comes, money goes. I shrug; I could care less. Bills get paid. Groceries are purchased. What else do I need to know? Um, a lot. I am supposed to save for college, retirement, Chris’s more immediate chronic health care needs. I am supposed to notice how we spend. I am trying to get a clue.

The good news was that we do not have any debt. The bad news is that we do not have the proverbial emergency liquid fund.

But my big aha? Resources are finite.

I have always bought into the New Age notion that money is energy. When you need more, you insert yourself into an abundant stream. To me that idea of an infinite universe is more appealing than a finite universe. But it may not be as practical. Or fund the kids’ college and all that.

The Food Plate

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The food pyramid is now the food plate. http://www.choosemyplate.gov/

Every year, I’d go into my kids’ classrooms and teach the kids about the food pyramid. I’d bring in posters I’d ordered free from mypyramid.gov. I had a whole spiel, talking with them about good eating habits.

The year they added the stairs to the side of the pyramid, I understood and ageed with the rationale — yes, of course, we should exercise — but felt the message was confusing. Does chasing a ball really have to do with eating healthy foods? (Maybe it does.) But the food pyramid, I thought, should be about eating the right foods.

There were and maybe still are very little discussions about how to eat healthily in public school classrooms — even though it’s something we do several times a day and kids enjoy sharing practical ideas about eating.

While the food pyramid required interpretation, the food plate is pretty obvious. Make your plate look like the one in the picture. Kids get that. I like that.

But even better than showing kids what to eat was letting them try it. I’d set up little plates for each kid with samples of each category of food — a spoonful of yogurt, broccoli, garbanzo beans, grapes, and popcorn. Kids loved it.

I’d also do some exercises on media literacy and food. I’d ask the kids, “What commercials have you seen for food lately?”

“Fruit gushers.”  “Big Macs.”  “Reese’s Puff cereal.”

“Right,” I said. “What about broccoli? Or grapes? Or chickpeas? Let’s make up our own commercials about vegetables, fruits, and beans.”

I assigned small groups to create commercials that included 1) some music 2) some tag line 3) some movement 4) some conflict. (Because, you know, conflict is the essence of drama. And we wanted the commercials to be dramatic.)

The commercials were very funny.

Invariably, one of the kids would ask, “Is it all right to eat candy?” “Yes,” I would say, “A tiny little bit is okay. Just not too much.”

One of the teachers suggested that I take my curriculum on the road to talk to more public school kids about healthy eating. I’d like to, but Michelle Obama seems to have that job. And she’s doing a pretty good job of it too.

More Friends

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I’ve been trying to drive up my number of Facebook friends to surpass 1,000.  I believe the more friends you have, the more you achieve.

There are studies to bear this out. UCLA researchers studied LA high school students and discovered More school friends?=better grades. I like to think that the study goes for more adult friends too. More work friends?=better work.

Journal of Research on Adolescence — adolescents with more in-school friends than out-of-school friends had higher grade-point averages and — complementing this finding — that those with higher GPAs had more in-school friends. (from http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/06/100603172221.

It fits in beautifully with my Rules for Happiness #1 — Pile on the People. https://mbcoudal.wordpress.com/2011/05/23/pile-on-people-and-activities/

The key for me is to draw the circle wide. My friends are varied in status, age, race, gender.

I learned a long time ago, especially as a writer, that the person to befriend is not the CEO but the CEO’s assistant. He or she is the one who really knows what’s going on and can get you the good story.

I love that FB has made the word friend a verb as well as a noun. It’s no secret that I’m in love with social media, especially blogging on WordPress.

One of my real (and FB) friends mentioned that she’s concerned that by blogging we’re creating a false sense of intimacy. Maybe it’s true we reveal a little too much of ourselves. I’m not sure — to figure out what I think about this, I’ll have to talk it over with one of my friends. Or maybe I’ll just instant message them.

3 Simple Rules

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When I used to do stand up, I would tell myself 3 things right before I went on stage:

1. Be yourself

2. Have fun

3. It’s important

And I am trying to tell myself these same 3 rules at the start of every day.

I did not sleep well last night. One of the darlings came into bed with me at around 2. She’s nearly as big as an adult so she woke me. We have no air conditioning. It was  hot. I tossed and turned. Then I  moved to my daughter’s now-empty bed. I’d heard an antidote to insomnia is changing rooms.

As I walked in the hall, I heard the television was still on. My husband stays up way too late into the night, sometimes until 3 or 4. Then of course he falls asleep in the early evening hours when you’re talking to him (blame the Parkinson’s). Hearing the television just made me feel all sad and jumbled — my life, my restless night, my work. And I couldn’t wait until morning so I could dump all my thoughts, worries, dreams, into my journal.

1. Be yourself. Because there is a unique point of view based on a unique life’s journey. And for whatever reason, this is my journey. This is mine.

2. Have fun. Because I seriously believe that we are put on this earth to give and experience joy. The goal in life is to be happy, joyous, and free.

3. It’s important. Because I can easily dismiss my point of view, or expect that I am less than. But what I have to say is important.

I did fall asleep in my daughter’s bed and woke to write all this in my journal.

Everyone Drives Me Crazy

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It could be the heat today. But everyone is so annoying! At work my colleagues expect all my work to be done last week. At home my kids yell at me to help them with homework. Genius takes time, my friends. You can’t expect a unicorn to work like a mule. Maybe I am just crabby.

I blame it on my husband’s Parkinson’s Disease. I blame everything on his PD.

And there is one other thing — one huge contribution to today’s overall sucky-ness. (If you know me, you know I’m rarely in this sucky camp. I’m usually in the glass-is-half-full camp. I stay happy because I have made up and followed my 7 Rules to Happiness and they usually work! But not today.)

Today’s pity party reached a crescendo when after racing my bike to get to one of my darling’s appointments at the orthodontist, I discovered I’d have  to cough up $295 dollars to replace each of my darling’s two lost retainers. That’s right. A set of lost retainers will set me back $590.

After the trip to the orthodontist I consoled myselt that when I got home, at least the house would be clean. See, Chris is extremely messy (blame the PD) (and admittedly, I’m no Felix Unger myself), but Wednesday nights are usually the one night when I don’t have to kick the house into some semblance of order when I get home from work. Because A., the cleaning person, works magic in our apartment on Wednesdays.

I was thinking ‘Tonite, the house will be clean and I will make myself some jewelry.’ I’d biked to the craft store and bought some beads. I like to be crafty. It’s calming, fun, productive. But A. couldn’t make it today. So I spent the night, cooking, cleaning, being generally pissed off. I didn’t make any jewelry. I just helped with homework and cleaned the kitchen.

Okay, I can’t end this post without admitting to a few highlights of my day too: Laying on the grass at Barnard with Liz at lunchtime and reading the kids Deenie  by Judy Blume for our Mother-Daughter book club before they went to sleep.

Tomorrow’s another day. I doubt it will suck. I will try to be grateful and I will try to be happy.

Why Was Our Senator at the Beach today?

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I was suggesting the girls take one last trip to the women’s room before we drove home from Jones Beach. That’s when I spotted the senator on the boardwalk. I was thrilled.

“Hey, that’s our guy,” I said to my husband Chris. “What’s his name again?”

“Chuck Schumer,” Chris said.

“Right. Kids, let’s meet our senator — Chuck Schumer.”

We shook hands. I snapped a picture. He asked, “What’s your name?

“Catherine Jones.”

“And is this Mrs. Jones?” he asked me.

“Actually, it’s Ms. Coudal, but whatever.” I mumbled.

“Nice to meet you.”

Then we moved on. I commented that he was taller in person. We stopped at the bathroom. We spun some wheel to get a free pair of sunglasses at a bank give-away.

We left the boardwalk and then saw the senator again. How did he get ahead of us? He was chatting with another family. Now there were  young men standing near him holding up signs, “Meet Senator Schumer.”

“Oh we love him. He’s our guy,” I told the young men.

We went and said, “Hi!” again to Senator Schumer. I blurted out. “Hey, we love the president. And we love you.” I totally interrupted his schmooze-fest with this other family. He was saying the family’s name — it was an Italian name — and he knew someone that they were related to. If you’re a politician, I guess you know people.

He turned his attention to us. “Hey the Joneses! You’ve got an easy name.” We snapped another picture.

I will try to remember our senator’s name next time I see him. Just like he remembered mine — while not mine exactly. But my family’s name.

The Cloister Gardens

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Note to self: it’s not the destination, it’s the journey.

To get to the medieval monastery, the girls and I walked through the Heather Garden in Fort Tryon Park. I bumped into my friend Dorothy in her floppy hat watering the flowers. She’s a gardener who used to be an editor. We chatted about coworkers. We chatted about Bette Midler, who was going to be honored by the park.

Then we chatted about the Art Students League. We both took watercolor classes there. But there are no watercolors as beautiful as flowers in a garden. If I painted them, they’d look too blue, too fake, too beautiful.

I asked Dorothy, “Where is the heather?” She was vague, “Over there.”

But she pointed out the phenomenal bright red poppies. “As big as a baby’s head!” I said. We marveled at the flowers and walked on.

We tried to lunch at the Leaf Cafe but there was a wedding reception in progress.

“I’m never getting married,” K. said. “Because I could ruin some kids’ lunch.” So we walked to the Cloisters and lunched there. It was a lovely day in the park.

It felt like summer had just descended us as we walked through the Heather Garden to the Cloisters.

Just that  morning I had been reading a study from a Twitter Friend, @uukady  that said, “Cultural activities are good for your health, Norwegian study finds.” http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/05/110523201050.htm?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=

“In fact, being involved in either receptive cultural activities (such as attending a theatre performance or viewing an art show) or creative culture activities (where participants themselves are active in the creative process) was found to be related not only to good health, but to satisfaction with life, and low levels of anxiety and depression,” the Norwegian study noted.

Visiting a museum or garden feels good. But the visit is also good for you.

Especially the journey through the garden.

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Love Tennis

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I love biking, tennis and soul food.

That’s what I was thinking when I was riding to work yesterday. But I couldn’t think long, because I kept stopping to snap pictures of peonies.

I played tennis two nights this week. And thus, my energy for blogging has waned. I’ve been waking up all creaky from the tennis, but then anxious to play again. Last night Dan invited me to play for the third night in a row (Thanks Dan!). But instead, I chose sangria and soul food with girlfriends (Thanks Angelique & Cindy) at the fabulous Melba’s in Harlem (Thanks Larry for the recommendation).

I discovered when we walked back to unlock my bike after Melba’s that Harlem was spinning and there was something stronger than white wine in those white sangrias!  So I stuck to biking through the safety of Central Park not the mean city streets.

And even though I didn’t play tennis last night, I woke up today, again, all creaky and achey. Tennis or sangria? Pick your poison. You’ll pay in the morning.

Just stop on the way to smell the flowers.