You get what you need when you need it most

What I learned this week

Maybe it was the fact I was home alone this week after spending several busy days with my grandsons last week. Or maybe it's hormones. Or perhaps it's the weather changing. Whatever the reason, I've been off my game for the past several days.

My primary off-game symptom has been feeling kind of down on myself about where I'm headed — or more accurately, not headed — with my writing. Having been a writer of one degree or another for the past few decades, I get that most writers get that way now and again. That's little consolation.

Wednesday, just as I was hitting bottom and frustrating even the dogs with my negative attitude all because I felt like I was writing <cuss> — if I was writing at all — I got an email notification of a new tweet on Twitter that mentioned me. As I was open to doing anything other than staring at a screen of my words that weren't stringing together satisfactorily, I clicked on over to Twitter and found this:

Tears came to my eyes. Seriously. That's how much that tweet meant to me, how much I needed to hear that my words matter, that my words make a difference somewhere, somehow, to someone.

The someone perplexed me. I have no idea who Rosie Kuhn is. I have never interacted with her on Twitter or elsewhere before. She doesn't follow me, I don't follow her. Well, we didn't before Wednesday.

But for some reason my words on being heartbroken when I learned I'd be a grandma resonated with Ms. Kuhn, possibly gave her something she needed. In return, she gave me — a total stranger — what I needed. When I needed it most.

That small tweet from her that meant big things to me was yet another in a long line of moments of late when I've gotten exactly what I needed when I needed it most. Not earthshaking victories of any sort, but confirmation what I need will come.

Because, yes, you get what you need when you need it most.

And you're reminded of that when you most need to remember it.

That is what I learned this week.

PS: I also learned this week that I want to go back to posting on Saturdays, after having taken the weekends off during the summer. Stay tuned for tomorrow's Saturday post, a feature you'll find here every Saturday going forward. I hope you enjoy it!

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

Wherein Grandma rethinks the family bed

Our kids climb into bed with Jim and me each morning. Their sole goal? To get us to rise and shine, get up and give them breakfast.

Now, that may seem strange considering our three daughters are adults and don't live in our house. But it's not our human kids I'm talking about, it's our cat kids.

Early each morning, Abby and Isabel hop onto the foot of the bed and meow their way all the way up to our heads, demanding we notice them, love them, and, most importantly, get out of the freakin' bed and feed them. Abby in particular is the alarm kitty. If I ignore her pleas, she heads on over to my iPhone cord on the night stand and starts chewing on it, for she knows darn well that will have me up and at her in a split second.

Yesterday morning when "the girls" got into bed with us, I mentioned to Jim how crazy it would be if we let our dogs into the bed with us, too. Mickey and Lyla have their own bedroom, though, with a baby gate put up each night so they can't get out — which means they can't climb into our bed in the morning, like the cats do.

"Just think if they did," I said to Jim. "We'd have all our kids in bed with us."

Which led me to immediately mention that our real kids — our human kids, our daughters — never climbed into bed with us in the mornings. Never.

Why is that? I wondered out loud. It's not like the girls weren't allowed in our bedroom, weren't welcome to join us if they felt the need.

I remember one night in particular when Andrea definitely felt the need. It was during the summer between her fifth- and sixth-grade years at school, a scary transitional time that caused her to have nightmares. After several failed attempts to calm her fears in her own bed one night, she took me up on the offer to sleep in a makeshift bed on the floor beside ours.

That didn't work. Andie still couldn't sleep, still was afraid.

So I told her we'd turn on the television in our bedroom to the Cartoon Network — at a very low volume — to take her mind off scary things.

Regardless of volume level, though, the George of the Jungle Marathon running on the network that night was the stuff of nightmares, at least for Jim and me. ♪George, George, George of the Jungle, watch out for that tree!♪ kept us awake — and unhappy — for hours.

After a several episodes, we'd had enough. Andie apparently had, too, for she didn't balk too much when I led her back to her own bed. Where she did finally fall asleep.

Jim and I, though, couldn't fall asleep for we couldn't get ♪George, George, George of the Jungle♪ out of our heads, out of our dreams.

Never again, we told ourselves... and our girls. To this day, mentions of George of the Jungle elicit groans and grins from Jim, Andrea and myself as we recall the nightmarish marathon.

Back in those childrearing years, I was thankful the girls rarely asked to sleep in our bed and that they never woke us in the mornings by crawling under the covers with us. But now it saddens me.

It saddens me because as a grandma, I realize what Jim and I missed. The mornings when I'm visiting my grandsons and they crawl into bed with me — which is every morning when I'm at their house... and usually before the sun even considers creeping up over the horizon — are some of the sweetest moments shared with my beloved boys.

Which is one of the more important things Jim and I failed to learn when our girls were little.

There's no going back, though, no way to remedy that error we made with our children. But we can, as grandparents, make the most of the moments when our grandchildren crawl into bed with us.

I will do exactly that with open arms next week, when I'll be sleeping one room away from Bubby and Mac.

Next week I'll have four mornings to relish the slow creaking open of Gramma's bedroom door as the boys together peek in at me, then the pitter-patter of little feet scampering over to my bed while I pretend I'm asleep. Then I'll lift the covers, make room for Bubby on one side, Mac on the other. We'll snuggle for just a bit, and once they've done all the snuggling their wiggly little boy bodies can handle, we'll discuss our dreams from the night, recite our plans for the day.

I didn't get it with my girls, but I now realize with my boys that such times truly are the best part of waking up when there are children in the house.

As a parent, the family bed was never my thing, for I didn't want to be continually awakened by little kids.

As a grandparent, I can't imagine any better wake-up call.

Today's question:

Did your kids climb into bed with you in the mornings? Do your grandkids?

Grandma's grand impression

As I get older, I find that I no longer care much about impressing others. That wasn't always the case.

I recall doing my best to impress as far back as my primary school years, in particular during a fateful event featuring a frog. That should have left a lasting impression upon me the folly of trying to impress others. It didn't.

Years later, my older sister reinforced the idea that impressing others matters when she, a teen at the time and me a pre-teen, introduced me to her new boyfriend. My sister and I shared a bedroom, and she positioned me on the full bed we shared with a book in my lap. "Be sure to put on your glasses before he comes in," she said. "That way he'll think you're smart."

I did look smart. He, though, turned out to be an idiot — which my sister realized only after that boyfriend became her husband then, thankfully, ex-husband.

I still wear glasses, and I still look pretty darn smart in them. I wear them strictly to see, though, not to impress. Because, like I said, impressing others matters not one whit to me. I no longer work to impress my immediate family nor my extended family, not my friends nor strangers. Not even my boss.

Okay, the last one — my boss — doesn't really count because as a freelancer, I have no boss. I do, though, have my readers. And while I do hope to entertain and enlighten you to some degree, I certainly don't try to impress you.

Nope, impressing others is no longer important to me.

Except, that is, when it comes to my grandchildren.

You grandparents likely know what I mean. What others think of us is neither here nor there, yet what our grandchildren think of us is everything. So we do our best to impress the wee ones, performing stunts of magnificent athletic/artistic/intelligence proportion that scream "Look at me! Love me! Be impressed by me!"

And sometimes those shouts and stunts fail miserably. Or they just plain scare the <cuss> out of the kids. Which is exactly what happened not too long ago when I tried to impress Bubby with Gramma's grace and agility.

Bubby had been impressing me with his newfound acrobatic skills, when I chose to reciprocate and show him my own not-so-newfound but perhaps equally impressive moves. Specifically, I wanted Bubby to see how I could still turn a mean cartwheel, despite not having performed a cartwheel in, well, a few years, give or take a decade or three.

"Stand back," I told Bubby as I raised my arms in the air and assumed cartwheel take-off position.

My obedient grandson stood back, eyes wide and mouth ajar, as Gramma lurched forward, perfectly placed on the floor one hand then the other, then lifted one fo... oh ... lifted nothing, as my feet flat-out refused to follow the perfect lead of my hands. My cartwheel attempt and I came crashing down, much to the horror of Bubby.

"You shouldn't do that, Gramma" Bubby uttered with restrained concern. "You might hurt yourself."

I was okay, though; the only thing hurt was my pride.

But... there was no stopping me and my intent to impress.

"Well, forget the cartwheel," I told Bubby. "But Gramma can definitely still perform perfect somersaults." Sheesh, who couldn't? I thought.

Let's just say my somersault attempt was only slightly less catastrophic than my cartwheel attempt — and only because it didn't require me to become semi-airborne.

Truth is, my body weighs many, many pounds more than it once did, pounds that posed quite a challenge to my neck when I placed my head firmly on the floor and set myself in slow but purposeful forward motion in typical somersault fashion. Slow being the operative word as I felt a crunch in my neck that signaled Gramma had gone a wee bit beyond awkward on this move and had rolled right on into physically dangerous territory.

Bubby grimaced while offering "Wow, Gramma" as quickly as possible so I'd dare not attempt another roll. (Little did he know there was no way in <cuss> Gramma could have proceeded into a second roll.) Fortunately he — nor Megan — ever seemed to noticed how stiff I held my head and neck for the next several days of my visit, as I truly had hurt myself, that it was more than my pride I had been pinged in that particular attempt to impress.

From such folly, I must admit I did learn one important lesson from Bubby: Quit trying so hard.

It was later during that same visit that I realized my sister had been right all those years ago: Sporting spectacles is indeed the key to making a smart impression.

If nothing else, glasses are definitely the safest way for a grandma to make an impression — at least for this sometimes-not-so-smart grandma.

Today's question:

How have you tried — and possibly failed — to impress your grandchildren or children?

What I learned this week: Keeping the browns and the blues at bay

I love avocados. Jim hates avocados. So any avocados I buy are mine and mine alone to enjoy.

Because I usually only eat half an avocado at a time — in sandwiches, salads and so forth — the second half that I save for later often turns brown while sitting in the fridge waiting for me to nosh on it.

Not anymore.

This week I learned that if you lightly spray the cut avocado with cooking spray, it doesn't turn brown.

Seriously.

Pictorial proof is here:

The other day, I ate half an avocado on a sandwich at lunch time. I lightly sprayed the other half and stuck it in a baggie (bagging it loosely instead of having it touch the avocado flesh, just to see if the cooking spray really did work).

 

Five hours later I pulled the avocado half from the fridge to slice up for a dinner salad. It looked like this once released from its bag:

 

See? I kept the browns at bay, thanks to cooking spray. Easy-peasy.

Keeping the blues at bay isn't as easy-peasy, I learned this week.

As many of you know, my sister has been hospitalized for more than two weeks now. Yesterday she was moved from ICU to a regular floor. There was even talk she might get to go home in a day or so.

Hooray!

Just a few hours after my sister called with the good news, I got another phone call, one informing me my sister was back in ICU. She'd suffered another coughing/bleeding/nearly heart-stopping episode and had been returned to the unit where they could care for her best.

The blues instantly set in for many of us.

If only cooking spray could keep the blues away from hearts and minds as well as it keeps the browns from avocados.

That is what I learned this week.

May your weekend be grand, your browns and blues easily cured... or avoided in the first place.

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

Priorities and Grandparents Day

In light of what I shared with you yesterday, I learned this week that some things simply take priority over writing a wise or witty blog post. Or even a stupid and silly blog post.

So I didn't write a post today.

That doesn't mean I don't have a post for you, though. No, no, no — you're not getting away that easily.

While I didn't write anything wise or witty — or stupid or silly — I do have this for you in celebration of Grandparents Day, which is Sunday.

Best wishes for a fantastic Grandparents Day!

Today's question:

What are your Grandparents Day plans?

What I learned this week: Quote me

Of all the things I learned this week, the how is nowhere near as important as the what.

So rather than explain the genesis of each lesson I recently learned, I'll simply share with you the bottom-line lessons themselves — via the words of folks who became wise in these areas long before I.

(One exception: the last lesson, which is in my words and my words alone.)

And my messiest lesson of all:

Seriously!

All of the above, my friends, is what I learned this week.

Enjoy the long holiday weekend. Best wishes for a safe and memorable farewell to summer!

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

What I learned this week: Aha moments on ears, Tori Amos, and swingers

I like to learn new things all the time. Sometimes those things are big, sometimes not so big at all. This week what I learned leaned more to the latter — yet interesting to me just the same.

EARS
Did you know that your earlobes provide skin to be used to replace facial skin removed due to skin cancer? I did not know that, but now I do.

The story isn't mine to tell, so I can't share in full, but a loved one of mine had skin cancer spots removed from her face this week. Those spots were deep and wide and in need of skin to cover the (literal) holes left by removing the bad stuff. I'd been told the likely source for skin replacement was her earlobes. I imagined her having her face patched up but no longer being able to wear earrings as her ear lobe was cut off, split open like a chicken breast then the fillet stitched to her face.

Thankfully that's not how it works. Instead, small slivers of skin were sliced from her lobe — which remained fully attached — and carefully placed on the spots in need of coverage. Who'da thunk it?

TORI AMOS
I've never felt strongly about Ms. Amos one way or another. To be honest, I can't even think of a song title or even a snippet of a tune of songs that she's sung. That said, though, I've always thought of her — if I ever thought of her at all — as being much younger than me.

Well guess what? I learned (from AARP magazine) that Tori Amos will be 50 next Thursday. FIFTY! That's just too weird to me, for some reason. It's kind of like learning that Pee Wee Herman is, well, he's ... (Googling it real quick) ... Ohmigosh! Pee Wee Herman/Paul Rubens is 60! Sixty-one on the 27th, actually. Not that that's old, but so not what I expected for Pee Wee. Kind of makes Tori Amos seem such a baby.

SWINGERS
Jim has been trying his darnedest for years to attract hummingbirds to our yard. Considering how abundant they are in our area, you'd think we'd have at least a few stopping by our place. Nothing for years. Then last year we got one. ONE! All summer long we saw only one little guy sipping on one of the hummingbird feeders in our yard.

Because of Jim's determination to attract the hummers, Megan and her family gave Jim for Father's Day a pretty new hummingbird feeder, a book on attracting them, and a sweet little swing the birds would supposedly swing away on.

Well, the book helped, as we finally — finally — have several hummingbirds visiting not only the pretty new feeder but our old one, too. The swing? Meh... it's cute and all, but we never expected it to be much of a draw for the hummingbirds.

Oh my, were we wrong. Those little guys and gals love it. They're not only hummers, they're swingers, too. And one in particular swings long enough and often enough for me to get some pretty darn cute photos of her merrily swinging away.

 

As you can see, the lessons weren't huge or life-changing — well, the ear one was for one person I know — but they are indeed what I learned this week.

Enjoy your weekend! I look forward to connecting again come Monday!

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

What I learned this week: I am blessed

As a long-distance grandma, there's this fact about me: I miss my grandsons. Daily. Sometimes hourly.

Thing is, despite missing my grandsons all.the.<cuss>.time, I have a pretty good life. I was reminded this week of just how good it is.

I have mornings that feature:

Hummingbirds on my deck...

 

Deer doing their daily doings while I walk my dogs...

 

And this heartwarming feeding I was thrilled to witness...

 

(Though I was chided for interrupting...)

All that while Pikes Peak keeps watch from the west...

 

And that's just my morning, just one small sliver of my day, my life. There's much more that's equally amazing, equally jaw-dropping awesome. How could I consider myself anything but blessed?

Though that's not really a lesson I learned this week, it's one I tend to forget. The sights above — all photographed yesterday morning — reminded me once more how blessed I am, despite missing my Megan and my grandsons. And reminders are nearly as good as a lesson, I think, especially when reminded again and again, just as I was yesterday.

So there you have it: I am blessed. And that is what I learned — or re-learned — this week.

(Now if I could only learn how to not miss my grandsons.)

I'm off for the weekend! Best wishes for a lovely one for you and yours. I look forward to seeing you here again Monday. Cheers!

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

What I learned this week: I shoot now, tweet later

Not long ago, I had a telephone conversation with a wise and wonderful entrepreneur with whom I hope to partner on some projects in the future. She asked me how I feel about my proficiency on a variety of social media platforms, one of them being Twitter.

Now, I feel like I'm pretty good with Twitter. No, not the best, but certainly not the worst either, considering I'm less than 20 followers away from crossing the 5,000-follower mark. I'm pretty good at Twitter parties, and I do a dandy job of connecting with and promoting brands and friends on Twitter, too. So I told her that.

"And what about live tweeting?" the wise entrepreneur asked.

First, let me explain to those who may not know what live tweeting is. It's sending out tweets on Twitter during an event, letting your followers know all about — via texts and often photos, too — the event you're attending or participating in or watching (yes, live tweeting is done during television shows, too). This is quite useful for brands and PR folks when hoping to generate interest and see a specific hashtag for their cause trend on Twitter.

So I told the entrepreneur I have indeed live tweeted but to a fairly minimal degree, explaining the live tweeting I did while at the Lifesavers Conference a few months ago.

"But you'll be live tweeting at BlogHer, right?" she asked. To which I enthusiastically responded, "Oh, yeah, definitely," because I had every intention of doing so.

Well guess what? I didn't do much live tweeting at BlogHer. To be honest, I'm not sure I did any. I meant to. But then I realized after each event, after each opportunity, that I completely let the opportunity to tweet live pass me by. I'd been too busy living and photographing the moments to live tweet said moments.

I should have been better at remembering to live tweet, considering the first event I attended — within an hour or so of me landing in Chicago — was filled with folks live tweeting the event. I'm willing to bet that's what at least a few of these GenFab friends of mine were doing at this captured moment:

Alas, it didn't lead to me tweeting. Just picture taking. Opportunity missed.

I took pictures during the Lean Cuisine luncheon I attended Friday. Did I tweet during the event like I probably should have? Nope. Opportunity missed — unlike these live tweeters who seized the moment and raised their smartphones with pride:

 

Friday night featured yet another missed opportunity. As the crowd of bloggers anxiously awaited Queen Latifah's arrival as emcee of the Voices of the Year ceremony, time ticked and ticked and ticked on. The Queen was late. Then later. Then later still.

As I looked around, I noticed nearly every single person in the crowded ballroom tapping away on their smartphones. I chuckled, nudged my buddy Ruth, and we agreed I should take some photos of all the lovely ladies bent over their phones. I didn't though, figuring that might be kind of rude. (Man, am I kicking myself for that missed opportunity, for what a great photo that would have been.)

It didn't dawn on me until later that what Ruth and I snickered about was mass live tweeting. All those bloggers tired of waiting for the show to get on the road were sharing and airing their grievances with their followers. Live. Were preparing to tweet details of the event to their followers. Live.

And all I considered doing was taking photos to share with my followers. Later.

Clearly, live tweeting isn't really on my radar. Does that make me less of a social media master? Probably. Which saddened me upon first realization because I like to be good at everything related to my job. In the end, though, I'm not. And to be honest, that's okay with me. Live photography fits me; live tweeting not so much.

That said, I could be pretty good at live tweets, though, if only I could take the nightly talk show approach and simply attach a disclosure to my post-event tweets. I'm thinking something along the lines of This Live Tweet Broadcast Previously Recorded.

There'd certainly be no lack of photos to go with those pre-recorded live tweets — especially considering I'm clearly, by nature, a shoot now, tweet later kind of blogger.

Which is just fine with me — and the most liberating thing I learned this week.

Farewell for the week! I look forward to seeing you Monday!

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

10 non-blogging things I learned at BlogHer '13

BlogHer '13 offered multiple and myriad sessions for gleaning new tips and tricks for the business of posting and publishing. I learned much beyond nitty gritty techniques to add to my blogging toolbox, though, things such as the following.

10 NON-BLOGGING THINGS I LEARNED AT BLOGHER '13

1. Don't be afraid to look foolish. BlogHer sponsors offer plenty of opportunities to look like a fool. I say "Do it!" Once you've donned fisherman gear or kicked back on a mattress in the center of a crowded conference hall, there's nothing else to fear others might see you do.

(One caveat: With all the free booze flowing, you don't want to look foolish and passed out in the hotel lobby for all to see. Pacing yourself — or abstaining — is key.)

2. The coolest swag comes from unexpected places. Brands offer more than ways to look foolish. They hand out piles and piles of goodies (so much so that yes, the second suitcase is a necessity for the trip home). While the big brands hand out must-have items, I found my favorite to be from a pest control company. Yes, you read that right. Pest-control company Rescue! gave out mini kaleidoscopes. I love kaleidoscopes. Kaleidoscopes are cool.

3. Brands are becoming more receptive to the baby boomer demographic. Speaking of brands, I was impressed by the number of brands who seemed sincerely excited about partnering with me — a baby boomer, empty-nester, grandma blogger. The most enthusiastic responses came from Manilla.com, FoodSaver, Bernina (at a non-BlogHer event), Serta, Chuck E. Cheese's, Cosmo Camp (also at a non-BlogHer event) and the reps for the National Restaurant Association's Kids Live Well program, to name just a few.

4. Lean Cuisine rocks frozen meals in unexpected ways. Still speaking of brands, I was invited to a luncheon sponsored by Lean Cuisine in celebration and promotion of their new line, Honestly Good. All I can say is Wow! And Yum! I'll say more later in a longer post specifically about Lean Cuisine's incredible chefs (real chefs, restaurant-owning chefs!) and dedication to fresh and healthy ingredients. It was an impressive luncheon accompanied by an informative — and tasty — presentation.

 

5. Next time, arrive the day before the conference begins. I didn't do this, which meant I had no time to experience what Chicago — a city I've never been to before — has to offer. Which meant other than photos taken of the Chicago River from my hotel room, this is my only touristy shot:

6. The best sessions have little to do with blogging and brands. Time with friends provided the most memorable moments.

 

7. Don't be afraid to go it alone. I chose to arrive late to breakfast one day and was a bit anxious about taking the shuttle without my friends and arriving late to the conference hall by myself. Going it alone, though, turned out to be unexpectedly rewarding when my shuttle seat mate turned out to be among the most enjoyable of women I met all weekend. Karen Malone Wright and I talked all the way to the conference hall, and we shared a breakfast table. We then ran into one another again at a party the next night, where Karen proceeded to be forever in my favor thanks to her gushing about how much I looked like Andie McDowell in Groundhog Day. How could I not forever appreciate such flattery?

8. The BlogHer Voice of the Year signs cost more to ship home than it would to make your own. The late-night antics that led to that realization? Priceless and memorable — and unmentionable in a public forum.

9. I want to be Tracy Beckerman. With her syndicated column running in 400 weekly community newspapers and her book, Lost in Suburbia: A Momoir, climbing the charts, what freelance writer and blogger wouldn't want to be Tracy Beckerman? Alas, I settled for her session on syndicating your work — one of my favorite sessions of BlogHer '13, in which Tracy explained how to be just like her. Stayed tuned for my transformation.

10. Conferences — and life! — are so much better when enjoyed with friends. Especially when those friends are (left to right) Jane Gassner, Sandra Sallin, Cathy Chester, Connie McLeod, Ruth Curran, Lois Alter Mark, Helene Cohen Bludman and Janie Emaus, all of whom — along with every other #GenFab member I hugged while there — made my BlogHer '13 experience so much more delightful than I ever hoped it might be.

Today's question:

Which of the points above would you like to hear more about? (I just may write a separate post based on your interest.)