3 magic words

If any of you are like me -- and I have a feeling there are a few of you -- after reading the title of this post, you're likely scanning the text to discover as quickly as possible the three magic words of which I write. Well, this post doesn't work that way because the three magic words are unique to each person; no generic magic words to be found.

That's right. There's three for me, and there's three for you ... and you ... and you.

Let me explain: Many of you will remember my recent lament about not having epiphanies upon reading articles in MORE and O magazines. Though I've yet to have an epiphany, I did recently read a life-improving article in O, written by Martha Beck, O's goal-achieving guru in residence. The article, loosely translated, describes a new method for achieving one's goals. And since reading it, I've been a little less consumed with epiphanies and more focused on reaching my goals ... with the help of three magic words.

In the article (http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Goal-Setting-Strategies-from-Life-Coach-Martha-Beck), Beck tells the reader to imagine she's achieved an ultimate goal, to actually visualize what achievement of that goal looks like. The ultimate goal for me, the one I visualized in detail, was making my living off my words, through published books and my blog.

Yay for visualization. But that's not the end of the exercise.

Beck says to then think of three adjectives for how you would feel upon reaching such a goal, three words describing your psychological takeaway upon such an achievement. Beck's rationale being, basically, that it's often not the actual achievement we desperately seek, but the feelings and emotional payoff that would accompany the achievement.

In terms of achieving my writing goal, the three adjectives I came up with were creative, empowered and financially secure.

But wait -- that's still not the end of the exercise.

Beck continues by saying that instead of focusing so hard on that specific goal, you should focus on using those three magic words you came up with. She encourages you to engage in actions or tasks that would lead you to feel one or more of those words, even if the tasks aren't directly related to that original goal. Because, again, it's not the goal that soothes the soul, Beck says, it's the feelings we imagine resulting from that goal that we desire. The goals may still be achieved but they're no longer, in and of themselves, the end-all, be-all.

Believe it or not, I think Beck's right. Since doing the exercise, I've focused on tasks and activities that make me feel creative, things that make me feel empowered, things that contribute to being financially secure. Most of the tasks relate to only one of the adjectives at a time, and many of the activities have nothing to do with becoming a well-paid writer. Yet I feel more content about my career goals, my career path.

Because of my improved attitude about my career goals since this little exercise, I thought I'd apply it to another goal/dream of mine to see if it does the same -- the dream of having all my family living nearby ... my children and my grandchildren, all within easy visiting distance.

So I visualized the scenario, the goal, in detail, and I came up with three adjectives related to achieving it. Hence, going forward I will pursue activities that elicit feelings associated with my three new magic words: nurturing, intimate, memorable.

I've just set about putting my new magic words into action, so I'm not sure where they will take me. But I'm crossing my fingers that the three adjectives related to my family goal are as magically effective as those regarding my career goal have been. Even just a smidgen of the magic will be much appreciated if it can ease by the slightest bit the burden of having chunks of my heart living 815 miles away.

It's worth a shot, I believe. I'll share the good news of its effectiveness with you once I see that the magic's in motion.

Abracadabra, here goes!

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Today's question:

Following Martha Beck's exercise, what is one of your three magic words?

10 things I want(ed) to be when I grow up

Last week I had dinner with one of my favorite people, a dear friend who is very much like me on many things, but oh-so different from me on one very big thing. That big thing being parenting.

It's not that my friend and I have different parenting philosophies, it's that she isn't a parent at all, never wanted to be a parent, a mom. Ever. I, on the other hand, am a mom, have always wanted to be a mom. From the time I was a child, the position of Mom has been at the very top of my list of things I wanted to be when I grew up.

Being a mom wasn't the only thing on my list of things I want to be when I grow up, though. Here are more:

10 things I want(ed) to be when I grow up

A writer. I remember as far back as middle school, dreaming about being a writer. I became a writer, made a decent living for a short period of time as a writer, continue to be a writer.

A disc jockey. In elementary school, I worked on a presentation with a group, and we chose to present our findings on Mary McCleod Bethune radio style, with intermissions featuring snippets of music. The presentation made me realize I loved playing the part of DJ. Every now and then I still get a hankering to host a radio program ... featuring music, not news or blathering bumbleheads.

A cosmetologist. I wanted to be not just a hairstylist, but a cosmetologist. I went to school for it, was on my way to earning my license. Then I got pregnant, the chemicals weren't a good idea for the baby, and "Beauty School Dropout" became my theme song for a while. (Was soon thankful this dream was never realized!)

Interior designer. Again, started classes. Again, got pregnant ... and decided continuing school was too much for a mom with two little ones and an overworked husband.

Backup singer. I'd still like to be this. I don't want to be in the forefront, the glaring spotlight. But providing backing vocals for the star -- and maybe a solo during the bridge now and then -- would sure get my toes tapping, my hands clapping, and heart soaring.

Parenting magazine editor. Ann Pleshette-Murphy, editor of Parent magazine when my girls were little, was my idol. I've accomplished this one. Not to the degree of Ann, only on a regional parenting publication level, but accomplished just the same. 'Twas one of the highlights -- and much-missed positions -- of my writing/editing career.

Librarian. This was at the top of my list for many years, just below writer. Still is some days. Too bad a library science degree is required.

Bookstore owner. Plan B for sharing books, since a degree isn't required to sell them. Cash is required, though, and I never had it. Proof that things happen -- or don't happen -- for a reason, as I'd surely be suffering the plight of today's independent booksellers.

Pie shop owner. I make pretty good pie. I wanted to share it with others. I planned to call it Pie in the Sky. Or Pie Hopes. Again, no money -- and the rise of the cupcake -- brought those hopes to a fizzle. Although, I've been reading lately that pie is the new cupcake. Hmm ...

Restaurant owner. Witnessing hundreds of college classmates of Megan and Andrea, miles from home and craving Mom's cooking, got me seriously considering starting up a Homesick Restaurant featuring daily specials from mothers across the country (credit to Anne Tyler for the name). The girls graduated before I put the plan into action -- fortunately, as the location was seven hours away in a town I never planned to visit again once they were done with college.

Looking at this list, I see that nearly everything on it, attained or not, has contributed to or enhanced my position as Mom. Cosmetology class provided the tools for cutting and styling the hair of three little girls. Interior Design courses helped me in creating the desired ambiance in my home. DJing and backup singing? Well, I love and share music with my kids; always have, always will. The words I write and share -- whether magazine articles, books or blogs -- are often related to parenting in one way or another. Food fancies require no expanation, as that's what moms do: show their love through food.

Bottom line is this: I may not have done all I once dreamed of, but those dreams made a difference in the one that mattered most, the one that became a reality -- being a mom. And who knows? There's still plenty of time to achieve a few of those on my list I still find appealing.

Anyone up for leading a granny band? If you've got the vocal ability and nerves for centerstage, I'd be all over supporting you with a few doowops and handclaps from behind.

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What did you want to be when you grew up?

WYSIWYG

I was not popular in high school. I didn't run with the athletes or hit the books with the academic overachievers. I wasn't firmly ensconced in the tight-knit groups of loners or stoners, and I wasn't in band, cheerleading, or glee club. I wasn't popular with any one group, had fairly superficial contact with most groups.

Nope, I wasn't popular. I wasn't well-known. So when it came time to hand out the senior superlatives at the end of our high-school years -- those labels marking what a student was or would become -- my superlative was chosen by the journalism kids from the "List of BS Superlatives For Classmates Not As Cool As Us Or That We Don't Know." While others were named "Most Likely To Succeed" or "Best Smile" or "Most Likely To Dunk It In The NBA," I was labeled as, get this, "Most Likely To Metamorphose Into A Computer." Honest to God. That is what my fellow seniors named me. In print. For all to see.

Which was weird. On so many levels. But mostly because computers weren't popular at the time. Bill Gates was likely still perfecting code, business computers were behemoths, and home computers were unheard of. So it was rather odd and unexpected for such a superlative to be chosen -- for me or for anybody. But, for whatever reason, that's the superlative with which I was saddled. Because they didn't know me.

Or did they?

Maybe even all those decades ago it was clear what a prominent place computers would eventually have in my life. Maybe back then, some forward-thinking classmates knew that one day I would see the value of actually becoming a computer.

Strangely enough, I do now see the value. Quite clearly. In fact, there are several reasons I think being a computer would be awesome. As long as I could still enjoy the physical pursuits of humans -- such as hugging those I love, laughing at Conan, and delighting in margaritas and Funyuns (not at the same time, of course) -- I'd be all over that. I'd be thrilled to metamorphose into a computer because there are oh-so many cool applications that would come in mighty handy.

First off, I'd have the ability to reset to a former time (because I'd use Windows, of course) to eliminate cussed up days bogging me down or, better yet, to turn back the effects of time on my system. I'd be fully loaded with McAfee Total Protection so I'd never be affected by viruses. Scan Disc and Defrag would be ideal for getting rid of the accumulated junk and reorganizing the misplaced folders and files of my soul and psyche.

Plus, just think of the peripherals and programs I could add to increase my speed, my power, and to make the very most of my life. I'd add more memory when my memory became full (or I lost it). I'd definitely have iTunes so I could have any song any time I pleased. And Picasa would provide me instant access to photos of friends and family; no more Grandma Brag books weighing down my purse.

It doesn't end there. As a computer, I'd have, of course, a keyboard. Which means I could hit ESC any time I needed just that -- to escape. I could DELETE things I regretted saying, hit the ALT button to do things a little different. I'd have a CTRL button for those times I felt a little out of control. The PAUSE/BREAK button would be used regularly throughout the day when I needed one or the other. And when a pause or break wasn't enough to make a difference, the SLEEP button would come to the rescue.

Most of all, though, I think I'd get the most use and enjoyment out of the one handy dandy little button situated directly between INSERT and PAGE UP. I'm talking about the HOME button.

When things got confusing or I just needed to start over -- as is the case more and more often of late -- or even when I just grew tired of traveling across the world, zooming around on the web, I could hit the HOME button. I know my loner self, my introverted-gain-my-energy-from-time-alone-self, and I know I would hit it hard and I would hit it often.

Because whether I morph into a MAC or a PC, an iPad or a computer not yet even invented, I'd still be me. I'd still maintain that one file, that one belief that no programmer, no person, no experience, no application will ever be able to delete from my system: the from-the-bottom-of-my-processor belief that, for me, there truly and absolutely is no place like home.

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What computer application or ability would you most want to implement in your life?

10 things I forget I love ... until I remember

I love jams and jellies. Chokecherry, strawberry, pomegranate, cherry. Yum! I eat jam or jelly nearly every day. On peanut butter sandwiches. On crackers. On toast. On English muffins. On bagels. (Not all in the same day, of course.)

Recently though, as I toasted an English muffin, I noticed the honey in the cupboard and decided to travel that oft-ignored culinary road. So I put it on my toasted muffin instead of jelly or jam, took a big bite, and instantly thought, "Yum! Why don't I have honey more often?"

I always forget how much I love honey -- until I experience it again. I do the very same thing with lots of things, especially the following.

10 things I forget I love ... until I remember

1. Feeding the ducks at the park.

2. Cucumber pickles. Ya know, the delicacy that's just sliced cucumbers, vinegar, salt, and pepper.

3. Riding a bike.

4. Wearing a dress. So much more comfy than pants.

5. Singing "Amazing Grace." Like this.

6. Stretching out on the living room floor in front of a blazing fire.

7. Wrapping a wet toddler in a towel and holding him like a swaddled baby.

8. Campfires at night. With marshmallows on sticks and stars up above.

9. Brach's Milk Maid Caramels. Unwrapped slowly. Savored even more slowly.

10. Getting on the scale and the number being much lower than expected.

Okay, No. 10 hasn't happened in a long, long time. Probably because of all those Milk Maids I've been savoring of late. But I have no doubt whatsoever that I will remember how much I love it, if/when I'm fortunate enough to experience it again.

Today's question:

What would be on your list of things you forget you love ... until you remember?

The Saturday Post: Shake the Dust edition

Just listen.

And learn.

And love. Others. Yourself. Your life.

Happy Saturday!

Dreams I'll never see

I read a lot of magazines. Just the other day, I pulled seven -- SEVEN! -- from the mailbox. Okay, some of those were Jim's, but still. I told Jim the mailman surely loves coming to our house because we're keeping him in a job. (Keeping the publishers in a job, too, I suppose.)

Of all the tomes to which I subscribe, O the Oprah Magazine and MORE are the two that fascinate me most each month because they're filled with stories of women who have firmly grabbed hold of life with two manicured fists and shaped fulfilling careers of which they're passionate and well paid. Usually after an epiphany of some sort. Often after an epiphany had upon reading an article in that very same magazine.

I don't have epiphanies upon reading the articles. And I want one. Desperately. I want to come across words that take my breath away, make me reconsider all the trappings keeping me from reaching my fullest potential, lead me to pull out all the money from my 401K and go whole-hog after what I truly want to make of my life, what I truly am meant to be, what will truly make me shine and rock and roll. Roll in the dough, preferably, as all those featured seem to magically do upon acting on their epiphanies.

But, like I said, I've yet to have an epiphany. I get sparks of motivation, flashes of creativity, glimmers of what could be upon reading the articles. Then I just get frustrated because it never seems to move beyond that, move ME beyond that. Why can't I be one of those who see the light, the secret to self-actualization and pursuit of one's passion hidden deep within the pages of O and MORE?

Why can't I be like the stay-at-home mom who, mulling over a magazine article as she drove along the Pacific highway on an errand, became mesmerized by the kiteboarders in the water, pulled over to ask them about the new-to-her activity, had an epiphany -- WHAM! -- and threw caution to the wind, started her own company providing high-priced, world-wide travel packages to well-to-do folks with a penchant for action and adventure.

Or why can't I be like the woman who, laid off from her job, stared out at the Kansas prairie on which she lived and instead of lamenting the piles of tumbleweeds collecting in her front yard, had an epiphany -- WHAM! -- put those tumbleweeds up for sale on Craigslist ... and soon became the ultimate tumbleweed provider for Western-themed galas, movies, and more. She now makes a living -- an admirable living! -- off the cuss she wants cleared from her yard?

I have a lot of cuss in my yard I'd like cleared. Mostly pine needles, but there may be an untapped market for them. I have even more cuss in my mind that I'd like cleared ... preferably by an epiphany. Directly related to an article in one of the many magazines to which I subscribe.

Maybe I'm trying to force an epiphany. Maybe I'm hoping for too much. Maybe I'm searching too hard within magazine pages.

Maybe I should just stop reading the cuss magazines.

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What is your favorite magazine to read, in print or online?

Valentine's Day and other overhyped happenings

Valentine's Day is Monday, which makes this the ultimate weekend of love. Or so we've been made to believe. I'm usually not cynical about much -- I prefer to find the magical in even the mundane -- but Valentine's Day is one of those happenings that has been overhyped and underperforming for years, so it's hard to get all mushy-gushy, misty-eyed and magical about it.

Jim and I have never really made a big deal out of Valentine's Day. Mostly because it seems so forced, so obligatory ... and so packed at restaurants on the big day. We mark it in small ways, nothing huge.

But my daughters want (and deserve) the magical. They want (and deserve) the mushy-gushy. Yet they've spent plenty of Valentine's Days down in the dumps because they're single. Or down in the dumps because they're NOT single and their truly beloved isn't being as lover-ly as he was expected to be.

Bottom line is that Valentine's Day never lives up to the hype. For me or for those I love. So I wish the hype would just go away, disappear from our collective conscience and let love and other things fall where they may.

I don't mean to take only poor Cupid to task, though, for Valentine's Day is far from the only overhyped happening in my experience. Here are a few more:

Lisa's list of things that fall short of their hype

1. Rocky Horror Picture Show ... oh, and Citizen Kane

2. High-school proms and homecomings

3. Turning 30

4. For that matter, turning 16, 18, and 21

5. New Year's Eve

6. Disneyworld

7. Calgon baths

8. Champagne

9. Godiva chocolates

I think the root of the disappointment isn't the happening in itself, it's the expectations surrounding it. So I'm learning to lower my expectations. Better yet, I'm working to have no expectations at all.

My only expectation now is this: That limited expectations just might lead to unexpected mushy-gushy, misty-eyed and magical moments all year long.

If not for myself, then at least for my daughters.

Today's question:

What have you found falls miserably short of its hype?

Is that your final question?

The other day, Jim and I were discussing what happens after death, most importantly, what we'll learn upon passing through the pearly gates and gaining truth and knowledge about anything and everything. (Yeah, we're weird that way.)

One question at the top of Jim's list for which he wants answers relates to the Kennedy assassination and the truth of how many gunmen really were involved. Hmm, that sounds like a reasonable wonder ... I suppose. If I were to gain knowledge about anything related to JFK, I'd be more interested in finding out what the deal was with Marilyn. But that's certainly not at the top of my list. And I do have a list.

Here are a few of the questions I'd really like answered -- truthfully, honestly, fully:

• Why do birds on a wire space themselves perfectly? And how do they know the correct spacing?

• What was the unequivocal meaning of the LOST finale?

• How do monarch butterflies know when and where to migrate? Or salmon know how far upstream to swim? And geese know which goose should be leader of the V?

• What's the story on Jesus' teen years? Was he angsty? Did he mouth off to his parents? Was he bummed about the task facing him in adulthood?

• If two socks go into the dryer but only one comes out, where has the other gone? (And don't tell me the dryer vent hose because I've looked.)

• Why does it take water longer to boil when watched?

• Is there really such a thing as a soul mate? And are we in trouble and deemed lazy if we didn't continue the search until we connected with him or her? If, that is, we didn't connect correctly?

• Related: Is it truly better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?

• What exactly is a craw cookie monster?

• Where do bad folks go when they die, if they really don't go to heaven where the angels fly? Do they go to a lake of fire and fry? And will we see them again on the Fourth of July?

• In the same vein, where have all the flowers gone? And, more importantly, who are you? Who, who? Who, who? I really wanna know.

• Is it true that elephants remember everyone they've met? Oh, and are they embarrassed that humans think they're scared of mice?

• Come to think of it, do animals get embarrassed?

• If you're chosen to be a contestant on Minute To Win It, do they ask you if you're tone deaf, just to ensure they're not setting you up for failure by giving you the Spoon Tune challenge?

Oh, my. So, so many questions, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. I look forward to one day learning all the answers to all my questions.

Once I propose my list to the Keeper of All Knowledge, though, I have a sneaky feeling his/her question to me will be, "Why are you such a dumbcuss making light of such things?"

In that case, I'll just shrug my shoulders and say, "I dunno. You tell me!"

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What question(s) would you like answered?

The Saturday Post: Time flies edition

Believe it or not, January will soon come to a close. Already. Time does indeed fly.

This video beautifully shows the passage of time. One year to be exact. In less than 90 seconds. Yet it's not frenetic and harried. It's surprisingly peaceful and relaxing. And I just love the little kids in the snow at the end.

Today's question:

If you were magically given a full BONUS day this coming week to do with whatever you choose, what would you do with your day?

Ring of ire

Jim and I were married very young. In fact, I was so young, my dad had to sign my life away for me in order for us to obtain a marriage license.

Being married so young means I missed out on learning many of the things young single women learn early on in adulthood. One of those things, a skill I've noticed of late I'm seriously lacking, is the ability to reflexively scan the left hand of those of the opposite sex immediately upon meeting them to see if there's a wedding ring.

I didn't learn to do that. I've never had reason to do it, never did it enough -- ever, actually -- for it to become a conscious or unconscious part of my getting-to-know-you ritual upon meeting someone new. Yes, it's lately become all too clear to me that if I were a dog, I'd surely be a lonely one as the whole sniffing out of potential mates simply and surely is not a part of my makeup.

And why should it be? I have Jim ... have for pert near 30 years ... so there's no reason for me to scan the hands of men.

But I've found in the last few weeks that my lack of ring-searching ability is a detriment -- especially when it comes to sniffing out potential mates for my single daughters. (Shh...don't tell them; they don't know I do that.)

Just last week a charming young man, part of the team that cleaned my chimney, spent enough time in my home and enough time making interesting small talk with me that afterwards I thought, "Hmmm...that's the kind of kid I would sure be happy to have as a son-in-law."

When I told Jim about him, he asked me if the young man was married.

"How the heck am I supposed to know?" I replied indignantly. "I'm not so desperate for a decent mate for my daughters stupid as to come out and ask such a thing."

"Well, was he wearing a ring?" Jim asked, as if he's so cussing smart.

Oh ... a ring. I never looked. Honestly, it never even crossed my mind to look.

It never crosses my mind to look at the left hands of women, either. Which wouldn't normally be an issue because, like I said, I am married ... and straight. But Jim and I have been trying to figure out if one particular couple at church -- a couple we've been loosely acquainted with for years, a couple about our same age, who have been married about as long we have and have kids near the same age as ours -- are, sadly, separated, possibly getting a divorce. They're never seen together anymore, and Jim insists there's a problem; I insist the husband likely just works on Sundays and can't make it to church.

"Is she still wearing her wedding ring?" he asked yesterday, again playing the smart guy.

We both spied out of the corner of our eyes while singing. Yes, she's still wearing her ring.

After getting no clear answer on the divorce question, Jim and I returned whole hog to the singing and praising and all those other things you do at church. Until he leaned over and nudged me.

"Hey, she's got a ring on her finger," he whispered, nodding toward the young woman in front of us, a gal we've known for some time, who was sitting mighty close to her new beau.

"That doesn't mean anything. People wear rings on that finger all the time," I whispered back.

He shrugged like a smartcuss who has a secret.

I leaned over and whispered quite forcefully, "That's why it's called <ahem> a ring finger."

Ha! Now who's the smarty pants?

I'm just crossing my fingers now, hoping that next time we see her dad he doesn't announce that his little girl is engaged. If he does, I'm pretty sure Jim's sure-to-follow smirk will make me want to smack him.

Or take the ring off my ring finger and throw it at him.

On second thought, maybe I won't throw my ring at him. For with an empty ring finger, I may be immediately dubbed a single woman by those quick-on-the-draw folks who check for such things.

And Lord knows I would completely cuss at being a single woman ... because I'm so darn handicapped at sniffing out potential mates.

Photo: follmann/stock.xchng

Today's question:

How many rings do you typically wear on an average day?