So About That Ring

It's official ... I am a failure as a Ghee. Really. Seriously. I am the worst Ghee that ever lived. For all the packages of goodies I've sent up to Canada over the last two and a half years for Coraline and Amelie, I'm sure forgetting to send Easter gifts for them this year will haunt me for the rest of my life. What makes it even worse is that when we Skyped last night, Coraline said, "Ghee, da mailman not bwing me a pwesent fwom you in wots of days." Yep, it's official alright ... I am a complete and total failure as a Ghee. In my own defense, however, I thought Easter was still a few weeks away rather than next weekend. And for those of you who are readying your fingers to type a message telling me I still have a whole week, it takes 2-3 weeks for a package to get to my grandgirls and it costs a small fortune to send it. There's no way around it ... I just have to take the fall on this one, admit I screwed up big time and pray that Coraline and Amelie will forgive me when they get their next surprise present from me in the mail ... trust me, it will be a "There's tons of stuff in this package because I feel so guilty for not sending you girls something for Easter" package.

There's something extra special about getting an unexpected gift in the mail, whether you're a little kid or an adult, it's just cool to receive a gift you didn't know you were going to get. I still remember how excited I would get when I would get a card in the mail from my grandma ... it was always heavy because Granny had carefully taped 100 pennies to the inside of the card. It was only a dollar, but it felt like a million bucks to me because I never knew when to expect those cards from Granny ... they were always a surprise. When I think back now about my Granny cards, I feel like they always came just when I needed them most ... I'm not sure why I feel that way, but it seems like Granny somehow knew when I needed to be reminded of how much she loved me and that she was thinking about me even though there were many miles separating us from one another. It was those two things that really made those cards from Granny so special to me ... it wasn't the pennies taped inside that made the cards special ... it was their unexpected arrival and the love they represented that made them so extra, extra special to me.

Not long ago, I lost a ring that a friend had given me several years ago. I hate it when I lose something, especially something like my ring because of what it meant to me. It was a silver pinky ring ... a simple, inexpensive little ring that's only real value was the emotional and sentimental place it held within my heart. I was really upset when I realized my beloved ring was missing, and I turned my house upside down searching for it while hoping with all I had in me that I would find it ... but I didn't. I only told one person I had lost my ring, a dear friend from back home in Tennessee. Though I suppose it shouldn't have, it surprised me when I received a package in the mail a couple of weeks after our conversation. The return address was that of a jewelry company, and I was more than a little puzzled as I opened the padded envelope since I knew I hadn't ordered anything online. Inside was a ring ... a small silver pinky ring to replace the one I had lost ... a simple, small silver ring that has already claimed its own special place in my heart.

This new ring is quite different from my previous one because it has the following words etched upon its surface ... "To thine own self be true." The friend with whom I shared that I had lost my ring sent the new one to me because she knew how much my old one meant to me and how sad I was that I had lost it. There was also a handwritten note from my friend inside the package ... a note reminding me that real and abiding happiness only comes when I live an authentic life ... an authentic, real and honest life that demands I be true to my God, true to others and true to myself as well. I've read the note from my friend many, many times over the last couple of weeks, and I don't believe it was a fluke that I lost my ring or that my friend chose the specific ring she did to replace it, or that she even chose to replace it at all. The truth is I got the wind knocked out of me in a big way a few months ago when it comes to being true to myself and honestly ... well, honestly, I'm still trying to figure out how to breathe again. If I haven't learned one other thing in my entire life, I've most definitely learned how difficult it is and how much energy it takes to pretend to be someone I'm not. Sometimes I wonder if Mr. Shakespeare had any idea when he wrote those words ... "To thine own self be true" ... I wonder if he had even the tiniest clue how hard they would be to live out.

So about that ring ... 

What Andrew Says

As I was driving home from work this evening, I found myself wishing I would have kept a journal of all the people I've worked with during my almost 13 years at SHS. Not just a journal of their names or what positions they held within the company, but a journal of who they are as people. I wish I would have kept a journal of the conversations we had in front of the fireplace or in the kitchen or on a noon-time walk outside the building or in a conference room or as they sat in the chair next to my quote post. If only I had known the depth of meaning those conversations would hold for me later on ... I so wish I would have kept a journal. Thirteen years is a long time, and I've seen a lot of people come and go over those 13 years, from interns to retirees, each one of them with their own stories to tell ... each one of them unique and special in his or her own way ... each one of them with their own joys and sorrows ... each one of them with their own hopes and dreams ... each one of them with their own laughter and tears ... each one of them making a difference in my life and the lives of everyone around them.

One year ago, my young friend Andrew went home early from work because he wasn't feeling well ... I remember encouraging him to go home and rest and feel better (that's what office moms do, you know). By the next day, Andrew was in intensive care fighting for his life after being diagnosed with sepsis, and fight he did, friends ... he's not only alive today, but he's back at work blessing every one of us with his spirit, his energy and his crazy sense of humor. Several months ago, Andrew sent an email to the folks in our office ... an email that had me bawling my eyes out at my desk when I read it. I asked Andrew that day if I could share his email in my blog sometime, and he said yes ... and tonight is the night. Read his words more than once, and then be grateful ... be loving ... be kind ... be present for every single moment of every single day.

You inspire me, my friend, and you remind me every day of how precious life is. You make me want to try harder, to complain less, to appreciate more. You show me what courage, strength, bravery and determination really can do. You never let me forget what matters most of all ... loving and caring and being there for one another. You are amazing, Andrew ... truly amazing ... knowing you is a blessing beyond measure and I'm honored to have you as my friend. Happy anniversary of life, buddy ... happy anniversary of life!

"Sheephaters,

Today marks my first full day back at work since the day I stood up and walked away  from my desk feeling sick on March 24^th.  As many of you know this has been an extremely long journey for me, but one that I hope will make me a better man, father, husband and friend/coworker.  If this experience has taught me anything, it has taught me patience and that the human spirit cannot be broken when it has something to live for.  Now patience has never been a strong suite of mine.  Any art director I’ve worked with has experienced my tiger-like pacing around their desk when waiting for a layout and for that I apologize…that doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing it, but I promise to try.

When I was in the hospital the doctors told me to expect my recovery in a years’ time. This became my greatest motivation because like a 3-year old throwing a massive fit, I wanted to beat that timeline and get back to being who I am and on the road to who am going to be.  All in all, I was diagnosed with sepsis, on a ventilator for eight days, had two weeks of dialysis, 30 hyperbaric treatments, eight surgeries and continue to work with the amazing medical team at Saint Luke’s to rehabilitate my left arm and feet through physical and occupational therapy.  I’m not saying this for you to think, damn Kaminski you’re a bad-ass, but you can go ahead and think that if you want. 

I’m telling you this because there is no way on this earth I would have made this progress without one important thing, you.  The love and support the people of this agency have shown to me and my family cannot be measured and for that I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.  You are all amazing, caring and talented people and I will never forget what you have done for me.  Everything from prayers, cards, endless amounts of lasagna, Facebook posts and visits constantly lifted my spirits and have gotten me to this point. The Royals going to the series didn’t hurt either. 

All that there is left to say is a humungous thank you and I couldn’t be more excited to rejoin this world of laughter, tears, ridiculous deadlines, tough clients, beer thirties, beautiful work and the most supportive group of crazy bastards I’ve ever known.  Laying the cheese on thick now but you are Remarkable.

Back to work now. Thank you.

Andrew"

I Beg to Differ

It's hard to believe that my son Matt and my daughter-in-law Becca have been married for almost eight years, and it's even harder to believe that Becca actually married Matt after she got to know his crazy family. I'm sure I didn't realize it at the time, but I should have known just how deeply Becca loved Matt when she joined Brad, Meghann and I on a road trip to go hear Matt preach at the little country church when he was a youth minister. I can't remember now whose idea it was that we play the game "I've Never" as we traveled, but I will never forget the "I've never ..." statement Brad used to win the game. In case you aren't familiar with the game, each person holds up 10 fingers and each player says something they've never done, said or been with the hope that the other players have done, said or been those somethings. If they have, they have to put down a finger ... the last person with a finger still up wins the game. Though I still can't believe he actually said it, I have to admit that as the only male in a car with three women, Brad's answer was sheer genius. He didn't flinch or bat an eye as he calmly said, "I've never had a period." Not that our family has ever needed proof of Brad's over-the-top desire to win every game he plays, but his winning declaration that day forever proved the intensity of my "go big or go home" son's competitive spirit.

A few days after I returned from Canada in February, I wrote a post titled "I Just Stood There" about the hate-filled comments concerning the transgender pilot of our flight and my shameful confession about standing there and doing nothing in response. I wasn't at all surprised when I began receiving a plethora of emails regarding that post, but I was shocked that so many of the notes said basically the same thing ... that I did exactly what I should have done ... hung my head in shame, prayed the men didn't notice me, fought back the tears and kept my mouth shut. I got hundreds of messages telling me that staying quiet and not speaking out against the hatred the men were spewing was the right thing to do ... the safe thing to do ... the only thing to do. The more notes I read telling me to never ever speak up in a situation such as the one that occurred in the Edmonton airport that cold February morning, the more it weighed on me ... obviously ... more than a month later, it's still weighing on me. It's weighing on me so much that I simply must beg to differ with those who admonished me for feeling guilty because I didn't speak up ... I beg to differ in a big, huge way ... sorry, but I do.

The truth is the situation with the transgender pilot isn't the first time I've heard or seen hatred in action, and it's also not the first time I stood by and did nothing in the presence of that hatred. I've heard and seen some really vile and nasty commentary poured out on other people ... heck, I've had it poured out on me personally. But here's the thing ... the hateful and disgusting things those guys said about the pilot that day could have just as easily been directed toward anyone who was different from them. They may not use the same words, but the same hate rears its ugly head every day ... toward differing races and nationalities ... toward those who are disabled or handicapped ... toward people who are obese ... toward folks with mental illness ... toward Christians ... toward atheists ... toward the elderly ... toward the young ... toward you ... toward me ... yep, hate rears its ugly head every single day in a million different ways, friends ... you bet it does ... you bet it does indeed.

Now before you slam me with a million emails, I'm not saying I should speak up every single time someone speaks in a derogatory manner about or to someone else ... I'm not completely stupid just yet. What I am saying is that if everyone does what I did at the airport ... nothing ... if everyone does nothing, then nothing will ever be done. And if nothing ever gets done ... if everyone stands with their heads hung in shame ... if everyone prays not to be seen ... if everyone fights back the tears of injustice ... if everyone keeps their mouths shut, then hate wins. If everyone remains silent, then silence will be all that remains. I beg to differ that I did the right thing in the airport that day ... I beg to differ that my personal safety was more important than speaking up ... I beg to differ that I did the only thing I could do ... because I could have and should have done so much more.

I'm sure you're wondering what in the world my opening story about my little family's game of "I've Never" has to do with my subject matter for the evening, so here's why I chose that particular story. There are a ton of things I've never done, and to list them all would take a gazillion posts but there's one certain thing I've never done that ranks way up on the list ... I've never been a fighter. I've never thrown a punch at another human being (though I did wallop my Bozo the Clown punching bag pretty good when I was a little kid). No matter how angry I've been or how frustrated I was, I've never punched anyone out of anger. I've never been a fighter, especially when it comes to fighting for myself. But as I've gotten older, I've come to realize that there are some things ... certain people ... in my life I need to fight for ...  ... like Meghann, Barrett, Brad, Shelby, Matt and Becca ... like Coraline and Amelie ... like my faith in God ... like friendship ... like my canine buddies Julie and Ollie ... like me being myself ... like you being yourself ... like love ... like peace ... like freedom ... like happiness ... like loyalty ... like compassion ... like a whole, whole, whole lot more other things as well. I don't have to punch anyone to fight for those wonderful things ... I have to fight for those things ... for those people ... with my heart.

I've never been a fighter ... but I have had a period or two in my day.

To Those Who Love

Though some of you will most definitely disagree with me, I've decided there's no such thing as pure coincidence, especially when it comes to the people whose paths have intersected with my own over the years. I simply can no longer attribute meeting certain people to accidental happenstance or random chance, nor can I deny that each one of these persons enters my life journey at exactly the time they are meant to do so to accomplish exactly the purpose they are meant to accomplish. Sometimes that purpose is to love me when it feels as though no one in the world even likes me ... sometimes it's to kick my butt and get me back on the right track when I'm ready to give up ... sometimes it's to cause me to be sensitive to the wounds of another when all I can feel is the pain of my own ... sometimes it's to make me laugh at myself when I do something supremely stupid ... sometimes it's to wipe my tears when my heart is breaking ... sometimes it's to teach me life lessons when the last thing in the world I want to do is learn them. Accidental acquaintances? Chance coincidences? Random rendezvouses? Haphazard happenings? Odd occurrences? My answer to those questions? Nope, nope, nope, nope and nope.

A few years ago, the company I work for enlisted the services of Jenne Fromm ... life coach, motivational speaker, business consultant, Ironman triathlete, mountain climber, wife, stepmother, dog lover, blogger, runner with bulls, business owner, generally all-around incredibly amazing person ... all that and she's younger than me. Oh, and one more thing about Jenne ... a lot of those amazing things she did after surviving cancer. I always look forward to Jenne's teaching times at our office, and I can honestly say she challenges me to think and feel and care and work and listen and love and search and try in ways I've never been challenged to before. If you ever have the opportunity to hear her speak, do it ... I promise you'll be glad you did. Jenne's blog is one of the very few ... okay, one of the two ... that will cause me stop what I'm doing and read it as soon as I know she's posted an entry. That's why I immediately clicked on a link Jenne posted last week on Facebook ... a link to a post she wrote back in December 2008 titled "To Friends and Family of the Recently Diagnosed" ... a post that moved me to tears as I read.

Though Jenne's wise and wonderful advice in the post was specifically directed to friends and family of those who have been recently diagnosed with cancer, I realized as I was reading that her words are applicable to many other situations, illnesses and emotions that all different kinds of people deal with every day. Jenne listed 13 things friends and family can do to help a loved one who finds out he or she has cancer ... practical things many of us would never think of doing, yet things that would make such a difference to the one we love. I didn't even get past the first suggestion in Jenne's list before I understood that the words "recently diagnosed with cancer" could easily be replaced with so many others ... words like "recently depressed" or "recently divorced" or "recently lost a child" or "recently laid off" or "recently widowed" or "recently came out" or "recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's" or "recently excluded by family" or "recently angued with a spouse or partner" or "recently ..." or "recently ..." or "recently ..." I knew the wisdom Jenne shared in her very first suggestion was for me and for you and for everyone who loves someone who is sick or hurting or alone or depressed or scared or grieving or dying.

"You have no way of knowing … heck, they won't even know how they feel. Just be ready to be hit with any and every emotion. And don't judge. And don't force. And don't assume. I said that already. Just don't."

I realized something else when I read Jenne's words ... I realized how fortunate I am to have people in my life who love me enough not to judge ... not to force ... not to assume ... and I'm adding one more, Jenne ... people who love me enough not to leave.

There's only one way to close tonight's post and that's with the words Jenne used to close hers. (An extra special thank you to Jenne for trusting me with her wonderful words!) It's not often I ask you all to act on what you read in my blog, but tonight I am ... don't just read Jenne's words, do them. Do what you can when you can where you can however you can ... right now. Don't wait until tomorrow ... don't say you're too busy ... don't think for one second you can't make a difference ... don't ever underestimate the healing power of love, friends ... never, never ever underestimate what love can really do.

"You can tell your spouse you love him or her. You can be grateful for the little things. You can make a donation to your charity of choice. You can smile at the bald woman at the mall. You can count your blessings. You can stop taking everything personally. You can stop worrying about if you have the right dress or the right shoes or the right car. You can listen to someone when they are talking – really listen. You can tell your child it is okay to ask questions to the lady that looks different. You can give someone a second, third or 70th chance. You can hug your kid when she spills chocolate milk on her t-shirt. You can tell your dad thanks …for everything. You can send someone a card the next time they are going through something and just say "I don't know what to say but saying nothing isn't an option." You can tell your mom you are proud of her. You can open the door for someone else. You can remember that we are all connected. You can ask for what you want instead of complaining or pouting. You can stop trying to be who you aren't. You can say thank you to the waitress, the doorman, the person who holds the elevator. You can give someone else a break. You can worry a little less and start living a little more."

(To learn more about Jenne or to schedule an event, click here to visit her website.)

If Mom's Afraid ...

If it weren't for the calendar telling me it's the middle of March, the weather in Kansas City this evening would cause me to believe it's November ... it's cold and raining. As I type these words, I'm sitting on my couch wearing two t-shirts and a hoodie, two pairs of long underwear pants, thick wool socks and my furry slippers, and I'm wrapped in a blanket. Yes, it's true ... I'm wearing long underwear pants without a pair of regular pants over them ... don't judge me. Even though it's a rainy, cold evening, I'll take this kind of weather in March anytime over thunderstorm weather ... of course I will. I keep hoping my fear of storms will somehow magically disappear ... yeah, right ... like that's going to ever happen. Something tells me my hope would be much better served should I direct it toward my desire for a mild, calm, storm-free spring season.

It's more than a bit odd to me that my irrational fear of thunderstorms only presented itself over the last few years, and I'm certain there's some deep and mysterious psychological reason for its appearance at this particular time in my life. Hmmm ... perhaps I need to address that in my next visit with my life-saving head doctor, except that I'm not sure I want to add understanding why I'm storm crazy to what I already understand about all my other crazies ... sheesh. I can remember when all my kiddos were young and the tornado sirens started blaring, I would send them to the basement while I stood at the window and watched the sky. Now I put my dogs in their kennels and bungee them to the water pipes, crawl into my makeshift storm fort and wonder how long it will be before my heart explodes. Boy oh boy, things have certainly changed over the last couple of years ... they've changed a lot ... things have changed a whole, whole, whole lot.

Though I don't understand the drastic change when it comes to the level of terror I now experience when storm clouds fill the sky, I do understand at least partially why I wasn't terrified ... or at least I understand why I didn't allow my fear to manifest itself in front of my children. I simply couldn't let myself be afraid of stormy weather when they were all little kiddos because if I was afraid, my sweet children were terrified. Moms are supposed to be brave ... moms are supposed to be strong ... moms are supposed to protect their families ... moms are supposed to be rocks that can never be moved ... moms are supposed to weather anything storms may bring ... moms are supposed to be moms. Kids have a way of knowing when their mom is afraid ... and when their mom's afraid, they are terrified.

I've come to believe that fear is without question one of the most powerful emotions we humans possess, at least it is for me anyway. When I give in to fear, it steals away my happiness ... it takes away any shred of courage I may have once had ... it robs me of my self-esteem. And here's the thing ... perhaps the worst thing of all that fear does to me ... fears turns me into a follower rather than a leader. Fear changes me ... it turns me into a Terrie I don't want to be, a Terrie I don't respect, a Terrie I'm not proud of, a Terrie I don't love.

A dear, dear friend said to me today, "If Mom's afraid, the kids are terrified," and he wasn't talking about my children and he wasn't talking about thunderstorms. The truth is we all have people who look to us for answers ... I have people who trust me to protect them ... people who believe I can make a difference ... people who are counting on me to help them ... people who are begging me not to be afraid ... people who need me to just be me. And that, my friends ... that is far, far more frightening to me than a thunderstorm.

"If Mom's afraid, the kids are terrified." 

Don't be afraid to think about this one for a while ... don't be afraid to think a really, really, really long while about it.

Did You Send Him?

Everywhere I looked today, I saw people wearing green shirts or green pants or green dresses or green hats or green shoes or green jewelry ... heck, I bet a ton of people even wore green underwear today in celebration of St. Patrick's Day. I know the following admission will probably come back to haunt me, but I didn't wear anything green today. My lack of green attire on this the greenest of all holidays really has very little to do with dear old St. Paddy and almost everything to do with the fact that green is my least favorite color. I think I may have owned only two or three pieces of green clothing in my entire lifetime ... I'm a blue and red gal through and through. I know people probably think when St. Patrick's Day rolls around each year that I'm a scrooge, but I'm not ... really, seriously ... I like a good green beer as much as anyone, as long as I close my eyes and pretend it's not green that is, and I love wearing hats and looking for pots of gold at the end of rainbows. It's not the holiday itself I don't like, it's all the green ... green, green and more green ... that's what I don't like about today. Well, all the green and the fact that St. Patrick's Day was my dad's birthday and we had a ton of St. Patrick's Day-themed birthday parties for him over the years.

As has always been true on St. Patrick's Day for as far back as I can remember, the first person I thought of when I woke up this morning was Daddy. As I scooped coffee into the coffee maker, I thought about his 65th birthday. We had a big party for him that year, and I'll never forget the huge smile on Daddy's face as he sat at the kitchen table wearing a green top hat and an oversize plastic green bow tie. He was so happy that day, not because we were celebrating his birthday, but because we were together ... I remember Daddy had an extra twinkle in his eyes that day and an extra spring in his step. It wasn't long after his 65th birthday that Daddy was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and Parkinson's diseases, and it was only a few months after his 75th birthday that he passed away. Daddy would have been 97 years old today ... my sweet dad would have been 97 years old today.

Perhaps it was because I was missing Daddy so much today, but it was one of those days when I felt as though I was all alone in the world. It was a super busy day at work, which meant that other than a couple of bathroom breaks and lunch, I sat at my desk and barely moved. Late this morning, the temporary crown the dentist put on my tooth on Saturday broke ... seems I have a thing about breaking teeth these days (even fake ones), so I left a little early to go back to the dentist to have another one put on. Since the dentist said not to eat for a couple of hours following my appointment, I raced home, changed clothes and headed out to take Ollie for a quick walk on the trail ... well ... I thought I was going for a quick walk anyway ... a quick, lonely walk, just me and my dog.

I saw him before we got to the end of the first wooden bridge ... the adorable young man with the incredible blue eyes and curly red hair, and the minute he saw us walking, he smiled broadly, waved and shouted hello. I've seen him tons of times out on the trail, and he works at the Walmart just down the street from my house. From the first time I met him, he's always been polite and kind ... and he is always smiling ... I've never seen this kid not smiling. We've never chatted much, only in passing really, so I was surprised this evening when he picked up his skateboard, took the headphones out of his ears and fell in and walked with Ollie and me. The conversation began with talking about dogs, school, families and such, but the farther we walked, the deeper our subject matter became ... another post for another night ... but suffice it to say, that kid completely blessed me tonight in a big huge way with his quick and easy smile, his twinkling eyes and his kind and compassionate heart. It turns out we live just a couple of streets over from one another ... for all the countless times I've seen him, I had no idea that we lived so close to one another. By the time we returned to our neighborhood, I knew I had made a new friend ... we hugged and said goodbye, both of us agreeing that we'd like to walk together again soon.

A quick and easy smile ... twinkling eyes ... a kind and compassionate heart ... my dad's birthday. I wonder ... I can't help but wonder ... did you send that kid to me tonight, Daddy? Did you send him because he reminded me of you? Was that you watching over me? Letting me know you'll live in my heart forever? Did you send him, Daddy? Did you? 

The One ... The Only ... SFLT Award

My dad was a really easy-going fellow, and there just weren't many things that would cause him to get upset or lose his cool. He had a kind and gentle spirit and the patience of Job ... he was, after all, married to my mom for more than 50 years. Don't get me wrong ... I loved my mom dearly, and she really did have a heart of gold once you got past her gruff exterior. While Dad rarely raised his voice or got angry, there was one thing I knew to never complain about or rebel against and that was going to church. My sweet, kind, easy-going dad did not tolerate any dissension when it came to church attendance ... if the church doors were open, we were expected not only to be there but to participate in all of the activities as well. Though I can't remember how old I was, I remember the first achievement award I ever received was a blue ribbon for winning the Bible drill and perfectly reciting the books of the Bible in the fastest time. It's crazy that I remember that particular church-related blue ribbon award so clearly, because I'm sure I received countless others down through the years. I think I remember that first award so vividly because of just that ... I remember it so well because it was my first award ... I remember that first blue ribbon because I received it for doing something I had never done before.

For all the dramatically dumb, supremely stupid, incredibly idiotic things I've done in my lifetime, I can honestly say that I have never ever made the mistake of hitting the "Reply all" tab on an email when I only intended to reply to the original sender. Well ... I had never done it until late last Monday night, anyway when I accidentally replied to everyone in my office rather than just my friend who had sent an email to all of the employees. While I didn't say anything hurtful or mean or disrespectful in any way in my reply (nor would I ever, by the way), I intended for only my friend to read my note and not the entire agency. I would rate the panic that engulfed me when I realized what I'd done to oh ... about a million times worse than the panic that overtakes me when the tornado sirens sound during a thunderstorm. I immediately called one of the guys on the leadership team hoping he could either tell me how to recall the message or put me in touch with someone in IT who could help me. I'm pretty sure he knew how panicked I was when I said, "I've done a really bad thing ... please tell me you can help me!" He was kind and compassionate as he offered some suggestions as to how I might possibly be able to recall my email ... might possibly being the key words there because ... well ... because it didn't work. To say that I was both terrified and embarrassed when I went to work the next morning is perhaps the greatest understatement I've ever made ... my heart felt as though it was going to explode, and my stomach was churning like a cement mixer on a hot summer day.

One of the best things about working in the advertising biz is the creative ideas that often spring forth from not so wonderful circumstances ... like, for example, when many years ago one of the leaders of our company made his own "Reply all" mistake to the agency. While I am sworn to secrecy concerning the contents of his original agency-wide email (and mine as well, so don't even ask), I can tell you that out of his goof was born a very special award ... the SFLT Award, aptly named after the subject line penned by our glorious leader in that email from years gone by. I am not at liberty to reveal the meaning of the letters SFLT, but suffice it to say that it ... ummm ... is rather "colorful" in nature. The SFLT Award quickly became a part of office culture and has remained as such over the years. The special award isn't given out to just anyone, by the way ... it only goes to those whose "Reply all" emails contain content worthy of being deemed SFLT emails. In real terms, that means you really have to screw up big to get the award. Sending out a "Reply all" email that says "Your dog is ugly" or "I was so drunk" or "The toilet paper isn't soft" isn't even remotely SFLT Award worthy ... trust me ... when the SFLT Award is bestowed upon you, it means you made a really, really, really big mistake.

I'm sure you know where I'm heading ... yep ... last Friday in our weekly agency staff meeting, I was presented with the infamous clear acrylic frame with a ceramic squirrel standing guard on the top watching over a printed copy of my now historic email screw-up. My only comment as I walked back to my spot at the rear of the conference room after accepting the not at all coveted SFLT Award from one of our senior VPs was, "Almost 13 years without getting this ... almost 13 years." It almost felt as though the entire room let out a sigh of relief, happy for the message that was conveyed ... we all mess up, and some of us mess up bigger than others, and most of the time, it's not the end of the world. The leadership team deciding to give me the award let everyone know not only that they were able to laugh about my mistake but even more important, that they had forgiven me and that they very much wanted me to forgive myself as well.

I was thinking as I was walking on the trail with Ollie this evening ... maybe for just a little while, I'll attach a new definition to the letters SFLT ... maybe I'll call it the Super Freaking Lucky Terrie Award ... maybe I will ... maybe I will indeed.

Have You Seen My Snowman?

If it weren't for the pollen and thunderstorms that accompany the arrival of spring in the Midwest, it well might overtake fall as my favorite season of the year. Warmish temps, chirping birds, blooming flowers ... I could easily learn to love spring if the pollen didn't make my nose drip and my ears hurt, and if the thunderstorms didn't scare the living crap out of me. As I walked along the trail this evening after dark in a short-sleeved t-shirt with my little wiener dog Ollie strutting and prancing for all he's worth, I was struck by the fact that just a couple of weeks ago, it was cold and snowing. And just as quickly as that thought jumped into my mind, another came racing along at breakneck speed ... "It's crazy how quickly the seasons can change ... one day it's winter, and the next day it's spring." Two weeks ago, the kids in my neighborhood were building snowmen and going sledding ... tonight, they're skateboarding and shooting hoops. It really is crazy how quickly everything can change ... one day it's snowmen, and the next it's skateboards.

One of the birthday gifts I took to my granddaughter Coraline when I went to visit a few weeks ago for her third birthday was a book called Sneezy the Snowman. My daughter-in-law had specifically asked that I get the book for Coraline, saying that Boo had loved the book when her preschool teacher read it aloud to the class. Mainly because I loved the illustration on the cover of the book, I decided to order one for myself so that I could read it to Coraline and Amelie during our Skype reading time. The books arrived a couple of weeks before I was scheduled to head to Canada, and though it was really hard not to do so, I didn't read the book ... I didn't even open it because I wanted to read it for the first time with Coraline snuggled next to me with her head on my shoulder. There's something magical about reading a book for the first time with someone you love ... especially if that someone is an extra special little Canadian with blonde hair and blue eyes.

Sneezy the Snowman is the story of a snowman who gets a bad case of the shivers because it's so cold outside. He tries several different ways to get rid of the shivers and the sneezes that come with those shivers ... he drinks hot chocolate, he jumps in a hot tub, he sits by the fire. Needless to say, none of those are good things for Sneezy, and each one he tries only causes him to melt into a big puddle of water. Thankfully, Sneezy is surrounded by a group of friends ... little kid friends, actually ... and each time Sneezy melts, they are there to roll him up and put him back together. As the story goes along, the kids share their hats and scarves and mittens and coats with Sneezy until they find just the right combination and style for Sneezy ... to help him stay warm enough to make the sneezes go away but not so warm that he would melt. Well ... the kids find the right combination of clothing accompanied by the right number of scoops of ice cream ... they find just the right combination to keep their friend Sneezy with them for as long as possible.

When I Skyped with Coraline and Amelie last weekend, Coraline chose Sneezy the Snowman as the bedtime book we would read together. I smiled as she recapped the story for me before I began to read ... and I blinked back tears when my sweet granddaughter said, "Ghee, do you know Sneezy Da Snowman melts and den he say a his friends, 'Make me bwand new'? He weally weally weally does, Ghee ... he say dat and den his fwiends help him a get bwand new." And she's right ... each time Sneezy the Snowman melts, he calls out to his friends and says, "Make me brand new." The kids do much more than simply roll up a bunch of snow and call it done, though, they give Sneezy the things he needs to stay warm ... they give him the things he needs to be a snowman ... they give him the things he needs to be the best snowman he can ever hope to be. The kids in the story do even more than give Sneezy hats or gloves or scarves or ice cream ... they don't quit or give up or walk away ... they help Sneezy be made brand new.

I've been feeling a lot like Sneezy lately ... like a melted snowman who needs to be made brand new. Have you seen my snowman? 

Maybe Tomorrow

My former spot at work was located on the same floor as the kitchen and the fireplace ... and yes, before you ask, I miss my fireplace duties almost as much as I miss my quote post. I miss my wiener garden and my framed note card piece from Ears Wide Open? and my Nerf basketball hoop, too, but most of all, I miss seeing my friends throughout the day. Most days I bring my lunch to work, and back when I sat downstairs, I would often sit at the long silver counter in the kitchen and eat. Since I usually eat lunch later in the afternoon than most folks, I was generally alone at the counter. I'm not sure why, but at some point during those lunches, I began browsing through the newspaper that's placed in the kitchen each morning. I'm also not sure why, but there was one certain part of the paper that I read every time I ate lunch ... the obituaries ... that's right, I used to sit in the kitchen, eat my lunch and read about the lives of people who had passed away. And each time I read, I was always struck by how different the stories were ... they were as different as the people to whom they paid tribute.

Today I was asked to do something I've never been asked to do before ... a friend asked me to help out with the writing of her father's obituary. Her dad hasn't passed away yet ... in fact, he's surprised not only the doctors but his entire family by hanging on as long as he has considering the seriousness of his illness. My friend and her family are keenly aware at this stage, however, that the life of the man they love so dearly is coming to an end. I sensed an urgency in my friend's voice when she asked if I would be willing to help with her father's obituary ... an urgency that immediately caused me to know that the most important thing I could possibly do today would be to honor her request. I've never met my friend's father, but tonight I find myself wishing I would have ... tonight I find myself feeling as if I've known him for many years ... tonight I feel a kinship with him and his family ... tonight I understand he is a man who is deeply loved and that he will be truly missed by all who know him.

As I drove home after work this evening, I thought about how many times today I thought or said the words, "Maybe tomorrow." And the more I thought about how many times I thought or said those words today, the more I thought about how many other days I've thought or said those words. Lots and lots and lots of days I think or say those words ... "Maybe tomorrow" ... I say those words with the arrogant and foolish belief that I will have tomorrow ... I say those words knowing full well that there's not a person alive, including me and you, who is guaranteed another day, another hour, another moment. When I used to sit in the kitchen and read the obituaries in the newspaper, I often wondered if the person I was reading about knew that his or her death was imminent. And even more often, I wondered if the person left things undone ... if the person left words unsaid ... if the person left people unloved. I wondered if they drew their last breath on a day when they, like I do on so many of my days, thought or said the words, "Maybe tomorrow." 

Earlier this evening, someone sent me a photo with a note that said, "I can only hope I leave behind this kind of love when I'm gone." I can't think of a better way to close tonight's post than by sharing the photo. Be kind to each other ... take care of each other ... listen to each other ... love each other. Change your "Maybe tomorrow" into "Definitely today" and be kind, take care, listen and love right this very moment. Don't wait for tomorrow, friends, for it may never come.

Hiding in Plain View

Almost every night when I was in Canada with Matt, Becca and my grandgirls, Coraline insisted that we all make our way to the basement for a family game of hide and seek. Their basement is nice ... really nice ... it's finished and is divided into several rooms, including a large living area, bedroom, bathroom, work room, cold room, laundry room and a couple of closets. There were plenty of great hiding places, unless of course you happened to be the person holding Amelie when she had the hiccups or was in full-blown baby babble mode as you were certain to be found no matter where you hid. It only took a few rounds of hide and seek for me to learn that my sweet daughter-in-law deserved an award for finding the most unique and interesting places to hide ... seriously ... Becca is without question the very best hider in the universe when it comes to playing hide and seek. One night when she and Coraline hid together, Becca managed to convince Coraline to join her in the pitch dark workroom, climb inside a storage container and not make a sound ... getting little miss Coraline to be quiet deserves an award in and of itself. Becca squeezed herself under the work bench and pulled boxes in front of her ... it took Matt, Amelie and I forever to find them, and I'm pretty sure had Coraline not giggled, we would have been forced to give up.

For all the great hiding places Becca came up with, the best one of all was when she hid in plain view of all of us ... we couldn't find her for a really long time even though she was right in front of us the whole time. There's a reason why Ikea is Matt and Becca's favorite store ... they love Ikea because it is filled to running over with all kinds of paraphernalia to help you organize your house. Since Coraline loves to play dress-up and has a plethora of princess dresses and Halloween costumes, Matt and Becca installed some kid-reachable plastic puppy dog tail hooks on one of the walls in the basement. The hooks hold all of the things a little girl needs to dress the part as she embarks on adventures into the land of make-believe ... princess dresses, Halloween costumes and the most important to Becca's ingenious hiding place ... a Santa hat. Yep, Becca simply sat next to wall under the hooks, pulled a couple of costumes in front of her body and donned the Santa hat ... and not one of us could find her even though she was in plain view the entire time. 

I didn't think much about that particular hide and seek experience until earlier today when I watched a short documentary about people who come out of the closet later in life, but now I can't get that one round of our nightly game out of my mind, and even more, I can't get it out of my heart. You know why we couldn't find Becca that evening? We couldn't find her because we weren't looking for her in the brightly lit open space of the living room area in the basement ... we were looking for her where we expected her to hide ... we were looking for her where we thought she should hide. We weren't looking for Becca in the light because we expected, thought and believed she would and should be hiding in the darkness. We couldn't find her even though she was right in front of us ... she was hiding right in front of us, and we didn't see her ... Becca was hiding in plain view, and every single one of us walked right by her. Talk about a life lesson, friends ... go ahead and ponder on that one for a while 

There was a common theme among the people whose stories were chronicled in the documentary I watched today ... every one of them spent decades of their lives hiding in plain view. As I watched and listened, tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought of all the people who write to me, the people who tell me their own stories ... countless people who know all too well about the devastating effects that hiding can have, about the toll it can take, about the damage it can wreak, about the lives it can claim. While the film today was about people who tell the truth about their sexuality later in life ... some in their 70s and 80s, and bless their hearts for finally having the courage to say, "No more hiding" ... it made me think about how so many, many, many people live their lives hiding in plain view. I think we all hide, and I think we hide for all sorts of different reasons ... whether it's our health problems or our financial issues or our marital struggles or our parenting fails or our loneliness or our depression or even our sexuality ... we hide in plain view of one another and pray with all our might that no one ever finds us.

I know I work with people who are hiding in plain view ... I know I go to church with people who are hiding in plain view ... I know I attend events with people who are hiding in plain view ... I know I participate in activities with people who are hiding in plain view ... I know I love people who are hiding in plain view ... and my guess is so do you. But ... but ... but ... knowing and doing are two very different things. Knowing people are sick and taking them to a doctor are two very different things ... knowing people are bankrupt and loaning them money are two very different things ... knowing people are getting divorced and standing beside them in court are two very different things ... knowing people whose kids have run away and walking the streets with them looking for those kids are two very different things ... knowing people are lonely and spending time with them are two very different things ... knowing people are sad and remaining firm in your commitment to stay with them are two very different things ... knowing people are gay and speaking out against hate are two very different things.

Knowing people are hiding and looking for them are two very different things ... knowing and doing are two very different things, friends ... two very different things indeed.