Father's Day came and went again this year with that hurtful stab I have felt every year for the last eight years since my dad passed away. Even after all that time, just thinking about my dad, even just writing these words, brings tears to my eyes.
I was one of those lucky kids who had a fairly idylic childhood. My parents were married for 40 years and seemed to get along just fine. We lived in a nice house in a nice town. We kids played sports and were cheerleaders, and Dad never missed a game or event. It was a great time in my life.
As a kid I was definitely a Daddy's Girl. I remember crawling up in his lap to snuggle whenever he played "Ramblin' Rose" by Nat King Cole. That was "our song." I also remember when he brought home a kitten when I was five. It had been born at the factory he managed, and he brought it home under his suit jacket. I remember him bending down in the living room trying to get it to come out of his coat. We squealed and giggled in delight, and we loved that kitten for the next 17 years. I think Scamper finally died about the time I graduated from college. Dad was the one who told me -- long distance on the phone. I think we even cried together over it.
My dad was really good looking. He had jet black hair and soft blue eyes. He was tall and handsome with a deep voice. He was serious in his younger years while he was building his career and raising kids. I remember my friends, particularly boy friends, being afraid of him. I'd always tell them, "He's really nice," and he was, but he could definitely be intimidating.
When I was in junior high and started to date, I gave my dad a lot of heartburn. I remember one boy I met at the community swimming pool one afternoon who was brave enough to come to my house and ring the bell that night. He brought a friend, but when my dad answered the door and asked them gruffly what they wanted, they both ran away. They came back, eventually, but they were not the last boys to be scared of my dad.
In high school I started hanging around with a pretty wild crowd. It was, after all, the 1970s, before Nancy Reagan's "Just Say No," and we were living in Iowa where there wasn't much to do but hang out with friends and party a little. My dad and mom always gave us pretty strict curfews, and since I was younger than most of my friends and was just about the last one to get my driver's license, I often couldn't get home on time. I got grounded a lot, but I usually was able to sweet talk my way out of it when the next "outing" came along. In hindsight, my dad was strict, but soft at the same time.
I remember learning not to talk to my dad when he was balancing the checkbook, but I also learned that if I asked for $10, he'd give me $15. He was generous that way. I always had new outfits for the school dances from the best stores, and we played golf as a family at the country club on Sunday afternoons. Dad didn't like that I flirted with the grounds keepers at the Club. I think he would have preferred if I dated the members, not the lawn crew. But, you know how teenagers can be.
When the time came for me to go away to college, my parent's fairly insisted that I join a sorority. Dad had been a fraternity man at Purdue and all his sisters and sister-in-laws had been in sororities. I obliged and became a Zeta. I have many fond memories of Dad coming to Mizzou for Father's Weekends and going to football games with me. I even remember him playing quarters with my friends and I. By then he had softened a lot, and he liked to tease my friends. I remember one time during my senior year of college when Dad came up to visit during a football weekend. We went out and partied pretty hard at the Deja Vu Disco with my friends. My girlfriends were telling me, "Your dad is really handsome." I remember being a little creeped out by that, but also very proud.
After I graduated from college I moved to Colorado -- 1000 miles away from my parents. I'd see Mom and Dad a couple times a year. We'd visit them in Texas and take houseboat vacations with the whole family at Lake Powell in Utah. When I gave birth to their first grandchild, Mom and Dad were there within a week. Dad always had a warm place in his heart for that first grandson, but he made room for the rest of the grandkids that followed shortly on his heels.
By the time my dad was diagnosed with cancer, he had seven grandkids and he was called both Grandpa by mine and "Daddy Bob" by others. When we'd all gather at the lake it was quite a brood, and I remember Dad working up the energy even when he didn't feel well to play with all the kids.
During the 18 months of his illness I managed to spend a lot of time with him. I'd fly to Texas as often as I could, and we spent a wonderful week together in Taos learning how to paint. My dad and I watched my beloved Broncos win their first superbowl together, and although he was very weak by then, I remember the tear he got in his eye when John Elway won the MVP. A couple weeks later, he passed away, and every day since then I've missed him dearly.
For those who read this who still are blessed enough to have their dads, I hope you know how very lucky you are. I've learned over the last eight years that no one -- not your husband, not your kids, not your mom -- no one can love you like your dad. And on the flip side, there's no one a little girl loves more than her daddy. That relationship can never be replaced.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Moving On
Perhaps the biggest regret I have working as a consultant is it often means saying goodbye to people I like before I'm really ready.
The nature of my work is that I accept projects, work on short-term contracts, and always work with budgets that eventually -- sometimes sooner rather than later -- come to an end. What that means is that oftentimes, just as I start to enjoy working on a particular project or with a particular person, it's time to move along.
The good news is that I am fortunate enough to have a guardian angel that watches over me. I know this is the case because nearly every time I begin the final phase of a project or a relationship -- sometimes even before I know that is the case, something new and thankfully even more exciting, more interesting, or more aligned with my particular skill set comes along.
It happened again last week. A contract looked to be coming to an end, or at least not growing as I'd hoped. Sometimes I can't wait to see clients go away. And sometimes, like this time, it was work I really enjoyed for a client I really like.
But my guardian angel was watching out for me. He/she always seems to come through. Before I even had a chance to worry about what would fill the hole in my schedule next month, or to languish too much in that "nobody loves me" place, I got a call from a new company that needed my help. At the risk of jinxing my good fortune, I really have to marvel at how this works. And the fact is, it always has.
As an adult who lived through adolescence without the "benefit" of medication, I will freely admit that if I were growing up today, I would probably be diagnosed as having ADD. The fact that people come and go in my work life, and that my projects change daily, and that I have a variety of different types of things to work on, are all really good things for me.
Now I will admit that in a way, the uncertainty of my career is a bit unsettling. In fact, the constant change or worry would be enough to drive some people insane -- or at least push them toward a more stable career. But for me, what I do and how it all works is a huge blessing in my life. I know I get bored easily, and sometimes the people I like the best this week annoy the heck out of me next. It's really good that as one door closes, even if not all the way, another --or two or three-- always opens up. I know it's my guardian angel, the answer to my daily prayers, and a true gift from God.
My husband has always said that he worries twice as much about everything because I don't worry at all. It's not true. I have a regular worry schedule that wakes me up often around 3 a.m. But, in my business, even when you do your best, the job ends. That's sort of the goal. And even though the timing isn't always on my schedule and sometimes it hurts or I feel for a moment unwanted or unloved or unappreciated, I know that doing something new and moving on is for the best for someone. And it's not about me.
So once again, for the umpteenth time this year, and the bajillionth time in my career, I'm preparing to move on to new things -- exciting new projects, interesting new clients, and thanks to my guardian angel, some as yet unseen adventures that someday sooner or later I'll be really sad to let go.
The nature of my work is that I accept projects, work on short-term contracts, and always work with budgets that eventually -- sometimes sooner rather than later -- come to an end. What that means is that oftentimes, just as I start to enjoy working on a particular project or with a particular person, it's time to move along.
The good news is that I am fortunate enough to have a guardian angel that watches over me. I know this is the case because nearly every time I begin the final phase of a project or a relationship -- sometimes even before I know that is the case, something new and thankfully even more exciting, more interesting, or more aligned with my particular skill set comes along.
It happened again last week. A contract looked to be coming to an end, or at least not growing as I'd hoped. Sometimes I can't wait to see clients go away. And sometimes, like this time, it was work I really enjoyed for a client I really like.
But my guardian angel was watching out for me. He/she always seems to come through. Before I even had a chance to worry about what would fill the hole in my schedule next month, or to languish too much in that "nobody loves me" place, I got a call from a new company that needed my help. At the risk of jinxing my good fortune, I really have to marvel at how this works. And the fact is, it always has.
As an adult who lived through adolescence without the "benefit" of medication, I will freely admit that if I were growing up today, I would probably be diagnosed as having ADD. The fact that people come and go in my work life, and that my projects change daily, and that I have a variety of different types of things to work on, are all really good things for me.
Now I will admit that in a way, the uncertainty of my career is a bit unsettling. In fact, the constant change or worry would be enough to drive some people insane -- or at least push them toward a more stable career. But for me, what I do and how it all works is a huge blessing in my life. I know I get bored easily, and sometimes the people I like the best this week annoy the heck out of me next. It's really good that as one door closes, even if not all the way, another --or two or three-- always opens up. I know it's my guardian angel, the answer to my daily prayers, and a true gift from God.
My husband has always said that he worries twice as much about everything because I don't worry at all. It's not true. I have a regular worry schedule that wakes me up often around 3 a.m. But, in my business, even when you do your best, the job ends. That's sort of the goal. And even though the timing isn't always on my schedule and sometimes it hurts or I feel for a moment unwanted or unloved or unappreciated, I know that doing something new and moving on is for the best for someone. And it's not about me.
So once again, for the umpteenth time this year, and the bajillionth time in my career, I'm preparing to move on to new things -- exciting new projects, interesting new clients, and thanks to my guardian angel, some as yet unseen adventures that someday sooner or later I'll be really sad to let go.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Aging Gracefully
We live in a world where a whole lot of attention is focused on how we look. That never bothered me much when I was young. Probably because I looked okay. But now that I'm officially mid 40s, and my friends are mid 40s (and older!), looking good is starting to require work. Lots of work.
It starts as soon as I get to work, which for me is pretty early, so it's an early reminder of my daily aging process. First reminder: I can't read anything without glasses. My eyesight went downhill about the time I turned 40. Sometime between then and now it fell off the hill into a deep, dark well. Now I'm having to face the fact that a more permanent solution might be a good idea. Maybe Lasik. But I hate doctors, I don't do elective surgery like most people seem to do. But I probably have at least a dozen pair of "readers," and I can never find a pair when I need them.
As we get older, our conversations with our friends shift too. We still talk about kids, but now some of my friends have kids who are graduating college or getting married. That is making all of us feel old. And of course if your friends are getting old, your conversations with them change. We talk about the health issues of our parents. We talk about losing weight and working out.
I live in Texas -- where you can't spit without hitting a plastic surgeon, and it seems like my friends are all getting "work" done. Botox. Face Lifts. Eye Lifts. Permanent Make-up. I knew about college funds, but I had no idea I'd get to this age and have to worry about coming up with thousands of dollars for these types of things. At least, that is, if I want to "keep up."
The one I'm most intrigued with now is the permanent make-up. It's pretty interesting. And considering I've never been very good with make-up, it seems like a good idea. I know it's not new, but they weren't doing it in my universe until last month. It's wild. Two of my closest friends have the permanent eyeliner top and bottom. It's really cool. I never thought aboout the fact that it's a tatoo. Who would have thought you'd ever come to a point where you could get your eyelids tatooed at a nail salon in a small town in Texas. I'm amazed.
But I've decided that for now at least I'm going to just try to age naturally and gracefully. My best friend is there with me too. She's very au naturale, and we'll get through this aging thing together.
My uncle, who is probably the coolest person in the world -- a product of the 1960s and my dad's youngest brother, is turning 60 this year. He writes books and reads philosophy and consults with government and industry. He's really, really smart. This week he sent me a one line e-mail. It simply said, "Every step we take is toward perfection."
"Every step I take is toward pefection."
Wow. What a great way to think about life, and for me it fits with all this thinking about aging. I'm going to do what I can to age gracefully. I'm trying to exercise more and eat less. I'm on my way to being perfect, and although it's still going to be a lot of work, being perfect is not going to be based on how I look.
It starts as soon as I get to work, which for me is pretty early, so it's an early reminder of my daily aging process. First reminder: I can't read anything without glasses. My eyesight went downhill about the time I turned 40. Sometime between then and now it fell off the hill into a deep, dark well. Now I'm having to face the fact that a more permanent solution might be a good idea. Maybe Lasik. But I hate doctors, I don't do elective surgery like most people seem to do. But I probably have at least a dozen pair of "readers," and I can never find a pair when I need them.
As we get older, our conversations with our friends shift too. We still talk about kids, but now some of my friends have kids who are graduating college or getting married. That is making all of us feel old. And of course if your friends are getting old, your conversations with them change. We talk about the health issues of our parents. We talk about losing weight and working out.
I live in Texas -- where you can't spit without hitting a plastic surgeon, and it seems like my friends are all getting "work" done. Botox. Face Lifts. Eye Lifts. Permanent Make-up. I knew about college funds, but I had no idea I'd get to this age and have to worry about coming up with thousands of dollars for these types of things. At least, that is, if I want to "keep up."
The one I'm most intrigued with now is the permanent make-up. It's pretty interesting. And considering I've never been very good with make-up, it seems like a good idea. I know it's not new, but they weren't doing it in my universe until last month. It's wild. Two of my closest friends have the permanent eyeliner top and bottom. It's really cool. I never thought aboout the fact that it's a tatoo. Who would have thought you'd ever come to a point where you could get your eyelids tatooed at a nail salon in a small town in Texas. I'm amazed.
But I've decided that for now at least I'm going to just try to age naturally and gracefully. My best friend is there with me too. She's very au naturale, and we'll get through this aging thing together.
My uncle, who is probably the coolest person in the world -- a product of the 1960s and my dad's youngest brother, is turning 60 this year. He writes books and reads philosophy and consults with government and industry. He's really, really smart. This week he sent me a one line e-mail. It simply said, "Every step we take is toward perfection."
"Every step I take is toward pefection."
Wow. What a great way to think about life, and for me it fits with all this thinking about aging. I'm going to do what I can to age gracefully. I'm trying to exercise more and eat less. I'm on my way to being perfect, and although it's still going to be a lot of work, being perfect is not going to be based on how I look.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The Value of Air
A good friend of mine from Boulder called last night, and she mentioned at one point in the conversation that Texas had been in the news a lot in a "bad way." "Something to do with really bad air quality and environmental performance," she said.
It was refreshing talking to Carol and having the topic of environmentalism come up in conversation. It's a subject I'm passionate about. But it is easy to ignore it living here in Texas. After all, this is the land that brother oil built.
I live and work out in the country an hour from the city partly because, since moving to Texas, I've developed both allergies and asthma. When you can't breathe, it's a problem. A few years ago I worked at an ad agency three days a week in the heart of Dallas -- trendy uptown, right on McKinney. The cable car went by all day long full of mostly tourists going to the Hard Rock. Anyway, once in a while, we would walk to lunch somewhere more than a few blocks away. On 100 degree days, that usually triggered an afternoon asthma attack.
My doctor told me that going back and forth between the smog-filled air of Dallas and the intense forests and lushness of east Texas was troubling my lungs, which, she said, had become a tighter mesh from living at altitude for more than 15 years. Basically in east Texas you have three seasons, she had said, "Fall, Winter, and Allergy Season." Couple that with Dallas' putrid air quality, and you have a recipe for disaster.
So for the last several years I have mostly avoided Dallas on high pollution days, working from home more. At really bad allergy times, like the last four days for me, I either try to travel out of town (Vegas is always a good escape from blooming things) or stay pretty doped up on over-the-counter allergy meds. This means I'm only able to work in brief spurts of clarity, and I have to surrounder to the couch (on Sunday I did for the entire day).
More than once this week my kids has asked, "Mom, are you going to be okay?" "I'm fine," I tell them in my whispy, nasally voice, even though I do not feel fine. I'm on medication, and I feel like I'm walking around in a fuzzy bubble.
Yesterday I had been walking all over the Fort Worth Club trying to find an elevator that would take me to my car, and just as I found my car my phone rang. "Hello," I had answered. "Are you okay? You're breathing heavy!" My friend said, alarmed. "I'm fine," I had wheezed.
But I'm not fine. A few weeks out of the year I suffer a lot with breathing troubles. It really puts my focus on air quality. What if everyone in the world had the trouble I have, not just a few weeks a year, but all the time? Could it get that bad? Are we heading in that direction?
I have to listen to what my friend said about "bad news on the environmental front" in Texas. Our air quality everywhere is really important, because air doesn't stop at state boundaries. If we're screwing up our air here in Texas, we're screwing up the air in Oklahoma and Arkansas, and New Mexico, and Mexico...we're screwing it up for everyone. It doesn't matter if Coloradans do what they can do if we're going to send our stinky Texas air up toward the Rockies. If I lived in Colorado, I'd be pissed.
On an individual front, we have to do what we can do. This summer I'm not going to drive un-necessarily. My next car will be a hybrid. And I'm going to raise my kids to respect the environment and conserve. I know there's lots more that I can do and I'm going to give this a lot more thought... I hope that you will too.
It was refreshing talking to Carol and having the topic of environmentalism come up in conversation. It's a subject I'm passionate about. But it is easy to ignore it living here in Texas. After all, this is the land that brother oil built.
I live and work out in the country an hour from the city partly because, since moving to Texas, I've developed both allergies and asthma. When you can't breathe, it's a problem. A few years ago I worked at an ad agency three days a week in the heart of Dallas -- trendy uptown, right on McKinney. The cable car went by all day long full of mostly tourists going to the Hard Rock. Anyway, once in a while, we would walk to lunch somewhere more than a few blocks away. On 100 degree days, that usually triggered an afternoon asthma attack.
My doctor told me that going back and forth between the smog-filled air of Dallas and the intense forests and lushness of east Texas was troubling my lungs, which, she said, had become a tighter mesh from living at altitude for more than 15 years. Basically in east Texas you have three seasons, she had said, "Fall, Winter, and Allergy Season." Couple that with Dallas' putrid air quality, and you have a recipe for disaster.
So for the last several years I have mostly avoided Dallas on high pollution days, working from home more. At really bad allergy times, like the last four days for me, I either try to travel out of town (Vegas is always a good escape from blooming things) or stay pretty doped up on over-the-counter allergy meds. This means I'm only able to work in brief spurts of clarity, and I have to surrounder to the couch (on Sunday I did for the entire day).
More than once this week my kids has asked, "Mom, are you going to be okay?" "I'm fine," I tell them in my whispy, nasally voice, even though I do not feel fine. I'm on medication, and I feel like I'm walking around in a fuzzy bubble.
Yesterday I had been walking all over the Fort Worth Club trying to find an elevator that would take me to my car, and just as I found my car my phone rang. "Hello," I had answered. "Are you okay? You're breathing heavy!" My friend said, alarmed. "I'm fine," I had wheezed.
But I'm not fine. A few weeks out of the year I suffer a lot with breathing troubles. It really puts my focus on air quality. What if everyone in the world had the trouble I have, not just a few weeks a year, but all the time? Could it get that bad? Are we heading in that direction?
I have to listen to what my friend said about "bad news on the environmental front" in Texas. Our air quality everywhere is really important, because air doesn't stop at state boundaries. If we're screwing up our air here in Texas, we're screwing up the air in Oklahoma and Arkansas, and New Mexico, and Mexico...we're screwing it up for everyone. It doesn't matter if Coloradans do what they can do if we're going to send our stinky Texas air up toward the Rockies. If I lived in Colorado, I'd be pissed.
On an individual front, we have to do what we can do. This summer I'm not going to drive un-necessarily. My next car will be a hybrid. And I'm going to raise my kids to respect the environment and conserve. I know there's lots more that I can do and I'm going to give this a lot more thought... I hope that you will too.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Balancing Work and Life
I started my own business 11 years ago for one simple reason: I had two toddlers who needed me more than they were getting me because I had a job that had me more than it deserved me. So I quit the job, started my own business, and for the last decade I've practiced the gentle art of attempting to balance my work and my family.
Sure, it's easier when you're your own boss to take an hour or two off to attend an awards ceremony or party during the day at school. And sure, it's easier when you're self-employed to rearrange your schedule in the summer to accommodate the needs of kids who are all of a sudden under foot.
But when you work out of your home like I do, summer comes and work is a little harder to do. Parents who have to leave the house for work -- like most people do -- face their own set of summer challenges. I realize those are probably far worse than my own, but then again, they get to leave home.
At my house the scales pretty quickly shifted to the "life" side of the equation as early as two hours into "summertime." In fact, by 3 p.m. Friday (the kids got out at 1), I had four boys in the pool, which happens to be directly outside my office windows. Because of their ages, I no longer feel the need to supervise swimming, but it's a little hard to ignore the splashing and noise of four teenagers in a pool who are wound up from the last day of school.
Thankfully, as an independent business person I learned a long time ago about the value of technology. Quickly on Friday, with noodle smacking and jumping and splashing going on right outside my windows, I grabbed on to what just might be the best technological advance the independent, work-from-home professional ever had -- it's the gadget that is going to help me survive the summer of 2007: my new ipod.
My ipod was a gift for Mother's Day. It is not a fancy one, but it is the one I wanted -- the hot pink shuffle. I can only remember how to load music on it about every other time, so my play lists are still a little thin. But I really like it. Best of all, I discovered on Friday that when those buds are in my ears I am oblivious to everyone and everything outside of myself. It's me and Celine or Sarah or Barry, sitting at my computer, writing articles about outdoor lighting and pitching media via the internet.
Not only will I not hear the splashing this summer, but I also won't hear the front door and refrigerator door slamming every few minutes, and I won't hear the door bell or the beeping from the arrival of non-stop text messages. I won't hear the roar of the video games or the fights --- or even the laughter.
Yep, productivity is going to go through the roof for me this summer. I'm going to be in the zone! So if you've got some work to do, give me a call. Hopefully you won't mind the slight inconvenience of leaving a message. I no longer can hear the phone ring.
Sure, it's easier when you're your own boss to take an hour or two off to attend an awards ceremony or party during the day at school. And sure, it's easier when you're self-employed to rearrange your schedule in the summer to accommodate the needs of kids who are all of a sudden under foot.
But when you work out of your home like I do, summer comes and work is a little harder to do. Parents who have to leave the house for work -- like most people do -- face their own set of summer challenges. I realize those are probably far worse than my own, but then again, they get to leave home.
At my house the scales pretty quickly shifted to the "life" side of the equation as early as two hours into "summertime." In fact, by 3 p.m. Friday (the kids got out at 1), I had four boys in the pool, which happens to be directly outside my office windows. Because of their ages, I no longer feel the need to supervise swimming, but it's a little hard to ignore the splashing and noise of four teenagers in a pool who are wound up from the last day of school.
Thankfully, as an independent business person I learned a long time ago about the value of technology. Quickly on Friday, with noodle smacking and jumping and splashing going on right outside my windows, I grabbed on to what just might be the best technological advance the independent, work-from-home professional ever had -- it's the gadget that is going to help me survive the summer of 2007: my new ipod.
My ipod was a gift for Mother's Day. It is not a fancy one, but it is the one I wanted -- the hot pink shuffle. I can only remember how to load music on it about every other time, so my play lists are still a little thin. But I really like it. Best of all, I discovered on Friday that when those buds are in my ears I am oblivious to everyone and everything outside of myself. It's me and Celine or Sarah or Barry, sitting at my computer, writing articles about outdoor lighting and pitching media via the internet.
Not only will I not hear the splashing this summer, but I also won't hear the front door and refrigerator door slamming every few minutes, and I won't hear the door bell or the beeping from the arrival of non-stop text messages. I won't hear the roar of the video games or the fights --- or even the laughter.
Yep, productivity is going to go through the roof for me this summer. I'm going to be in the zone! So if you've got some work to do, give me a call. Hopefully you won't mind the slight inconvenience of leaving a message. I no longer can hear the phone ring.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
It's all that matters
There have been a few instances in the past week or so that have brought me back to a basic discussion I had in 1986 while working at the College for Financial Planning in Denver as a writer. Back during the "ME Generation" I was having this discussion with an editor, who had taken it upon herself not only to correct my copy, but give me a lesson in grammar to boot.
At the ripe old age of --- let's just say REALLY young, I was annoyed by this woman's insistance that she not only reprimand me for causing her to (in my opinion) do her job and "fix my stuff," but she also felt the need to teach me about dangling participles, split infinitives and run on sentences.
"I never really did learn my grammar real well. It's a creative process for me. I write naturally by putting a comma in where it sounds like you need a pause. 90 percent of the time it works," I had said with a classic "I'm 22 and you can't tell me anything, ya old hag," attitude.
My editor had looked at me with a mixture of amazement and pure hatred. "A world without grammar is a world without order. It's essential to the very foundation of our language. In a sense, it's the only thing that's really important," she had said, before waddling back into her cubicle and her collection of grammar books.
"Whatever," I had replied before retreating to my office to begin work on draft 12 of my current project, which I recall had started to be really annoying.
Flash forward 20 plus years and I find myself in a similar situation. I've written a 600 word article for national distribution, constructed a hypothesis, researched the topic, crafted a nice story that was actually interesting to read, and when my client reviews it his only comment was, "Please upper case the VP's title."
Now the title had been down-cased by the editor at the wire service, so to have the VP ask, via the marketing kid, to change it back cracked me up.
"So I swiveled in my chair and pulled my Associated Press Style Book off the shelf. I don't have to use it often, but it's always comforting to know it's there. I opened the AP Style Book and looked up TITLES.
"Lower case unless it's the Pope or President and it comes before their name." AP had spoken.
So I picked up the phone, called the marketing kid, and told him we couldn't upper case his title.
"It's the rule. It's the way it has to be," I had said.
"Rules are meant to be broken," he had snapped back.
"Grammar is the very foundation of our language, you can't break the rules. In some ways its the only thing that really matters," I heard someone who looks like a more wrinkled version of me say.
"What are you talking about?" my young client had asked with a bit of a snivel and "here she goes again" attitude in his voice.
"I'm talking about rules that you can't break. Grammar. AP Style. It's like the law in my business. You just can't mess with it."
"That's a drag," he had said, before adding, "I always just stick the comma where it sounds like it belongs."
I felt a chill run up my spine. The call ended and suddenly week-kneed I half limped half waddled back to my desk, put my AP Style Book in its revered spot on the crowded shelf, sat down, and said a little prayer for the next generation. Hopefully it will all work out.
At the ripe old age of --- let's just say REALLY young, I was annoyed by this woman's insistance that she not only reprimand me for causing her to (in my opinion) do her job and "fix my stuff," but she also felt the need to teach me about dangling participles, split infinitives and run on sentences.
"I never really did learn my grammar real well. It's a creative process for me. I write naturally by putting a comma in where it sounds like you need a pause. 90 percent of the time it works," I had said with a classic "I'm 22 and you can't tell me anything, ya old hag," attitude.
My editor had looked at me with a mixture of amazement and pure hatred. "A world without grammar is a world without order. It's essential to the very foundation of our language. In a sense, it's the only thing that's really important," she had said, before waddling back into her cubicle and her collection of grammar books.
"Whatever," I had replied before retreating to my office to begin work on draft 12 of my current project, which I recall had started to be really annoying.
Flash forward 20 plus years and I find myself in a similar situation. I've written a 600 word article for national distribution, constructed a hypothesis, researched the topic, crafted a nice story that was actually interesting to read, and when my client reviews it his only comment was, "Please upper case the VP's title."
Now the title had been down-cased by the editor at the wire service, so to have the VP ask, via the marketing kid, to change it back cracked me up.
"So I swiveled in my chair and pulled my Associated Press Style Book off the shelf. I don't have to use it often, but it's always comforting to know it's there. I opened the AP Style Book and looked up TITLES.
"Lower case unless it's the Pope or President and it comes before their name." AP had spoken.
So I picked up the phone, called the marketing kid, and told him we couldn't upper case his title.
"It's the rule. It's the way it has to be," I had said.
"Rules are meant to be broken," he had snapped back.
"Grammar is the very foundation of our language, you can't break the rules. In some ways its the only thing that really matters," I heard someone who looks like a more wrinkled version of me say.
"What are you talking about?" my young client had asked with a bit of a snivel and "here she goes again" attitude in his voice.
"I'm talking about rules that you can't break. Grammar. AP Style. It's like the law in my business. You just can't mess with it."
"That's a drag," he had said, before adding, "I always just stick the comma where it sounds like it belongs."
I felt a chill run up my spine. The call ended and suddenly week-kneed I half limped half waddled back to my desk, put my AP Style Book in its revered spot on the crowded shelf, sat down, and said a little prayer for the next generation. Hopefully it will all work out.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Funny Like That
I live in a small town, and I've been here eight years. When I first arrived, I cried every day for six months, deciding it was the biggest mistake I'd ever made. I missed my friends -- people that I'd known for years. A small town is a hard place to meet people. They're funny like that.
But I've grown to love it here. It's a great place to live. The town has grown a lot too. There's a Blockbuster where the flea market used to be, and a Radio Shack and half a dozen new restaurants. We now have Lowes and Chilis. We have a movie theatre, a couple health clubs, several spas, and even a hospital. It's really neat how fast it's grown. This town has become a pretty nice place. I love knowing the people I see each day. In a small town, you can always find people when you want them. It's funny like that.
I love my coffee shop. When I don't stop for a few days there's always lots to catch up on. (And if you stay gone too long, you're sure to be the topic of conversation.) I love my UPS Store. The people who work there are a part of my team. They see my faxes before I do and call to congratulate me when signed agreements arrive. I even get calls when I get checks in the mail. I like that. People in a small town want to know everything about you, and if you tell anything, you better be willing for everyone to know. It's funny like that.
I love that I can do my banking by phone with a live human, and I like that they know me at the cleaners. I'm part of a village raising all our kids, with small town car pools and neighbors to call when I get stuck in traffic or my kid needs a ride. I love that my kids have known their friends since they were small. I like waving at people in their cars and having them wave back. I even like it that I get an e-mail from my pastor checking up on me if I miss church. It's funny like that.
I love my pilates class and my fabulous friends who are just as wonderful or even more so than the friends I cried over when I left Colorado. It's interesting how things change. Now I'd only cry if I had to leave this place. Life is definitely funny like that.
But I've grown to love it here. It's a great place to live. The town has grown a lot too. There's a Blockbuster where the flea market used to be, and a Radio Shack and half a dozen new restaurants. We now have Lowes and Chilis. We have a movie theatre, a couple health clubs, several spas, and even a hospital. It's really neat how fast it's grown. This town has become a pretty nice place. I love knowing the people I see each day. In a small town, you can always find people when you want them. It's funny like that.
I love my coffee shop. When I don't stop for a few days there's always lots to catch up on. (And if you stay gone too long, you're sure to be the topic of conversation.) I love my UPS Store. The people who work there are a part of my team. They see my faxes before I do and call to congratulate me when signed agreements arrive. I even get calls when I get checks in the mail. I like that. People in a small town want to know everything about you, and if you tell anything, you better be willing for everyone to know. It's funny like that.
I love that I can do my banking by phone with a live human, and I like that they know me at the cleaners. I'm part of a village raising all our kids, with small town car pools and neighbors to call when I get stuck in traffic or my kid needs a ride. I love that my kids have known their friends since they were small. I like waving at people in their cars and having them wave back. I even like it that I get an e-mail from my pastor checking up on me if I miss church. It's funny like that.
I love my pilates class and my fabulous friends who are just as wonderful or even more so than the friends I cried over when I left Colorado. It's interesting how things change. Now I'd only cry if I had to leave this place. Life is definitely funny like that.
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