tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25648689118728948892024-03-04T23:45:50.628-05:00Dirty Dishes In the CabinetBlogging on my experiences, thoughts that randomly pop up, and items that need to be written down so I can free up space in the area called my mind! Not meant to offend, but to give a POV (that would be point of view, otherwise known as opinion).
WARNING: Contains the usual stuff you find when someone writes from their heart and hits "PUBLISH".Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-8003759830937387212021-04-09T00:13:00.001-04:002021-04-09T00:13:23.088-04:00CTA: Are You Ready to Die?<p> I've decided that I need to do what my daddy did for me.</p><p>My father lay in a hospital bed in the early winter of 2013, none of us assured any outcome. After a number of heart attacks, stabilization issues, he was slated for a quadruple plus bypass. Daddy doesn't do anything small, even when it comes to medical issues.</p><p>I spent weeks away from work, thousands of miles away from my husband and children. I wanted to make sure I was there for my parents. Daddy came out of his surgery, and a day later, I was blessed to spend an afternoon with him by myself. Much of the time was spent just sitting there, watching him sleep. When he did wake up, we spent time chatting about life, ethereal things that people don't always address.</p><p>After that day, I made peace with death. Not just my dad's, but my own. It was all due to my father's amazing insight and retrospection. Not to say that when I lose a soul that I love that I won't be crushed, but, my Daddy gave me some amazing insight as to what it means to 'live a life'.</p><p>Dad said to me just this:</p><p>"Suzie, I have been so very lucky. I grew up with no hopes of succeeding, amounting to anything. My parents were divorced, and back in THOSE days, that was a death sentence for any dreams or inspirations for many. My dad married a woman years later. I was an orphan, no one wanted me. She gave me another chance. I never called her my 'step mother', because she was the only mom I was given at that point."</p><p>"She came into my life when I was 13 years old. She had a handful when she took me on. We persevered, and I finally graduated high school when I was 21. Went into the service during the 'peacekeeping' mission in Vietnam. Came back, took advantage of the GI bill and got my Associates Degree in Business. During that time, fell in love with the girl of my dreams, and when the time was right, asked her to marry me. What I've done since then, it's all icing on the cake. A dream. ME, I actually accomplished things that I would have never dreamed of. Married the most wonderful woman I could have ever asked for. She's stuck by me for so many years, and loved me, no matter what. I have two kids who have given me such great joy. I couldn't ask for more. More money would be nice, but seriously, I've lived a dream. If I die tomorrow, I die a fulfilled man."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsq3L0C_-0oOxcDN4XVuFj_kT32YrgBQyD1_urCgddqnl299AdGUsGdzMOp6UpPEZUxKv4i_kjtt3u_7-Ce1GWtOa858veMahImnnOYd3UE6uu_MtW6TLQW19AUGpvIQIFCf-bbEwnIuxc/s1078/SmartSelect_20200418-030435_Chrome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="1078" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsq3L0C_-0oOxcDN4XVuFj_kT32YrgBQyD1_urCgddqnl299AdGUsGdzMOp6UpPEZUxKv4i_kjtt3u_7-Ce1GWtOa858veMahImnnOYd3UE6uu_MtW6TLQW19AUGpvIQIFCf-bbEwnIuxc/s320/SmartSelect_20200418-030435_Chrome.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I've been contemplating my life recently. I actually will echo my daddy. Although I've not had an easy path in life, I consider myself blessed, lucky, living a dream. No, I don't have a mansion, I currently live with my husband and 2 youngest adult kids, in a 900 square foot, 3 bedroom apartment. BUT, I have amazing neighbors who I truly love and appreciate. I live in an upscale town that still keeps its New England charm and sensibilities. </p><p> I get to work for a company, and in a position that many would envy. Nope. No fancy title, but to be hired by my company, well, most would have a better shot of getting into Harvard than here. I have co-workers who are some of the most brilliant people I've ever known, who all have hearts of gold, strive to be better people, personally and professionally, every. damned. day. There are 'big wigs' who actually take time and care about me, as a person. And when I reach out to them for help, they come as Moses for me and part the sea.</p><p>I married my best friend. We are blessed with four amazing souls whom I adore, support, and cheer for. We love Star Wars, and all of us have a 'ties that bind' catch to one another, a 'thing' that we as adults can bond over.</p><p>My life outside of my family? Well, I have some seriously deep bonds with others. I live and love deeply, and there are so many souls who've crossed my path that I genuinely route for every day. Agape, that's what they call it. When you love someone that you just love as a soul. My former students, very near and dear friends, and some co-workers who I earnestly appreciate because they are genuinely 'good people' (as you'd say in New England speak).</p><p>Reflecting on my conversation with Daddy during those tenuous times, I can now understand, and align myself. </p><p>If I died tomorrow, I'm good. I'd be disappointed that I couldn't do more, but that's not the point. </p><p>I know that I've reached out to those that are struggling, I gave some amazing souls a new perspective, I made a difference in hundreds of children's (and their parents) lives, I fought for people's rights, accessibility, for equality, and if I died tomorrow.... if no one grieved, it's ok. I'm happy where I am, I am happy with what I've done. I am happy that I've made a true contribution to our society. It doesn't mean that I'm giving up on achieving more, it's that if I expire before I'm ready, I'm OK with what I've left as a legacy.</p><p>Are you ready? Are you happy with what you've left behind? I could die tonight and know that I've impacted lives. Can you say the same?</p>Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-43516361706332645512019-12-09T21:35:00.002-05:002020-05-06T13:54:43.725-04:00Gen X Against The World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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First... let me clear up some misnomers.... some things that a 30 year old manager doesn't know.... or at least realize. I am GEN X.... and proud of it.<br />
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Gen X helped create 'the Interwebs' (note my snark). I spent time working in HTML and Basica before you were born (well, some of you).<br />
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I am and have been an alpha and beta tester on more platforms and have forgotten more than what most younger than me will ever know. (Ello, Blab anyone??)<br />
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If you are a 'young' manager (under the age of 50) and you find yourself sitting across the interview table from someone that's an X'er, prod, poke, and see if they haven't been overlooked solely because of age. Just because they're in proximity of your parents' age, doesn't mean that they're incompetent to learn new platforms or understand taxonomy of a site.<br />
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WE CREATED THAT STUFF!!!<br />
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I urge you to take a moment, take the time to interview and vet a potential hire that's Gen X. Don't walk in with preconceived notions. Yes... my boomer parents instilled that I needed to show up to work sick, to show my devotion to the company. Now... I am blessed that I have a manager who sent me home a year ago, asking me to just get well and come back whole. I could be my boss's parent, and enjoy that I can be there for him, give him my 'unpolished' comments and insights, to which he has agreed to some of them, surprise!<br />
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I don't look at you and judge you by your age, why do you do the same to me? My generation fought for the opportunity to work and progress, no matter you age, but by your experience, knowledge, and what you bring to the table. Gen X appreciates intelligence and celebrates success, no matter what you look like or what age you are. We were the first to break barriers, push the envelope. We still do that... when we're given the chance.<br />
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If you're looking to hire someone with fire, passion, a willingness, and the proven capabilities to transform and learn, you might want to consider that 48 year old over the 24 year old, cause we bring skills and insight you don't have yet. Don't assume what we would ask for pay.... that's... well... assumptive.<br />
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We are not boomers (did I say that already?). We are the first gen tech savvy... we are the ground breakers, the people that want to still stay relevant, and can be just that for your company.<br />
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Give me a Gen X any day over someone who doesn't have depth.... we'll still get that ish every day.<br />
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<br />Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-81887128296074598022018-06-26T01:04:00.001-04:002018-06-26T01:04:32.558-04:00Fate & Newton<i>Up until a VERY short while ago... I believed that if I planned, prepared, took the right steps, that everything would happen the way I <b>wished</b> it would. My work, and the life that I've been living, have taught me that it doesn't always happen that way.</i><br />
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Fate is part of a belief system. In this mind frame, one subscribes that things are created, people meet, or events occur due to a predestined plan. All of these things happen through a divinity, or super power that is beyond human kind, and no one person has control of what happens to them.<br />
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While I will grant that coincidence and circumstances play heavily in most people's lives, I now see that those are things in which we can manipulate, or rather, harness to create another pathway for ourselves.<br />
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With every decision that we make, it creates an inevitable set of actions and reactions. Our lives are truly a perfect example of Newton's Law of Motion, more specifically the Third Law of Motion. The difference is that there are numerous independant and dependant variables that impact everything that we wish to do, and why the decisions that we make don't turn out the way we had hoped (and planned) that they would.<br />
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Rather than fate, my thoughts are that the presence of confounding variables (much like a 'black swan') is what really impacts our plans in life the most. These are variables that, when introduced to the independant and dependant variables, changes/alters things to the point of uselessness. This would be why those amazing plans in life don't work the way you envisioned them. It is not necessarily that you didn't 'expect the unexpected', however, lives are full of moments that we sometimes don't have the capability or understanding to perceive how much they actually influence the next decision.<br />
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I am not a proponent of the 'uselessness' club, because I believe we all serve a purpose here on this blue ball, either to the planet, society, or to others directly. As romantic as the 'red string of fate' mentality is, and that 'fate' brings things to light, people together, and events to 'spontaneously' happen, there really is no such thing. It is a fairy tale, a dream, wishful thinking, to excuse the decisions we have made. <br />
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Today, I will live in the day, and am no longer bound by the constraints of naivety or 'wishful thinking'. There will be a deliberate effort to embrace the moment that I am in, and accept where I am at in my life. <br />
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It doesn't mean that I can't dream, but I will be living more fully in the reality of what is in front of me, so that I can make ever more clearer choices every time I have the opportunity to do so.<br />
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<br />Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-70090737644127091612016-10-03T03:31:00.001-04:002016-11-28T00:00:35.511-05:00Out of Touch<div class="MsoNormal">
As I watch the world news tonight unfold, something finally
strikes me. The beautiful Botoxed woman
in front of the camera, the one with the impeccable plastic surgery, wonderful
make up artists, and wardrobe people, exclaims that she’s bewildered by the Haitian
and Cubans who are staying put while a very strong Category 4 (fluctuating
between a 4 and 5 for the past 48 hours) barrels towards them, promising
impending doom.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She’s so out of touch.
She’s spent too much time dining in fine establishments, having her
every whim catered, that she doesn’t comprehend what it’s like to be someone
with nothing to lose, but one’s life.
This woman considers a car ‘issue’ a HUGE issue. The fact that she HAS a
car is something that many of those would be grateful to have. Dishwashers, clothes washers, dryers… shall I
go on? They don’t have these luxuries, they can only wish for a piece of that,
one of those things, because, when you are poor, there’s a price to be paid, precious
time, exorbitant money in ‘rental solutions’, and just a lack of.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When a ‘normal day’ encompasses finding potable water, being
able to put at least one meal in front of your children a day, when your home
has a dirt floor and you don’t have air conditioning. When you live in a neighborhood that is predispositioned to violence. You live in an area because
that’s where you can afford to live.
Rent… not owning, because enough strikes against you in the game of
life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The inhabitants, to numb their weary hearts and bodies, turn
to things that numb the mind and body, just so they can face another day without
losing their mind while they see others so well off. Others pray, a lot. They turn to a God that
somehow hears their meager prayers, and allows them to face another day of the existence
that they are eaking out.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Those who ‘have’ are so quick to judge the decisions of
those who ‘have not’. The ‘have nots’
are those that are willing to stand their ground, keep watch over themselves
and their families and neighbors, and are the first to respond to others when
they need physical assistance, because that’s all they can afford to give. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When did it happen? When did our society become so
divergent, between the ‘haves and have nots’? What ever happened to the middle class,
because I’m seeing more ‘lower’ and ‘higher’ but no middle in sight. You can’t
tell me that it’s only the under/uneducated… because I see people with college
degrees waiting on tables, because they don’t have the ‘connections’ or they
are too old for the job force. <o:p></o:p></div>
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(Sidebar: I had a wonderful man wait on myself and my
daughter in a little neighborhood restaurant last week. He’s got a Masters
degree, but apparently, doesn’t have enough connections in order to get a
job.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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I listen to this announcer discuss with a ‘street reporter’
about ‘security’ for a poor b-list celeb that got robbed in Paris. My stomach
turns… there are so many others that are far more worthy of the time they’re
wasting on this ‘celeb’, there are people who are doing life changing things
for others, at their own sacrifice, and yet… we’re more concerned with this
woman than we are with the truly beautiful people. The people with souls who
stand in the face of dire straights, insurmountable odds, and horrific storms.<o:p></o:p></div>
Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-19783011882204149922016-09-06T04:30:00.002-04:002016-11-28T00:03:11.995-05:00My Sweetest Twisted<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s 3 am…. My 18 year old wakes up, sobbing and screaming “Mommy!”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I rush into her room, knowing that she didn’t take her anti-psychotic medicine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m bleeding, my hair, I hit my head when I fell and now it’s bleeding. My brain, inside my head… I’m going to die. I am dyeing Mamma. Oh my God…. Buddy [the family dog] he’s DEAD! Oh my God, I love him, why did he have to die?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I assure her that Buddy is not only alive, but overweight and in need of a walk with her tomorrow. I rush to my bedroom, retrieve the rat terrier, and carry him quickly to my girl’s room, placing him directly onto her. I know that if she has a tactile, a ‘grounding’ moment… it will help her ‘argue off’ the voices that lie to her in her mind. She is still insisting that she’s bleeding in her brain, that there’s now blood over all of the pillows, that the neighbors now hate her because she woke up in the middle of the night. I assure her that she and I (as well as Buddy) are the only ones who know that she’s awake. We’re the only one’s aware of her hallucination. She now tells me that we need to move, and move soon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just the other day, we were traveling from Attleboro to Mansfield. Carrying a new found treasure. A chair that Christa bought from Savers that cost a whole $7. She told me, in strict confidence, that she could hear the people talking in the vehicle behind us. That they were saying horrible things about us. They were not only complaining about us doing the 35 mile per hour speed limit, but they were taking our license plate number down, calling the local authorities to report that our trunk was open and we were travelling. After 5 minutes or so, I informed her that the car behind us turned off onto another road, and that we no longer had to deal with those people, that they weren’t talking about us, and we would be fine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I can’t say when I stopped sleeping through the night. I don’t like going to bed until I know that my children are safe, content, and fast asleep. My baby girl, at 18, has now flipped the charts of parenting on me. Because of the chemical imbalance in her mind and body, it’s not unusual for her to be awake in the wee hours of the morning. Many days my husband will wake for work, 4:30, 5am to go to work… only to find that our girl is still wide awake. She’s awake because she’s fighting the demons in her mind. The one’s that show up and tell her a myriad of lies. The one’s that taunt her, make fun of her, tell her falsehoods. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My girl never got the opportunity to complete high school. I will save THAT sordid story of administration failing epic ally (and politics that were played) for another time. She never went to a prom, any high school event, ever. Didn’t really have a ‘high school experience’. After going through the hellaciousness of middle school nastiness… one would hope for a dance, a semi, a some sort of extracurricular activity… my child’s chemical imbalance robbed us all of that.<o:p></o:p><br />
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There are days, nights mostly, that I spend with my girl, working through her thoughts, talking out the issues that are resting on the surface of her mind. She’s an old soul trapped in an 18 year old body. She “gets it” when she’s not struggling with the ‘Bad Man’ or the ‘old ladies who argue and judge’. She’s a grateful soul. I didn’t have a nth of what she has when I was her age. She discusses holistic societal issues. How people should treat one another, what the ‘hang ups’ are with each generation. I can tell you that if Wall Street stock pickers, sociologists, politicians listened to her, they would gain a wealth of insight into how the world is, what the stripped down, no PC added, issues are with our society, wants to figure out a way to combat her disease without taking SSI to survive. (That’s kind of an issue, considering that she struggles in social situations due to social anxiety disorder, beyond the schizoaffective disorder). She wants to volunteer time to local organizations so that she can actually ‘pay it back’. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What breaks my heart? When she’s sobbing, apologizing for doing her perceived wrongs… when she’s done absolutely NOTHING wrong. And then she says... “Momma… no one will ever be able to love me. I will never be able to find love. I won’t have anything. No family, no career, no nothing. I might as well die right now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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What the hell. She is very lovable… it’s the disease that’s nasty, but, it’s controllable. I wonder…. If there’s any hope for my sweetest Twisted (a nickname I gave her when she was very young due to her macabre and sarcastic sense of humor).<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know how this ends, but I know that it never will. Not for my Twisted, not for myself, until I take my last breath. I will be here, helping her fight the demons and making damned well certain that there’s time, a goal, and something, anything, to look forward to.<o:p></o:p></div>
Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-4002105808192864922014-11-13T09:04:00.000-05:002015-06-01T00:54:28.265-04:00If a Dog Barks in South Station.....Trip into Boston. Took the Blue line into Aquarium and stopped by a couple of businesses. Nothing remarkable about my venture through town. I can tell you that when you visit 75 State Street now, there are gates just before the elevator banks. They weren't there before. You have to check in with a valid drivers license/ID before handed a ticket that is printed out, noting where you are going in the building. You insert it into a little slot at one of these gates, the gates open, then you are allowed access to the elevator banks.<br />
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I had finished my visit, not quite ready to head back home, when I decided to visit South Station for a toasted piece of heaven (there's this grilled cheese place that would make even your grandmother blush). Nothing unusual here folks.... the hub bub of people getting off commuter trains, the traveler and business person, grabbing a quick bite to eat, a cup of liquid heat, or some other little culinary goodie.<br />
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After retrieving my order of melted, grilled comfort, I settled in on one of the wooden bench areas in the station, ready for my feast. Seated between a businessman checking his messages, and a college student, who looked like she was packed to go home, I began chomping away at my late lunch. <br />
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Just then, a dog barked. It was not a regular bark, no.... this was a big, loud, echoing bark, repeated. The dog continued his warning. I looked up from my own little world to see where this canine was, and to try and decipher what he was 'hollaring' about. In a corner of the station, there he stood. A massive German Shepard, clothed in a K-9 jacket, being restrained by his handler, a man that looked like he was dressed for the part of a SWAT team. I glanced around, noticing that the other occupants of the station were also doing the same as I was. We were all then, looking, wondering, where the culprit was. Glaring at one another, trying not to make eye contact with everyone around, trying not to look alarmed.<br />
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There is no recollection, in my mind's eye, of ever feeling that way before. I don't recall ever feeling that kind of unease, that insecurity, hanging out in a train station in Boston. But, today, now, it was real, palpable, and I wasn't the only one sensing that. As I looked around, trying to calm myself down inside, I saw that the rest of the crowd was also doing a self check. Five minutes later, and we were unsettled down, back, somewhat, to what we were all doing before the dog barked.Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-63306805505558120282014-11-03T14:55:00.001-05:002014-11-03T14:55:52.161-05:00"just IS"Funny, my teenage son was putting clean dishes away. Funny that he was putting them away? Yes. What's even more funny is the fact that he broke a coffee cup. He was extremely apologetic. Me? I really could care less. It was a very nice cup. Cost me more than 3 other of my favorite cups combined. Why wasn't I upset? Because, even though there was a monetary value, there was no sentimental value. I liked it, it served it's purpose, but, well.... the handle, after using it a few times, was more aggrevating than I expected. It was adorable... had a special shape to it, but after a few times of coffee dribbling out of the side, I only used it as my 'back up'.<br />
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Baffled, my son wanted to know why the cheap dish, the one that he had smashed a month ago, incurred far greater wrath than the breaking of this pretty thing. It wasn't easy to explain, but when I equated it to an old longboard of his, the cheaper one that he first used, he almost was able to identify, to relate.<br />
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There are things that we have, use, possess in our lives that mean so much to us, for one reason or another. Many times it is because we have invested substantial sums of money. For those items, I find myself taking care of them, using them until their usefulness wears out. I don't necessarily place an emotional value on them. When they are no longer needed, I pass those things on to others, not a tear shed, not really missed at all.<br />
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The items that I <em><strong>have</strong></em> attached an emotional value however, I tend to use them, constantly, without thought. It's like that worn, old, pair of _________ (fill in the blank with whatever you wish) that you've had for at least 15 years. There's a comfort that goes into something that has been used, broken in, and is consistently reliant. The item doesn't have to be the prettiest (usually isn't), the finest quality (most of the time, it definitely isn't), or the most expensive (again, usually isn't). It <em>just IS</em>. Just like that, it IS ~ always there, easy to use, convenient, comfortable, yours. You don't always value it when you have it, but if you misplace it? God forbid.<br />
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A friend of mine passed away the other day, unexpectedly. She was a <em>'just IS'</em> kind of person in my life. I could call, dm, or text whenever I wanted to. We spent years not talking, just because we got caught up in chasing a dream, living a life apart from each other physically, raising our families, and still, I could call her and she was there, as though not a moment had passed between our last conversation. Now, she's gone. I didn't even get to talk to her about the possibility of lunch the following week, just to catch up and see her face one more time.<br />
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As we draw closer to the holidays, you'll be begged to reconnect with family and friends.... <br />
I challenge you, before the rest of the hordes do, to actually find that person (you know who they are), and set time aside for the one that <em>'just IS'</em>. Set some time aside now, book it in pen, not pencil, before the holiday madness and end of year running begins. <br />
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I would be interested to hear who your 'just IS' person is. Why? Because the person that '<em>just IS'</em> in your world, they're the one's that tend to get short changed of time with you during the mad rush called our lives. It could be a co-worker, an old neighbor, friend, a relative that's always been there when you pick up the phone. Let me know when you've penned them in, that you've met up, spent that time you promised them. Actually, to be frank, it's really time you promised for yourself, time that you wouldn't trade for all the holiday parties in the world.</h4>
Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-87100879446666718672014-10-19T14:13:00.000-04:002014-10-27T13:04:39.077-04:00Social Me, PleaseI have been a student of social media since the time of dial up, chat rooms, and "You've got mail". More recently, since this kid, some of us in college at the time referred to him as "Zuck", created this cool little site just for us, the college student. Zuck was my first FB friend.... and he was my first 'unfriend' when he changed up stuff on his site. Interacting with one another, posting, responding, following. It was 2005 for me, I was hooked. <br />
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Then in 2008, loaded with a college degree in Communications, I discovered a another neato website ~ ya tweeted there. It was a bit odd, because you were limited. For someone like myself, who loves talking and communicating, it was a bit perplexing at first. My first tweet? <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><em>cooking turkey and cleaning up after the house flooded out.</em></span></div>
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<a class="u-url customisable-highlight long-permalink" data-datetime="2008-11-27T16:29:24+0000" data-scribe="element:full_timestamp" href="https://twitter.com/Susanmvh/status/1026590846"><time class="dt-updated" datetime="2008-11-27T16:29:24+0000" pubdate="" title="Time posted: 27 Nov 2008, 16:29:24 (UTC)"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><em>8:29 AM - 27 Nov 2008</em></span></time></a> </div>
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OK, I admit it, it wasn't a very thought provoking tweet, but I challenge you ~ what was yours? </div>
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All but a very few of my 'tweeps', are people that I have never met; not yet at least. I joke, question, follow, and commiserate with them. There are some really amazing people out there. They don't charge me a thing for the information and jokes they give me. I willingly read what they post, follow along their blogs, and gawk, amazed at some really cool photography that they share. They travel around, see things, and bring me with them virtually. I admit even having a TC on a scientist who is 10,000 miles away ~ he shares the most absolutely exciting articles on psychology and neuroscience ~ the man had me at neurotransmitter.<br />
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I have become a wandering nomad in a couple of G+reat communities. Travelling throughout the entire world, my voyeuristic self reads about how a particular 'locals' café was a better stop than the one denoted on the tour from the cruise ship company. Even better, there are amazing candid photos with the article, and now, I am a world traveler. Truly, I can arrive at one of these destinations now and know where I am, having already seen the virtual copy. It's another layer of tourism that I look to explore. This place isn't 'dead social media walking', it's alive to those of us who use it and communicate through it.<br />
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That same site also gives me some fantastic infographics (I <strong> L O V E </strong>infographics) and great articles that are shared out there on everything from science, tech, psychology, business, marketing and public relations ~ well, ok, those are the ones that I personally like to read. I <strong>L O V E</strong> to read as well.<br />
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Some newer sites have sprung up, and I gleefully jump in, knowing that the early adaptor phase is really like a first date. Awkward, sometimes not really able to see the full picture of potential, or the pitfalls of the relationship that is about to occur. Both the user and the platform, sometimes intentionally, other times not, hiding, shy, not quite relaxed and being our 'natural selves'. I am good with that. The adrenaline rush I get makes up for it, and the exploration of the platform is another layer of learning that I gladly welcome. Just because I use social media doesn't necessarily mean that I am an 'instant gratification' kinda gal.<br />
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Keep bringing it, invite away. After all, I am a true communication theorist. I delight in all venues that allow human beings to bring their own unique perspective to this vast world of ours. The vastness of this world that is made a little bit smaller, a little more human, by social media.</div>
Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-15986676033877442102014-10-03T01:42:00.001-04:002014-10-03T01:42:27.531-04:00Hello Ello!They sit, presumably, somewhere in the northwestern corner of the US. In some minds, with a smugness about them, sipping coffee, or maybe a micro-brew, blogging, scouring the net, writing code. They had a small group of ‘inhouse’ folks using this little network, let’s call it Ello. Then the coding gods that they were, brought a beta to mainstream, carrying the mantle of the anti-FB social media site. Fine.<br />
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Nothing new here folks, just another social media site some would say. But no, it’s an invite only kinda thing. Ya gotta have a friend that had some kind of connection to be invited. That friend has the opportunity to invite five friends, and their five friends can invite five friends of their own, and so on, and so on (Sorry for sounding like a hair product commercial). <br />
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Brilliant! Genius! A great way to create a buzz, a want for something that not everyone can have. Admit it, you want it because not everyone can have it. Think though, for a moment, what else does that invite do? It eliminates a lot of the clutter you already have on other social sites.You can be selective as to who you want to listen to. A bit of ‘other web’ kind of thing going on.<br />
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I was fortunate enough to get one of those invites, by a guy who knows a guy, who knows a guy. I gladly signed up, and started poking around. Not that the layout, design, or ‘catch words’ were like anything other, but there was a familiar feel about it. It is a brave new social media, in beta of course. There’s plans for other options and features coming soon. I posted my first piece of ‘noise’, perused the sections, and navigated my way around the site and other user profiles. Pretty cool. A quiet world of chatter in a not so quiet web. Artistic posts, some just out there, others, a bit more mundane, like mine. It’s new. Promising a divergence from ad based social media that’s been out there, collecting whatever information it can in order to hawk P&G products (I like P&G by the way).<br />
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Not to my surprise, I had been hearing folks caterwauling about FB selling them out, crying for an opportunity to have another social media outlet, one that was less bizzy and truly social based. Here it was, Ello. After a short while, I see ‘experts’ and others now complaining about their shiny new Ello toy on FACEBOOK. <br />
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“I was expecting a bit more. Hope they work out the ‘noise’ thing, because some of it is distracting and meanders.”<br />
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“Not impressed. Graphics are ok, kinda weird way of navigating around. Not as good as I thought it would be.”<br />
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Wow. Really?<br />
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They would have hated Zuck’s first versions of Facebook. Then they would have been unfriending Mark (just like I did at one point) because he was screwing around with the platform. Oh, by the way, that was before the ‘general public’ could access Facebook. Originally, you had to have a college e-mail address in order to access Facebook. My college e-mail address has been inactivate for the past seven years, but I keep it out there for my sign in because, well, I’m nostalgic that way.<br />
I don’t want to forget my first tweet. Something about Thanksgiving dinner and a house ripped apart. No picture or graphics attachment, just a simple statement of what was going on. Yes, I probably tweeted about what I was cooking my family for dinner too. No InstaGram attached pic either, or a geo check-in. Basic. Simple. <br />
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If you can’t handle the beta….. oh no, I shouldn’t be so rude. Listen. If you really want an invite to Ello, I still have my five sitting out there. I am being very selective. I’ve done this whole social media thing before. I have an idea of how it might turn out. Hopefully I am wrong, dead wrong.<br />
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ORGINALLY PUBLISHED 09/29/14:<br />
<a href="https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/article/20140929233544-9104988-hello-ello?trk=prof-post">https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/article/20140929233544-9104988-hello-ello?trk=prof-post</a>Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-14812355157297239972014-09-09T11:30:00.000-04:002014-09-09T11:30:01.874-04:00BelieveThere's something to be said for believing, actually, a lot of things. <br />
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You can believe in things and people. Sometimes believing is easy, many times, especially as we become jaded and older, it's far more difficult. I believed in Santa Clause. He was pretty darn punctual with those presents. Showed up every year, just like I was told. Never saw the jolly old elf, but I certainly believed in him. The thought of Saint Nick made me happy because, well, he was happy (and generous too). Even when I began to doubt, when the whispers of classmates were too loud to ignore, I <strong><em>wanted</em></strong> to believe. There was a comfort in thinking that someone really took the time to care about, and act upon what I wanted, many times what I needed. <br />
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As I have progressed in my life, I have learned that to believe is an act of not just faith, but of courage. You have to possess <strong><em>courage </em></strong>when you believe in something. There's great risk of being hurt, and hurt badly by believing, shattered dreams, a broken heart. If you can't stomach the idea of the pain, it isn't worth believing.<br />
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<em>The older I get, the more I realize that I could believe in just about anything, if I set my mind to it. It's a choice. A conscious decision that is made. A heart's hope that something that is held dear would come true. There are so many negative things in this world, sometimes, the only thing that keeps my heart from breaking completely, is that I believe.</em><br />
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I believe in second chances, that people can change (sometimes). I believe that there's got to be something better, that things will work out. I believe that despite all odds, there's a shot at making things right. I believe that I deserve more, not out of self pity, nor of entitlement. No, because I've already struggled, hurt, bled, cried, paid my dues, in more than one way. I've already experienced the pains of dreams that went unfulfilled. I believe I am ready for that 'break'.<br />
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I believe that as long as there are people on this earth there will be hope, love, and an opportunity to make something not good, right. I believe that there is something about to change, a tremendous change, and many will not have seen it coming. I believe in children, animals, a God of my own understanding. I believe that time will tell, that my hurts will heal, that my children will be ok.<br />
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I believe that people are put in our lives for a specific reason, that there is a greater plan. I believe that our actions and reactions create our new reality of what was, what is, and what will be. <br />
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I believe, that for now, I will continue to believe. <br />
Not because I go blindly, but because, for now, I really <em><strong>want</strong></em> to believe.Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-24128160228610854632014-09-06T20:25:00.000-04:002014-09-06T20:32:21.484-04:00The Value and Worth of Social MediaThere are two words that permeate the world of social media marketing ~ value and worth. <br />
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The other day, I was a part of a tweet chat session. Reading posts, 'listening' to experts in the field of social media, marketing, and sales. The discussion of SEO, 'measuring value', 'determining worth', it was rampant. As a self professed logophile, I noticed that the words value and worth were being interchanged, almost, well.... overly used at times. My typical self, I began to analyze the use of each of those words. They are NOT quite the same.<br />
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<strong>Worth</strong>, according to Oxford: <span class="definition">An amount of a commodity equivalent to a specified sum of money; <span class="definition">Sufficiently good, important, or interesting to justify a specified action; deserving to be treated or regarded in the way specified.</span></span><br />
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<span class="definition"><span class="definition">Stick with me.....</span></span><br />
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<span class="definition"><span class="definition"><strong>Value</strong>, according to Oxford: <span class="definition">The regard that something is held to deserve; the importance, worth, or usefulness of something; <span class="definition">The worth of something compared to the price paid or asked for it; A person’s principles or standards of behavior; <strong>one’s judgment of what is important in life.</strong></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="definition"><span class="definition"><span class="definition"><span class="definition">So, they are interchangeable, to a certain extent, each word using the other to describe the other, define the other. Worth, however, relies more heavily on the monetary sense, value has a that connotation, <u>but to me</u>, it appears to have a deeper sense of intrinsic..... well.... value. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="definition"><span class="definition"><span class="definition"><span class="definition">I began to look at previous posts that I had made, posts that others had made, and began to dissect how we were all utilizing these words. Thinking, maybe too long, too hard, too deeply, about what we were all talking about. One thing was clear, we all valued worth, and thought that value had worth. What wasn't being answered clearly were two questions: What worth was value? and what value was worth?</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="definition"><span class="definition"><span class="definition"><span class="definition">As I continue on my quest to dissect social media, understand its value, comprehend its worth, it leaves me questioning how we truly measure our interactions, our relationships, in person and virtually. How it affects and effects (oh, that will be a post for another time) our selves and our lives. How do we measure each? What does it really mean to each one of us, and where will it lead us in the future of business, of self.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="definition"><span class="definition"><span class="definition"><span class="definition">I can guarantee you one thing, SEO isn't gonna solve this one, not completely.</span></span></span></span></div>
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Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-20559282924447055512014-07-20T17:56:00.000-04:002015-06-01T00:46:56.000-04:00I Can See America from My Back Yard in BostonThe throngs of people weren't there in the suburbs waiting for the train to take them into town. Many of them had already made their way into Boston, or simply never left. A change of schedule, a day in advance for the Boston Pops performance in tandem with the celebratory fireworks display over the Charles River had been moved to accommodate for mother natures own awesome display of power and grandeur, Hurricane Arthur was heading for the New England region, promising rain and wind to dampen the 4th of July festivities.<br />
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Bostonians don't care about weather, nor do they mind an inconvenient change of plans, just let it be known that they will do what they want, and if they have to, will move a national holiday celebration ~ they don't miss stuff like this. Our country was built on the grit and determination that those in the Northeast exhibit. Arthur be damned, celebrating our nation's birth was going to happen.<br />
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The train made its way through the suburbs, continuing on its routine pathway into the heart of the city, each stop closer, growing crowds of people, finally making their own traverse toward the great banks of the Charles. The car we were riding in was full. There were couples and gaggles, families and groups of friends, all of them relaying what they planned on doing, where they had decided on going, and what ever came to mind during their very public conversations. A family, speaking in an Asian dialect scurried into a car. The children, younger than school age, were speaking in both their parents' native tongue, and then reviewing words, letters, and numbers in English with their parents.<br />
A large group of high school students pushed their way to open seating in the middle of the car. Seated across from one another, they goaded one another with insults, teases and taunts, laughing loudly, apologizing to no one.<br />
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An extended family crammed into one corner of the car. An uncle was explaining where they were going to get off. One of the school aged children questioned whether they had lost the rest of their party, four or five cousins, a grandparent, and somewhere in the mix was Dad. "Three stops. That's what I told them. They should be ok, and if not, well.... we'll keep an eye out for them when we get off and make the switch to the Red Line."<br />
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Our stop arrived, and we made our way through the underground corridor leading to the Red Line. The crowds had grown. So many people wearing the colors of our nation's flag. A number of soon to be spectators had donned face paint or hair dye, as if to confirm the festive atmosphere that we were all about to experience.<br />
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"Charles/MGH"..... the voice informed us as the train cars clattered across the Charles River to the subway destination we were all looking for. The doors opened, and the entire car emptied out onto the platform. There was no real "where do we go" moment, you just were a part of this living, breathing, moving crowd that took over stairwells, moved through gates, and spilled out onto Storrow Drive.<br />
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The further down Storrow Drive we went, the larger, more dense the crowds became. An entrance made of Jersey barriers and movable gates had been erected to guide people to checkpoints. Working through the groups, a man wearing an Anonymous group shirt stood by, looking for someone off in the distance. His large frame towering over the crowd that moved around him. An older gentleman held up his bike, balancing the box he had placed like a basket on the front. He was replenishing the water bottles in the melting ice, hawking each bottle for a dollar. His hand scribbled note promising ice cold refreshment. <br />
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There was a semblance of a line, a rumor being murmured through the crowd that there was a check point. Two police officers had pulled aside three young men with backpacks, explaining that they would not be allowed into the venue, and that there had been numerous announcements about NOT bringing in coolers, bags and the like. The conversation stayed and the wide line of people moved passed them.<br />
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Two men discussed the ramifications of having to change their weekend plans together. They had planned on a trip to 'P Town', but the storm had just wreaked all sorts of havoc with their long weekend. It wasn't worth the trip, cancellations needed to be made. They turned at one point and informed me that we would all be 'wanded' and that my purse might not make it past the checkpoint without being dumped out. Two couples to my right were discussing a schooner trip, and how long it takes to get from Boston Harbor to the Hamptons. Chatting about their adult children's educational endeavors, a graduation had just taken place and a job had been had. This day in advance celebration was not an issue. What had become the issue was what to do with the extra day that would now be more 'down time' for them.<br />
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We made it in, not to the circle (the area you see on TV), but just behind that line of trees (the one's you see on TV). You could still see the stage through the trees, but it wasn't really the stage we wanted. It was the bursts of acrid sulphur shining brightly, shooting up into the air. The colors, patterns, working in time with the music being played.<br />
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After singing the national anthem, everyone standing, surrounded by thousands, we all sat back down, chatted with our company, hummed to music. A group of four twenty something guys, after lighting up a joint, invited another person who was sitting near them in another group. A few moments later, there were police asking to speak with them.<br />
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The line for ice cream wound down in a long snake-like fashion along the banks of the Charles. A few hours passed, and then, it happened. An announcement. Apparently Mother Nature was ready to unleash a precursor to what Boston was to expect within the next 24 hours. The fireworks would be moved up, they would begin in a moment. The crowds of people cheered loudly, happy that they were about to see the pyrotechnic show light up the night sky. And then, another announcement: "Due to weather conditions, there will not be a 'grand finale' and the Pops will not be able to play the 1812 Overture." The crowd booed. Loudly. If they only knew that the great Tchaikovsky himself detested his own piece.<br />
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The fireworks display went off.....people moved, walked about, watching the illumination light up the skyscrapers, the facades of so many buildings on either side of the river. As the show continued, we began to move toward what would be our 'escape' from the crowds. Milling about, stopping for a snapshot, a glance of the aerial display, we made our way over to the Boylston Street stop. <br />
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Just moments before entering the train station, lightning flashed above our heads. The taste of electric, intense, we made our way to the station before the throngs who had been occupying the Esplanade were officially evacuated. Sitting on the ride home, I realized, there was not one walk of life that hadn't been represented there in Boston that evening. There were numerous dialects, from across my country, to across the world, that had converged on the space of green and ponds along the Charles River. Why, I guess, that I love Boston so much. All of us, together, singing, dancing to the music being performed. Waiting, maybe not so patiently, for the fireworks that were going to go off, just out of sheer determination to celebrate what makes our country great ~ all of us.<br />
<br />Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-10088231953413404132014-04-30T23:00:00.000-04:002014-04-30T23:00:14.793-04:00The Final HourHer hand gripped the cold cylinder piped with fluid. There was a tension in the air. Waiting.<br />
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Stomach in a knot, sweat making its way down the sides of her face. Heartbeat racing, sounding louder and louder with each passing second.<br />
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Each moment being measured by the ever pounding muscle responding to the angst. Breathing faster, harder, her body screamed for oxygen, for a pure breath that would satiate.<br />
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The tension in the air, palpable. Nothing could cut through the anguish, the fear that hung like heavy winter drapes. Covering the room with a pall, the muffled silence amplified the moment.<br />
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Electric lighting, bland and tin like. The artificial glow creating a washed out look of all that it touched. Buzzing current, coursing through copper lines, racing to its destination. A cold surface, smooth and ungiving. Waiting. <br />
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No warmth here, no love, no care.<br />
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Papers shuffled, quieted coughs, feet swinging. Waiting.<br />
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Over an hour passed, the final exam was done.<br />
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<br />Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-51626950849623763472014-04-26T12:21:00.000-04:002014-04-26T12:21:14.769-04:00NumbFeeling rather numb inside, I wake to another weekend in progress.<br />
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Nothing spectacular, just another Saturday. There's laundry to fold, dishes to wash, floors to clean. My heart isn't into any of it. My soul is quiet, almost not caring if it even exists. I wonder at times, whether it's my defense mechanism, or is it something more.<br />
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Sleep seems like an adequate escape, but one can only sleep for so long in a 48 hour period of time. Thinking isn't a good thing right now.... it is something that will only place me further away from everyone and everything. Maybe it's best, that I am further away. Maybe it's where I need to stay..... at least for now.Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-59589383858251451522014-03-18T02:31:00.000-04:002014-03-18T02:31:21.604-04:00Heart Felt Questions<div align="center">
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Our heart pumps life through our veins, and poets wax about it's vital part of our emotions. It goes on its business of keeping us going, literally and figuratively.<br />
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We discuss what is on our heart, in our heart of hearts, and look to seek our heart's content. When things are going well, when the world's troubles are lifted from our psyche, our hearts are light. Spiritual things brings one to lift up your heart to the maker of your understanding. <br />
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Our hearts ache when dealing with sadness or loss. Hearts have been stolen, most likely because they were worn on a sleeve. When something is heart wrenching, it is as though it has been ripped from our being. <br />
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Oh, and lest we forget, heartbreak ~ there is actually medical proof that a heart feels those emotions of pain, like the one we experience when that first significant other decides that we no longer fulfill their needs, wants or desires, or we have been left behind by the one that we love so unconditionally.<br />
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If a heart could talk, speak to you directly, what would yours tell you? Would it ask for you to be a bit more careful, or would it ask for freedom? <br />
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Would you have a Grinch-like issue, one of too small; or perhaps filled with blackness and hate, filled from absorbing all of the negatives in life?<br />
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Could you see your heart, pouring out all it had to give, invested in this life, the one you've been living all along?<br />
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Icy cold, after being conditioned to no longer feel, or is there a fire that burns deep, one that smolders, just waiting for oxygen to bring it full?<br />
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Is there something you could have done to safe guard it from the pain your decisions inflicted upon it, or was it guiding you all the way through your journey in this life?<br />
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If you were to ask your heart what it wants from you, would it be able to answer, to be true?Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-29874307299591576092014-02-23T14:19:00.001-05:002020-03-10T16:16:47.856-04:00My Happy PlaceA dear, close friend asked me an interesting question the other day: 'Is there any place in the world that you would be happy?'<br />
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The comment was spawned, I believe, by my bite of sarcasm, my tear apart of what ever domicile address that I have had. I have lived in rural locales, small cities, larger ones, cold weather climes, and a sub tropical location. Now, looking to foster my passions, I look to other places, once again.<br />
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To answer my dearest, sweetest friend: Yes. There are places that I have been happy. It is not necessarily the location, but the frame of mind, the state of being, that I have visited. <br />
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The ski slope on a cold winter's night, ablaze with torches, lighting up individual snow flakes like ever so many tiny diamonds; the frigid air biting at my face. <br />
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The moonlit horseback ride through the outback of saw grass and palmetto, where the steady trod of the horses hoof could put a soul into a trance, as the melody of frogs and crickets played simultaneously as a musical accompaniment.<br />
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A walk, on an early spring day, where the last vestige of autumn blooms cling resiliently to the edges of its branches. Spanish moss hanging loosely over the arms and limbs of old southern oak trees, swaying ever so slightly in the air, and catching sail in the afternoon breeze that kisses my cheek.<br />
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Walking on sugar sand, along with my daughter, listening to the waves rolling into the shoreline. Sun caressing my skin, warming my bones with its intense touch. Speaking of nothing in particular, but discussing of what is on our hearts at that moment in time.<br />
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The ride along winding country roads, littered with the last colors of autumn's paint. Leaves swirling in tiny cyclones as I drive past them, listening to my music, singing along to familiar tunes.<br />
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Sitting at Nubble Light, or Hammond's Castle. Walking on Bayshore Boulevard, or dinner with a view of the Custom House. Pancakes at a sugar shack, the Ottauquechee running beside me. Dancing in a venue to a musical group, singing to the top of my lungs.<br />
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A moment, my dearest sweetest, not a place, and more often than not, a stolen moment in time. That is where I am most happy.Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-44452694012276255782014-01-23T01:20:00.001-05:002014-01-23T01:20:33.165-05:00A Slice of Pie and a Slim JimWent to "Pie Night" at the local Village Inn.... it's a little tradition that some of my friends and I have created over the past few years. Just a little time to hang out, vent about the week, grab a bite to eat, and laugh at the things we'd rather cry about. It's a hodge podge of folks, and it suits us fine. <br />
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I ordered only coffee tonight, as I had already eaten dinner with the kids at home. The coffee came, the conversations ebbed and flowed with the pour of the dark liquid. There were discussions of what our kids were doing, the Dubai races and political state of affairs there, the celebration of a friend's personal victory. As usual, there's always the moment of 'If I only knew then, what I know now" comments, and a chuckle from all, recognizing that we all learn from our life adventures. We go for pie, more for the moral and emotional support, the food's a bonus. As we delve into the theoretical discussion of what love is, agape, the different stages, and how age and opportunity factors into one's perception of 'true love', if there truly is such a thing, the conversation slows and our evening winds down.<br />
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Goodbyes being said, one by one, each of us left the tables where our group had been seated. A dear friend, who is old enough to be my father, was the last to leave along with me. Thinking that most of our friends had left already, we walked out the door to find a group of our friends still standing out front. Hovered around a white SUV donning tags from Texas, our friends seemed quite interested in what was inside the vehicle.<br />
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Three women, a mother and her college age girls, were hovering with the group. A miniature Scottish Terrier, dressed in a sparkly warm dress and a rhinestone collar, danced around the front of the vehicle, yipping away at the people wandering around her territory. She was ferocious.... in a cute way. Made certain that everyone knew that she had owners, they were right there, and as small as she was, SHE was in control. <br />
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The tiny terrier had been guarding her territory while her Mistresses were inside, getting a quick bite to eat. Apparently, in the excitement of people walking near to the vehicle, she jumped onto the armrest of a door, inadvertently hitting the electric lock switch. It probably would not have been an issue, if it were not for the small detail that the SUV was left running, you know, keys in the ignition kind of running.... with the other set of keys hanging uselessly in a suburban home somewhere in the Houston area.<br />
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As the locksmith promised no less than an hour or more wait, the local authorities informed the women that nothing could be done on their behalf, unless it was a child, and if it WAS a child, there might be legal ramifications.<br />
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Don't ask me why, 'cause I didn't ask why he had one, (OK, I did ask, but he wouldn't tell), but a sweet young man from our crew of comrades came forward with a slim jim. Working first on the front passenger window, he tried valiantly for almost 15 minutes to work the lock, then took a short break. The little dog, running back and forth, began jumping onto the arm rests of the door once again. Walking up to the passenger door, I tapped ever so lightly on the front portion of the window, calling to her.<br />
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The whirling sound of electronically mechanized locks came, not just once, but at least 5 times within a few moments of each paw hit. The delicate pads, hitting on the lock portion, again and again. Each time, I grabbed for the door handle, pulling, hoping that the sound signified the doors unlocking. The women, all standing on the sidewalk, as strangers tried to break into their SUV, ever more frustrated over their dilemma.<br />
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I backed away and joined the women, trying to reassure them that it would be just a minor inconvenience, and that there would be a great story of their trip to Tampa and their canine catastrophe that waylaid them from an extra two hours of sleep. In the meantime, my dear buddy was back at it again, using the jimmy on the rear passenger door window.<br />
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Eventually, without much ceremony, and with two county sheriffs looking on, the back window rolled down, and my dear friend unlocked the vehicle for the travelling souls. We clapped, cheered a little, gave him hugs, and then proceeded to say goodbye to our new acquaintances from the Lone Star State. <br />
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As we walked to our own vehicles, calling out to one another, saying our weekly goodbyes, the younger of the 'rescued' women came running up to the young man that liberated their pooch. She handed him a white bag, filled with slices of pie, a thank you gesture. Being the gentleman that he is, he smiled, accepted the pastry, and hopped into his old truck. As his truck engine came to life, the young woman ran back again, this time with cash in her hand, a smile, and another thanks.<br />
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It wasn't a really eventful night, but, I can assure you that those ladies from Houston, who thanked us just because we stayed with them, assured them, will have a story to tell. My buddy has gas money tonight, three women are grateful for the persistence and caring hearts of some strangers, and I have warm memories of a caring soul who wasn't going to give up until he found a solution.<br />
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None of us will probably be able to think of or see a piece of pie again, not without thinking about a dog and a slim jim.<br />
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<br />Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-20860153290795892442013-12-08T12:43:00.001-05:002013-12-08T12:43:56.973-05:00At the Intersection of Atlanta and CosmicTravel is an amazing thing. To be able to transport yourself from one locale to another, interact with places and people, to touch what was only seen in a photo at one point. Perspective shifts, lives meld, and the world keeps moving. Each of us with our own little world, our little world that intersects with other little worlds.<br />
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On a flight from Albany, NY, I had the opportunity to meet a young soul. Her name is Faith. <br />
I had been wheeled onto the airplane, given priority, as the 'boot' I was wearing afforded me a wheel chair and handicap 'priority'. I waited at my window seat on the plane, wondering who would be occupying the space next to me. A 20 year old dirty blonde with dread locks stood staring at me, then said, "I guess this is 20B," to which I replied, "You have found your spot in this world! Have a seat."<br />
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It was quicksilver. The moment that two strangers can decide that circumstance has set the best situation out for you. Small talk ensued, as we asked about one another's reason for the flight.<br />
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She was 'home' visiting her mom and working on living that dream of travelling on the road. The little bus that her mother purchased and painted purple, well, it broke down. Faith had other plans that included her boyfriend in Florida, not stuck in upstate New York with a broken down bus. The boyfriend purchased a ticket for her to fly back, so that they could be together. There was a band, a job offer for the boyfriend, and music. When you're 20, sometimes that's all you need in this world.<br />
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We discussed life, anxiety, growing up in a small town, small minds, and small people. Then we went large. The cosmos, the Great Maker, Butterfly effect. The note that we all suffer, in one way or another, the fear of being 'less than', of missing out on the 'dream' or the chance to change. The fear of change, the fear of the unknown, the exhilaration that every new step brings one closer to a new reality. Living in the moment, for the moment, not the past, nor the future. Higher thinking, mental, emotional, and physical well being. The opportunity to experience life on life's terms, accepting it all, and creating our own sense of belonging.<br />
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Our 2 1/2 hour flight became a theoretical discussion worthy of most 600 level Philosophy courses. A young girl, who had lived a bit, but not experienced enough... comparatively speaking. We shared our love of music and travel. Commiserated on our distaste of small minded busy bodies, judgmental souls, and the restraints of the world. Our flight ended with warm wishes for safe and soulful travels, not just for that day, but for the rest of our lives. We had connected, shared, and then took a small part of one another's lives, dreams, souls. Touched another human. Intersected our lives and created a new reality and perspective.<br />
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Our encounters in life, as 'spontaneous' as they seem, are moments of dreams, snippets of wishes, handfuls of hope, stitched together to create our new reality and perspective.Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-14581867220553987912013-11-10T01:10:00.000-05:002013-11-10T01:19:38.820-05:00OverloadI yearn to feed my own understanding of this world, an understanding that I so desperately yearn for.<br />
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There are so many things out there that scream for attention. We willingly add more information into our minds through surfing the internet, watching the evening news, interacting with others. It is a daily onslaught, and one that I crave too often. My mantra, 'Sapere Aude,', taken from the philosopher Kant, doesn't help either. I live my life wanting more information, seeking out others' ideas, yearning to understand what makes things work, why people act and interact the way that they do. I'm certain that I am not alone in this, however, I'm also certain that not everyone's mind runs this way on a regular basis.<br />
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I can't get enough. I see the world as inextricably linked. One thing feeding off of another, feeding into another. A flow that when interrupted, changed, re-directed, creates some incredibly profound changes. Some of those changes are not necessarily discernible to everyone, but in my mind's eye, I see the shift 'in the force'. There is a moment of no return. That time in which the slightest shift takes on a whole new meaning, a new divergent course that creates a new reality.<br />
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To be able to find the nuances of a soul's intent, is difficult at best, and is the thing that I guess I will never understand. Fragile things, souls are... breakable. Broken. Just remember, as you walk through out this life, try not to harm, try not to hurt.<br />
<br />Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-39793488485133055132013-09-22T18:34:00.000-04:002013-09-22T22:01:13.815-04:00To Err is HumanFailure is horrible. Right? <br />
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Remember what it was like the first time you failed, and failed miserably? How did that affect who you are today? Did you change the way you approached something, how you dealt with situations in later years, did it make you re-think how you handled a task, or even your responses to someone?<br />
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I am of the firm belief that failure teaches us. First and foremost, it teaches us humility. Something that our society, and a new generation of young people don't necessarily have much of now days. We will be surely facing a group of young people, many of whom will be completely deflated, as they face the first time they weren't awarded for 'showing up'. Living under the grand delusion that they are so unique, they will eventually become cynical beings who learned too late in their lives that even though we are all unique, wonderful characters in our own right, we really aren't that much different from our fellow man. No sparkly, shiny 'happily ever after' in sight, they will miss the teachable moments. They will miss out on the upside of failure, the ability to learn something new.<br />
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Edison, Ford, and Einstein were blissful failures at many points in their lives. Those failures of their own making ensured that we had new understandings, deeper meanings, and a better quality of life. I do not make these things up. Look up the real history behind these men, you will find that (and is usually the tale we tell our grade school children who struggle with math) Einstein failed math in grade school ~ miserably. The difference in he and others? They had the ability to look beyond the failure, press onward, hope that there might be some other way to accomplish what was needed to succeed. <br />
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Missing too, is the opportunity to reflect on past errors. There's a camaraderie with parents when they share their tales of parenting horrors. "Been there, done that" is almost dismissive. Assuring one another that being human, making an error, learning how to correct our past failings, it brings us closer together as people. You are not alone....<br />
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When our parents were growing up, some of their parents imparted the past failures of their lives so that they would not have to replicate the same mistake. Alas, much as in human nature, children do not always heed their parents' cautionary tales of mistakes. They, in turn, suffer many of the same failures, or worse, create even more issues that were not there to begin with. No matter what we do, inevitably, our children will forge their own path in this world, making some of the same mistakes along the way. It is our responsibility to be there. Not to pick them up every time, but to re-assure them that they are still valuable, productive members of society, and that this is just a temporary set back, NOT the end of the world.<br />
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Think about a given trade or career. A world class chef will tell you that there were numerous failed attempts at dishes that they are now renowned for. An engineer learns, not only from his own mistakes made, but studying previous mistakes made by others. A successful businessman will tell you that they studied other's mistakes, as well as their own, in order to 'build a better widget'.<br />
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Failure teaches us to become more industrious, 'think outside of the box', manage our time better, become better stewards in society, and above all, allows us to be human. When something doesn't go 'our way', we don't need to have a melt down, nor do we have to beat ourselves up (although, most likely, many of us will do one of those things at one point or another). It allows us to empathize with others, letting them know that they are not alone in their daily dilemma. It brings us together, allows us to care, makes us more human, and gives us the opportunity to allow ourselves to recover.<br />
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So, let your kid fail now, when they're young. Allow them for those moments of disappointment in themselves. Assure them that it is part of the learning process. They will become more well-rounded, clearer thinking adults when they have to face those demons in later years.<br />
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As Alexander Pope once wrote: "To err is human; to forgive, Divine".<br />
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Isn't it nice to think that we are modeling the concept of our Maker, who, upon seeing our faults, still loves us, no matter what? With that, we can move on to be better, wiser souls.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"></span>Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-52746809672077245792013-09-02T16:22:00.000-04:002015-06-01T00:18:07.125-04:00Santa Lives in Sun CityLabor Day ~ food stuffs to make, things to grill, and me, without any of it readily available. I've been cleaning the house and doing laundry for 3 hours. It's time for my escape. My son gives me the opportunity, and offers me the opening, requesting ribs and sausages for the grill. I willingly comply with the request, packing my purse, armed with a phone and a debit card.<br />
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A ten minute drive to the local grocery store, music blaring, windows rolled down (the air conditioner in the car doesn't work), as the automatic transmission slips grudgingly with each gear. I am free of the housework that begs to be completed, even if it is only for a short respite. <br />
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As I begin my trek into the store, my mind whirls around the family finances. I won't be able to buy the ribs that my son wants, they're much too expensive for us. Maybe I can find a few pieces of meat on sale, ones that might 'do the trick' and I can always use the chicken in the freezer. I muddle around in my mind's eye what our meal will look like. Fresh corn, a couple of kabobs with red meat, a package of sausages, all on sale, are what our celebratory meal will be. It's expensive, even on sale, but we don't get the chance to spend time together and eat leisurely on a regular basis.<br />
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My heart begins to feel weighed down by the burdens of my world. I begin trudging back to the soda aisle to pick up our afternoon beverages. My face must have looked grim for certain, and then, he showed up. <br />
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Out of nowhere, a man was standing next to me. Older, with a white beard and a smile on his face. He looked like any other gentleman that could be wandering in the store. Nothing terribly special in his appearance. Nothing, except his eyes that were peering through a set of glasses. They were a piercing blue, and they were within a foot of my own. <br />
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He was leaning in toward me. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he cheerily exclaimed "Smile!"<br />
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Taken aback, I took one step away, breathed deep, and tried to put on my best smile for the nice old man.<br />
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"Of course, I should smile." I responded half-heartedly. My breathe barely pushing out my response in an audible tone.<br />
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"No! No, no, no! That will not do! I mean, you should smile! It's a beautiful day. There is so much that you and I can smile about. So much!" Grinning ear to ear, he patted my back, and held out his hand, as though to point me in the direction that I would be walking in.<br />
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"Oh, you're right." I had a tried and true response. One that I use when I need to remind myself that I'm not infirmed, one that puts the point home that I am capable, if I chose to be.<br />
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"I'm upright, breathing, and on the right side of the green." My smile put a twang of happiness that really wasn't quite there into my pat response.<br />
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"No my dear girl. That's not what I mean." He had to have seen the puzzled look on my face when he was trying to correct me.<br />
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"Sweetheart, there is so much that we can smile about. We are both here, standing in a place, able to make a purchase. We are here for others, getting things that will make them smile. If you think about it, there isn't a day that goes by that you don't make someone else happy, make them smile." The warmth of his voice was like a hug from my daddy. <br />
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"I am simply here to remind you that you should be happy, you should smile. Think of every day as having a little bit of Christmas in it. There's always something magical that happens, if you look for it." His grin, grown full, depicted that of a soul that was truly happy. His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry......<br />
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I stared at him, looking into his eyes, and felt a rush of warmth come over my heart. In return for his words of encouragement, I smiled. This time, genuinely, a big smile. My voice trembled a bit, overcome with a bit of emotion that snuck up inside of me, and I whispered a 'thank you' to him.<br />
I turned to say something more, and he was gone.<br />
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Walking away, my heart filled with hope. The kind of hope that you get around the holidays. Hope that encourages. Promises of better things, and feelings that come when you think there's a chance that your situation will turn around, sooner than later. Tears welled up and fell silently on either cheek.<br />
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Picking up my last bits of items, I made my way to the check out line. I kept looking for 'him'. The older gentleman was no where to be seen. The cashier was pleasant, and nothing else remarkable occurred on my way out. I even waited a moment in the parking lot, thinking that I could catch just one more glimpse of him, but I didn't.<br />
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Driving home, I realized that Santa lives in Sun City Center. Maybe he was looking for me, maybe it was a chance meeting. Either way, he's sharing his message of hope, reminding whomever he meets, that even on Labor Day, we can celebrate the grateful heart of Christmas. And just to make sure, we can smile.<br />
<br />Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-73047269927240877752013-07-29T04:23:00.001-04:002013-07-29T04:41:36.740-04:00One Large, to Go.....I have to tell you a secret, I don't cook dinner on Thursdays. <br />
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OK, so the crew at the local pizza shop knows that I don't..... alright... the kids at the grocery store where I pick up the sodas know it too. But that's it, other than you. It's a guilty pleasure that makes me smile, every Thursday. It's a break from the dinner dishes, the prepping, planning, and cooking of a meal. My family is fed, my teens happy for the ritualistic treat, and I can enjoy an evening of relaxation.<br />
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Pizza.... go ahead, say the word out loud ~ no one's around. You smiled when you said it, didn't you? Now, another exercise (bear with me friend, I promise you, it is necessary). Think of various times that you've eaten pizza. Remember them? Good. <br />
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From an educated guess, most, if not all of your memories are positive, maybe even really happy. They are ones, like my Thursdays. I would even venture that there were parties surrounded by a few of those slices, or a grateful boss that sprang for a snack to show his appreciation for a finished project.<br />
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Oh, the left over pizza you had after a long evening of frivolity? Weren't you glad that you had THAT as a 'go to'? College dinner/breakfast? See what I mean, you can't think of, eat, or say 'pizza' and be miserable. You just can't help but crack a bit of a smile.<br />
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My favorite memory of pizza is from a long time ago, when I worked in the family deli, where we made the treat that makes smiles. Daddy had just opened his business that week. It was a summer day, and I was ready to make subs, dish up home-made salads and beans, and of course, make pizza.<br />
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New business owners tend to do this huge mental build up in their mind's eye of how their first days will be. Bustling and exceedingly busy is the hopes that they all place their lofty thoughts. The reality of still moments that lead to quiet hours finally set in.<br />
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The small town we lived in was supportive. More so, our neighbors and family friends. This one particular Saturday was quiet. A few people trickled in, ordered a bit of cold cuts, a pound of this, a hoagie or two. The large, antiquated, brick-lined oven had been sitting patiently, waiting to be thrust into service.<br />
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'Pépé Lorde' strolled into the front door that day. He was our next door neighbor, and our family had 'adopted' him and his wife as surrogate grandparents. Pépé was old and wore a hearing aide. He and his wife lived with their daughter, son-in-law, and their teenage children. Seeing Pépé walk through the door made me smile. He ordered a large pizza. Daddy said I could make it, and with his supervision, did so. While the pizza was baking in the oven, the two men talked and walked around the small floor of the deli. Daddy pointed out what he had done, and what he was planning to do, once business picked up.<br />
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I got to 'ring up' the sale, and had to figure tax, as the deli's first cash register was an antique. Pépé glowed with pride as he watched me, and praised me for my prowess. "Geez Larry, not only can she cook, she can do math! She'll make someone a fine wife!"<br />
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A bit embarrassed, but proud of my accomplishment, I thanked Pépé for shopping with us. Daddy shook his hand and thanked him for the business and asked that they let us know how their meal was. As we retreated behind the deli counter, Pépé opened the front door of the deli and stepped out onto the large form-made concrete stairs. As he closed the door behind him, he appeared to look around with pride at his new gastronomical acquisition. Then, as though he had done so a million times before, turned the pizza box on it's side and wedged it under his left arm, as if he were carrying the Sunday paper. <br />
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Daddy and I groaned. I started out after Pépé, but my father grabbed me by my arm and stopped me. He pulled me close to him, and quietly, but firmly, told me that I needed to make another pizza, just like the one I had before, and it needed to make it quickly. There was a sense of urgency to his directive, so I did. <br />
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While I was preparing the second pizza of the day, Daddy was on the phone with Pépé's family. Pépé was walking across our front lawn toward his home, along with his new possession tucked under his arm, and they could see him out their kitchen window. Daddy explained that we were already making another pizza, it was in the oven cooking, and when it was ready, he would send me over to deliver it.<br />
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I delivered the second pizza to the neighbor's house a short while later. Pépé's son and grandson, Jack and John, were in the carport, still ribbing Pépé about the family meal being 'ruined'. Betty, Pépé's daughter, came out, chastising them, and then thanked me for the effort. When it was all said and done, we were all laughing, and agreed that I should probably deliver pizza to them when they ordered.<br />
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See, it's like I said... you can't help but smile when you think of pizza.Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-11500673472502990012013-06-22T02:17:00.001-04:002013-06-22T02:17:06.590-04:00"To Do" ListThis world moves very quickly, and during the course of a 24 hour period of time, we have implanted in our minds, things that we'd like to accomplish. Lists of "Things To Do" is what runs through my mind, and usually is scribed somewhere on a 3x5 card. I am such a lucky woman to have a few of these 'lists' around. <br />
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One is my 'General List for Work', which includes the simple tasks that I don't always do on a daily basis, but need to be accomplished. If they're real 'technical' (legal documents) they get a special list of 'Paperwork for Work' list all to their very own. These lists are usually accomplished in a relatively short amount of time, and when the tasks at hand are completed, the list is simply thrown away.<br />
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My home has a few lists of it's own. One's a general "Housecleaning To Do" list, another boasts the title of "Projects @ the House", while still another holds the coveted "Important Dates/Times" list. Why, you might ask, are lists such a prominent part of my life? It reminds me of all of the things that I not only expect my self to execute, but what others are relying on me to complete as well. I have to admit, that sometimes, just sometimes, there are a few items on the list that don't get completed, but I still cross them out, as though the task at hand was done. It's not cheating, after all, most of this is just to organize my thoughts, my wishes of how I'd like my world, my day, to run. Not like the 'List Nazis' are gonna check up on me and my follow-through, right?<br />
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These items, the one's that I put on my 'list', which ever one it may be, are usually a chore, task, errand, etc. that needs to be completed, but isn't something that I REALLY want to do. So, my dearest friends, I have decided that I want to create a list (NOT my 'bucket list' ~ that has different parameters) that has some positive connotation to me... be it just fanciful, or even a tad practical.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">1) Dance the night away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">2) Learn the secret to happiness</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">3) Discover why men have to be the driver when the other passenger is a female</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">4) Read for a minimum of 4 hours each day of whatever you want.... (I know, for me, unrealistic)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">5) Tweet at least 5 compliments to 5 different people each day (watch your following grow!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">6) Give a hug to at least 4 people a day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">7) Imagine "What if.." on a scale so huge, IF it were to happen, your life would be forever changed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">8) Spend time alone, no electronics around, and reflect on those people who mean so much to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">9) Sing, loudly, to your favorite music while driving around 'back roads'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">10) Find out who teaches kids to jump on chairs, couches, or beds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">11) Meditate on positive people, places, and events in your life...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">12) Spend a day with someone under the age of 21, they are FASCINATING!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">13) Write a letter by hand to a dear friend or family member, put it in an envelope, mail it!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">14) Send a "Thinking of You" note to someone you just thought of (See #8)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">15) Order something, anything, online, to be delivered whenever ~ as a gift to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">16) Take a 2 month trip down the Rhine, visiting EVERY castle along the way</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">17) Take a horseback ride under the full moon (again!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">18) Spend a night watching a meteor shower </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">19) Go on a photographic expedition of an area that's always fascinated you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">20) Find out who teaches kids to jump in mud puddles (see #10 ~ they might be able to help)</span><br />
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I know I've got more... but I'll end it here for now ~ as soon as I accomplish a few of these, I'll be adding another. In the mean time, get going, you've got a list to make and things to do!Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-8784707062318758152013-06-02T12:09:00.000-04:002013-06-20T02:54:26.569-04:00A Family Portrait ~ Just in Time for Christmas!We currently live in a lovely little sub-division, neatly dotted with look-alike homes. I would venture to guess that well over half of the properties have children (ages ranging from 0-21) residing with their parents. Many of 'the first families' in the neighborhood still exchange Christmas cards, goodie baskets, and of course, the holiday family portrait, the same one that Aunt Eunice in Topeka gets in her Christmas card. <br />
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I had been honored to have been asked to take THAT family picture for a young couple this last holiday bout. The family was dressed in matching flip flops, shorts and adorable shirts. They looked like something out of a catalog. We discussed where the picture would be taken, who would sit where, and what palms should be in the backdrop. The pool had to be in the photo too... I mean, you can't JUST have the kids in shorts for a December picture without the constant reminders that 'we live in a warm climate' screaming at your relatives, who are most likely buried in 8 feet of freshly fallen snow.<br />
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It was perfect, they were perfect. They sat together, the young couple grinning, the children excited. Then it happened. A flip flop fell off, much to Mommy's chagrin. Daddy explained that 'you are a grown up 4 years old, you need to act accordingly and not flop around like a fish.' Apparently, the two year old decided that since he was NOT 4, he SHOULD flop like a fish, and in doing so, inadvertently hit his mother squarely on the bridge of her nose. Her nose began to swell, and the tears she was producing were ruining her perfect make up job that she had administered to herself earlier that morning. After we applied ice to her nose, the dog ran into the planted palm, dumping its contents onto the newly scrubbed brick pavers. The children became whiny, as what began as an exciting moment became a comedy of errors. It was close to nap time too ~ and I could feel the frustration taking a toll on us all, as I wanted to claim 'nap time' along side the children.<br />
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Before the day was through, we did manage to get a couple of pictures taken, one of them actually made it as 'the' picture for the holiday greeting card. The young mother thanked me for my time, and was exasperated over the whole ordeal.<br />
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The young mother lamented about the photo shoot, claiming that nothing comparable had EVER happened like this before. She was clearly embarrassed and frustrated. I explained to her the cliché lines that I was once told, that this was something she'd look back on and laugh about. I then shared my family's own little holiday picture shoot extravaganza with her.<br />
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All four kids, ages 6 months, 2, 6, and 8 years of age were dressed up, well coiffed, and ready for it. The diaper bag was packed for the trip to the Department Store Photo Studio; otherwise known as ~ "we still have floor space, what do we do with it to make money" area.<br />
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We had made an appointment, but due to the New England weather, either the photographers, previous appointments, or all of the above were running late. I liken waiting with small children in a confined public area as an opportunity to expose any and all dysfunction a family has or COULD have. As you can guess, our 3 1/2 hour wait consisted of the typical stressors that a young family would encounter: the 4 diaper changes, the toddler that was ready for her nap 1/2 hr before the sitting, and two kids that wanted nothing more than to go back to the toy area to dream of what Santa would bring them, began to fray our nerves. <br />
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My husband and I began getting short with the children, then correcting one another. We were, after all, in public. I had been smart enough to bring my 2 year olds favorite stuffed bear, aptly named "Bear", to sooth her while we waited. By the time we were ready to select the backdrop, figure out where we were sitting, and get the children in place, there was nary a smile in the place. Tears ran down faces, whining ensued, and complaints of 'This is stupid!' and 'Why do we need to do this?' made me reflect on whether or not it was truly a good idea.<br />
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The children were constrained into poses, yes, constrained, as between each shutter click, my husband and I mumbled words that a sea-fairing soul would identify easily. The two year old, to the point of being un-consolable, was offered "Bear" and would not part with him. Growling under a pasted on grin, we told the kids that there was just a moment or two more, and all of this nightmare would be over..<br />
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The photo was lovely, my grandmother even said so. My parents and in-laws cooed over the portrait, which, to this day, sits prominently in the living rooms of their homes. When a friend comes to visit, they point out how much the children have grown, and how they have/haven't changed. Every time I look at it, I smile, and am grateful that I don't have to re-do that day again.<br />
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We have taken only one other official family portrait, many years later. The kids were much more at ease, there was no need to wrestle with diapers or snacks. There were moments, ones that were spent grumbling about one little thing or another. The photos, after all, are a snapshot of what we are, what others see, when we're in public.Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564868911872894889.post-55127398587957997692013-05-20T00:45:00.000-04:002013-05-20T00:45:07.162-04:00Goinkalinks Need Not ApplyMy father was a busy man. He worked for a large corporation and ran the front lines for them at the district level. A number of years in management, he knew how to work a balance sheet and cut shrinkage. It was a normal practice when I was young to go into work on Sundays (when there were things such as 'Blue Laws') to do price changes and stock shelves.<br />
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Daddy knew what worked and how to manage people. He could joke with you and get his point across subtly, or, he could be down right, in your face, quietly harsh. My brother and I were pretty much handled as employees of his. We had our work to do, expected outcomes, and when the business of home was running well, we'd all get a bonus (good Christmas presents or a needed family trip).<br />
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The man had a way of using the psychology courses that he took in college to his advantage when he was raising my brother and I. Reverse psychology? My old man was the master of it. So much so, that I think they used him for the examples of 'what worked'. He also utilized a vague label, one that makes me smile today, but back then, would make me extremely concerned.<br />
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"You, Suzy, are the Chiefest of Goinkalinks" he pronounce to me at the family dinner table one evening.<br />
<br />
"I'm a WHAT?" <br />
<br />
"Goinkalink. You know... there are schmoinkers, nixies, and then, there are goinkalinks. You, my dear, are certainly a goinkalink if I ever saw one."<br />
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I sat there, not certain as to whether or not this was an admonishment of behavior, or a reflection of my personality. Exactly what the old man wanted. Being a very mature seven year old, there were certain things that I was certain of, but this goinkalink thing, I wasn't sure if I really fit the mold.<br />
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"Daddy, what's a goinkalink?"<br />
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"Why, it's exactly what YOU are. What you do, what you say, everything, it makes you a goinkalink." He chomped on a piece of meat, smirking at me, and chuckling to himself.<br />
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When Dad didn't like what we were doing, but realized that it was his 'opinion', he would pull that now family-famous moniker out. If he wanted us to think about our next move, he wanted us to take our own view, we were graded at some level: chief, head, general, or colonel of goinkalinks. At times, when Dad knew that he was being a bit hot headed, and to diffuse the situation, we were goinkalinks. When he wanted us to figure out that what we were doing was being independent, taking positive steps, taking calculated risks, we were goinkalinks.<br />
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To be a goinkalink was to reflect on what you said or did, review your station, think about where you were going, on more than one level. It was a 'time out' for both Daddy and us, to figure out whether or not one of us was out of line or over-reacting. It was a label that, just in the sheer craziness of the sound of it, made you stop.<br />
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As time went on and we grew older, Daddy would call us goinkalinks in a loving manner, to tease us. It was our job to figure out whether we were doing something positive, or if it was a negative. We had caught on to the old man's game.<br />
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One pleasant summer evening, my brother and I cornered him at the back yard picnic table. He divulged his little secrets to us. Daddy explained that he could 'label' us, and allowed us to create what a goinkalink was in our own minds eye. He was allowing us to find our own moral compass, with a bit of guidance. Those child and developmental psychology courses in the late 50's and early 60's really created some twisted souls, Daddy being one of them.<br />
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Flash forward to twenty years later.... My husband and I were with our two youngest children, seated in my parents living room. We were talking about something that I thought was pretty 'normal' in our world, when I saw a flash in my Dad's eyes, one that said 'I don't know what that kid said, but it didn't sound right' moments. To save Daddy from embarrassment, and to save my children from a lecture on what would and wouldn't be accepted conversation, I jumped up and exclaimed "Just like a goinkalink to say that, don't you agree Dad?"<br />
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The old man's eyes twinkled. A warm glow came across his face, and his body relaxed. <br />
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"Indeed. I didn't realize you were raising a bunch of goinkalinks Suzy! You should have said something." looking directly at my two children, and then back at me, winking and giving a soft smile.<br />
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"What's a goinkalink?" my 15 year old daughter asked. Her 13 year old brother seated next to her, placing himself on the edge of the couch, was also eagerly awaiting the definition of this new and exotic word, a title, the label they'd never heard before.<br />
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"Why, it is YOU!" I proclaimed.Susan Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05960217984584562998noreply@blogger.com0