The End Is Near: Watch Killing Eve

What's your rut got to do with it? Everything if you ask me. One person's rut might be another's pinnacle. Of course we are all on our own journey, but if you are like me and seek to live a life beyond having your basic needs met then you could be in a rut. Taken a step further you may not even be aware that you are in a rut. I had an inkling I might be. And when that happens I set a goal. Nothing big or especially glamourous, just something that I could focus on intentionally. I chose to drink a gallon of water a day, and it changed everything.

I have a dear friend. I will call him Larry here in order to protect his very gay identity. He visited me in Italy, and was one of my first gay friends to get married in New York when it became legal. He still lives in New York, works in finance and has his finger on all things pop culture. As I write this, he is spending the holidays with his family in Taipei, Taiwan, which is the new Paris. A few months ago he asked me if I was watching a popular British television show: Killing Eve. The show has been on my radar for a few months, but I finally got around to watching it. Best decision I made this Fall. It shifted my perspective just enough to give me some much needed impetus.  

Motherhood asks a lot of women. Motherhood asks a lot of me. I thought being a good mother meant I had to put my needs at the bottom of a very long list. Good mothers give their children everything right? WRONG. That practice sucked the vibrancy out of my core. The voice in my head that sounds like Oprah tried to remind me to put on my oxygen mask on first, but I had trouble doing and believing it was right. Enter Villanelle the professional assassin at the center of the Killing Eve tv series. Not only does she exercise her agency at a very high level, but she is also impulsive. Ok, she is also a sociopath, but let's not get caught up in the details! I thought motherhood meant I had to shutoff my impulsive nature because well, I didn't want to be reckless with a baby around. Here is the thing: my uninhibited nature is the core of being. Without it joy and vibrancy receded into the background of my life. 

Watching this little show with Sandra Oh aka Christina Yang as MI5 spy, Eve Polastri and Jodi Comer with her glowing "disco ball" skin, as Villanelle, a professional assassin, inspired me to pivot to another direction. Villanelle does everything at level 10. It is all full speed ahead for her. Act first, think later type of gal after my own heart. She is joyous, impulsive and a tad reckless. Attributes I gave up in hopes of becoming a more mature, maternal version of myself because I can't fuck up raising my kid. But..that lady sucks. I am sending her back to that tiny, dark corner in my brain where she sprang from.

Which brings us back to Jodi Comer's skin which goes beyond inspirational. The luminosity of her skin is aspirational. Skin with an elusive clarity that reflects light is a gift you don't even know you have in your 20s. You just wake up and light beams out of your face with you scarcely noticing it. In your 30s you learn that your skin is changing and if you do not learn how to take care of it, you will live to regret it. Some of us heed the call; others put it off for another few years. Well dear reader I will tell you that when approached my 40s I took decisive action that paid off. I diligently researched products, and techniques. I also began my journey into the world of anti-aging supplements at that time. I eventually found the right combination that made my skin radiant. I carefully tracked the results. I discovered that what I put inside my body was more important than the creams, serums and masks I applied. This stuff takes hard work. Once I had Hunter skin care is one of my passions that fell to the bottom of my list. Those pregnancy hormones definitely made me lazy. That was five years ago. Each day he becomes more self reliant leaving me with time to reflect on my needs. And boy am I needy.

Watching Villanelle is highly entertaining, and I am well aware that she has an army of makeup artists and a skin-health consultant to get her skin gorgeous. Those pesky details do not distract me from the attainable goal of glass-like skin. Recently I assessed my skin care regimen and products. There are still a few gaps, but I realized quite quickly I need to drink more water. My allergies are still kicking my ass, but I am fighting back much harder with a strategic response: OTC medication (Allegra+Zyrtec), exercise (spending time on the stationary bike everyday, getting some running in) and chugging copious amounts of water.

I am up to 80 ounces of water a day. It has been a few weeks. My eyes have stopped tearing and are less puffy. I feel more energized. I am a lot more active because drinking all that water means I go to the bathroom very often. My skin is clearing up. Also, I learned about a few interesting products from the In the Cut article linked above. Most importantly I am taking responsibility to incorporate more joy in my life.

Last year I closed the blog out strong by posting everyday. The results were invigorating. This year is a bit different because of my new JOB (yes, I found a job), but I do intend to close out strong nonetheless.

In love and pushing for more, Mickie

I Am Getting Good at This

Practice makes perfect

The year is almost over and now is a good time to take stock in what I have accomplished thus far. I did not make the 1k followers on the Gram. I also did not become the Gwen Stefani of fashion, beauty and wellness, yet. I did something better.

I made peace with the here and now. I have mostly released the fear about tomorrow and the next 25 years. There are a few minutes a couple of times a week that I think about my retirement: How will I maintain the lavish lifestyle I have grown accustomed to? (Oh wait, I do not live a lavish lifestyle.) This new way of living in the fullness of the moment has energized me. I am doing much more with the new energy and confidence, but I am also taking it easy.

A few weeks ago my recruiter of almost a year decided to go back to school to complete her finance degree. I am thrilled for her, but it does mean that she will no longer be my contact at the agency. Let's call her Alberta for the moment. Alberta and I were working together to find my "forever job", while I build my forever business. When she initially shared the news I asked if I could call her back. I took a few hours to process my emotions. We had a great professional  relationship, and budding friendship was on the horizon. She helped my find several assignments that were fun, and flexible. The two of us could talk for hours about life, and the nature of work. I worked hard to cultivate that relationship, and now it was gone.

In the hours before I returned her call I asked myself what lesson was in this challenge for me: Get up and keep pushing. I called her back to get the details and started scheduling meetings with her replacement. During my evening meditations I have focused on my awareness of the present moment, my intuition and what my body is communicating to me. I have sought to be bolder with my thoughts and actions. Through this meditation I have made space for the most exciting and fulfilling experiences and relationships I have had in the last six years.

Bringing Hunter into this world has been the most incredible gift of my entire life. Motherhood, although deeply rewarding, can be terribly taxing. I wanted very much to be a perfect mother to fulfill his every want and desire. My inevitable failings discouraged me. I quickly trapped myself in a place where my needs were at the bottom of the totem pole.

I made small changes at first because that is how the big changes happen. I did a little everyday. My intentional daily actions made a difference, and the results have been brought me tremendous joy. I have made new friends and deepened existing relationships. Life has been particularly sweet lately. I made a few strategic decisions to shift my thinking at the start of the year. I am in love with where those changes have brought me. Of course there have been challenges, but I have learned to weather them better. I knew 2018 would be awesome, but it is turning into spectacular.

Once upon a time I practiced a lot of over thinking. More recently I decide what to do based on the following three questions:
Does it feel good in my body when I think about this choice?
Is it authentic?
Does it support my journey?

When I can get yes to those three questions I know it is the right decision.

A few weeks ago I saw Hunter's karate school was offering adult Krav Maga knife combat instructor classes. I was interested but, there were a few factors I had to consider. I decided to treat the uncertainty about the class and how to make it work with Hunter's schedule as noise. I asked myself the aforementioned questions. With my answers sorted I signed up. The class was intense. Electrified knives were involved. I tussled with my partner for a few hours. Taking turns wrestling each other to the mat and dodging that electrified knife. To complete the course I had to teach a specific technique to the class. I left there well fed in body, mind and spirit.

This Thing with Anthony Is on Again

Hunter drew ears on Anthony's head

The years between 2000 and 2004 were fueled by a mostly healthy obsession with the lead singer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers (RHCP), Anthony Kiedis. The period culminated with meeting him at his book signing at the Barnes & Nobles at Astor Place in New York. Afterwards I placed the book in a place of honor and felt sated. And just like that it was over. No more cyber stalking. No more memorizing all the lyrics and parsing their hidden meanings. I had a great story to tell about me and the artist who inspired me to live my life with more vitality, less fear and a heap more intention. I set my mind on meeting him and made it happen. I had renewed faith I could accomplish anything I set my mind to and that was worth the price of every concert and plane ticket I paid to get close to him. It changed me in ways that here I am fourteen years still thinking about him.

At this moment in my life I do not have four years to spend on a celebrity obsession crush. The only way to stay off another Anthony binge was to expel it all in a speech at Toastmasters. I have been stuck with my Toastmaster progress. I have three projects left and have been stalled all summer. Then two weeks ago someone mentioned meeting a celebrity and all the frenetic Anthony drama came rushing back to me in a waterfall of emotion. I found the book he signed easily. It was in storage while I was in Italy, but came to me easily when I searched for it.

My eighth speech: When Your Celebrity Crush Is More Than a Crush

Revisiting that time in my life was exhilarating. It was more than a crush because my interest in Anthony exposed me to so much more than just his music. I became interested in what inspired him. That included the poetry he read: Charles Bukowski. The movies he enjoyed: Amorros Perros.  He took me on adventures that I would have otherwise missed. I traveled to Ireland to see him in concert, and had the time of my life. 

I listened to some of the songs from that time to get me in the mood in the days leading up to my speech. Before I began my speech, I dimmed the lights and let the opening sequence of my favorite video play for the audience. Had to make sure everyone knew who I was talking about. Most did, some did not. Most of the members of my club are aeronautical engineers from India. Had to be sure they knew the RHCP.

This was my chance to share such an intimate part of myself with people who did not know about us (Anthony and  me). I was a ball of nerves, but it felt delightful to share this with my colleagues. I introduced them to an amazing artist and a special person.

It just so happened the Toastmaster Area Director was visiting our meeting. She announced that I my speech was wonderfully done, and encouraged me to me to wait for it..enter the humorist speech contest next year. 

Anthony is still challenging me to move beyond my comfort zone and live life with more exuberance and vibrancy. Thank you Anthony, who knew we would last his long. 

Anthony Kiedis' Signature

Like a Virgin; Shiny and New

This was one of those summers that as a teenager I would notate as being a turning point. An awakening, the beginning of the beginning. The Summer of 2018 will go down as one of those. I did the things I did not think I could. I crossed a meaningful threshold. Most importantly I stepped back into the joy of my life.

Three years ago a battery exploded in our apartment setting the course for series of challenges I was not sure I would survive. I lost most of my worldly possessions and Italian law enforcement wanted to throw us in jail for arson. Even though we were cleared of all wrongdoing in the case, it was a devastating blow to my sense of safety in small rooms and in the world at large. I was filled with fear all the time even though I jumped out of burning building and saved my life. I worked slowly to put the pieces back together. In an effort at total transparency I will tell you that after I jumped out of that window and clawed my way to safety I heard God's voice. He told me to look around and see that he had not forsaken me. It was a euphoric experience. I clung to it, hoping I would hear him speaking to me clearly again. He has not; at least not in that dramatic sort of way I hoped for after.

In the weeks and months that passed I tried to put the whole thing behind me, but the feeling that I was not safe anywhere lingered. Coming back to the U.S. was supposed to help, but there were even more unknowns here to keep me trapped in my fear. I was jumpy, skittish and a general mess. Last year an overcooked hotdog brought the fire department to our home. Hunter and I were so lathered up that the firemen insisted on coming into the house to make sure we were as fine as I said we were.

Then I started blogging regularly. Started a Meetup group to find my people. (It is thriving by the way.) Met the founders of my favorite podcast, and told them how they inspired me. They thanked me on social media. I met a Meetup platform director she loves the community I am creating. I was elected vice president of my Toastmasters club. I registered with a temp agency. My recruiter and I developed a candid relationship. She told me frankly that I am overqualified for most of the jobs in Savannah, but she can keep me busy if I am ok with assignments that are not as challenging or well paid as my previous roles. I agreed and once I let go of money and status I began to truly HEAL.

I accepted a two month temporary position at the most well known retail corporation in the world. It was basic office work, but the hours aligned with Hunter's school and karate schedule. It was also close to home and low stress. Most days I came home with enough energy to work on my special projects and spend quality time with Hunter. My days were filled with new people living in circumstances so vastly different from my own that I told them very little about myself. My days were filled with dramas tiny and large, and all the hot gourmet drinks I could drink, which wreaked havoc on my skin. I gave up trying to find a permanent position at this place. Although it is a multi-national corporation this particular location does not have a position for someone with my particular skill set. Let's leave it there.

Once I sorted through that dilemma I strapped in for the journey. I learned a lot about Savannah and the America of 2018. Juggling a full time job, a four year old, a husband in Afghanistan, and the rest of my life built my confidence back up a little bit at a time everyday. There were small indignities to be sure. Someone asked me to cut out little carboard ID cards, but I did it gracefully because I was out in the world in this place where no one knew about my past. I was just a lady in an office who wore nice clothes. I adored the anonymity. And it allowed me to shed that ash that clung so tightly to me.

I feel a bit like a virgin: shiny and new.  

Cook for 50 men. Screw 55

Many years ago by accident I encountered the book The Color Purple. I watched the movie on HBO as a very young adolescent. It was Christmas and the adults were playing cards. I snuck off to watch HBO hoping to catch a glimpse of something sexually explicit. Instead it was the middle of the movie version of The Color Purple. I watched absentmindedly. Clearly this movie was for adults, but not in the dirty way I was hoping for if I am being perfectly honest. My dad barged in sensing I was up to something I should not be doing. To my surprise he was well acquainted with the movie. He pronounced the movie a travesty and walked out. I found his observation curious. The movie seemed ok, from what I could understand.

Many years later I stumbled upon the book. I had not interest in it because by this time I had seen the film in its entirety and was fairly certain the book had little more to offer. I was living in Rome for the second time. The receptionist at my mother's job was just a few years older than me and we had become friends. She came to visit and brought her a dogeared, underlined copy. She asked if I had read it. I shrugged it off, but she insisted I should read it. She left the book behind after her visit. My cousin's name was written inside. I am not very close to that cousin and felt awkward about reading her book. After the first few chapters I could not put it down. I felt as if a secret passageway had opened in my head. Suddenly I had deeper access to the human experience. I understood love, God and womanhood as never before.

I had just fallen in love for the first time and had my heart broken. Badly. It was a difficult time. The Color Purple and the Tragic Kingdom CD got me through it. A few more years went by and Alice Walker published a novel about how the book became a movie, and the controversy surrounding the film. In certain African American male circles it was seen as anti-male. In other circles it was viewed as anti-woman. It was the eighties. Race and gender were different then perhaps. For me it was an enrichment of  what had become more than a book to me. It had become a map for how to find my way, my happiness.

Fast forward twenty years. The concept of The Color Purple has been knocking around in my head. For no specific reason I downloaded The Color Purple audiobook read by the author: Alice Walker. Listening to the author read a novel is in itself a special gift. The author's voice will tell you the things you need to know. It will answer the questions in your heart. I didn't know I still had questions, but I did and heard the answers. I am set to begin my fourth listening. I hear something new every time.

My mother is here with me while Ryan is off keeping our country safe. I started talking to her about the experience in a dreamlike state. I even coincidentally found it on my bookshelf this morning. We spoke about how my cousin's book came into my possession. She made the notations and underlines many years ago in her first and only reading of the novel. She opened it to a passage she had underlined: "She ran a roadhouse. Cook for fifty men. Screw fifty-five." I say it out loud and laugh. I tease her. I say, "Ha! You like that part the best huh?" She said no she didn't like it at all. I laugh some more. Push her to explain why she would underline something she didn't like. Finally she said she liked the sentence, but disapproved of it as a way to live. I say it is one of my favorite lines in the book. It is an audacious line. An absurdly bold thing to say to a parent, but I am grown. I say all sorts of bold things these days. This one got her good. She stared at me as if I suddenly transformed into Twilight Sparkle.

Twilight Sparkle

My Itty Bitty Titties Are Going to Save the World?

When I was a pre-pubescent girl I whispered a not-so-secret secret to my cousin who was also my first best friend. It was late at night and we laid face-to-face in the dark during one of our many sleepovers. Jean I whispered, "I don't think I will have big boobs. Like ever." She sat up in my darkened room quickly, "Yes, you will! You're boobs will come in. Don't worry." 

If you know me then you know those boobs never came "in", to my great dismay. As I approached my fortieth birthday friends began to warn me about my impending first mammogram. When I finally had the courage to listen to them I heard that my small B-cup breasts would be smashed sandwich style in a very threatening machine. 

My first mammogram did not disappoint. There was much to fear. It was terrible. I dreaded every appointment going forward. At my most recent mammogram the technician propositioned me. She told me a fact I already knew; I have dense breasts. I have known this for years. They are petite and dense. Mammograms have a hard time seeing into the tissue. The proposition was to join a medical research study, have an non invasive Automated SoftVue 3D Whole Breast Ultrasound exam and receive $50. Twenty at the first exam and thirty next year at the second.

I was tremendously excited because I watched a lot of Grey's Anatomy before Christina left and the show became too complicated to follow. Christina and Meredith were obsessed with medical research studies and clinical trials. The technician was offering a chance to be part of research study. My itty bitty titties are going to save the world? According to the technician and the literature my breasts are precisely the kind of boobs they need in the study. She promised it would not hurt and described it as a pleasant experience. I am always up for a good time and an adventure. This was a bit of both.

Just before the giggles began.

It was a great experience from start to finish. The technicians at the Imaging Center were skilled, professional and fun. I had to change out of my street clothes because this ultrasound involves lots of warm water. I was never so excited to have a medical exam. Why would I turn down a boob massage of warm water?After I undressed I placed my breasts one at a time in a warm puddle of water while the jelly suction cup under my breast began to apply suction and pressure. It was wider than a nursing baby's mouth, but the same power. Suddenly it felt good, a little too good perhaps. I tried to hold it but, I giggled and later guffawed uncontrollably. It was contagious and soon the technicians were laughing too. It was certainly ticklish, and I will take that sensation over the smashing of the mammogram any day.

Both the mammogram and the SoftVue came back normal. My cousin Jean was wrong about my boobs and a bunch of other stuff that came after puberty. But she was my first best friend, and our relationship set the stage for lots of other women in my life. I love my little community of female friends in my life now. Most of all I never imagined my itty bitty titties could make a difference in breast health for women someday.

The Revolution Is Being Televised

A few months ago I was Hunter's escort at a play date. His friends have a trampoline in their backyard, which is standard in these parts. No playdate is complete unless I am part of the fun. I climbed onto the trampoline enthusiastically. He squealed with glee at the sight of my bouncing. After a few minutes I noticed my panties were wet. Each jump forced out a bit of urine? Yes, that is a question. I was not quite sure it was pee because well I did not feel the urge to go. I reluctantly left the fun, peed and returned. To my utter shock more liquid came out each time I landed. I had no desire to pee. I cut the playdate short to go home to change my pants. At home my pants were wetter than I have ever experienced.

I discussed the events with a few of my female friends and they all agreed that they have similar experiences, but advised I should mention to my gynecologist. Today was that doctor visit. My doctor nodded knowingly as I whispered discreetly that I had trouble holding onto to my urine while on the neighbor's trampoline. She looked me straight in the eye. All her attention focused on me. She was taking this trampoline business seriously. I was not exactly prepared for this level of intensity. Boy did she have news for me:
I have a weak pelvic floor
Been peeing wrong
Kegels should not be quick bursts of squeezing
Physical therapy is an option (digital penetration is part of the deal)
Amazon sells the Apex for $249
And lastly, surgery is also an option

My head spun. That is a long list of options for something as frivolous as trampoline jumping. But it was more the idea that a part of my body is weak that worried me. My allergies leave me wilted most days. I just do not have the energy to be as active as I am wont to do. This has been a source of concern. I love pushing myself physically either through weight training or whatever of the moment martial arts catch my interest. My allergies have slowed me down a bit and I no longer feel strong in my body. THIS. MUST. CHANGE. The change might just need to begin in my vagina.

In addition to the aforementioned Apex and other comments on the list, I remembered the actress Regina Hall speaking about her Yoni egg. I laughed at her shenanigans. I boil eggs, peel eggs and eat eggs. What I do not do with eggs is hold them in my vagina for safekeeping. This will require a great deal more research, but I have to tell you I am intrigued at the promises of not just a stronger pelvic floor, but a super charged love life. Who among us ain't down for some supercharged lovemaking?

The Handmaid's Tale vs. The Bold Type

Two of my of the moment favorite shows: "The Handmaid's Tale" and "The Bold Type" (TBT). Both shows tightly focus on the female experience in our current time-ish.  If you have not heard by now that Margaret Atwood's 1980s novel The Handmaid's Tale has become a hit tv series on Hulu you have disengaged from pop culture in a very real way. And that is perfectly ok. The thing is this might be the appropriate time to reengage. Let me give you a hand.

In "The Handmaid's Tale" Peggy from Mad Men is now June/Offered in a dystopian, totalitarian America where the birth rate was so low and Americans so fearful that they allowed a religious cult to take over the government and institute ritualized sexual slavery to save us all from ourselves. That is the gist of this dark, often mysterious show. What's that now? Why would you want to watch that? Because it inexplicably timely. The characters accept each new assault on their freedom with some consternation, but never the anger and outrage one would expect. At least not until it is too late.

I watched the first season last summer binging episodes late at night and reading blogs that unpacked each of the dense storylines. I eagerly awaited season two as it moved into unchartered territory. The first season ended with the book. After the first few episodes of the second season I stopped watching. It was torture porn. Every week June/Offred was assaulted or demeaned in some unspeakable way. The other characters did not fare any better. I asked the ladies on the forum I follow closely to let me know if the second season turns the corner to something more positive.

That turn happened recently. The women gained some power and exercised it to make things better.

Then suddenly there was talk of June/Offred's unborn baby being taken from her and the forgotten horror of child separation as a practice in the fictional country came rushing back. But not just on the how. This was also happening here in this country, in this time. It was incredibly hard to watch the news and the show. Watching life imitate art should never be this painful. I think another hiatus is needed from the "Handmaid's Tale". It has become too hard especially in light of the separations at the border.

After feeling drained and oppressed I switched to TBT. It's a "Sex And the City" (SATC) millennial version with a lesbian, bi-racial character. This fixes many of the diversity issues we saw on our beloved SATC. In stark contrast to "The Handmaid's Tale" I feel uplifted after watching TBT. I love seeing these young women critically engaged in their careers and friendships with one another. There are no oppressive patriarchic systems crushing them out of existence. There are male characters in supporting roles, but the drama is not typically about them. There is even a female Editor-in-Chief who could easily be the villain, but she is not. She is finally the good boss that seeks to mentor these three young women as they navigate the cutthroat fashion magazine world in New York.

Of course these shows are not met to be competitors in any way. What they are though are places where modern women can see themselves. Where we can indulge in the fantasy of other realities for ourselves. This is harder to do in "The Handmaid's Tale" of course. I cannot help but see myself in the characters even, or perhaps especially, when they are in their darkest hour.

Chinese Foods Unknown

TEDx Savannah crew

About that TEDx Savannah event I so eagerly lobbied to be part of last month. It was AMAZING. As I hoped I had the opportunity to go behind the "curtain." It was a lot of work back there. It was two days of working closely with the team who produce the event, but also time well spent with the speakers. The talks were fascinating. There was the rocket scientist who loves to paint, the Gullah descendant who works in STEM and the college professor who studies scatological iconography. It was a 48 hours I won't soon forget.

I connected with some great folks. One of them is a Chinese graduate student. Do you love Chinese food as much as I do? Have you ever gone to a Chinese restaurant and saw a massive table with only Chinese people eating dishes that were clearly not on the menu and wondered WTF? I have experienced this phenomenon several times. I have spent a good portion of my waking hours and perhaps a few sleeping hours pondering how to gain access to the hidden menu. It seemed impossible until I met Carrie (I changed her name to protect her anonymity). She was drawn to me when she heard I was from New York. I was drawn to her when I saw her amazing t-zone highlight. We discussed make-up and the eight-step Korean skincare method before turning to food just before I stumbled upon an incredible secret.

Me: How long have you been in the US?
Carrie: One year and a half.
Me: Are you wearing make up or is that your actual skin?
Carrie: Oh no! Is it too much?
Me: No, not at all. I wasn't even sure it was makeup.

That is when she pulled out her Chanel highlight palette. If you are a woman reading this you know just how intimate of an act this is. As I turned the elegant compact over in my hands I knew I had crossed an important boundary and prepared to move the discussion toward food.

Me: Do you like American food? It must be very different from food in China...
Carrie: I do like American food.
Me: I love Chinese. In New York we have great Chinese food but, I have not found any good restaurants here yet.
Carrie: I want to go to New York very much. I'm trying to get an internship there this summer. There's a very good Chinese restaurant in Georgetown. It's called Wang II.

I sat staring at her speechless. First of all I could scarcely believe I was a part of this discussion, but that is not what left me dumbstruck. I could not believe she loved Wang II. This place does not even have a website. I have been to Wang I and was not impressed so this was confusing AF. I quickly pulled it up on my phone.

Me: You go to this place? Wang II? (I jabbed at my screen with my pointy little index finger.)
Carrie: Yes, it is so good.

Perplexed, but undeterred I pushed onward. I pulled up the menu on Yelp.

Me: Carrie, can you please show me what you order when you go to Wang II? (I cradled my phone gently offering it to her with childlike gestures.)

Carrie: Ummm..well..I can't..do that.

Carrie's eyes began to dart around the room. Perhaps she was looking for the nearest exit because I had clearly stumbled upon one of the last remaining secrets in western history!

Me: Why not Carrie? (I was calm, struggling to drain any hint of aggression or anxiety from my voice. My voice would not betray me today.)

I tried to sound pleading. Curious, but not too curious. Concerned, but not worried.

Carrie: There's a separate menu, for Chinese.

I gasped and pulled my hand to my mouth so quickly it made a popping noise. Carrie nodded slowly reminding me of that popular Jack Nicholson gif.

I recovered from the popping gasp with such aplomb you will hug me with deep pride next time you lay eyes on my physical person. I was very cool and casual when I asked if we could go sometime and order off the special Chinese menu. She said yes and I watched as something like pride began to emerge from her eyes.

Ladies and gents when I get to Wang II and order from the Chinese menu you will be the very first to know.

Rest in peace Anthony Bourdain my food hero and inspiration.

This Was Bizarre Foolishness

Seven years out of the country will do a number on your pop culture knowledge among other things. There are quite a few shows out there that I have either never heard of or watched. Sometimes it is both. Bizarre Foods is one of those shows.

Part of the deal we made in order to come back to the U.S. was that Ryan would deploy three months out of the year. They doubled the deployment this year so he is gone for six months. We are almost half way through. I am learning some big lessons this go around. I am stronger than I thought, and having a fantastic support system has helped me to see that.

I am deepening my relationships with my family and learning how to insist people respect my boundaries. And I continue to navigate the brackish professional environment in Savannah. I am still working with my client. That is going very well. Also a friend of a friend recommended I connect with a temp agency. Typically the assignments do not work with my schedule with Hunter, but this week I made it happen. I had to hire someone to help, but it was well worth the effort to have an office outside of the home to go to everyday.

The assignment is nothing to brag about. Typical office work. Nothing I would be interested in doing full time, but the location is fantastic. I spent the week in historic downtown Savannah, which is hip, cool and trendy. Everyday I tried a new restaurant on the best of Savannah list. Friday I went to the Kayak Café. It almost felt like New York in there, but everyone was too laid back. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a chicken burrito. After a few minutes a man sat next to me. He was clearly a regular at Kayak. No sooner than he ordered his fresh salad did it appear. I wondered how much longer did a burrito take to prepare. I inquired about my meal as he chowed down on his. It came out almost immediately after I asked.

I noticed a certain air of aloofness wafting from the guy sitting next to me. He stood out in contrast to the relaxed atmosphere. Most people would have made some sort of gesture of hello; this is the south after all. I made a mental note that he did not, but my burrito was so good the thought quickly passed. We sat munching away at our respective meals in silence. Then I heard the waitress point out a young woman at the other end of the bar.

Waitress: We were just discussing how much you resemble Andrew Zimmern from the show Bizarre Foods.

Aloof guy: NO RESPONSE

If you were looking hard enough you could see a slight shrug to his shoulders. Perhaps a hint of annoyance, but overall he neither affirmed nor denied it. This was not the response I expected. If someone mistook me as a television personality I would definitely have a response. Unless I was the celebrity they thought I was! I turned to him quickly and asked if it happened often that people mistook him for...I stopped mid-sentence and asked who exactly he was supposed to be. He said the show is called Bizarre Foods. I asked how does that work out for you. His eyes lit up.

Celebrity guy: I wonder if should get an agent sometimes. There was this one time a woman jumped out of her car asking for my autograph.

Me: Oh that sounds a little over the top.

Celebrity guy: There was this one time a woman let me pat her on the ass.

Me: Eww

My shoulders automatically pulled back and I lowered my chin in disapproval. He turned away briefly.

Celebrity guy: I should not have said that.

Me: No you should not have. It was inappropriate.

He pushed his salad away.  

Celebrity guy: I am so embarrassed. I should not have said that to you.

He whispered once more that he was very embarrassed. He quickly paid his bill and left in a hurry.

The girl at the end of the bar asked what happened. She was shocked when I told her. This unfortunate encounter highlights aspects of the #metoo movement. It reinforced the entitlement men of a certain age and stature feel in the world. Whether it was his fame or his wealth, he felt entitled to speak to me in a way that made us both uncomfortable. He said he was embarrassed but, failed to apologize explicitly. On the bright side he policed himself. He knew it was a misstep and instead of making it worse he left.

I walked back to my office wondering if I had done something to invite the comment. Perhaps I should have not opened the conversation. Maybe I was wearing something that gave him the wrong idea. Then I remembered that he was embarrassed because he did something wrong. I did nothing wrong. In fact I did everything right.

Yep, I kept the ring

Last time on the Cat Who Swallowed the Canary I was having a moment at TEDx Savannah. I was on the precipice of discussing a little known fact about myself. When I ended my engagement with my first fiancé (yep, I kept the ring) I moved back to Brooklyn, New York from Rome, Italy. I worked hard to build a new life in my hometown mostly confident I had made the right decision. I landed my first job in finance. The job was stressful. There was a steep learning curve and the first tech bubble had just popped. I made time to date and create a robust social life. My cousin and shared a smashing apartment in a trendy neighborhood in Brooklyn with a sweet commute.

My boss at the time, let's call her Roxanne, was a stickler about time. It did not matter how late we stayed to get work done; at a few minutes before 9:00 am Roxanne made the rounds through our maze of cubicles to make sure we were in our seats. Late arrivals were not tolerated. My last Tuesday in the office began with a start. I slept through my alarm, and was running ten minutes behind. I pulled myself together quickly and bolted for the train. I was close to making up the time, when the train stopped just before it entered my station. Unbelievable! When the doors opened I slipped out with my eyes focused on getting through the turnstile. That is when I noticed a colleague from another department. He was rushing into the train. The expression on his face gave me slight pause, but then I thought about Roxanne staring at my empty chair in the meeting and regained my momentum.

I climbed the stairs out of the subway two at a time. At the surface I checked my watch. It was 8:55. It would take me another three minutes to get to the 33rd floor of WTC 2, but there was smoke and what I thought was debris coming out of WTC 1. I called Roxanne to tell her there was an incident and I would be late, but I could not get through. I know now from trauma therapy that I went into shock as my brain tried to protect me from the horror that was people making the awful choice to jump out of the windows of the highest floors of WTC 1. I continued to make my way to the building when the second plane hit. I was less than a block away. The ball of fire the explosion created was so big and so hot that I could feel the heat on my on the side of my face. There was a collective scream from the hundreds of us on the ground, and then a stampede of people running at me. I hid in a small space between buildings until there was a clearing. Then I ran.

I made it home to Brooklyn just before the Towers collapsed. I saw the ball of fire for weeks after in my nightmares. I worked for a large firm with an even larger parent company in Hartford, CT. With our headquarters destroyed, our fearless leaders decided to relocate us to CT.

When the dust settled we were asked to document the belongings we had in the building at the time of the attack. We were reimbursed with very few questions. With everything that had happened it was difficult to remember everything in my desk. In the end it did not matter much. Creating the list more than anything triggered survivor's guilt. I was wracking my brain trying to remember if I left my sweater on the back of my chair or not while others had lost their lives. It was a difficult process to work through, but being in Hartford helped. The distance created a much needed buffer.

Having survived together, my colleagues and I were tightly bonded. We recovered together in a sort of cocoon. We had shared this singular experience. One which very few people could understand. When I left the company five years later my anonymity and individuality returned. It was a relief to forget. September 11 anniversaries came and went. Fewer people knew I was there that day. It receded into the background of my life.

I was the guest speaker on base in Italy one year during the memorial, but was so triggered that I stopped talking about it for another few years. Then TEDx Savannah came up on my radar. This year the event is being held at the Savannah International Trade Center. I tried my best not to say the name of the location because every time I said it, I said world trade center. In this year of living authentically I recognized the Freudian slip. Instead of ignoring it I embraced it. In my correspondence with the Nick, the volunteer organizer, I told him I was there that day. He mentioned it at the first volunteer session. I knew there was a chance he might, but I was unprepared to speak about it with strangers. I faltered a bit. My apprehension is rooted in my desire not to profit in anyway from the lives that were lost that day. I honor them when I live. When I pursue my dreams. When I am fiercely authentic in my life that was spared on that tragic day. I survived that day, but I thrive everyday after.

A Confluence of Events

Who does not love a good Ted talk? Come on, there is something for everyone on that site. I love them. Of course some are better than others. Just depends on what you are into. When I arrived in Savannah after seven years in Europe, I realized a few things were different in America or had completely changed. Online banking was still in its infancy when I left. Now I can deposit checks with my phone! Urgent Care medical facilities are everywhere. These did not exist when I left. I either begged for an appointment with my primary care physician or panicked as I read through possible lethal conditions on WebMD. My mom is visiting and her shoulder pain flared up. No. Big. Deal. Took her to urgent care. She got a cortisone shot and was back to normal within an hour.

One of the biggest surprises is TEDx events. I kind of sort of heard about them, but did not know the details. TEDx are independent TED-like events. That was all I thought I needed to know. Then I followed a former colleague's IG account. We reconnected a few months after I got settled in Savannah. She was excited and busy with a successful fashion company she launched a few years ago. She told me she wanted to do more with her IG account. And then she posted a link to her TEDx talk.

She looked fabulous. None of the years that passed since the last time I saw her showed. I listened intently expecting to hear how she launched her business or how going to an Ivy League graduate school changed the trajectory of her life. Instead I heard about her near-death experience. She was diagnosed with cavernous sinus thrombosis. A condition that left her in a medically induced coma for five days. She recovered from the serious health crisis and remains at the helm of her company, Cepi Style.

Within a matter of days my friend who asked me to help him start his start up told me he is a scheduled speaker at TEDx Savannah on May 11. I adore coincidences but, this confluence of events portended something special. Two TEDx pings in my inner circle in one week? Something big was underfoot. Next I did a little research. TEDx Savannah is a full day of "ideas worth spreading." Intrigued, I dug deeper. When I watch TED talks I get riled up and inspired. I imagined what a day of that kind of stimulation would do to my overactive imagination. I would be overwhelmed. I would want more. One day of ideas could never be enough. I would want to tell the world about it over and over again. I would drive those near and dear to me mad.

I clicked the volunteer button. I had to get behind the curtain, and stave off a potential obsession. I have indulged those and it ain't pretty. Instead I would meet new people and learn new ideas and discuss those ideas and my ideas, and you get the picture. I said a little about myself. I skillfully excluded any penchant for obsessive tendencies and general fan girl inclinations. Then poof, I sent my email into the ether. I did not think about it again until I received a fascinating response from one of the organizers. It began: Dear Mickie, (he had me at dear Mickie) I am thrilled to have you on board for the TEDx Savannah 2018 volunteer team. What happened next gave me the courage to reveal a little known experience of my own.

Until next time on The Cat Who Swallowed the Canary.

The opportunity of a lifetime is within my grasp

Last time on "The Cat Who Swallowed the Canary" I was in a meeting that I thought was a job interview. Reminds me of the time I thought I was on a date with someone who thought we were just friends. Man, that was a bad night, but I digress. Thankfully this scenario has a much better finale. As it turns out the CEO was looking for a brand consultant. Someone who could take stock of the organization and take it to the next level. And just like that the opportunity of a lifetime was in my grasp. It blends everything I have been working towards professionally and personally. All the prayers, all the networking and all the brainstorming finally made sense.

I left the meeting buoyed with optimism and pride that I created an opportunity that did not exist before I walked into that space. He took the meeting out of curiosity, but my suggestions were creative and persuasive enough that he wanted me to work with him, not for him. The role as Creative Director and Consultant is only a few hours a week, but they are of my own design. I went home and thought through what I wanted to accomplish. It is a large task, but I focused on a few areas where I can have a large impact. My proposal included an hourly wage, scope and timeline. He agreed to all in writing with very little fanfare. Outwardly I handled it as a seasoned professional, but inside I was a giddy little girl twirling in her favorite ruffled dress. This is perfect for me, but not enough for me at the same time. I need to work, but I also need a great deal of flexibility because with Ryan gone I am essentially a single parent. I have should have warned you; Capricorns with rising Libras are complicated.

This new endeavor has attracted some interesting attention. A friend asked me for help with his start up. I can hardly believe I wrote that. Yes, someone I know pro-cas (professionally-casually) wants to structure his start up so that I have shares in exchange for my expertise. This is an amazing opportunity that takes me into a dizzying wormhole of possibilities. I am not convinced I have the time to get involved, but I am on long calls with the team deep into the night strategizing how to create buzz around this parking idea. I have plenty on my plate and it could be a while before there is an app and it goes live and contracts are signed. I talk myself out of every call, but talk all night we do, and after every call I wonder how I will feel if I opt out and it is the next Uber, without all the gross stuff of course. Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

It is called the present because it is a gift

When my eyes are open, and I mean all the way open I encounter inspiration everywhere. And by open I mean being present in the moment. I have been working at this for a few years and I am still a novice. I still plan as far out as I can and panic if I do not have anything in my planner at least two months ahead. I am a control freak and planning provides the much needed illusion that I have control over what happens in my environment. I have made incremental progress in dismantling this thought process, but I still have a long way to go. I have been practicing the art of letting go and accepting what is. No easy feat for an anxiety prone, control obsessed, introverted extrovert. We all have our challenges, and like hard work at the gym I am beginning to see the fruits of my labor.

I have a cohort of neighbors that meet every Sunday. Some of us go to the same church and others just live in the neighborhood. We meet to discuss our week, the challenges we face and we pray for guidance and strength to overcome them. We also practice the fine art of gratitude. We discuss all we have and give thanks with the expectation of what we will receive. Sometimes the discussions go deep extending into spiritual warfare, premonitions and the gift of hindsight. It is that kind of group.

The group has three other moms. They seemed comfortable in their roles as wife and mother being a priority in their lives. Careers are important to them but, not the driving force of their lives. Meanwhile I felt as if my entire identity was crumbling as I struggled with my job search. The stay-at-home moniker hung over my head like a dark rain cloud holding heavy with water threatening to beat me into the pavement. I held this panic tight in my chest until one day I expressed this fear out loud to the group. I was embarrassed but, also worried I would insult my friends. They empathized with my struggle, and encouraged me to let go of the vision that raising my son and taking care of my family was less worthy work. Turns out I was the only one judging myself. When I stopped judging I had more energy to focus on a solution. A solution that would meet my needs as a sometimes single parent when Ryan deploys.

I stopped worrying about my CAREER. I kept searching, but with less desperation in my heart. I used this blog, my meet up group, Toastmasters and volunteering at events I am interested in to refocus on what makes me feel alive. Ironically the more extracurricular events I participated in, the more energy and passion I had for my family.

During one of our Sunday meetings one of the moms with older kids asked for my resume. She circulated it among her friends who it turns out are a who's who of Savannah. I started getting calls asking what kind of work I was interested in because my resume states I can do almost anything. Flattered, but not exactly happy because it had been a year and no serious job offers. Then on a whim my friend mentioned me to her CEO. He and I chatted one day on my way home from school. Honestly, I was not well prepared for the call. I was driving home from school and therefore exhausted. We agreed to meet in a few days.

I was better prepared for the meeting at his office. I understood his business and had intel about  the recently vacated marketing position. The goal going into the meeting was to secure a full time position. Figure out childcare later. I was reciting this in my head as the CEO said he did not consider me for the marketing position. I almost missed it because I was not paying attention. I was not in the moment. I took a few solid deep breaths and looked around the room with new eyes. I realized I was not there to ask him to hire me. There was something bigger and better in store for me.

Teaching is not my calling

I made it through the math teaching experience. The first day was terrifying as well as exhausting. It was also easier than I thought it would be. Some of the kids remembered me from subbing in their other classes. I heard some of them say, "Yes it's Ms. Mickie! She is my favorite sub." Sure, I love great feedback as much as the next person but, teaching is not my calling. The goal is not to get a full-time teaching job. It is well documented in the media that teachers are woefully underpaid, and a substitute teacher at an exclusive private prep school is not an exception.

On Monday morning the students filed in and the day began. We worked equations and talked about the PSATs. More than half of the sixth grade class had taken the PSATs at least twice already. I did not hear about the PSATs until I was in high school. Over the next few days we worked more problems. I heard about their lives. What time they went to sleep. What kept them up at night.Their trips to Disney, Jamaica and Montana over Spring Break. Some of my classes have quite a few big personalities. They are loud, rowdy and hard to control. I promised them an ice breaker if we worked some problems first. They wanted to know about me. They wanted to tell me about them. One girl told me about her two businesses. This was old news to her classmates. Others wanted to talk video games. An adult hall monitor came in to ask us to quiet down. She said she loved to hear the sounds of laughter, but we were distracting the other classes. We had two icebreaker sessions and made it through just over half of the problems.

The next class was another rowdy bunch, but we stayed on topic for the most part. Many of the students were eager to come up to the board and work the equations. Two boys in particular began to ridicule their friend's use of the zero. They called the zero useless and annoying. I wrote an equation using negative numbers and emphasized why the zero is important. They rest of the class took their revenge on the two naysayers with squeals of delight.

As I left for the day I began to think about how much fun I had, and what a privilege it is to spend time with these kids. The math was no longer scary. I was quite comfortable after the first day. I enjoyed the feel of authority and owning the room, and the room is a beautiful sun drenched space that overlooks a tree lined marsh. The thing is teaching is not my calling. I do not have the desire to "raise the next generation" or "be a role model to the youth." Those were never my aspirations.

But, the more I examine this opportunity the more I see this as an act of service. Giving is an important spiritual practice. With children involved it kicks the experience up a few notches. The time I spend with the kids is filled with joy. I am exhausted at the end of the day and it is not even a full day! I am working on a few other projects simultaneously, but none of them inject as much raw energy into my day as the kids. I am off for two weeks to help Ryan, and work on my other projects. I am grateful for the opportunity, but also looking to what is next, and it is going to be all that I prayed for and more.

Positve thoughts clear the way for success

It has been an exciting week. In fact the entire month has been filled with revelations. Some more obvious than others. For years no matter my relationship with church I observe Lenten season with either giving up something I enjoy, or doing something kind more often. It is a practice my aunt who passed away last year helped to instill in me. This is my first Lent without her so I was particularly resolved to do something intentional to recognize her in a spiritual way.

I gave up saying and believing anything negative. Anytime I had a negative thought I would stop myself. It was hard because it is a habit I have indulged in for quite sometime. Thinking the worst of someone, a situation or even myself as a way to cope with disappointment or the unknown. To help me maintain the new mindset I let people know I was working on being more positive. When my conversations give me the opportunity to say something negative I stop and do something else. Anything else.

As a result of this new practice I feel more positive and happy. In addition to a better sense of well being, I am having more fun. There is so much time left over for other things to include sleep. I have slept more in the past four weeks than I have in the last four years. This is not hyperbole. The week after I found out I was pregnant with Hunter was the last time I remember resting my head on a pillow and drifting off to sleep for more than four continuous hours.

Can all this be attributed to a small change in my thinking? This is the wrong question. The correct question is can a new mindset change my life? The answer is unequivocally yes.

Ryan heads out next week. He had two weeks off from work and we decided to make of the most of the time together. We lived a reverse schedule. Staying up all night and sleeping well into the afternoon. He heads back to the office tomorrow, but not without us spending sometime in the outdoors. Remember that crossbow I received for Christmas? I finally had my chance to play with it somewhere other than my backyard.

Out in the wild blue yonder

What would Oprah do?

It was approximately two weeks ago when I received the text message asking to substitute for three days in row. Was I available? Sure was my quicker than quick response. The fun aspect of teaching is the unpredictability, and flexibility of the schedule. The kids are different every single time. Even when I have met them before. And let me tell you dear reader these teenagers are not at all like the teenagers we once were. One of my biggest challenges is keeping them off their phones. This can be tricky because sometimes they need their phones to access images for art class or their calculator for math.

My final class had rehearsal for an upcoming theatrical performance. The office asked me to stay to help with another class while the teacher went to direct traffic. It is a huge campus. Getting parents and students on and off campus is quite an operation. Half the class wanted to go to the café while, the other half wanted to play basketball. I tried to get them all to the café but, that did not go over well. I let some of them go two at a time. The rest of us waited at the basketball court. I squinted under the beautiful Georgia afternoon sun as it transformed one the schoolyards into a glowing, hazy idyll.  

A woman with long, straight, grey hair styled in a simple chignon approached us with a broad smile. She was thrilled to hear I was her substitute. She said she heard great things about me from the staff and the students. I beamed feeling pleased with myself. We chatted easily for a few minutes when she asked me to come up to her classroom before I left for the day. As she walked away I asked offhandedly what subject she taught. She responded math, advanced math...She threw the end of her sentence over her shoulder casually: equations, simple stuff.

I clawed at my collar bone as if I suddenly found a barnacle attached to it. My jaw tightened as I bit down on my second molars now that my wisdom teeth are gone. I stumbled forward dazed, shielding my eyes as if an interrogator's flashlight shone in them. My Georgia idyll suddenly a darkened tunnel devoid of light. The once vivid colors were all faded hues of blue. It felt as though I was in an episode of the Netflix show Ozark. Someone called out Ms. Mickie. I took a seat staring at no one in particular. Ms. Mickie, my mom's here can I go? Yes class dismissed. I groped around for my purse and tried to regain my composure.

I hate math. No math hates me. It has always hated me, and somehow I found myself in its fiendish clutches once again. I was prepared to tell the teacher I had made a mistake and I was not available the days she needed me. If her dates changed I would not be available then either. I took uneasy steps toward the building. Contemplating the end of my first steady-ish job since my arrival in Savannah. Then, as one is wont to do I thought what would Oprah do. I visualized my tunnel again. I saw a glint of light at the end this time. As I moved in the direction of the light, I realized Oprah was standing at the end holding a sign that had this written on it:

I walked into to the classroom a little more surefooted. I came clean right off the bat. I told the woman and her neatly coiffed chignon that the very last thing I wanted to do is let her and her students down. I continued, it has been years since I worked with equations and would feel more comfortable if I could come in one day to observe the class. She was very kind and gracious. I went back a few days later. She had her lesson plans laid out for me. Homework, quizzes and tests with the most gorgeous answer keys I have ever seen. When I left the building my Georgia idyll returned to me in her all her splendor. I have some homework to do this weekend and I am ok with that. I will be prepared well prepared next week. Thanks Oprah you are the best!  


 

Sold to the lady from the great State of New York

Let's get right to the point shall we. I had my wisdom teeth removed on Monday. I put off having them removed for years. I erroneously believed they belonged in my mouth because they grew there. Over the years I have dealt with the difficult ups and downs of them erupting to the surface. The pain oscillated between excruciating and mind numbing every few months. But the procedure to have them removed filled me dread. I put it off every year at my annual check up. Well dear reader that train came to a screeching halt at my recent trip to the dentist. I have early stage gum disease. Yikes!

My dentist strongly recommended I have the offending teeth removed as soon as possible. I was still skeptical about the procedure until I went for my consult with Dr. T. He was affable, professional and Australian. He systematically allayed every fear I had about oral surgery. He expertly outlined the procedure to include a low dose, pre-op tranquilizer the morning of the surgery. SOLD to the lady from the great State of New York! The worst part of a medical procedure is the anxiety about what could potentially go wrong. What's that you say? The recovery is the worst. No, that is why pain medications exist--along with the opioid crisis. #keepingit100

Monday was D-day. I started my cocktail of tranquilizers and analgesics first thing in the morning. The rest is as they say is a blurry haze. Ryan drove me to my appointment, waited for me to be done and drove me home. I have spent the last four days recovering. I have eaten plenty of bananas, mashed potatoes and ice cream. Folks warned me it could be two weeks before I felt normal again. Apparently some people sleep it off and go to work in the morning. 

I was up and moving on Wednesday. Not because I felt better, but because I signed up for a HubSpot marketing workshop and was not going to miss out. I made it, but definitely pushed myself a little too hard. Savannah is a hotbed of startups and the like. Workshops featuring entrepreneurs, their peers and wannabees such as your truly flock to these events. We were a small group of eagers excited to be in our coveted spot. When I got home I was limp. I still got a lot out off the workshop and even made a fortuitous professional connection. He is a Savannah College of Art And Design professor who launched an arts advocacy organization. 

I took easy it yesterday, and started eating solid foods today. I had a giant turkey and cheese sandwich with mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato. Life is good. 

  

A thing of beauty

Perception is reality

I hated hearing this term and I heard it often especially when I worked in New York. And yet yesterday surrounded by young teenagers listening to them discuss their love lives, as well as the love lives of others, I reminded them that perception is reality. The classroom went quiet. The same thing happened when I told them I love coincidences. This time the question came back quickly: Ms. Mickie what does perception mean? I laughed but my students were serious. They had no idea what the word meant. I told them it is the conclusion people come to whether they have all the facts or not. They gasped with recognition of the concept. I enjoyed the look on their faces as I exposed them to a new idea even if it was not one of my favorites. One of the highlights of the day was a teacher coming into the classroom and asking where Ms. Johnson, the regular teacher, was. I said she is out today. How can I help you? Then directed at no one in particular she asked, "Well who is in here with you guys?" We had a laugh because she mistook me for one of the middle school students.

This sort of thing happens with some frequency here. More than it happened in Italy. I think Americas are more focused on age than Italians. Once someone finds out my age they ask several questions. When they do not believe me I wonder if this is the sort of thing people lie about. Eventually the questions shifts to what do I do to keep the wrinkles at bay. Once upon a time I had an arsenal of skin care products. I have culled it down to the bare necessities of which sheets masks are my favorite. Here is the newest addition to my collection, and yes it rubber.

To take the edge off a long day some folks binge watch their favorite show or have a glass of wine or do a Korean face mask. I do all the aforementioned because why not treat myself when I clearly am so deserving of pampering. I am certainly a fan of the cotton sheet masks, but when I discovered this rubber treasure I could not wait to experience the benefits. The rubber makes it easier to handle and apply which is a great bonus, but what I love most about this mask is the two-step process. First I applied the cream, then the mask. It was a very satisfying experience especially after a long day. I think I look hella sexy too. You see the come hither look in my eye? Irresistible. 

Walmart surprises me sometimes. I expect to find the standard fare of beauty products on their shelves, but if you keep your eyes peeled, pleasant discoveries can be found. 

Welcome to the Terror Dome

Like many of you I have a few phobias. They are all well managed. I hate to fly, but love to travel. With meditation, prayer and glass of prosecco I do just fine on planes. Since the apartment fire in Vicenza I am a tad claustrophobic. I cannot tolerate small, windowless spaces for very long at all. High bridges over large bodies of water are another trigger to panic, but if I am prepared for them I do just fine. The problem today was I did not have a chance to prepare.

I had a meeting with the CEO of a nonprofit this afternoon. The headquarters are on the far side of town in a neighborhood I am not well acquainted with yet. He asked me to create a proposal for my dream project for the organization. I was excited because I spent the days leading up to the meeting studying their website and digital footprint. I left feeling inspired. The position could have a tremendous impact on the community. Before I headed to my car I called my friend who helped to schedule the meeting. We met briefly in her small, windowless office. My chest started to feel a bit tight, but nothing I could not relax through.

As I walked to my car I considered a small celebratory gesture. As in a decadent cocktail before happy hour, in the middle of the afternoon. The only problem was the reception in that part of town was sporadic. Too weak to find a the kind a trendy spot that could make my fancy cocktail. I had a general idea of how to get home. I decided against the celebration since the cell signal was so weak. I had a general idea of where I was and started driving in the direction of my house, but before my GPS could get a signal I found myself on the ramp for the Talmadge Memorial Bridge to South Carolina (SC).

Talmadge Memorial Bridge

Let's stop right here to look at the bridge. This is a scary view. (I did not take the picture. It came up when I googled Talmadge Bridge.) The steep incline limited my field of vision. The narrow lanes  were recently expanded due to the frequent collisions. On the other side is a steep decline that leads to a two lane road surrounded by marshland. Good grief was I scared. The name of the bridge is under scrutiny as the City of Savannah wrestles with its confederate past. Eugene Talmadge was famously elected to Governor of Georgia four times from 1933 to 1937, 1941 to 1943 and a fourth term in 1946. He died before his inauguration. He was a well known white supremacist. He actively promoted segregation and racism in the Georgia University system during his tenure. The Girl Scouts (and me) would love to have it re-named for their founder and Savannah native Juliette Gordon Low. 

That is probably enough history for today. Back to my detour. I was not happy about my impromptu bridge crossing and less happy to have crossed state lines into SC. I have nothing against SC. It is a beautiful state. Charleston is gorgeous and Beaufort is a delight. I just did not want to be there today. I was on one of those roads that will not let you make a U-turn for miles. It was such a pain, but the worst part was I had to cross the bridge to get home. I would have done almost anything not to cross that bridge again. 

When I finally made it back on the bridge in the right direction, I stayed as far left as possible and went as fast as I possibly could. Which was about 45mph because my deepest fear is that I will loose control of the vehicle and end up plunging over the side of the bridge. Geez, I watch too much TV. I made it back just in time to have a margarita with my neighbor before her kid came home. I left when her bestfriend called. She has lupus and just had her hip replaced. It was grounding reminder that even when faced with deep seated phobias, things could be much more challenging. I have so much to be grateful for everyday. Even when I end up across state lines life is very good.