The anticipation of a “BIG” storm has electricity buzzing through the air. As I went out, I could smell the snow and feel the dampness descend over me. Snow excites me. I think I am still that little girl excited for the possibility of a snow day, a warm, late breakfast, jumping into our sock-stuffed boots, and donning the pants and jackets that made us walk like bigfoot on the prowl.
Some of my fondest childhood memories involve snow storms. As a matter of fact, I was born in the blizzard of 1967. Although the story has changed as memories do, my dad drove through the blinding snow to the hospital with my mother in tow. She was dropped off at the door, and he was relegated to the waiting room, pacing quietly, waiting for the dr. to burst through the door announcing that his “baby boy” had arrived. I imagine that after two other girls, he was a tad bit disappointed that a boy I was not. Not to worry, though, because that brief moment of feeling was temporary, and he embraced being a girl daddy, dance recitals, cheerleading competitions, and all.
The best part of being born in a storm is that for years, I thought my birthday was a stay-home holiday because every year, a moderate snowfall would cancel school for the day. The worst part was that that same storm prevented my aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins from coming over to my party. Each year, we would plan a “family” party with cornflake chicken, ziti, rolls, cold cuts, and maybe a few meatballs, followed by a bakery cake of vanilla with strawberries. You know, the average 1980s party fare.  Happy birthday would be sung, and presents would be opened. But every year, inevitably, a few hours before the festivities were to commence, the phone calls would begin. They all sounded the same. The message was that, once again, there would be no party. Thank you, Mother Nature. We did reschedule, so I can’t say it was scarring beyond repair; just temporarily disappointed.
It used to make me a bit sad, but how many other kids got off from school on their birthday? I was actually the lucky one.
It was clear from the beginning that I was not going to be like my sisters. My family would often nod and speak in hushed voices as they agreed, “Well, she was born in a snowstorm,” as if that was all that needed to be said to explain my somewhat exuberant personality. I was the black sheep, the trailblazer, the wild child.
Maybe they were correct. Maybe the power of the blizzard did affect the person I have become. I kind of like that I harness the power of my own storm and that  I blow through a room, leaving my mark.
It is funny how the smell and feel of our impending winter blast brought forth such distinct memories. What natural event describes you or reminds you of a wonderful childhood memory?

​For the past few weeks, I have felt like a cartoon character walking around with a dark rain cloud moving above me. No matter where I turned, the hits just kept coming. Have you ever had a week or weeks like that? Someone once told me that you could not appreciate joy if you never felt pain or love if you have never felt anger. I can honestly say I feel both love and joy deeply. Suffice it to say, words like surgery- failed, pain, flood, and death are just a few of the words that have impacted me recently. My family is waiting for me to break, cry, and let it all go, but I find myself laughing at the absurdity of being hit from all sides.
Sayings like "god only give you what you can handle" and "it's just a blip on the radar of your life' are what I have been grappling with. I even have gone down that road looking for people who have had it worse than I did to put things into perspective.
But I am still sad, frustrated, and irritated.
Yet, I believe that with every negative, there is a lesson, a moment of gratitude that could not be achieved if you were not faced with trauma. 
The problem was that it all seemed pretty grim no matter where I looked. So what do you do when searching for gratitude in the middle of a storm? 

​I am a huge reader. This should not come as a shock. It is inspiring to see how others put words together. I do "like" other people's reviews and often choose my books based on them, yet, aside from writing reviews for friends' and colleagues' work, I have never wanted to recommend what I am reading. I know that genre, time frame, and character are very particular for most people. But I recently read a book that made me want to scream the title on a busy street corner.
I found this book riveting. The book title is "Beneath a Scarlet Sky" by Mark Sullivan. You know the kind I am talking about; I read it while cooking, in the bathroom, and about any place I could fit it in. It became an obsession.
The story is multilayered, and I can't say too much without giving it away. Still, I would sum it up by saying it is the story of a young Italian boy whose determination and tenacity helped him survive WWII against all odds. I know, you are thinking, not another book about WWII. Well, I thought the same thing until I was about 25 pages in.
It is the kind of book that, once finished, you might not be able to read for a few days as you rehash the story and reread the epilogue over and over. There was so much to unravel. The author does a beautiful job of making us question what we believe to be true.  
Each word and idea is carefully calculated to make you feel…think….
So in a conversation with Mom, who had just finished it, I sympathized with her questions and finally shared with her that I believe the main idea of the entire story is this: Good and Bad are simply a matter of perspective. These exact lines appear in the story, but for me, they were also the background of all the action.
So now I am thinking and talking to just about everyone about this concept. On the most basic level, we can use a person living in a ghetto who steals bread to feed his family. Our immediate, first-world response would likely be he is a criminal. But do you think his family would feel that way? Do you think he would?
The lines between good and bad are very blurry. Even the classic story of Robin Hood broaches the topic. Yet how many of us taught our children, Robin Hood was a criminal? Exactly!
Your perspective might change, and you will learn and grow with one story.
So back to the point, if you are looking for a good (great) book, pick up a copy of "Beneath a Scarlet Sky." You are welcome.

Dessert First, Please
Family is lovely and complicated but, at the same time, often predictable. Whether we are talking about holidays, a birthday, or a simple Sunday dinner, family get-togethers have a sort of rhythm. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents converge at the designated time carrying presents or covered dishes, depending on the celebration. The conversation moves from recent events and career updates to upcoming weddings, births, and promotions. Drinks are passed liberally around, and the laughter and noise increase. Then, as dinner is called, the family moves en masse to the dining room table. Grandma and Grandpa on the left, the host at the head, while cousins and sisters strategically place themselves in chairs near their favorite dish or family member. 
There is comfort in these rituals. Once the meal commences, I can almost always predict who will be in the kitchen pushing out the plated food, who will jump up to serve, and most importantly, who will offer to clean up and do the dishes. Fortunately, these unwritten roles have been passed down seamlessly as our older parents know to relax in their satiated happiness, and the children take over their positions. 
But a few weeks ago, my world and everything I knew was turned on its head when a friend told me about her Thanksgiving tradition. "We eat dessert at 2 PM and dinner at 6 PM." Wait a minute. I had about a zillion questions. The first is why?
I was raised on the theory that dessert can only be had once your plate is clean. Sweets were given as a reward. Even as a child, my mom would do her best to instill healthy eating habits and monitor how soon we had a snack or a treat, as she would call it, so as not to affect our hunger at dinner time. I can hear her saying, "Don't eat too many sweets. You will ruin your dinner." Now my friend not only turns up her nose at this rule but outright defies it. Her theory is that the best part of any family celebration is grandma's apple, or chocolate cream pudding, or pumpkin pie. Yum. So, if you wait to eat the best part of dinner until after the meal, you miss the chance to enjoy it because, well, you’re full! Relish in their goodness first. You can even have seconds on an emptier stomach if the mood strikes you. 

What about you? Are you ready to spit in the face of tradition and forge your own path? Maybe it's not upsetting the order of dinner and dessert for you. Perhaps you have found another way to shake things up.  Tell me hwat you are thinking?

​So I’ve been thinking….
What kind of life would you live if you knew there was a 50% chance you would get an incurable, deteriorating, deadly disease in your mid-life?
I am not trying to be morbid here. I  often think about the legacy that I am leaving behind. One of my early assignments in my writing class is to have my students write their eulogy. (Since it aligns with a story they read, it doesn’t seem nearly as morse as it sounds now.)
I must explain to my students that the image you think you are putting forth may not be what others are receiving. But with that said, what do they hope people will remember them for? I get some thoughtful responses like. “I want to be remembered as a good mom” or “I hope people will think I was kind.” I also get answers like,” I want to change the world” or “I will be the catalyst for world peace.” These are much loftier goals but appreciated nonetheless. The purpose here, I tell them afterward, is that once you put words to your desires, they become your focal point for your dreams. Kinda like,” If you believe it, you can achieve it.”
So back to my original question. I see people falling into two particular categories: the wallowers who enjoy sharing their woes and complaining to anyone who will listen. These same people drag themselves out of bed each day and carry their trauma on your back, so much so that they have begun to hunch by the weight of their troubles.
The other group (the one I like to think I am a part of) sees each day as a gift. They are the people who dance barefoot in the rain (or a sprinkler). They are the same people who find the time to extend kindness to another. How is it that the people with the most life stress are the same people that smile and try to ease the pain of others?
Today, I want you to think about which category you fall into. And if it’s not the one you can write about in your eulogy, maybe it’s time for a change.

​I watched a young man pull a three-foot-wide stingray to the shore. He fought the hard fight, and after about sixty minutes, the animal was beached, only to take a quick picture, receive applause from the group that had gathered, and let it loose. I thought this might be the highlight of this guy’s life. He seemed to relish all the attention and the feeling of accomplishment. Had he ever caught something so significant before?
I believe that summer is the time to try things that you might not have done before. Let’s face it, what happens on vacation stays on vacation (unless it becomes the story of the big one that got away)? Maybe it is time to throw out your proverbial fishing line and see what you catch. Perhaps you will grab a new hobby. When was the last time you rode a bike? Or, after hearing about this new game, pickle ball, should you give that a try? The best part of doing something new away from your usual friends and neighbors is that you will probably not see these people again, and therefore you should not fear making a fool of yourself. No one even has to know if it is an epic fail. On the flip side, if you love it, you can tell everyone that you discovered your new passion while on vacation. This is something to explore further. Look for the completed story soon.

I saw a recent facebook post where a woman was asking for advice for her daughter who was being bullied at the end of the school year. Her story really hit a home for me because I, too, was bullied when I was in 7th and 8th grade. I remember the horrible feelings of fear and anxiety when I watched my clasmates pass around  a note that said "I hate Judy" and every single perosn in the class signed it. I was lucky in a way becasue this was before social media, so when the paper was thrown out, there was not lasting record of it. I am so glad I am not a child anymore. There are just so many ways to use our words to hurt someone over social media.  We have all heard the stories and have been insensed, but since it wasn't our kid, it's easy to move on. Years later my son was also bullied and we had to shut down his social media and keep him home from school until the matter was settled.  It was a terrible time for our family and many hateful words and rumors were spread. Anyway, I was thinking about what I would tell this young girl from facebook. Obviously, the older me could say that moments like this build character. But I wouldn't want to hear that in middle school and I am sure she doesn't either. I could also tell her that the bullies are weak and lack self-esteem, so they try to make other poeople feel bad so they can feel superior. You should feel sorry for them. Again, useful at 50, not great at 13. 
I want to expand on this idea and maybe shed some valuable light on the issues. If you have an idea, go to my contct page and send it to me. I am sure we can all agree that each child deserves to live thier best life every day and maybe together we can offer words of wisdom and change the path of just one young person. 

 As I was walking today I saw the sweetest thing. There was a older couple walking their dog. That was not the sweet part. She was holding the leash and he was pulling the wagon on top of which sat said dog. I loved that they were doing this together and they had found a way to incorporate their fur friend with them. I don't know if the dog was old or it was just easier for them to pull him, but either way it made an adorable picture. It reminded me that sometimes you need to think outside the box to accomplish something you really want. We can find plenty of excuses (think I'm too tired, the dog is too old, he pulls on the leash), but with a little ingenuity the most difficult obsticles can be overcome. 
I was thinking of those people who spend their life complaining or focusing on the negatives. They are not thinking outside the box. Negative reinforcement is not going to give you the same feeling as an accomplishment. Let's use our couple as an example. When the mountain seems unmovable, put on bettter shoes and go a different way. 

​We all can be very judgmental. We see someone doing something the "wrong" way according to us and we comment. I found myself doing just that at the beach as three young boys ran in the ocean after lifeguard time. No parents were in sight, so I said, "Look over there. I would never allow my kids in a dangerous ocean after hours ." But then I was reminded of a saying that a friend taught me: "Wait, not my monkeys, not my circus." The world is not always  (see never) going to go according to my plan, so instead of getting frustrated by things I can not change, I need to walk away and focus on the things I can change; my responses and my behaviors.