The way to a girl's heart

We were sitting on a bench in a Peruvian town square, people watching, when a young man approached with eyebrows raised and his shoe-shine kit held up. My friend and I must have looked behind us to see who he was facing; I was wearing Tevas and my friend had on canvas sneakers.

It turns out, that in Peru, shoe-shine sales pitching has nothing to do with the need for or feasibility of a shoe shine. But, when it became clear that we were not buying, our entrepreneur changed his approach. He motioned for his wing man to join him and shifted from trying to score a couple of customers to trying to score a couple of dates.

Both young men did what they could to engage us in conversation and we were entertained by the small talk. Based on overall attentiveness, tone of voice, and the hopeful expressions on each guy's face, I am certain no ill was meant by one particular attempt at connection:

"You two like to eat alot, huh?"

My friend and I immediately broke into laughter and went on to explain that the way to an American girl's heart is not through pointing out her stomach. "But yes", we admitted, "the answer is yes."

A litter bit at a time

Last year, Christian and I flew down to Missouri to campaign on behalf of our candidate of choice. From the woman who generously hosted us, to the people we worked alongside and the voters we visited, the experience was great. And I left with many fond and interesting memories...

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Early on, I was partnered with an elderly woman from a neighborhood we were canvassing. She was a trip -- I enjoyed watching her utilize her matriarchal powers of influence.

"Young man, you tuck in your shirt. Now!"
"Boys! Stop making such a ruckus"
"Of course you are going to vote!"

In the presence of this itty-bitty, bi-focal bespectacled broad, intimidating-looking men became sheepish, eyes-lowered, yes ma'am gentlemen.

On our way back to the office after completing our rounds, she apologetically pulled out a bag of her small fast-food lunch and asked if I minded her eating en route. Of course I didn't mind.

That is, until once she was done eating, she crumbled up the bag and handed it to me.

"Open up your window, hon."

What?! I can't even imagine how confused I must have looked. Though she was explaining herself clearly enough, it took me a while to understand what she was asking of me.

"Just toss it out the window, dear."

It's hard to describe, but my response to this request was visceral.

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I grew up during a time of "Don't Be a Litter Bug" public service ad campaigns! More importantly, I was raised by parents that specifically taught me that littering is rude and irresponsible. At football stadiums, in movie theaters, on deserted roads my behavior is consistent -- if there is no place to toss my trash, I carry it with me until I find a trashcan.

Years ago, I noticed that a little girl who was walking ahead of me with her mother took out a piece of candy, unwrapped it, and threw the wrapper on the sidewalk. Maybe her mother hadn't noticed? I racked my brain for some polite way to approach this. I was pretty sure that if I said something to her mother, no matter what tone I used, it would come across as rude or sarcastic. So, I called out to the little girl in as small and as sweet a voice as I could manage. "Excuse me, I think you dropped something." The little girl turned to me, then looked up at her mother who motioned for her to pick up her trash.

Sometimes I fantasize about creating a new anti-littering public service ad campaign.

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Without out rightly saying no, I suggested that I hold the crumpled bag on my lap until we got into the office. "I can throw it away for you there," I offered.

She let me know how silly I was being and the knot in my stomach tightened a bit. I told her about a phenomena one of my professors used to site about machine shops -- if the machine shop was kept clean and orderly, there were fewer accidents. This same professor had also sworn that, when he and his wife had contractors working on his house, the act of cleaning up every evening led to better quality work the next day.

"People are paid to clean the streets. It's okay, really!"

I asked her how often the streets were cleaned and how long she thought her bag of trash would lie around before getting picked up. I believe that if a person sees trash scattered all over a place, they are more likely to treat that place like a trashcan. It was clear she was not going to align with my way of thinking, so I tried another (truthful) angle. "This goes against what my father taught me. If he were to see me tossing this bag out that window, he would be ashamed."

With a head shake, a "suit yourself" and "silly girl" she let me be.


The closest parking spot we could find near the office turned out to be right next to an alley that was scattered with trash. (The picture to the right is a close approximation of how bad it looked.) My driver noticed just as we were getting out of her car and seemed shaken by the sight. She immediately began to apologize.

"... there I was, trying to get you to do what your daddy taught you not to!"

And then she thanked me.


I'm not sure if or when I'll manage to put together a public service ad campaign. But, for now, I know that at least one person (and perhaps her children and grandchildren) will be less likely to litter as a result of her time with me. And that's something. Because every litter bit counts.

Check in #2 -- Whose world is it?

(Note, this is a check in for the whose world is it challenge)

To quickly sum up the last few days -- I would tally up my score on Tuesday with "Honorable Mention". Though it's a bit of a blur now, I'm quite confident that all of Wednesday and most of Thursday would have earned me one of those awards you get when the contest you have entered is determined to give everyone a prize (e.g. "Also Ran").

Luckily, by Thursday evening I started well on my way to "Shows Improvement" and who knows, by the end of my parents' trip I'm sure I'll be somewhere along a B+ or an A. Of course, right now it's easy. The whole point is to be able to behave this way when it's *not* easy.

For those of you who like details:
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Monday night we agreed to get an early start on Tuesday morning. However, at some point before hitting the sack (unbeknown to me) Christian decided we should sleep in since we had to wake up early on Wednesday and Thursday. Alarms were reset...
Tuesday saw us to bed at around 4 in the morning. This was not either of our preference, but we wanted to get in all the coats of priming required to be in a position to paint on Wednesday. I might have forgotten to mention, but Christian had forgotten to mention that he had a presentation to put together for Wednesday.
As it got later and later, and I got more and more tired, I grew more and more annoyed with my partner. But you know, I could have gotten started with work as soon as I had woken up instead of waiting for a second pair of hands. Plus there are plenty of things I could have gotten started with weeks ago. And, even if we had gotten an early start, it's possible we still would have been up just as late. (Have you ever noticed that sometimes, when you have a big job to do, it magically expands to fill up all the time that you give it?)
After some (much) grumpiness and grumbling on my part, I did manage to reign myself in and remember Christian's world. I offered to finish up his remaining tasks in the apartment to give him extra time to prepare his presentation.

On Wednesday, Christian comforted me with "you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. We're tired, we've got a deadline on our heads, and we've got tough work on our hands." Isn't that someone you would want to be a better person for?

Thursday was especially stressful for me. As we neared the time that we had to leave the house, Christian was frantically finishing up. He was being helpful! And I wasn't able to express clearly enough that my priority was to be at the airport on time over a little bit of disorganization remaining. I could not be late to pick up my parents!

Sometimes, getting someone out of the house before they are well and ready is like herding cats. By the time we were on our way, I knew we would be late. As I drove, and this realization sunk in more deeply, I could not contain myself -- I burst into tears. The thought of being late to pick up my parents seemed so absolutely disrespectful, so thoroughly ungrateful, that it just ripped me up inside.

When I came to the passenger pick up section, Christian jumped out of the car and ran to find my parents. I saw him greet my mom and dad, take one of their bags, point them in my direction, and head back running. My mom's condition makes for slow walking progress, and Christian didn't want that to delay me my first hello. "I'll stay with the car -- run over right now and give them a hug!"

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The last couple of days have been blissfully relaxing. It's easier, in these conditions, to be more magnanimous. I'm not going to completely discount any good grades I may earn during this period, though. I have to believe that exercising this muscle under low stress and succeeding as well as under high stress and failing will eventually strengthen my ability overall...

Wish me luck!

Check in #1 -- Whose world is it?

(Note, this is a check in for the whose world is it challenge)

Yesterday was a 12-hour, physical labor workday. Yes, I took breaks here and there and no, the type of labor I was doing was *nothing* compared to what some folks do for a living. But let's just say that, for me, the work was tiring and today I am tired, achy, and not at all looking forward to round two (coming up in a few minutes).

I didn't interact with many people yesterday, yet I somehow managed to trip up considerably on day #1 of my challenge. Yikes! Don't get me wrong, I did have some moments of remembering and executing my mission. However, most of those moments were when I was alone and there was nothing happening to test my resolve.

I started off well enough, waking up before my schedule required to make breakfast for Christian. After he left the house, I gave myself an hour of Elsa time and then got down to business. While I was working, I imagined how psyched Christian would be about all the progress I made while he was gone. I found and laid out all the necessary tools, affixed a small section of drywall, spackled, sanded, and primed primed primed.

That's kind of sweet, right?

But when Christian called to check in, a simple question he asked gave me the impression that he felt I wasn't making quick enough progress. I felt taken for granted. Even worse, I reacted to that feeling in what I am sure was not a very Toscanini's behind-the-counter-guy kind of way.

To begin with, I know that Christian's time estimates for himself are usually over-optimistic. It would stand to reason then, that his time estimates for other people would carry with it this same characteristic. He meant no harm by it and in fact, I am confident his question was geared toward helping me remove any obstacles that may have been hindering my (hyper-speed) progress. But, more importantly, it should not have mattered whether or not he appreciated how hard (or fast) I was working since my intention for that day was for my work to be a gift to him.

My grade so far is a D at best. Good thing that today is a new day and I get a chance to try again.

Wish me luck!

Whose world is it?

A few months ago, while participating in a MassMouth event at Toscanini's, I made my way over to the counter and took a look at the assortment of flavors. I asked the guy behind the counter some "can I ...?" kind of question and was met with a shrug and the following response:

Hey, it's your world. I'm just living in it.

I was tickled by this. Here was this laid-back, hipster looking fellow whose entire disposition seemed to nonchalantly state "I see no reason why I shouldn't do whatever I can to make you happy."


I think about this now and again. Although I technically know that I am not the only "center of the universe" flitting about out in the world, sometimes I forget. And there is a guy behind a counter who makes a point of remembering.


I'm feeling inspired. For some time now, I've been considering publishing some sort of personal challenge that will require that I think or behave differently than I normally do. So here we go.

This week, I will be the Toscanini's behind-the-counter guy. In other words, I want to set aside my ego enough to play the helpful, accomodating, and pleasant "extra" in everybody elses' movies. For accountability, I will make a point of posting how things go -- check back to see the ways in which I do well, the ways in which I fall short, and what I learn in the process.

Wish me luck!

Relatives are great

Once, when going for a walk in New Jersey, something interesting happened -- the leaves of some trees I had been admiring changed color! To be truthful, they only kind of changed color. (And I'm pretty sure no one else noticed.) Maybe that's confusing, so let me explain:

For a considerable portion of my walk, these leaves made up the only green within my field of vision. Though the thought hadn't crossed my mind at the time, nothing struck me as out of the ordinary about the leaves' color. But then, as I continued, a field spread out before me. A green field. Suddenly, after comparison, the "perfectly normal" leaves from before stopped being "green" and became "blue green".

Yes, yes, I know. The physical color of the leaves did not actually change. But how I viewed the color did. When my only point of reference was the "odd" shade of green, I didn't have anything to compare it against to realize it was not actually plain Jane ol' green.

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In college my freshman year, I made the acquaintance of a tall, surfer-dude kind of guy who never went anywhere without his roller blades. Needless to say, I was shocked to later learn he donated his wheels to the Hare Krishnas and was going to join them. I don't think I'll ever forget how he explained why this was the right thing for him.

"It's like you've spent your entire life in the rain and didn't even realize it until someone handed you an umbrella."

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This reminds me of two stories.

The first is about a community where everybody constantly complained about their troubles. The local rabbi comes up with a great plan: everyone should put their troubles in a sack, hang them on a branch of the town's biggest tree, and then, after looking through everyone elses' collection of sorrows, decide which one to take home. In the end, everyone goes home with the same bag they showed up. Not only were all the other bags just as full (if not fuller), the troubles they were full of were completely unfamiliar.

The second story is one of my favorites. It's about a guy who goes to his rabbi for advice about his family -- they are so noisy he can't even think. Week after week, the rabbi tries remedy after remedy, each requiring that the guy bring an additional source of chaos into his house -- the family cow, the chickens, a goat, his in-laws... you name it. Just when the poor guy is at his wit's end, the rabbi instructs him to take everything out, leaving just him and his family. The following week the guy returns to the rabbi, elated. It turns out that a house, occupied by only his immediate family, is a quiet, serene, and peaceful place relative to a house packed full with farm animals and bickering parents.

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Isn't it cool how just viewing one situation in relation to another can change how you feel about one or both situations?

If you're in the mood for some change, I recommend inviting some "relatives" over.

One of the many ways I am annoying

My boyfriend collected coins as a young boy. He selected prized pieces for his collection using a rather novel approach; Coins with a picture of a buffalo, or an owl, or any other animal were held in high esteem and valued more than coins with pictures of bridges, or presidents, or any other thing.

Recently, his coin collection came up in conversation. Since it had been missing for quite some time, he speculated that the collection had been stolen. The last time he could remember seeing any of the coins was before his parents' move a few years back.

His conjecture continued. It involved someone in connection with the movers, a thief or thieves out to make a quick buck. Worse yet, whoever took the coins obviously didn't realize their true value was sentimental. What a waste!

Imagining this one out of a myriad of possible scenarios, my boyfriend grew visibly agitated. "I loved that coin collection," he went on. "And I'm sure half of them ended up as rejects at a Coinstar machine."

This is where I get annoying. But I strongly believe that if we don't know for certain what happened in a given situation, why gravitate toward a made-up scenario that makes us upset?

I offered up alternatives for my boyfriend to imagine.

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Recently, during a trip home for Christmas, my wallet and I parted ways. Though I normally don't carry much cash on me, on this particular occasion I had fifteen $20 bills, two $25 Chili gift cards, one $50 Best Buy gift card, and one $50 Visa gift card stuffed into my bill fold. Needless to say, the loss was a bit of a bummer.

Instead of envisioning some slimy thief pocketing my belongings, I intentionally imagined some little kid receiving a gift they might not have received if their down-on-their-luck parent hadn't run into such a windfall or some over-tired, under-paid, poor soul buying themselves the new business outfit they needed to apply for a better job. I also played around with the idea of "loss". Perhaps I would have spent what had been in my wallet at a Casino and on a nice meal with my family. Either way, what I had originally intended to do with that money would have been no less fleeting than what actually happened to it.

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Maybe during the move, a small box bounced out of the moving truck and onto the sidewalk, where it was discovered by some young boy walking home from school. Maybe this kid had been having a rough year. Maybe this kid loves animals too, and when he opened the box to discover the coin collection, he felt like the luckiest kid ever. Maybe he let the local police department know, and after the specified waiting period, he was told he could keep what he had found. Maybe sometimes he looks through the coins, imagines who it was that put such a neat collection together, and quietly says "Thank You".

Easter every day

On Easter mornings, my uncle and his family would stop by our house on their way to our annual Easter picnic. While my uncle and aunt worked with my mom and dad to load their vehicles with the supplies needed, my cousin Ricky and I compared our Easter loot.

I am embarrassed to admit how envious I was. His baskets were BIG and beautifully decorated, without layer after layer of scotch tape from previous years of use. And they were choke full with candy, cool toys, coloring books, and Easter themed trinkets. Did I mention they were filled to the brim?

In the back of our yellow station wagon on our way to the picnic, I felt sorry for myself. The youngest of four kids, I was just getting started when my older siblings were already long over the Easter bunny. Having looked through old photo albums, I was aware that my parents' enthusiasm with regards to Easter baskets hadn't survived my birth! One year my Easter basket pretty much consisted of eggs that I had decorated myself a few weeks before.

No matter how big the pity party I threw for myself was, it would immediately disband upon my opening the car door and setting foot on the Easter picnic grounds. There were games to play, pinatas to break open, kids to chase. But more importantly, there was "cascarone time" to look forward to.

Every kid loved cascarones, hollowed eggs decorated with PAAS, filled with confetti, and sealed with tissue paper. If you're not familar with cascarones, you may be wondering what "cascarone time" would be comprised of. It's pretty straight-forward:

1. Lock onto someone as a target
2. Get close to them somehow (Run and sneak!)
3. Before your target can get away, crack a cascarone on their head

The question "How many eggs does your family eat?!" was inevitable once people noticed how vastly my family's supplies outstripped those of every other kid. In the few weeks before Easter, other kids' parents were able to prepare a few dozen eggs, at most. Somehow my parents managed to arm us, year after year, with big, black, garbage bags full.

Needless to say, I had an absolute blast come "cascarone time"!

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A few years ago, I invited my boyfriend to go home with me and meet my family. Taking in all sorts of details that I had long ago stopped seeing, Christian noticed an empty egg carton on the kitchen window sill while observing my father prepare chorizo. Before he got a chance to ask what it was for, he saw my dad expertly crack a quarter size hole into an egg, dump its contents into the chorizo, rinse the empty shell, and place it, upside down, into the egg carton.

Christian was mesmerized. He quickly surmised that the shells were for cascarones but what he couldn't understand was why my father was starting in December. "It seemed like he was in auto pilot," Christian told me later.

It dawned on me then. Whereas other parents began the tedious process of building their child's eggy arsenal upon seeing signs of spring, my parents had built the extra effort into their every day, all year routine. My parents didn't start in December because, in fact, they had never stopped.

This was their default.

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Even now, there are parts of my parents' day, every day, that are devoted to me. Luckily I now know better than to ever again value anything over that kind of gift.

What toilet are you on?

As luck would have it, the bathroom at the mall we were in had 5 stalls. Given that I was there with my three sisters and mom, and we all "had to go", this couldn't have been more perfect.

When I stepped into my stall, I noticed something funny: the toilet was smaller than usual. I commented on this, and as I proceeded to take my seat, my sisters chimed in from their perches. "Yeah, I noticed that too!", "Ha! That's weird", "I feel like a giant!"

From the last stall, I could hear my mom. "Oh my gosh! This is the smallest toilet I've ever seen." And she kept going. "This is like a baby toilet!", "It's soooo little!", "I can't get over how teeny it is."

The rest of us pitched in our annoyed teenage versions of "Yes, Mom. We get it. We heard you the first time."

I'm sure I rolled my eyes through her continued exclamations. We weren't going on and on about it, why was she?

On my way to the door after washing up, I happened to glance into the stall my mother had just occupied and let out a startled chirp of laughter at the sight that greeted me. The stall my mom had chosen must have been geared for a pre-schooler; the toilet in that stall must have been at most 1/2 the size of the toilets in the other stalls. My mom had been right, the toilet was cartoonishly and ridiculously tiny! I pointed out the difference to my mom and sisters and we had a good laugh about it.

Thinking about it after the fact, I realized I had partially tuned out my mom because I had assumed her experience was exactly the same as mine. I also came to understand that there are all sorts of assumptions I tend to make about other peoples' experiences especially with regard to how they relate to mine.

This bathroom brouhaha turned into a little life lesson: remember that there is no way to know what toilet someone (even yourself) is sitting on.

Sometimes you lead and sometimes you follow

Have you ever watched sand pipers on the shore? They're cute as all heck with their skinny little legs and funny little run. And they don't stop! They run toward the ocean as the tide ebbs and away from the ocean the tide flows. Over and over. Cute and relentless.



Sometimes, I like to imagine that it's not just the sand piper doing all that work to remain consistently close to the ocean. What if, just as the sand piper runs toward the ocean when the tide begins to pull away, the ocean flows toward the sand piper whenever the little beach runner begins to retreat?

I enjoy this image, it reminds me of friendship. It may often be a playful game of chase. But other times, one may follow the other offering support, "Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?" (Perhaps in some of those cases, one may keep near in stealth mode since their companion may actually need some time alone.)

Boisterous or somber, it's a kind of call and response. "Psst, friend, I am here". "Ah, yes. And I am here too".