Karen Walrond

I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element.  It is my personal approach that creates the climate.  It is my daily mood that makes the weather.  I possess tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous.  I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration; I can humiliate or humour, hurt or heal.  In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis is escalated or de-escalated, and a person humanized or de-humanized.  If we treat people as they are, we make them worse.  If we treat people as they ought to be, we can help them become what they are capable of becoming.​

~  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe​

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Monday is Memorial Day in the United States, so for the long weekend Marcus, Alex and I are headed out of town to Dallas for a quick getaway, courtesy of the good people at Westin.  After all of the travel I've been doing recently, I'm feeling like I've sorely neglected these two most important people in my life, so I'm wildly grateful for the time away with them.  While I'll be taking good notes (all the better to write about our adventures over at Bliss Your Heart next week), I plan on unplugging for the duration of our trip, and really spending the time recharging and doing as much family bonding as possible.

So with that, meet you back here on Tuesday, whaddya say?​

Have a great weekend, friends.​  Be safe and happy.

Song: The Dallas theme song.  Sorry.  I couldn't resist.

I'm back from my trip to Greensboro, North Carolina, and I'm not sure I've ever been hosted by more warm, welcoming people.  I met so many women who were truly committed to positive change in their local communities, and their stories were incredibly inspiring.  Also?  They gave me a gift of moonshine.  Moonshine, people!  I was so incredibly moved (and a little stunned).  It was awesome.  So, to say the very least, I'm so grateful to Lynn MacDonald, Jennifer Gipp, Keith Barsuhn and the amazing women of the United Way of Greater Greensboro for inviting me to speak at their wonderful luncheon.  It was a lovely experience I won't soon forget.

After I spoke on Tuesday, I had a few hours to amuse myself, so decided to do a bit of sightseeing.  My friend Rachel Fox (one of my travel companions to Kenya) had driven in all the way from Wilmington to hear me speak -- a good three-hour drive.  (Now that's a good friend.)   I talked her into joining me for a quick tour of the city before heading back out of town, so after I changed into some comfortable shoes, we were off.

My first order of business was getting something to eat (I can't eat before I speak -- mostly nerves, but also because I live in fear of getting up in front of an audience with spinach between my teeth).  We followed the directions of at least three different people who didn't seem to have any clue where they were (maybe tourists like us) before we finally stumbled into Fincastles diner​.

​This place was the real deal:  soda drinks and tons of burgers, and dear Lord in heaven, fried green tomatoes.  Like the movie!  I'd never had them before, but I loved the movie and I love tomatoes;  besides, as they say, when in the South, do as the Southerners do:​

​They were delicious.​

​We finished up our meal, and headed outside.  Across the street there was a bright shiny Woolworth's sign.  Huh, I thought, I haven't seen a Woolworth's in years. And  the sign's so new! Surely it's not actually open?  We wandered over to take a look.​

Turns out, it wasn't a Woolworth's:  it was the International Civil Rights Center and Museum ...​

​... and -- get this -- it was built on the site of the very first student-led lunch counter sit-in, a peaceful protest by four young men who were students at the Agricultural and Technical College of North Carolina, beginning a movement that swept the United States, and was an instrumental and critical part of the fight for African-American civil rights.  I had, of course, heard of the lunch-counter sit-ins, but I had no idea it began in Greensboro.  Rachel and I immediately bought two tickets to the museum to have a guided tour of the exhibits.

Unfortunately, photography inside the museum was prohibited, but this does not dim my enthusiasm for what I saw.  The museum is beautiful​ -- stunning, really -- with amazing exhibits of every aspect of the African American civil rights movement.  Even the Woolworth's lunch counter where it all began was preserved as it was at the time of that historic sit-in.  But the true star of the museum was our tour guide, Anita Johnson.  I am telling you with full certainty that Anita Johnson is the best museum tour guide that has ever existed in the history of museums anywhere.  And to those of you who are silently protesting as you read those words, I say this:  unless your favourite tour guide screams "WE FIGHT! WE FIGHT! WE FIGHT!!" at the top of her lungs while talking about the Tuskegee Airmen, before swooning and swaying and describing how Mahalia Jackson "could put a hurtin' on a hymn," your argument will likely hold little water with me.  Ms. Johnson was full of joy and passion and pride and I had to resist the urge to hug her many times during the tour.  One day, my friends, if I work really hard, I will grow up to be her.  But I'll have to work really hard.

The end of the tour featured a video montage of all of the civil rights struggles that have occurred all over the world since the African-​American civil rights movement, citing events like the fall of The Berlin Wall and the protests at Tiananmen Square.  The video was very hopeful, and it reminded me of that awesome quote by Margaret Mead:

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.

​

And in this day and age where there are still so many battles for civil rights currently being fought around the planet, from Syria and other areas in the Middle East,  to Africa, to, very recently -- and I'm going to be rather blunt, here --  right here in North Carolina​, these are some wonderful words to keep in mind.

Thank you so much, Greensboro.  Visiting you was one of the most rewarding trips of ​my year.

​​

​Song:  Carolina blues by Blues Traveler

I'm writing this on one of my flights to Greensboro, North Carolina, and when I'm not online surfing (marveling the fact that good!-heavens!-I'm-on-the-Internet-while-hurtling-through-the-sky!), I'm in the middle of reading the new book This I Know: Notes on Unraveling the Heart, by my friend Susannah Conway (you would have met her recently on my blog here). 

(Actually, before I go back to my point, let me just say it is a beautiful book:  Susannah is a gifted photographer, and the book is peppered with some of her breathtaking images; moreover, if you're currently experiencing any grief or loss and are trying to figure you way back to the surface, this book is a wonderfully gentle guide to do so.  Do yourself a favour and grab a copy.)

As I was poring through the book, on a whim I suddenly flipped to the back flap to read her "about the author" blurb. 

Susannah Conway is a photographer and writer ..."

I started.  She said she was a photographer first, I thought. ​ I always put "writer" first.

Ever since I stopped practicing law, when I meet someone new and they ask what I do, I always instinctively say "writer" before I say "photographer."  Sometimes I even forget to say "photographer," even though I use my camera almost every day.  Even thought the truth is that I'm not sure I could write anymore without also taking a photograph.  Isn't that odd?

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I still feel very much a novice when it comes to photography, but I've been interested in and passionate about writing since I was a child.  I've always loved language, and have been a voracious reader all my life.  (In fact, I remember my mother begging me to get my nose out of my books when I was a kid, and instead go outside for some fresh air.  I always just took my book outside and continued reading).  I wrote extensive letters to friends when I was younger, and still try to write one each year to all my close friends.  My favourite part of practicing law has always been the creation of contracts and other documents (much to the horror of my more eloquent colleagues, who always preferred the courtroom).  The decision to start a blog was an easy one:  not for professional purposes, but for personal ones.​  I had to write.

Photography, on the other hand, is a relatively new endeavour -- even though I've been shooting for quite a while, unlike writing, it's an interest I cultivated in adulthood.  I still feel like I have so much to learn about post-processing, about framing, about using different lenses.  Even though I've achieved a certainly level of proficiency, I can easily see that I have a long way to go before using the word "photographer" to describe myself rolls of my tongue.  It's still a description that feels a little foreign, like a bespoke dress that still needs a bit of tailoring.   I mean, I call myself a photographer, but the truth is that even I'm not fully convinced.  I'll mean it 100% one day, I'm sure, but not ... quite ... yet.​

I continued reading, and a few pages in, I read Susannah's words

Of my two passions it's my photography skills I feel most confident about. 

I smiled.  This doesn't surprise me:  although she's a talented writer (and in fact, was a journalist in a former life), Susannah began her professional journey in art school.  It's not surprising that a visual medium is where she is most comfortable.

It's interesting how we define ourselves, I think:  education, of course, can make us feel confident in the titles we use to refer to ourselves; but I think also experience, and deep passion, and calling make a difference as well.  So I was wondering:​

What words do you tend to use when defining yourself?  Which ones feel absolutely spot-on?  Which ones do you use because they feel right, and which ones do you use because you're still "having them tailored"?   Have you ever made up a word for yourself?​

Because I think I need to come up with a word that really encompasses everything about me.  Maybe "writershooter."​

Or something.​

​

Song:  Unraveling by Deb Talan​

I'm packing right now, getting ready to head to Greensboro, North Carolina bright and early tomorrow morning.  As I'm rushing around the house, Alex is watching the movie Mathilda in our family room, and Marcus is making us dinner -- grilled chicken with a huge salad.  The house is a mess. ​

In other words, it's a pretty typical Sunday evening.​

There's not really much I wanted to say tonight.  I just wanted to stop and notice that even with our messy house and the three of us mindlessly doing our usual end-of-weekend stuff, I enjoy our simple little life.​

Song:  Send me on my way by ​Rusted Root

Alex informed Marcus a while ago that she wanted to learn to skateboard, and on Friday, she stressed that she was very serious about this.  So today, Marcus took her out and bought her a skateboard, a helmet and some pads.

Ten minutes in the driveway, and girlie was up.  And she could not. be. more. thrilled.​

She'll be a gnarly shredder in no time.​

(Do the youth say "gnarly shredder"?)​

​

Song:  Determinate by Lemonade Mouth.  Alex picked this song.  I had never ever heard it before, to say even less about the band.  But Alex informs me it's on a Disney CD that she has, and it's her new favourite song. Two questions:  (a) who knew? and (b) when did my kid turn into a teenager?​

There's something about the light this time of year:  as the days get warmer, evening shadows seem to become longer, sharper.  Light feels more golden.  The days start to feel lazier.​

I love this time of year.​

Alex is out of school in less than 2 weeks.  Between this fact and the beautiful light,  I've been thinking about intentions I'd lik​e to set for the summer.  I share my thoughts over here.

Have a wonderful, easy weekend, friends.​

Song:  Summer breeze, as performed by Jason Mraz.  There's a version on the Everwood soundtrack; however, this acoustic version is so much better.  It's the way this song was meant to sound.

Just a song of the day today, folks.  Because this video of musician Kevin Olusola -- combining cello and beatboxing! --  blew my ever-loving mind.​

(Thanks to my friend Carl for turning me on to this.)

Updated: Oh good Lord.  Apparently, the video above is only the beginning of Olusola's astonishing talents.​

​Sometimes I stare at my Twitter feed or my Facebook stream, and wonder what would happen if our descendants (I imagine them all to be fabulous archeologists and historians), while doing their research, stumbled across the social media footprints we left in the early 21st century.  What would they think of us, and how we viewed our lives?  Because from what I can tell, the messages we put out into the ether seem to skew towards being fully exasperated by our children, incensed at their teachers, annoyed at the general public, hating our political leaders (or those who dare try to unseat them), irked at our incapable partners and just generally spending our days experiencing some form of outrage.

But here's the thing:  I don't buy it.​

I don't mean to suggest that there aren't people who are experiencing real, deep pain, loss or struggle -- I'm not that cavalier, and will always feel empathy with those who are making their journeys the best ways they can.   Those serious issues aside, however, I do believe that at some point in our culture, it became cool to complain.  That somehow, we became convinced that sharing how miserable our lives are -- with a wink and a wry smile, if we can manage it -- makes us more attractive.  ​That expressing our disgust and dismay at things, with complete hubris and without considering how that expression might affect our friends, family and loved ones, is somehow "brave" and "authentic."  That public suffering and humiliation is entertainment.

So I'm officially going to call bullshit on this -- and I'm going to do it for two reasons:​

1) As tough as life is, I don't believe that life is ​simply miserable moment followed by miserable moment.  I do believe, that even during the toughest, most soul-sucking times, there are moments of love, and kindness, and generosity, and understanding.  And I also believe that tending to ignore those moments while we're in the throes of challenges doesn't make them cease to exist.

2)  I think expressing our anger, disgust, dismay and annoyance publicly and incessantly just breeds more anger, disgust, dismay and annoyance.  I think our general outlook is similar to our bodies:  our ability to look at the negative, if exercised like a muscle, gets stronger and more robust, to the point where all we can see is negative.  (And I think this is true, even if we try to wrap up these expressions with a wink and wry smile, even if we think we're being funny or entertaining.  Negativity is insidious this way.)  And if all we see is negative, then happiness and joy necessarily make their departures.​

The good news, I think, is that the same is true for our ability to look at the positive​:  if exercised, this capability gets strong and more robust, to the point where we are able to find hope and gratitude even in the toughest situations.  To be clear:  I am not saying that we shouldn't express frustration or anger or annoyance -- I'm simply saying that perhaps it makes sense to be circumspect when we do.  Relying on trusted friends for help is never a bad thing.  Asking for assistance -- even on the internet! -- is often a good thing.  But I think there's a stark difference between seeking comfort and assistance to get through tough times, and bitching on the internet for the sake of bitching.  And I think the latter, while possibly giving us a shot of immediate solace, is far more damaging to our psyches in the long run than we can even begin to understand.

So this week, I thought I'd focus my top 10 list on how to exercise that positivity muscle a little bit.  For me, Chookooloonks has primarily been a place where I try to make sure I focus on the positive, and having done this for a while now, I find that the practice has spilled over into my offline life as well, generally making feel a much happier person.  And I do love to share the happy.

top 10 ways to put more good out into the world​

1.  Wish people a good day, or a happy moment on Facebook or on Twitter.  Just because.

2.  Write a post or a Facebook update about a moment in your day that you were grateful for.

3.  Share a video that has an awesome message or a positive story.​

4.  When you're out in public, sneakily (yet respecfully) take a photograph of someone who you think looks amazing -- great style, say, or simply glows.  Share it on Twitter.​  In other words, gossip the good stuff.

5.  ​Share the blog posts or Facebook updates written by someone who has taken the time to share positive content.

6.  Find positive news stories in the mainstream media (CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera, New York Times, etc.), and be sure to share them and link to them.​

7.  Join Spotify or Blip.fm or 8tracks.com and start sharing music you love.  Music is so often the Great Happymaker.​

8.  ​When a celebrity does something you think is noteworthy or amazing or selfless, compliment them publicly online (so many of them have Twitter accounts).  So many celebrities either get rabid fanmail or criticism:  sending them a public note of encouragement for inspiring behaviour will definitely be noticed and appreciated.

9.  ​If you do write something online because you are bothered by an issue or are otherwise experiencing something difficult, be circumspect:  for example, posit a solution, or invite sincere assistance.  Be wary of inadvertently encouraging the gathering of torches and pitchforks, unless you are honestly trying to galvanize those who read your post for the specific purpose of creating positive change.

10.  Take a photograph of something beautiful.  Share it online.​

And finally, even though I've shared this video before (and relatively recently, too) someone reminded me today about it, and I feel like it's worth sharing again:  Shawn Achor makes my point better than I do, I think.​

Have a great day, friends.  Here's to flooding the Internet with as much beauty as possible -- and reaping some personal joy in the process.​​

Song:  ​Feeling good, as performed by Nina Simone

For Mothers' Day, I decided that I wanted to go on a picnic.  

For those of you who ​live in places where the climate in the spring and summer is of 75°F perfection, you will view the previous sentence as rather anticlimactic; something on par to hearing that for my special day I would take a bubble bath instead of showering.  Or forgo plastic in favour of paper.

And to you, I say:  I understand.​

Then there are those of you who have experienced the inferno that is generally Houston from May 1st through October 31st.  You have raised an eyebrow: "Picnic?" I can hear you saying.  "The heat has most assuredly addled your brain, Karen."​

And to you, I also say:  I understand.​

But this weekend, storms blew through the city, dropping the temperature and the humidity to something less than Danté's Hell, so we packed up a cooler and headed to Discovery Green, the urban park in downtown Houston.​

It seems every other mom in the​ Houston area had the same idea.  But it was all good.

I totally forgot to bring a towel with us so that Alex could play in the water.  Oops.  Next time.

Bless her heart, she got over her disappointment.  What a kid.

Then we came home, and they presented me with a brand new LEGO house to build.  Because I love LEGO with a white hot passion, and they knew it would make my Mothers Day perfect.​

Don't judge me.​

(Hope you had a great weekend too, friends.)​

​

Song:  Cruel summer by Bananarama​

This Sunday is Mother's Day ​on this side of the pond, the day of fragrant bouquets, breakfasts-in-bed and sweet handmade gifts from our kids.  It's a lovely day to remember our moms, and to honour our partners for the job they do in parenting our little ones.  Mother's Day is awesome, no doubt.

And yet, I always feel just a tiny bit strange accepting gifts on Mother's Day (although don't get me wrong, I do accept them -- my new bike that I got from Marcus and Alex a couple of weeks ago to celebrate this Mother's Day is one of my favourite possessions ever in the history of ever).  ​It's just that (and I suspect most moms would agree with me) I don't "mother" so that I can get gifts once a year for my efforts.  I mother for a lot of selfish reasons:  because I wanted to be a mom. Because I get a hell of a lot out of my relationship with my kid.  Because that's what I'm wired to do.  Besides, we're pretty good about spreading the love in my family throughout the rest of the year, so to be honest, while the gifts are lovely, I don't need them.

But you know what would be nice?​

It would be nice if we moms could use Mother's Day as a day of focus to help support each other.  It seems to me so strange that an experience that is so universal -- raising a child -- can also at times feel so solitary.  And, frankly, so guilt-ridden:  we get messages daily, from the media, from corporate culture, from our communities and even from other mothers saying you're doing it wrong.  Judgments on issues like how you should become a parent -- "natural" or C-section or adoption or surrogacy.  Whether you should work outside of your home.  Or not.  Or breastfeed. Or Not. Or how long you should breastfeed. Or what to feed you kid. Or how to dress your kid. Or what organizations you should get your kid involved in. Or when you should send your kid to school. Or where. Or homeschool.  Or ... or ... or ....

AAAAUUUUGGH.​

So this year, here's an idea:  in addition to the moms in our families, let's take a moment out of our day to send a message to peers -- moms who are neither our mothers nor our partners -- and just say, "good job."  Send an email to someone (even someone you only know online) just to say, "You have great kids," or "you're an inspiring parent," or "your children are lucky to have you."  ​An unexpected note of encouragement letting a mother know to keep on keeping on.

In fact, I'll even make it easy for you.  See the bouquet below?​

​Simply click on the image above, and then click "ecard" under the photo to send a free e-card with this image to whomever you'd like.   Tell them how awesome you think they are.  Trust me, your unexpected note will totally make that person's day.

* * * * * * * *​

Once you've done that, if you're moved to help other moms around the world, here are a few additional ideas:

1.  Sign up to join ONE​.  Those of you who have been following along with Chookooloonks for the last year or so know that I am a huge fan of the organization ONE, the advocacy group founded  by Bono of U2.  In their words, ONE is a "nonpartisan advocacy organization dedicated to the fight against extreme poverty and preventable disease, particularly in Africa."  What this means is that ONE is all about working to convince governments (primarily the U.S. government, but also others) to invest in smart programs that help to eliminate extreme poverty and preventable disease in a sustainable way.  Furthermore, it doesn't raise money or grants:  ONE is almost completely funded by its board members and by foundations (like the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, for example) -- and therefore, it never, ever asks for money from the general public. 

Ever.

What they do ask for, however, is your voice.  The way ONE does this is by using its budget to amplify the stories of the organizations that are doing all the heavy lifting on the ground on the continent, making sure that governments see all the good change that is happening in Africa in the fight against extreme poverty and diseases like HIV/AIDS and malaria, so that they are encouraged to continue to help.  In addition, ONE works to make sure the general public (both in the US and internationally) also hears these stories, so they are moved to become members of ONE.  The more members ONE has, the louder ONE's voice is, and the more governments sit up and pay attention.  And in turn, hopefully, the more good happens on the ground.

Here's where you come in:  by simply signing up to become a member, you help amplify ONE's voice, helping mothers in Africa get better health care for their families and kids. That's it.  There's no cost to you, and signing up takes less than 15 seconds.  Cool, right?​

So here's a handy little widget for you to sign up, below.  See?  You don't even to go anywhere else.  And I know ONE would be ever so grateful.

​(You can also follow ONEMoms on Facebook and the ONE campaign on Twitter, to find out more.)

2.  Check out Every Mother Counts.  ​This organization, founded by the supermodel Christy Turlington (you gotta love all these philanthropic celebrities, amiright?) is focused on eliminating the shocking statistic that every 90 seconds, a woman dies during childbirth; moreover, 90% of these deaths are preventable.  Christy was so moved by this fact that she made and directed the documentary "No Woman, No Cry," sharing the stories of at-risk pregnant women in Bangladesh, Guatemala, Tanzania and the United States.  It's a great film and a great organization, and if you're so moved, I'm sure they can use your help.

3.  Go shopping.  ​If you really do want to give a tangible gift to a mom you love (yours or otherwise), there are some awesome items out there, and their purchase actually helps moms around the world.  Like this scarf, for example, designed especially for Mother's Day by an organization that helps create economic opportunities for moms in Ethiopia.  Or, heck, any of the joinRED items, where 50% of the profits from the sale of these items goes to The Global Fund, which uses the money to finance HIV health and community programs in Africa, with a focus on women and children.  (A side note:  I actually bought the red Chuck Taylors for Marcus for Christmas.  Because, come on, awesome.)

There.

On that note, friends, happy, happy Mother's Day.  May we all -- mom or not -- feel supported this day, and every day.​

​

Song:  On and on by Erykah Badu​

1. Someone is being born.​

2. Someone is laughing so hard, she's making that snorting sound.​

3. Someone is falling madly, deeply and helplessly in love.

4. Someone is so happy, he's crying.​

5.  Someone is ​about to get married, to someone who he would've never dared dream possible.

6.  Someone is becoming a parent for the first time.​

7.  Someone is getting caught in the rain -- and totally doesn't mind.​

8. Someone is seeing the ocean for the first time -- and she's awestruck.​

9.  Someone is tasting a brand-new food -- and it is life-changing.​

10.  Someone is greeting a friend for the first time in years -- and he's not ready to stop hugging him quite yet.

And if I'm wrong about any one of these things (and I don't think I am), trust me:  it's going to happen very, very soon.​

Life is good.​

​

Song:  Here comes the sun by The Beatles​

So after all that awesome brainstorming I did in Miami, I had all these wonderful intentions to come back to Houston, put together this amazing video project that I came up with, and simply wow you guys with my brilliance.  So all day yesterday and today, I've been working diligently at this video, taping and uploading and processing and my goodness, preparing for the blowing of all our collective minds ...​

... and then I stood back this afternoon, and looked at what I'd done, and decided that I was completely high if I ever even dreamt that this was going to see the light of day.  Don't you hate that?  When you work really hard at something, and suddenly realize that perhaps this is the worst idea you ever had?

Yeah.​

I'm not entirely sure that I'm going to throw in the towel quite yet (but I'm close).  I decided before making that decision, however, I'd take a break and share some of the images that I captured while in Miami, the hope that the change of scenery would do us all a bit of good.​

When I landed in Miami on Thursday evening, I had grand plans:  I was going to wake up at dawn on Friday morning, and go for a quick swim to start my day.  I figured this might be my only shot at swimming in the Atlantic this year, so I was going to make the most of it.I mentioned this idea to my friend Jenny, who promptly told me that I was completely crazy, that waking up that early when it wasn't absolutely necessary was the sign of a person in serious need of medication.  And honestly that night, when I went to bed far later than I should have, I totally saw her point.

Then 6 a.m. Friday morning, my phone went off.  It was Jenny, asking me if I was ever planning to get up, so that she could accompany me down to the beach. ​

Ten minutes later, we were in the sand, looking at the most rott​ing-seaweed-covered beach I've seen in a long time (the dark mass you see in the foreground of the picture is the seaweed).  There was no way we were going in (I have a thing about seaweed).  But the view was still beautiful, and feeling the cool morning air and the sand between our toes was really the perfect way to start our day, seaweed be damned.

For some reason, I didn't take many photographs while I was in Miami -- I'm not sure why, since I obviously brought my camera and a couple of lenses, but I didn't feel compelled to take photographs of tons of people like I usually do.  That said, when my friends Kristen Chase and Liz Gumbinner asked if I would take a portrait of the two of them (they're the brilliant minds behind Cool Mom Picks and Cool Mom Tech), there was no way I could resist capturing those beautiful faces.  Aren't they lovely?​

While I was photographing Kristen and Liz, our friend Helen Jane approached.  I first met Helen Jane ​at a small bloggers' retreat in Napa Valley, which is actually where Helen Jane lives.  This is appropriate, since the words I would use to describe Napa are the same words I would use to describe Helen Jane:  classy, cool, laid-back, and very, very beautiful.

One new friend I made is lovely Daniela Arrendondo.  I met Daniela right before my session on Friday, and the word that immediately comes to mind when I think of her is passionate:  she is so committed to the education of children and the constant pursuit of peace that her enthusiasm is, quite literally, breathtaking.  It was lovely to meet her.

And finally, this was my view at breakfast the morning I left to return home to Houston.  So lovely.​

It was definitely a beautiful trip.

So now, with that image of that breakfast patio in my head, back to work.​

Song:  Soak up the sun by Sheryl Crow​

I'm back from Miami and the Mom 2.0 Summit, and this was one of the most productive and restful work trips I've​ had in a while -- and trust me, no one is more surprised that I typed that last statement than I.  Normally, with these trips, I try to make them as short as possible:  figure out what days I'm actually speaking and book my travel immediately before and immediately after.  (Despite appearances I am, it turns out, a homebody.)  This minimizes the amount of time away from my family, but usually has the result of my moving at breakneck speed for the duration of my trips.  But on this trip, for some reason (probably due to poor and neglectful planning on my part), after speaking on Friday I found myself with an entire day to myself on Saturday, with nothing on my schedule.

I can't tell you how excited this made me.​

So Saturday I woke up without an alarm (awesome), showered, got dressed, ordered room service breakfast, and settled in for an entire day working in my hotel room.​  But instead of doing the usual -- returning emails, prepping for upcoming talks, or drafting blog posts (or my long-overdue newsletter -- sorry about that), I decided to do a bit of strategic brainstorming for my business.  I journaled.  I made graphs.  I did tons of online research and took notes.  I came up with new ideas, and discarded old ones.

I was creative.  And honey, it was bliss.​

It was also a great lesson for​ me:  sometimes -- especially because I work for myself, and have no one to answer to but me -- it makes sense to take a day from my usual routine, fly up to 30,000 feet, check out the view of what I'm doing with my life and my work from up there, and make adjustments accordingly.  

And it occurs to me that this would be a good practice, even if I didn't work for myself.  Perhaps, once every  -- year?  quarter?  18 months? -- it makes sense to sit down and do some strategic brainstorming around both personal and professional life paths.

It does help, admittedly, when you're in a location that truly feels like you're getting away to do it.  I mean seriously, in Miami, even the driftwood looked like it was trying to be creative.

​(I'm curious:  do you ever take a day to just brainstorm what you'd like to do, either personally or professionally?  I'd love to know.)

Song:  Sir Duke by Stevie Wonder​

The view from my hotel room.  As soon as I saw this, I totally exhaled.​

Have a great weekend, friends. ​

​

In 2024, Alex will be 20 years old.  I asked her yesterday afternoon what she thinks the world will be like when she's that age.  Here's what she said.

1.  I hope there will be floating chairs​.

2.  There will be many different people of all types who won't have to work at the same jobs they do now -- they can make up their own jobs and work at it.​

3.  There will be fields and fields of flowers everywhere.​

4.  People will dance and sing and feel free to do whatever they want.​

5.  I hope the government will make smoking illegal.​

6.  I hope that archeologists find even more fossils than they have already.

7.  I hope that schools will help students do the kinds of work the students are passionate about, and encourage them to learn about those things.​

8.  ​I hope that there won't be any more wars.

9.  I hope that people don't litter anymore and that everyone cares about the environment.​

10.  I hope that when people come out of their cocoons like butterflies, and they don't feel very beautiful, that other people who meet them will see how beautiful they​ actually are and love them.

​From your lips to God's ears, kid.​

​

Song:  Say hey (I love you) by Michael Franti & Spearhead.  Today's song chosen for you by Alex.​

Yesterday, I was out running errands, when I suddenly realized it was lunch time.  I could've gone home for lunch, but since I was out, I decided to do one of my solo business lunches.  There is a little restaurant near my house that Marcus and I used to love to visit, but we hadn't been in about a year or so.  I thought it was time to check it out again.

When I got there, I discovered that they no longer served the food Marcus and I had grown accustomed to,, but instead had transformed into (yet another) M​exican restaurant.  I have nothing against Mexican food, of course, but trust me when I tell you that Texas doesn't have any lack of really good Mexican restaurants.  I was hoping for something different.  But, I was there, I was hungry, and so I went in.

The restaurant was really quiet and calm -- only a few people inside -- and Latin music was playing softly in the background.  The waitress seated me near the window overlooking a pretty patio, brought me the menu and an icy cold beverage​.  

And instantly I became homesick for Trinidad.​

I think it's because in Trinidad, I was more likely to walk into a restaurant to meet a friend, or go out with Marcus in the middle of the day on the ​weekends, and the restaurants were quiet and calm.  Nothing fancy, you understand -- in fact, often open-air.  With maybe some calypso or soca playing in the background.  And a view -- of the ocean or a garden, perhaps.  

And it could be just the sepia-toning that happens with memories, but it just seems like I was slower in Trinidad.  Here, I feel like I'm going at break-neck speed all the time.  There  ... I was slower.

I finished my lunch and left.  For the record, it was delicious.​

* * * * * * * *​

I'm not a big spa person -- I've had manicures, pedicures and massages only a few times in my life -- but wouldn't it be great if, when you're having a really busy week, there was a place you could just go to hang out and chill for the day?  Not a place with beauty technicians or anything like that --  just a place with overstuffed couches, great books, music, a good view, and someone to bring you healthy food when you were hungry.  Cell phones, computers and television would be prohibited.  Maybe there would be someone to just listen to you, if you wanted to talk, and their job would be to make encouraging noises, and give only really insightful advice, but only if you ask.  Or you could nap all day there, if you wanted to, without interruption.  Then, at the end of the day, you go home, back to your life, renewed and refreshed.  

That would be awesome.​

* * * * * * * *​

Tomorrow, I leave for Miami for the Mom 2.0 Summit.  Even though I already know that I have a lot on my schedule once I'm there, I'm hoping to schedule a little down time, too.  ​

I'm thinking the sand, ocean and coconut trees will bring back more restorative thoughts of Trinidad.​

(If you're going to the Mom 2.0 Summit, please tap me on the shoulder and say hi.  Perhaps we can just hang out and chill together.)​

Song:  ​Even after all by Finley Quaye

This weekend, I was updating my 1000 faces project, adding some of the portraits I've taken over the last couple of weeks at the Erma Bombeck workshop and at Fort Benning.  Whenever I add faces to that project, I always:

a)  end up looking through all the other photographs I've included in the project (and marveling at how lucky I am to meet so many beautiful people); and​

b) make sure that I add the first names of each person to the photo.  

I love names, don't you?  I suppose for this project, I could've just included their faces without their names, but it would've felt incomplete.  And I've been thinking a lot about names lately.    Because you know what?  

Names are personal. 

For example:  recently, on two of my flights, I struck up lively conversation with two people.  One of them was a man who told me about his children, about the fact that he and his wife have a long-distance relationship, and that he misses his youngest daughter because he doesn't see her as often as he'd like.  The second person was an 80-year-old woman who shared with me that has been a widow for 2 years, that on a recent trip to Jamaica she was scandalized when two women walked past her topless, and that a few years ago her pastor was found dead in his home home, the victim of some sort of sexual sadist act.

(I really liked her.)​

In both cases, I talked to them for the entirety of the flights, but it wasn't until the planes were touching downthat we ever finally exchanged names.  Isn't that interesting?   We had no problem sharing all kinds of personal details about our lives, but it was only after a few hours we were finally comfortable enough to share our names.     ​

Why is that?​

​

​And then there are nicknames:  when I was younger, I always wanted a nickname, but one never really stuck.  I tried to get people to call me "Kari," but only one aunt ever used it, and then just for a short time.  I liked the idea of "Ren" (you know, like Ren McCormack, with all his dance moves, but more, you know, female), but no one seemed interested in that.  It seems that no matter what, I'm a Karen, and a Karen I shall remain. ​

But I love a good nickname:  Marcus' family calls him "Marz," and it totally works for him.  My friend Trish could never be "Patricia," even though that's her given name.  And my friend Victoria?  Well, she could never be a "Vicki," or even a "Tori" (although I think her family does call her that), but to me, she will forever and always be "Vic."  It just works.

​

Some time ago, I ran across this quote from W.C. Fields:

It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to.

Man, I love that quote.  

So -- what do you answer to?  Do you have a nickname?  Are you anonymous online, or do you have a different online name than you do offline?

Inquiring minds, and all that.​

​

Song:  Call and answer by Barenaked Ladies (always loved that name)​

​A few weeks ago, I was catching up on the phone with my friend, Trish, who knows me better than almost anyone.

"So," she asked, "are you speaking anywhere interesting in the next few months?"​

"Well," I responded, "I've been asked to speak at a senior leadership onsite meeting at Fort Benning army installation in Columbus, Georgia."​

For a moment, there was silence.  And then, the distinct sounds of weak, helpless laughter.​

"An army base?!" Trish sputtered.  "Are you going to ride in a tank?"​

"Actually ..." I began, but Trish howled before I could continue.​

​I started laughing as well -- because, seriously, the thought of me on an army base was downright ridiculous.  For one thing, while I certainly understand the need for a military, I really, truly abhor the idea of war.  At my core, it turns out, I'm a pacifist.  Secondly, I had absolutely no understanding of the military at all.  None of my family members have ever been in the military, and even though I attended Texas A&M University, an institution that commissions more officers in the United States armed forces than any other U.S. college outside of the official military academies, the truth is that I had only a few friends who were in the corps of cadets, and so remained largely oblivious to military life.

In short, I knew nothing.​

Nonetheless​, on Wednesday, I boarded my flight to Columbus, Georgia, ready to speak to some of the women soldiers and military wives at Ft. Benning.  By this point, I had received a detailed itinerary (completely with what "movements" were to occur at times with names like "0700 hours"), and I knew that I was to have a military escort, a driver, and a steward, for heaven's sake, receiving some pretty special treatment while I was "on post."

As a result, I was intimidated as hell.​

Since returning from my trip, I've tried to process everything that I experienced and felt, really synthesize it, and the truth is, I can't.  I remain pretty overwhelmed.  So the following is a sort of retelling of events as they occurred.

* * * * * * * *​

I walked through the terminal building at the tiny Columbus airport, searching for my escort, someone who looked like she might answer to "First Lieutenant MaryWhitney Whittaker."  I only spotted one uniformed soldier waiting.

"Are you Lieutenant MaryWhitney?" I asked, walking over.​

"I am!" said the young woman, standing up and putting on her "cover" (hat).  "Welcome to Columbus."

"Thank you!"​

I followed her to a van, where another uniformed soldier, Sargeant Grant, was waiting to drive us.  On the way to the house where I was scheduled to stay overnight, First Lieutenant Whittaker pointed out the points of interest we passed.  I liked her immediately:  she was warm and smart and funny and she laughed at my jokes (which I always consider the sign of someone with good taste and strong moral character.  Ahem).​  She also patiently answered all of my moronic questions, including giving me a primer on the different ranks among the enlisted soldiers and commissioned officers.  As she spoke, I couldn't help but notice the flash of her engagement ring and wedding band.

"You're married," I said.  "Is your husband military too?"​

"Yes," she smiled, her eyes softening at his mention.​

"Here at Fort Benning?"​

"Well, yes, normally, but right now he's in Afghanistan.  In fact, I was talking to him on the phone right before you walked up to me at the airport."  She said this without any particularly intense emotion, much in the same way I would tell you that Marcus was out on a bike ride, or at the grocer's.  I searched her smiling face, looking for something like longing or sadness, and was surprised when I didn't find it: her husband, it seemed, was just doing his work, like my husband does his in a shiny skyscraper in Houston.

He was just doing his job.​

Huh.​

​* * * * * * * * 

My lodgings for the evening was the Marshall House Distinguished Visitors Quarters -- large house whose name indicates that is clearly designated for visitors far more distinguished than I.   Nonetheless, as I was discovering, the post did everything they could to make me feel incredibly welcome, and this house was no exception.

After a delicious dinner with some of the wonderful women who organized my visit, Sargeant Grant returned me to the house at about 9:30 p.m, where I would be staying completely alone.  As a result, of course, I started snooping all over the place -- reading where generals and ambassadors and dignitaries from all over the world had signed the huge guest book,​ browsing through ancient tomes on leadership and military strategy, and looking at the military art on the walls. 

Suddenly I heard -- or really, felt -- a deep, low boom, that shook the foundation of the house.​ Huh, I wondered briefly.  I wonder what that was.  And then I returned to my book.

And then I heard it again. Followed by loud -- loud -- repetitive percussive noises.  ​Then another boom.  Again, I wondered, until slow realization began to creep over me.  I called Marcus.

"I think I'm under attack."​

"What?"​

"They're doing artillery exercises somewhere very, very close.  Can you hear it?"​

"Barely.  That's sort of cool!"​

"It's totally not.  It's very creepy.  I'm a little freaked out.  It's like Baghdad up in here."​

"Well, yeah, that's how it sounds, I guess."​

"Why are they doing it at night?  I mean, it's 9:30!  Don't these soldiers have to go to sleep?"​

"You donut." I could almost hear him shaking his head. "It's not like​ during war time, the enemy goes, 'Well, guys, I guess that's it for the day.  Time for tea!'"

Oh.  I guess not.​

That night, in the dark house, I lay in bed and listened at the artillery noises until the exercises were finished, at about 11 p.m.  And even though I knew I was completely safe, it was then that it really hit me:  war really ain't no joke.

* * * * * * * *​

The next morning, the steward of the Marshall House, Specialist DeShonta Meares, met me in the dining room with one of the best omelets I've ever eaten in my life.  As I greeted her good morning, I asked, "Those were artillery exercises I heard last night, weren't they?"​

She thought for a moment, "Oh, yes ma'am, I guess so. I don't even notice them any more."

"Well, boy, I noticed them."​

She smiled.  "Yes​, some guests complain about them.  I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, I'm not complaining!  It was sort of cool, I guess.  But it sort of freaked me out."​

She laughed.  "​Sometimes, the helicopters fly over as well."

My eyes widened.  "Dude, thank God that didn't happen.  I held it together with the artillery fire, but if a helicopter flew overhead, too? You would've found me this morning under your desk in the basement.  I'd have totally thought they were coming to get me."​

She burst out laughing.  "Ma'am, coming to get you for what?"​

"I don't know, just get me!"​

"Ma'am, if I found you down there, I would have died with laughter."​

We spent the rest of my breakfast talking, her telling me why she joined the army (to become a chef), and her aspirations​ (to work in the kitchen on Air Force One).  She was totally full of joy and optimism, and I loved meeting her.

​All too soon, it was 0745, and time for me to meet First Lieutenant MaryWhitney to begin my day.  I thanked Specialist Meares profusely ("I'm so glad you ate everything I made you!" she said -- but seriously, it was amazing).  Then I grabbed my bags, signed the guest book, and left.

​* * * * * * * *

Our first stop​ that morning was to the National Infantry Museum, located on post, and dedicated "to the long legacy of valor and sacrifice of the United States Army Infantrymen."  This is a truly impressive building with extensive exhibits, and I was scheduled to tour "The Last 100 Yards," a series of installations depicting 236 years of the various wars of which the United States Army has been a part.

​Mr. Frank Hanner, the curator and director of the museum, guided us through the tour, and was full of stories and anecdotes about details of obstacles and challenges the soldiers faced, and acts of heroism.  He was so passionate, it was impossible not to get drawn completely into the the events.

And this is the part where I admit that it got to me.  As I walked through the exhibit, going from war scene to war scene, with the dramatic music swelling around me, punctuated with flashing lights and the loud sounds of gunfire and bombs exploding, I pretty much almost lost it:  on several occasions I found myself biting my lip or digging my fingernails in the palms of my hands in a desperate attempt to keep from bursting into tears.  Under different circumstances, I probably would've been able to keep my shit together a little better, but I couldn't help but notice that as I walked through, actual soldiers who were visiting the museum -- young kids in uniform -- were walking right past me.  These are scenes and sounds and noises these kids could very likely experience very soon in Afghanistan, I kept thinking.  I was heartbroken.

After the short visit, as we walked out into the sunshine and I blinked way my tears, MaryWhitney looked at me.  "I'm sorry, I should've warned you," she said.  "I've been to this exhibit several times, and I always get choked up, as well."​

"Don't you ever get scared, MaryWhitney?  How does this not terrify you?"​

"No, I really don't," she said, smiling kindly.  "But of course, I grew up with this.  My dad is career army, and my brothers are in the military.  My grandparents were in the military.  It's what I know."​

"Man, I'm petrified for you," I said.  "I don't know how you do it."​

"Well," she conceded, a shadow crossing her face, "I mean, sometimes if I think about it a lot, like especially my husband being there now, sure, I worry about him."  Her face cleared.  "But you have to understand:  this is what we do.  You just get on with it.  We're fighting for what we believe in.  This is what we do."

* * * * * * * *​

Our next visit was a tour of the armory and the tanks.  As our van drove up, we were met by several young soldiers who gave me a tour of two of the tanks:  the Bradley A3, and another one that begins with an A whose name I totally forget right now.  As I climbed into and on top of and crawled all over the tanks, I couldn't help but breathe a silent prayer that I had chosen to wear trousers and low heels for this trip.

If Trish could see me now, I thought.​

​Just like MaryWhitney, the young men who gave me the tour were incredibly patient with what must have been completely idiotic questions, pointing out how the tanks work, and what their various jobs were as part of the team who would operate a tank.  Finally, I asked the question I'd been dying to ask:

"So, have any of you seen any action?"​

They all pointed to one young soldier to my right, who couldn't have been more than 21 or 22.​

"You?"​

"Yes, ma'am."​

"Where were you?"​

"Baghdad, ma'am."​

"Wow.  So can I ask you a question?"​

"Yes, ma'am?"​

"You're in Baghdad, riding around in one of these things, shooting at targets and getting shot at and bombs going off all around you, is that right?"​

"Yes, ma'am?"​

"Okay, so when you get back, and you see all your civilian buddies who are busy playing video games ... do you mock them?  Like just shake your head at them, thinking these chumps don't even know?"​

His face broke into a smile, but he didn't skip a beat. "Yes, ma'am, I do."​

"Because I gotta tell ya, I've never been to Baghdad, and just crawling all over this tank makes me want to run home and make fun of my husband and his computer games right now."​

"Yes, ma'am, I think you should."​

* * * * * * * * *​

Finally, it was time to do my presentations.  I was actually scheduled to give two talks:  the first part was a presentation, largely based on The Beauty of Different; the second was a workshop after lunch, based loosely on the Path Finder course.  They both went well, thank heavens:  the women who kindly attended were deeply engaged, and eagerly shared their stories.  During the lunch, I was able to meet several of their spouses, who were having a seminar of their own in another part of the building.  Everyone was amazing and gracious, and without exception, I loved everyone I met.

At the end of the day, as I was taking my leave, I was approached by a tall, very congenial uniformed officer.  He was none other than Major General Robert Brown, the leader of the entire Ft. Benning installation.​  He extended his hand.

"I hear you did an outstanding job," he said, with a huge smile.​

"Thank you sir, I hope so!" I said, shaking his hand.​

"Well, we're so pleased you came out to see us," he said.​

"Sir, the honour was definitely mine.  I'm really overwhelmed."​

"I wanted you to have this," he said, pressing a coin in my hand.​

​"We give these to soldiers who perform outstanding service," he explained.  And then he began describing all of the symbols that were both on the front and back of the coin.

And for the second time of the day, I found myself fighting tears.​

"Thank you, sir, I'll treasure it," I said.  "May I salute you?"​

"You may!" he smiled.​

I saluted.​

"Oh dear Lord, not like that," he said.  And he adjusted my hands and fingers and when I was saluting properly, he saluted me back.​

"Thank you, sir."​

"Thank you.  Have a safe trip back to Houston."​

As I mentioned at the beginning of this epically long post, I'm still really overwhelmed and processing everything I experienced.  But I do know this:  my feelings about war are as intense as ever; perhaps even more so now.  War is an ugly, ugly thing, and it pains me that politicians, many of whom have never experienced war themselves, easily send young men and women off to do battle.  

But for now, that's beside the point.​

What I also know is that the men and women I met at Fort Benning are impressive, not just because they "fight for their country," or "make such sacrifices" or any of the cliché terms you hear about the military.  They're impressive because from what I saw, they are devoted to each other:  they truly care about each other's well-being, and ​they believe and show true passion about their work.  They are devoted to family, and despite the horrors of war, they do as much as they can to make sure that their families are as supported as possible. Also, each person I met was, without exception, warm, and respectful and kind -- again, not just to me, but to each other.  And believe me, I was watching.

And so, deep, heartfelt thanks to Major General Robert Brown and his wife Patti Brown, Susan Berry, First Lieutenant MaryWhitney Whittaker and each and every one of my new friends at Fort Benning.  It was an experience I will never, ever forget.​

Hooah.​

​

(And, as always, here's what else I'm grateful for this week.)​

Remember Jenny?  My very funny, profane, outrageous friend whose husband threw the sweet surprise celebration party for her in San Antonio?  Well, I've just returned from her Houston book signing event at Blue Willow Book Shop, and I think I can unequivocally say that my ​friend is a screaming success.  She's been on a national tour to launch her book, Let's Pretend This Never Happened:  A Mostly True Memoir, to huge standing-room only crowds, and I'm here to tell you that her Houston stop was no exception.  

In fact, the crowd was so big, they had to host it outside:

​See?

Luckily, there was a microphone and a public address system, so people could experience the full impact of her words as she read from her book:

​That's right, my friends.  She had them weeping.

After her reading and a quick question-and-answer session, Jenny went inside, and people were brought into the store in small groups for her to sign their books...

... and silly me, I thought that was all that people would want her to sign.  Because, you know, it was a book signing.​

But HELL no.

I forgot:  this is The Bloggess we're talking about.  ​And when we're talking about The Bloggess, we're talking about some serious adoration here.  Books were only the beginning.

For example, one woman asked Jenny to sign her Nook:

... which, okay, fair enough.​

And then another woman asked her to sign her metal chicken:

​... which, if you've read Jenny's adventures with Beyoncé, the Giant Metal Chicken, isn't too surprising.

But there were also items I totally didn't expect.  Like, you know ...​

... t-shirts.  And...​

... prescription bottles of Xanax.  And ...​

... oh my.​

For two solid hours, Jenny signed everything that was placed before her, and was her completely gracious, warm, wonderful self.  It was all I could do to keep from exploding with pride, watching my friend receive the congratulations and warm wishes from all the good people who came out to support her work.

Because when amazing things happen to amazing people, all feels very right with the world.​

(Jenny has a few more stops on her tour -- if she's coming to your town, please go see her.  You won't regret it.  And trust me, she'll sign anything.)​

Song:  All I wanna do by Sheryl Crow.  Jenny was singing this song as she was getting ready for her talk tonight.​