“Who knows, you might just be one more at-bat away from a home run.” — Nick Hughes, So Entrepreneurial blog
“Things work out best for those who make the best of the way things work out.” — John Wooden
“Calm seas never made a good sailor.”
Today was a good day.
When it rains it pours, excuse my cliche slip, and I’m handling my umbrella with tired hands. So I’ll take the slightest of good days.
Went to bed happy, and that always lends well to waking up on the right side of the bed. (or the left, depending on your sleeping arrangement. Just be sure to roll off on the sunny side.)
My best friend surprised me with flowers and my favorite vanilla soy chai latte at work. Good start!
I had a great, uplifting conversation with my manager regarding future opportunities. And it was a relaxing day at work.
My Kindle came in the mail!
After work, I ran for 60 minutes straight - and felt on fire, could have kept going but, alas, it was dark and the trail closes at dusk.
Mid-run, I remembered I had yesterday’s leftover heath bar crunch frozen yogurt at home - and a kindle waiting!
Came home to a quiet house and my old, furry best friend, who ate his dinner without puking it up for the first time in a week.
Today was manageable, so today was a good day. And I felt like sharing that with the world.
Cheers to tomorrow!
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” — L’enfer est plein de bonnes volontés et désirs
I’m guilty of still listening to this album.
But that’s not the problem. The problem is the album cover. What the HECK is going on with the men?! And how did this not bother me in 1995… or catch my attention in the 17 years since I’ve been listening to this album? Look at their menacing pimp expressions!
Incase you were wondering, my favorite tracks are Lucky Love and Never Gonna Say I’m Sorry.
A history of Ace of Base: The Swedish quad includes a guy, his best friend and his best friend’s 2 sisters. The girls left the band in 2009 to pursue their solo careers. The remaining guys recruited new females and said they’d change the name of the band. They did: Ace.of.Base. Ace.of.Base, not be confused with Ace of Base, released an album in 2010. The name “Ace of Base” comes from being the masters of their studio (aces), which was the basement (base) of a car-repair shop.
In the beginning of yoga class, the teacher asks us to set an intention or dedicate the practice to someone or something.
I often think of my cat (yes, seriously. and no, I’m not a cat lady) as a warm reminder of kindness and patience. I don’t love cats, in fact most cats I’ve met scratch, scowl and hide under beds, I just really love my 17-year-old, gray tabby-Maine coon cat because he’s special. Even my anti-cat, no-pets-for-me friends agree.
Other times, I think of the people in my life who deserve some extra thought and send them some telepathic thanks. These people aren’t my quotidian folks, they’re usually characters from a previous chapter or person who left an impression when we crossed paths, however briefly.
I know it’s not November, so it’s not Thanksgiving and the holidays aren’t upon us, which makes thoughtfulness all the more sincere. Take a minute and think about someone unusual. Give thanks and appreciate their impact, influence or memory, be it small, silly or sensitive.
This takes me to -
My first grade teacher and her classroom she transformed into an elaborate, year-round, paper-machee rainforest, much to the dislike of the principal and janitors but to the delight of our little class of 6 year-olds. She spent her summer vacations living in hammocks in the Amazon and brought her passion to the classroom. We learned about lemurs and tree frogs, how trees grow and why flowers close at night. We were 6 and could barely write our names, but we knew the difference between the canopy and the emergent layers and what creatures could live on the forest floor, should anyone ask. She was the silver-hair hippie type, but she was tough, demanding and pissed off a lot of parents. But I think she knew what she was doing and she loved it.
My third grade teacher who, again to the disdain of janitors and the principal and presumably kids with allergies, kept an Angora rabbit, a cage of hamsters and a cat named Jake in her classroom. She didn’t like me very much because I ate Polly-O string cheese at my desk and left the wrappers on the floor, but I loved her barnyard classroom and how she incorporated the animals into lessons (and classroom chores).
My ancient piano teacher, her two-room apartment that was engulfed by the black grand piano (not a baby grand, a legit grand piano in an apartment) and the stickers I earned for every song. The time I spent sitting and coloring on her couch, adjacent to the piano, eating cookies she left on plates, waiting for the student before me to finish. When I was younger and didn’t understand why this may be offensive, I would bring spare cookies with me to the piano bench and snack on them in between songs, leaving crumbs on my lap and on the keys. She wore more makeup than Elizabeth Taylor even though she never left her apartment. She taught two dozen students, and I practiced with her twice a week for twelve years. I think about her, how she adored my sister and me, and what a true one of a kind, once in a lifetime person she is or was. She was old then, older now. Every time I drive by her building, I’m tempted to pop into the lobby and see if her name is still on the apartment listing to buzz in. She was the essence of patience and illegible handwriting.
Our neighbor who passed away at 98 without missing a day’s walk around our hilly neighborhood. She looked like what I imagine the old lady who lived in the shoe would look like if she baked cookies and pies all day. White haired, teeny tiny hunched frame, furry moles, gray-blue eyes and creased, freckled skin - yet enchanting and adorable. My dad and I would regularly offer a hand in the yard, a lightbulb in the house or company in her walk around the block. Occasionally, my sister and I would invite ourselves in during a bike ride around the neighborhood, randomly deciding now would be a good time to say hi. We’d usually find her listening to the radio in her kitchen or kneeling in her flowerbed; she was always delighted to have the neighborhood children stop by. When she passed away, my dad and I went to her funeral. Her children and grandchildren spoke and mentioned my dad by name. He cried, we cried, and I realized just how special we were to her. I thought we were small, insignificant neighbors just doing neighborly things, but, to a 98 year old lady who lived alone, it meant a lot.
My mass communications law professor in my senior year at Penn State. I sat in the same seat, front row to the left, and never missed a class, not a minute late. He was so revved on law and journalism. I had never set the curve on a test or considered a career in law until his obvious passion for the class inspired me to take the LSATs and meet during office hours. It was my favorite class at Penn State, which says a lot for a school of 40,000 students and thousands of class options. I maintained e-mail correspondence after graduation and learned that he moved to Colorado the next spring to pursue his passion for outdoor adventure and go back to school. It’s true, you only live once.
I’m also continuously inspired by the memory of my grandparents, friends I’ve lost touch with and family I don’t see enough.
The sun is out, there’s plenty of time to daydream. So think about those people you don’t usually think about and remember your supporting characters.