I finally made it to New York City in December, 1994. It was a trip I didn’t plan, sort of a treat, and I was asked what I wanted to do. Since my paternal grandfather had come through Ellis Island, I wanted to go there, and to the Statue of Liberty which had been re-opened after she’d been strengthened and refurbished from the inside out. I’m sure I did other things on that first trip, but none were as memorable as the things I chose.

For the next several years, I was in New York City once a year. I learned to love Broadway, shopping, but mostly saw Manhattan. In 2000, I moved to Ohio which meant the trips that I’d made at least once a year to Northern California were less frequent, but the jaunts to New York City became more frequent. I went twice a year. I even had a timeshare there for awhile.

After I gave up the timeshare, and my eldest daughter moved to NYC, my visits became more frequent. I’d go and sleep in a sleeping bag, on yoga mats on the floor in her apartment. Or, I’d meet my brother, sister-in-law and nephew there and we’d stay in an older boutique hotel on the Upper West Side in a more residential neighborhood. I even drove there twice to deliver furniture in my SUV. Once, was after a huge snow storm that left cars buried up to their rooftops, vehicles double parked, and nowhere to park my own car, I found a spot in a $30 a day parking garage near my daughter’s Upper East Side apartment.

Since I started planning my own trips, I’ve explored the different boroughs, botanical gardens, and museums and have taken subways, buses, taxis, boats, ferries, and once, a Zip Car. In short, I love New York and never seem to run out of doing something new and different, while embracing some of the familiar.

Today I went to see the movie “Extremely Loud and Incrediby Close,” a movie about a boy who is coping with the loss of his father after 9-11. Having visited NYC and Ground Zero a couple of months after the attack, on Thanksgiving Day, and once again on the tenth anniversary this past September, I knew I’d be moved. It turns out, I had no idea just how moved I would be.

First, let me say that I loved the movie and recommend it. I hope my brother and sister-in-law take my nephew and only wish I could go with them when they do. It is a movie that celebrates all that is good and wonderful about New York City. The people, places, and energy. It is beautifully shot. I was in the city when they were filming parts of it, but then, they are always filming something there. One foggy scene looked oh so familiar.

Yes, I got choked up during and after the movie. I got teary and sniffly. The only reason I wasn’t openly sobbing is that I was in a public theater. If I’d been at home alone…forget it…I would have been openly crying. Not that crying is a bad thing; I’m glad I saw it on the big screen. It was a moving story, the acting was top notch, there were surprises, I saw very familiar looking places, and heard great New York references (let’s see if Neal and Carla catch the Fairway reference). It felt familiar and showed me once again that it really is a small, small world. The kid in the film reminded me of my nephew in so many ways.  Once he and his parents see it, I’m sure they’ll understand why. Maps, bridges, swings, subways, and boats, Ross.  That’s all I’m going to say.  

One of the many surprises was near the end when I saw one of my favorite actors in a pivotal role. I won’t spoil it for you…suffice to say I saw him in a fantastic role last year at Lincoln Center and he showed a completely different side of his talents in the movie.

So, go. If you love New York City, family, great acting, a heart warming story that was extremely touching, go see this movie and bring a hankie.

What happens a couple times a year is I march in, tell the salesman (and yes they are always male and seem to be getting younger all the time) what I need and they tell me what they have. I used to spend time looking at shoes on the wall but inevitably, they didn’t have my size in whatever I picked out. I learned to just ask them to bring me whatever they had in my size.

Pretty easy. I’m not all that picky about color and even bought the same color two times in a row. Give me a few to try, I pick, I leave. The whole thing is over in a matter of minutes if they aren’t busy. Just get me shoes that fit and support my feet; particularly important since I also how have orthotics to prevent plantar fasciitis pain.

Today I went to Dick’s. The shoe department was busier than I’d ever seen it. Lots of kids and parents standing around waiting for unseen employees to bring them shoes. There were boxes of abandoned shoes all over the place. I had to move some from a chair in order to sit down.

There were two very young men working who eventually emerged from the stockroom. The one who finally helped me was clearly overwhelmed and a little clueless about the stock. I told him what I needed, he went in the stockroom, and came back empty handed. I’d removed my shoe in anticipation of trying shoes on, to no avail. He then proceeded to lead me around, with one shoe off, around the shelves in the department trying to find shoes in my size. He found some men’s Nike court shoes that he said I could get to fit me. What?  I needed lightweight running shoes with cushion, not shoes for running around on a wooden floor that weigh twice as much. And not Nike (they don’t fit my feet correctly) and not men’s shoes.

He then said they were waiting for a shipment to come in and said I should come back on Black Friday. I told him that I refused to shop on Black Friday (I hate shopping so why would I come when there are crowds?) and walked out.

A few points:

• Dick’s just lost a customer. I spent more time NOT getting a pair of shoes today than I normally spend GETTING a pair of shoes. I make quick decisions so they usually make a good chunk of money on me in a short time. Not anymore.
• Dick’s needs to have more experienced, more mature shoes salesmen working. And more of them. When I left the store there were cashiers who weren’t busy who could have been helping elsewhere.
• Since I know what shoes fit me, I’m going to try ordering from Zappos. I know they have great customer service from people who really know shoes.

Otherwise…a fabulous weekend. I recovered from a sore throat, got food in preparation for Thanksgiving, played with my new Kindle Fire all weekend, and enjoyed cooking in my kitchen under the new lights. Too bad I don’t have new shoes to wear on my walk in the morning.

You. Are. WRONG. And you could be DEAD wrong. If you want to kill yourself and deprive your children of a parent, well, that sucks, but it is your business. If you kill me or someone I love, then I’ll be really, really pissed.

Yesterday, I got off 77 south at Ghent Road and waited at the light. I have made it a habit to count how many of the drivers are holding cell phones, driving at 40 miles per hour or so, and talking while making a left turn to enter the freeway. It varies but on average I’d say about 20% are on their phones. I don’t know what is so improtant that they couldn’t have made the call in the parking lot before leaving work, or wait until they get home. Or at least get a hands-free phone. This counting is boring me now so I think I’ll count how many of them use turn signals because you know that most of them can’t unless they are DRIVING hands free.

Anyway. I was sitting there and watched a dad in a luxury car, holding his cell phone and talking in a very animated and distracted fashion. In the seat next to him sat his teenaged son who undoubtedly was making mental notes about the following.

(A) It is o.k. for drivers to talk on their phones while driving (which we know is even more fatal for young, inexperienced drivers) and (B) My dad cares more about talking on a damned phone than insuring my safety, his safety, or in having a conversation with me.

Big mistake daddy-o, on both counts. First, teenaged boys are worse drivers than teenaged girls. I can tell you based on personal experience raising two teenaged girls, that their driving skills are not all that great until they are somewhere in their twenties. Second, some of the best conversations I’ve had with my daughters over the years have been in a car. They are your prisoners so even if they don’t want to talk to you, they can’t get out so they have to listen while you talk and you have to listen while they talk.

This morning, I was on 77 north, behind a black Honda with a Penn State sticker in the back window. I’m pretty sure the guy had a CSU parking tag hanging from his mirror. We were in bumper-to-bumper traffic so we needed to drive defensively and watch out for the other crazy distracted drivers who are on their phones and therefore not paying attention or signaling before making lane changes. But, he wasn’t. He was on his phone. Not only that, he was leaning to his right at about a 35-40 degree angle, resting his elbow on the center console. How great can his eyesight and peripheral vision be when he’s tilted like that? How quickly would he have been able to react with his arm in that position?

When he finally got off the phone, I could see just how fidgety he was. He wasn’t focused even when he was off the phone. Oy. Did I mention that there were two freshly killed deer on 77 north this morning? Oh yeah…tis the season for deer to lose their minds and run across the freeway. Two years ago, one of them attempted to jump over my SUV, while I was driving and ended up hitting my car. I was fine, but the cars behind me…no so much. I can’t even imagine a one of those phone talking drivers, like the guy in the Honda this morning, dealing with a deer strike.

Crazy phone talker drivers…cut it out! Presumably you wouldn’t drive while intoxicated, so why do you drive while talking on your cell phone? Statistically, the results are the same.

Later, while talking to one of my training colleagues who now lives in Washington D.C., she mentioned how well her twenty-something son had done on job interviews. He attributed his success to training by his mother. I think my daughters do well in interviews for much the same reason…those communication skills were ingrained in them. Yes, we text, but whenever possible, I prefer to pick up the phone and talk, or to have conversations with them, in person.

Which lead me to making the statement which I think I’ll copyright…..”You cannot text an interview.” Think about it. If you are young and are communicating with people via text, you aren’t learning good written communication skills (good for writing cover letters and resumes, forexample). You aren’t developing good phone conversation skills using proper tone (good for customer service, sales, and phone interviews). And you certainly aren’t developing a sense for what effective body language, facial expressions, and gestures all mean.

I probably came out of the womb talking.  I talk, and listen, all the time. I’m at an advantage over people who aren’t similarly conversant…you know…in CONVERSATIONS. I also find things like neurolinguistic programming, studying and even emulating tone, gestures, and body language gives me rich information about people I associate with.

People watching is endlessly fascinating. How can you watch people if your nose is always buried in some electronic device? It is said that in face-to-face conversations, only 7% of what we say conveys the message we are sending. Tone accounts for 38% and body language for the majority, 55%.

On the phone, all of that rich physical information is lost and you rely more heavily on tone. In email, you only have the words, fonts, grammar, and punctuation. In texting, you have even less because it is informal and abbreviated. Which may be fine when conversing with people who know you well. And also good for getting painfully shy people conversing at all. But it won’t prepare you to deal with real people, in real time, in face-to-face situations…like interviews.

Next time you have a choice of texting / emailing, or phoning, or just getting up and talking to someone face-to-face, just remember: having a real conversation is a rich experience and it will better prepare you for interviews.

You cannot text an interview.

• While we enjoyed living in California, and particularly in and around UCLA, we didn’t want to go back. We love living in Ohio. We’re proud to wear our blue and gold, fly our Bruin flags, and adorn our cars with custom license plates and UCLA frames around Ohio plates.
• We could talk for hours about our favorite Los Angeles area food hangouts, particularly those that served great Mexican food (Tito’s Tacos, El Tepeyac, Avila’s El Ranchito, King Taco, El Tecalote, La Luz del Dia, or whatever taqueira was on the nearest street corner) or juicy burgers (In N Out, Fatburger, and Tommy’s). We’ve found suitable burgers in Ohio, thanks mostly to Michael Symon, and terrifc sandwiches at Melt. But finding authentic Mexican food in Ohio is a common, very challenging, quest. I recommended Momocho and signing up for the Taco Tuesday notices on Facebook.
• Enough already with Ohio State and the Buckeyes. We were sick to death of hearing about that place in Columbus with the uninspiring colors and mascot. And the Script Ohio with the tuba dotting the I? Are you kidding me? Did you know that all UCLA students have the opportunity to sit in the card section and help perform the UCLA signature stunt during halftime at a Bruin football game? And we love listening to the the Solid Gold sound of our UCLA Marching Band (I have a CD) and watching them complete  their own script UCLA on the field while wearing the coolest collegiate colors ever.

So, today a friend who is an Ohio native but didn’t attend that school in Columbus, sent me this joke. I’m sure you’ll all be amused, regardless of which school you attended.

PROUD PAPA

The year is 2016 and the United States has just elected the first
woman president who happens to be from Ohio. A few days after the
election the president-elect, whose name is Debra, calls her father and
says, "So, Dad, I assume you will be coming to my inauguration?"

"I don't think so. It's a 10 hour drive."

"Don't worry about it Dad, I'll send Air Force One. And a limousine
will pick you up at your door."

"I don't know. Everybody will be so fancy. What would your mother wear?"

"Oh Dad," replies Debra, 'I'll make sure she has a wonderful gown
custom-made by the best designer in Washington."

"Honey," Dad complains, "you know I can't eat those rich foods you eat."

The President-to-be responds, "Don't worry Dad. The entire affair will
be handled by the best caterer in Washington; I'll ensure your meals
are salt free. You and mom just have to be there."

So Dad reluctantly agrees, and on January 20, 2017, Debra is being
sworn in as President of the United States. In the front row sits the
new president's dad and mom.

Dad, noticing the senator sitting next to him, leans over and
whispers, "You see that woman over there with her hand on the Bible,
becoming President of the United States."

The Senator whispers back, "You bet I do."

Dad says proudly, "Her brother played football at Ohio State."

Here’s a bit of what she posted last week on the website of the company she was dealing with. I gather that they subcontract with independenct drivers. The driver in this case appears to have made innumerable excuses, probably lied, disappeared for days at a time, and delivered the car 11-14 days later than promised.

On this trip, I left home later than I’d planned and it took forever to get across the USA-Canada border. So, I arrived in Ontario well after my usual dinner time, but they had just cooked a rice dish with bits of bacon in it. I was starving and it was, well, bacon, so of course I enjoyed it. Top that off with fresh fruit and a little salad and I was good to go.

The next day, when I got hungry, I noticed there were snack foods and sugary juices around, which I don’t eat, so that forced me to eat more fruit and to eat less in general. Not a bad thing. You know how it is sometimes on vacation; you overindulge because, you’re on vacation. That wasn’t a problem on this trip.

 A few days later I went and bought some groceries so I’d have more of the healthy fare I was accustomed to eating and would have enough to share with others. OK…and I got more bacon (without preservatives). I had to replace what I’d eaten, right? (I did yoga and walked every day, so give me a break).

So, it wasn’t one of my foodie vacations. That is, until I went to the Art Gallery of Ontario www.ago.net in Toronto. Architect Frank Gehry, a Toronto native, redesigned the museum a few years ago and he did a masterful job. The curators decked the art out in spectacular fashion, I thought. After spending four hours wandering the beautiful art and architecture (pictures posted soon), I decided to have a late lunch at “Frank” the highly regarded restaurant on the main floor, named for my favorite architect, of course. Although reservations (416.979.6688) were required even at that late hour  (2:30?) there were ample spaces at the main bar and a narrower bar that hugged a side window. I love sitting at the bar so that’s just what I did.

My waitress brought me bread…three kinds, along with some unsalted butter, and some sea salt in an oyster shell. The idea was, you butter your bread and sprinkle it with your own version of saltiness. That salty crunch really added a lot of flavor and I consequently ate more bread than I ever do.

That was served up with a Sparkling Brut Rose Cuvee Catharine from Henry of Pelham Winery in Short Hills, Niagara. It was really good…not sweet, and had a nice bite. More about the winery in a future post.

My first course was a chilled cilantro and lime marinated squid salad with fried corn tortilla chips and fresh avocado. Instead of chopping the squid up into bits like you would for ceviche, several large pieces were scored in a criss-cross pattern and each piece curled up. Wonderful.

My main course was linguini carbonara duck confit with wild leek pesto, fresh shaved and grated parmesan, topped with a poached duck egg. Yes, it tasted every bit as good as it sounds. Rich without being heavy. A perfectly cooked and huge egg. Usually carbonara is served with bits or small chunks of pancetta. Never enough, either. Well, there was enough duck and it was good; some moist, some crispy, all delicious.

When I returned to my friend’s home after that lunch I was hardly hungry for dinner, so I sat with them and watched them eat while we talked. My eating adventures were on hold for a few more days.

To be continued…….

Some of the attendees were grateful for the volunteers tough duty in the sun and humid weather. Others treated volunteers like servants, and expected favors. Still others were downright rude when they violated rules established by the PGA (no cell phones usage and no photography or videography) and were asked nicely to cease and desist. Or they were arrogant and manipulative when they were questioned about sneaking their kids into a venue that required a paid ticket.

When a corporation sends clear messages out in advance of the tournament indicating that anyone who wants to enter one of the pricey corporate suitesthey’ve reserved must have a ticket, including children (who are otherwise admitted free to wander the grounds of the tournament) why do a few ignore those messages? Why do they feel entitled to bring univited guests? Do they not realize that the companies pay huge amounts of money for those suites and for a limited amount of tickets? That all of the money raised by ticket and suite sales goes to charities so by cheating the system, they are cheating people who need assistance? That there aren’t seats for everyone who has a ticket and that every extra person admitted potentially displaces someone who HAS a ticket? And eats someone else’s food? That a family run caterering company plans for a precise number of people and that extra mouths to feed means less food for everyone else and someone could be disappointed, reflecting badly on the caterer…and not the errant parents? That the event is largely for adults, business networking, drinking alcoholic beverages, etc?

There are no small-kid-friendly activities at golf tournaments. You have to walk a lot, miles in fact, if you want to see the whole course. And on a hot day, on a crowded course, I saw children wilting. A dad holding a beer while his child had no water, and was crying. Kids witnessing their father badgering a volunteer, dropping names, trying to get in a venue when he didn’t have tickets for them. Kids stayed inside one of the air conditioned suites, where there was literally nothing to do but eat, drink and watch golf on t.v. B O R I N G. What kind of messages are these parents sending to their kids? Wouldn’t they have been better off doing something fun at home together? Couldn’t the kids stay home with a babysitter or go to a friend’s house and do something THEY really enjoyed doing?

On the other hand, I did see a lot of really positive kid-parent/grandparent  interaction. Mostly it involved one parent per child (the vast majority were male), spending quality time being together, watching the tournament or volunteering together. These were generally kids aged 10 and older. What those lucky children were learning was that their parents were honest, generous, civil, they planned ahead, and they wanted to spend time together. We need more of that.

I’m thinking a lot about transitions these days, probably because I’m going through a major one now. Not that I haven’t gone through them before, but this is a biggie. How am I handling it? Pretty well, I think. And why not? What choice do I have? To go through it badly, with difficulty, angst, and anger? Apparently those are choices I could make, but it never occured to me to make those.

Part of it comes from practice dealing with changes, challenges, and transitions in the past. I read this piece http://www.npr.org/2011/04/11/135216852/want-to-live-to-100-try-to-bounce-back-from-stress?sc=fb&cc=fp about adaptive competence. I decided, I have that skill. I’ve also decided that it helps having practice.

Consider a middle aged person who has seemed to sail through life without ever feeling like he had made a mistake or misstep on the job. Or even a young man, who has been handed an education, cars, homes, and many other privileges. All of a sudden…there’s a transition. Due to economic downturns, jobs for college graduates are no longer assured. Employment even for someone who had always had a job, is not a sure thing. Budget cuts are made, divisions are eliminated, companies are acquired, and jobs are sent overseas.

So what determines whether people make successful transitions? What made YOU successful at making transitions? Does practice make it easier?

In my professional life, it may be my job to educate people about the dangers of intolerance, predjudice, stereotypes, bigotry, and incivility, but in my personal life, I drew a line in the sand. I was intolerant of their intolerance. After initial attempts to explain the offensive nature of the comments and jokes, and witnessing defensiveness, attempted justifications, and a complete lack of accountability, I cut my ties.

I suppose I could expend my energy trying to change the hearts and minds of these individuals, but sometimes I just don’t have the energy. Some people I mingle with socially are homophobic. And I suspect that some of the people I work with are too but they control their attitudes at work; and I guess that’s a good thing.  

I still don’t know quite what to do if someone says they will disown their daughter if she is gay, or celebrates their child’s discovery of heterosexual pornography because to them it means their son isn’t gay, or brags about their son sleeping around with lots of women. I don’t agree with their attitudes that seem intolerant of positive attitudes towards love, companionship, and responsible expressions of sexual feelings. What happened to live and let live and treating everyone with respect and tolerance?