Top Blonde...speaking up!

Speaking up with confidence no matter what

2011-09-28T20:33:00.000-07:00

Have you ever tried to slither into a pair of jeans? Wrestling with getting a metal zipper to close at my mid-line, while down on the floor, is how I used up about fifteen minutes of my day this morning. Make that twenty-five when all was said and done. Somehow I managed to button the button closure at the top of the zipper. That resulted in an unbecoming protrusion out the opening between the top button and the bottom of the zipper. Getting the zipper to zip up was another story. I’d have to either pull out a tunic top from my closet or wear a long coat to hide my belly. With Indian summer upon us in the Northeast, donning a tunic or long coat wasn’t an option.

Perhaps more creativity is my ticket. So, once again I knelt down and splayed myself face up on the floor. After first wiggling this way and that way, I began lifting my buttocks up and down and then from side to side and then I began flinging my legs straight up in the air. Surely my acrobatic antics would help stretch my NYDJ (Not Your Daughter’s Jeans).

What does this have to do with speaking up for yourself? Let me put it this way.
I don’t know about you but my natural reaction to the challenge of zipping a zipper on a pair of jeans after wearing cropped pants, various styles of shorts, and skirts all summer is one of self-sabotage. Good gracious, I’m so fat; I need to exercise more; why did I have those cookies yesterday or that bowl of ice cream last night; Look at this muffin top; I’m such a sloth, and so on.

But, there is another way. In God’s eyes we are fearfully and wonderfully made and therefore made perfect in Him. It’s good to access our lifestyle and decide if we need to make changes to improve our health. But, if we don’t allow God’s hand in our lives and accept ourselves as His beloved child, the light we reflect, along with our voice, will be dim. You may not set out to make an impact, but people do pay attention and they watch to see if you are who you say you are. Whether we are a daughter, a sister, a friend, a mother, a cousin, a wife, a step-sibling or step-mother, we have an opportunity to brighten another’s day. If we are picking ourselves apart, we lose our influence.

It turns out that laughter was my ticket to getting my zipper zipped. While lying there in the middle of my floor struggling to get that zipper up, my only view was the stark white ceiling. There I was sprawled out like a limp lobster with my tentacles flailing in the attempt to stretch my NYDJ. I wanted every bit of my money’s worth of that 4% spandex I’d read on the label. As I lie there gazing at the ceiling, the absurdity of it all struck me as hilarious and the next thing I knew…I had the giggles. I started laughing unashamedly at my predicament. After the work-out of my abdominal muscles and my non-eloquent cackling subsided, I was breathless. Nevertheless, I tried one last time to pull my zipper up. To my astonishment, success!

I will be doing some accessing of my lifestyle so that the next time I try slipping into my NYDJ, I won’t have to roll around the floor again. In the meantime, I know I can walk out my front door today and speak up full confidence that, in my weakness, I am made strong! That in God’s eye’s I am acceptable and beautiful just as I am. And, you are too!

Sunflowers influence in speaking up

2011-08-21T14:58:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a defining moment that you didn’t realize you had until later? Yesterday, that was my experience.

While driving to Western New Jersey and the picturesque farmlands of Sussex County to visit a Sunflower Maze, I was thinking about the invitation I’d just received while talking on my hands free cell phone. A longtime girlfriend I’d not seen since returning from vacation three weeks prior, invited me to join her and two other special girlfriends for a movie I’d wanted to see, The Help.

I told her that after going to the Sunflower Maze in Augusta, I was thinking of contacting a male friend who just lived down the road from the maze. But, after walking through the Sunflower Maze and absorbing the warmth and happiness that sunflowers convey, I decided to jump back into my Jeep, Madame Merlot II, and high tale it back to the suburbs and meet my girlfriends for the movie.

You may be asking yourself, “What’s the big deal?” However, for me it was freeing to alter my plan on a dime. It would have been nice to see my male friend, but he may not have been home, or available. I choose to do what I really wanted to do rather than do what I thought I ought. It made no difference to my male friend. At that point he didn’t even know I was in the vicinity. The good news is that I hadn’t called him yet to see if he was around for me to stop by for a visit.

Speaking up for yourself comes in all variations of our relationships. It’s my belief that you know in your heart how you want to handle a matter. Have the courage to speak up and change your life by changing your decision making process to one of honoring your core value.

I’ve read various meanings for the sunflower including loyalty and longevity. Samantha Green, of Pro Flowers writes in her article, History and Meaning of Sunflowers, “They are unique in their ability to provide energy in the form of nourishment and vibrance, an attribute which mirrors the sun and the energy provided by its heat and light”.

Yesterday, the Son shine showering down upon the sunflowers definitely influenced me. I made it in time to meet my friends. Though, The Help, was sold out we got into One Day with Ann Hathaway. We’ll see The Help another day. Over all, I was thankful that the sunflowers influence showed me I must have loyalty…even to myself.

Setbacks Pave the Way for Comebacks

2011-06-05T08:56:00.000-07:00

June 2, I gave a presentation, “Setbacks Pave the Way for Comebacks” at the Montvale Library, Montvale, New Jersey. A few attendees asked for the Eight Principles I talked about for overcoming a setback, so I am sharing them with all of you on my blog.

No one is immune to the storms of life that appear suddenly in our lives and threaten to topple us. Setbacks come in all forms and typically cause major stress. These might include the loss of a job or a career, illness or chronic pain and/or a disease that creates cause for altering our life style, the broken promises of a spouse leading to divorce, the death of a loved one or child, or even the realization that we can no longer deny a reality in our lives. All of these scenarios, and a host of other calamities, can cause a setback in our lives of great magnitude and from which some people never recover.

But, I know that setbacks can pave the way for comebacks and that when you come back, you come back stronger. I know this because of my own setbacks and of the victory I embrace today from applying the eight principles you will find at the end of this blog entry.

In 1979, I was a victim of a violent crime. A hooded intruder entered my home, and I was blindfolded and raped at knifepoint while my two-year-old daughter was napping in the next room. My attacker was never caught.

So devastating was the pain and horror of it all that I questioned my faith and my purpose in life. How could a God that I loved and served with all my heart allow such an atrocity and physical assault to one of his followers? All these years later, I still suffer the symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder.

When I was attacked I had already been diagnosed with a genetic, life threatening, potentially debilitating, and chronic kidney disease, PKD (polycystic kidney disease). This is a disease that has affected several family members as well. Two years after my attack, I learned that I had another genetic and life-threatening, chronic disease. This time, a heart muscle disease called HCM (hypertrophic cardiomyopathy). Neither have a cure.

And now, thirty-two years later, my kidney function has decreased to where I am being evaluated for a kidney transplant or dialysis when the time comes, and my heart muscle disease has increased. Though my physical assault and chronic diseases greatly affect my life and life style, they do not define me. And, it’s through applying these Eight Principles that I have come back stronger…and am better.

It is my hope that these Eight Principles will help sustain you in whatever setback you face, or may face in the future so that you will soon also believe that setbacks can pave the way for comebacks...and when you come back, you come back stronger.

Eight Principles for overcoming a setback:

1. Commitment to your future – life goes on. The sun will come up tomorrow. Commit to overcome your setback in the best way you can for you, for your situation.

2. Opportunity – this is an opportunity to grow and stretch yourself. Setbacks can be a touchstone.

3. Moment by moment – sometimes it’s all you can do to just do the next thing. Routine can help us get through the dark places.

4. Explore your options – ask questions of yourself and how you want to live going forward.

5. Basics – have to look at the facts; this is where I am, this is where I want to be.

6. Advocate – Be your own advocate. There may be supporting people but you ultimately, with divine guidance, have to rescue yourself.

7. Celebrate – each and every hurdle you jump and how far you’ve come… even if it’s only since yesterday!

8. Keep to your commitment to grow, change, evolve, transform, blossom, shine, excel, be, and thrive, no matter how long it takes. And, then, one day you wake up and realize you have overcome your setback and you are stronger!

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Celebrating Mother's Day on the Appalachian Trail

2011-05-08T20:15:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, my family celebrated Mother’s Day with a family reunion held in Three River’s, California at a Memorial Hall. As the years went by we moved the reunion to Mooney Grove Park in Visalia, my home town, and celebrated Mother’s Day with a picnic family reunion. Relatives came from north and south for our memorable gatherings. Those Mother’s Days were some of the best days of my life as a flock of us cousins played and ran around whooping it up while the adults talked and talked the day away.

Now, all these years later, life is very different. I live in the Northeast and my three daughters and three grandsons are all in Montana. So, when Mother’s Day comes, I’m always a bit melancholy.

But, this year, I did a new thing. This morning, while getting ready for church, I heard a woman, Louise, on TV talking about being celebrated less and celebrating more. In other words, the less we are celebrated and the more we celebrate, the better off we are. That philosophy stayed with me all morning and after church, I determined to “celebrate” the rest of the day by getting outdoors.

What I did to “celebrate” Mother’s Day was to go for a walk in the woods. Since I cope with some serious health issues, I wasn't sure first that I even should be out hiking, and second, that I could even make it to the end of the stretch I was embarking on. I could see it on the eveing news..."local woman recused on Mother's Day from the AT". Perhaps it's times like this where will and spirit collide and create feminine determination that surpasses all speculation and fear. Because, I just really wanted to try and see if I could do it.

Thus, I set out on a stretch of the Appalachian Trail above Greenwood Lake, New York.

It was a beautiful day of serenity and peace as I meditated on being a mother, missing my own mother, and valuing my children. Thank you, "Louise", for helping me set my Mother’s Day priorities so that I could go out and learn and grow and celebrate to the hilt!

I want to hear from you and how you celebrated Mother’s Day. Be the first to leave your comments below.

Sweet Escape (mother daughter bonding)

2011-05-01T18:42:00.000-07:00

New Column post Top Blonde...on the www.northjersey.com/community/family/top_blonde/120839914_Sweet_Escape.htmln!

Or

Speaking up in sensitive situations

2011-04-12T20:57:00.000-07:00

I remember how passive I used to be. Never would I speak up for myself even if not speaking up was at my own expense. My happiness or peace would be at stake yet I was unable to voice discomfort or unease of any kind.

Silly, isn’t it? But, not silly for people who struggle or have struggled to realize their worth. Nor, for people who think being nice means never speaking up for themselves.

Once I realized my value was not contingent on external forces or that my confidence wasn’t based on receiving or not receiving affirmation from others, my life changed. Courage replaced fear, and a healthy self-concept replaced the fragile and fleeting self-image I’d carried for many years.

Thus, when I was recently seated in a window seat on a cross country flight and a fellow passenger two seats away was snoring loudly, it didn’t take me any time at all to signal to the steward.

“Excuse me, but may I change seats?” I politely asked the flight attendant when he came close to my seat.

“Yes, you may take any seat that is available,” he replied with a smile.

Relieved, I quickly grabbed my belongings and excused myself from my assigned seat. The man two seats over wasn’t just loudly snoring. He was in a full blown locomotive sounding snore. Other passengers began looking around like I had done to locate the source of the sound. The lady that was originally seated to my right and next to the snoring man had already moved to another seat. I knew there was no conceivable way I could deal with the man’s intolerable snore for the three hour flight to my connecting flight.

In the past, I would never have bothered the flight attendant nor had the courage, or nerve, to verbalize a request. Rather, I would have suffered silently, stewing and steaming and enduring an unbearable situation.

I’ve learned that speaking up for myself doesn’t mean that I insist or demand my own way. It means that I can become my own advocate and seek ways of making decisions that illustrate to others I am a woman who understands my value and am a good steward of my own spirit (essence).

Speaking out isn’t always best; being mindful of our words

2011-02-28T21:42:00.000-08:00

Melissa Leo’s spirited speech at last night’s 82nd Academy Awards that included the use of slang was a verbal faux pas of significant magnitude. As Whoopie Goldlberg alluded to while hosting The View this morning, things get said and just come out of the mouth when an actor is presented with The Oscar. She meant words like the unscrupulous word that rolled off Ms. Leo’s lips that ABC bleeped out because of the seven second delay.

As the winner of Best Supporting Actress for her role in The Fighter, Ms. Leo arrived looking every bit a star. Glamorous in a stunning eyelet dress with a high scalloped neckline that framed her face, her hair in a soft up do, and with understated make up, she walked down the red carpet exuding controlled exuberance.

But, using discourteous language to speak out and make a point can backfire as it did with Ms. Leo.

I feel that Ms. Leo’s lack of etiquette in her acceptance speech took something from me. I look for role models in society today. People who strive to be examples of decency and integrity and people who stand honorably are people that I admire. While it was a fleeting remark and one she has apologized for, which took humility, when I think of Ms. Leo now, I will be reminded of her moment when the eyes of millions of people were upon her and she allowed her speech to dim her golden star.

You may be thinking tinseltown isn't a place that breeds people who stand honorably. Maybe not, but I think if we look we will find people who do.

Be the first to leave your comments below. I always appreciate your feedback and hearing of your comments, your requests, and/or any concerns you might have.

Asking for what you need

2011-02-23T15:17:00.000-08:00

Asking for what we need is part of speaking up for ourselves. Some people can do it with perfect poise. A request rolls off their lips and they get results faster than a shooting star dancing through the night sky. Yet, some of us have had a really hard time. Someone could be stepping on our toes and pain is shooting up our leg yet we can’t get the words out to ask them to take their foot off our toes. Our leg becomes numb, yet we still can’t ask for what we need. We end up on a gurney heading for surgery with a gangrenous leg because we were never able to say, “Excuse me, you’re hurting me. Would you please remove your foot”?

My scenario is far-fetched but it has a ring of truth. Even in the 21st century, there are those of us who fight the inner battle of asking for what we need that helps sets us on the path to wholeness.

Part of my personal struggle with speaking up stemmed from a lack of understanding. I never grasped the truth that as God’ chosen child of the universe, I had rights. That if someone was violating my rights to be treated with respect and dignity that I had a right, and even a responsibility, to honor my own personhood by speaking up for myself.

“Who do you think you are?” is what we ask ourselves if we attempt speaking up about an injustice or perhaps from a conviction. “Stop making waves”, is another line we may have listened to in childhood that rears its ugly head. And so, we squelch our voice and dutifully back down only to suffer later in life from a host of maladies.
But, we are not doomed. Once we understand our significance and that we have contributions that no one else can make, we can find our voice.

Speaking up for yourself can set your spirit free. Being set free in your spirit can enable you to speak up for yourself. Which comes first? It’s speculative, but what is true is that asking for what you need is right and just.

Be the first to share your thoughts at the end of this post on speaking up for yourself. They may appear in the book I am working on about speaking up for yourself.

Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T15:18:00.000-08:00

This Valentine’s Day is truly a gift. Here in the Northeast we’ve been buried for weeks under a blanket of snow. Today, it’s already 51 degrees. While writing this blog there are mounds of snow piled nearly to the top of the street signs outside my window. I’ve not seen this much snow since the blizzard brigade we had in 1994! We may not see the grass again until April but this whisper of what’s to come has me visualizing daffodils dancing in the wind.

Still, it’s mid-February and it is Valentine’s Day, a day that’s set aside for expressing love with hearts and flowers, chocolates and candy, gifts and dinner… and the myriad of everyday ways we show our love and appreciation. Such as doing nice things for people and perhaps smiling at a passerby. It may bring them more joy than you know.

If you’re single you might wish the florist zipping down the street would be pulling up at your door to deliver flowers. You might feel left out of the romantic loop from hearing about what your friend’s boyfriend or husband did. Or, you could do what I did a few years ago. Celebrate life!

I gathered a group of girlfriends of varied ages and physicality for roller skating at our local rink (now demolished for new housing). My cohort, Marie, and I designed inexpensively bought painter’s hats with glitter and adopted quirky names for the evening. She was “Corky” and I was “Squiggly”. We had a blast! After we rolled around the rink a few times, sustained a few falls, and laughed our heads off, we went back to Marie’s for a night of decadent deserts. We still talk about our hilarious night!

This year, though low key, love with a hint of spring is in the air. One of the things I did was write an old-fashioned romantic letter that I included in a home-made (computer) card. I’ve also lit a candle with my favorite fragrance to enjoy and put on a CD. Alison Krauss was serenading me while I was frosting on a batch of “Grandma’s Sugar Cookies”.

Our whisper of spring has brought our afternoon temperature up to 58 degrees. Though I don’t see any daffodils dancing in the wind just yet, my heart is singing because the surprise and wonder of love, family, and friends, is all around!

Take a moment to write me… I’d love to hear how you are celebrating Valentine’s Day 2011!

Speaking up means weighing your words

2011-02-06T10:33:00.000-08:00

People think that speaking up for yourself means saying everything that’s on your mind. Initially, you may feel better for having vented but as you walk away you never note the effect of your words. Your recipients facial expression my reflect surprised shock, or they may even be so stunned that they are left standing in utter silence with their head hanging down. You never touched them, but the wounding from your words lingers…and wears upon you both.

I know because I’ve been that person who has coughed up a barrage of what was on my mind erroneously believing that I was valiantly speaking up for myself.
“I’ll show them!” was my stance. Yet, my insecurity, immaturity, and impulsivity were glaring. What a fool I was. Thus, after years of stuffing emotions and not being heard, verbal eruptions became my norm.

Many years have passed since my days of verbal explosions. Through growing in my Christian walk, I now know that self-expression is closely tied to self-discipline and self-control (fruits of the spirit). Speaking up from a position of strength, and love, changes everything. Not only can you set boundaries for yourself in your own life, but you can set boundaries in your relationships. Consequently, you’re well thought out words have the potential for impact rather than just exhaling in a verbal blast that does no earthly good.

When you do need to speak up for yourself remember that the louder your voice, the less likely you will be heard. Using a soft toned voice shows respect and has greater potential for better reception.

Having the quiet strength to know when to speak up for yourself can elevate you in grace and beauty and free you from self-reproach.

The pain of parting; the joy of hello

2011-01-31T22:59:00.001-08:00

Sitting in a window seat while flying at 4,000 feet in the air aboard a Boeing 737 on Alaska Airlines, I began pondering the events of the last three weeks of my life.

In the first week, I flew from my home on the East Coast to fly out to my hometown on the West Coast to meet my sister, Lezlie. It was time for us to tackle the final clearing out of our deceased mother’s belongings from the family home that is now on the market. When that project was completed, I flew to Montana for the next two weeks to visit my three daughters, Nicole, Lesa, and Aimee and two-year old grandson, Finn. We had the best of times! And then, came my departure day. We all had long faces as I packed up my things.

A lot of thoughts run through your mind when you’re sitting on a plane. You can read, think, or strike up a conversation with a seat mate. If you choose thinking, where do your thoughts land?

For now, my thoughts have landed on our tearful good-bye. I wasn’t ready to leave. I wasn’t ready to go back to my life minus the joy of being with my family and hearing the word, “Mom” as well as Finn’s version of “Grandma”. It was music to my ears. I hadn’t been ready to say good-bye to my mom when she passed away three years ago either. But, I had to adjust. And, now, I wasn’t yet quite ready to leave my girls and sweet Finn. Our time being together was so special. I just wanted it to go on and on...

“Mom, you need to move here”, Nicole had said. Lesa, Finn’s mommy loves when I come (I stay with her to make sure that Finn knows his Grandma), and Aimee too wishes I’d move to Montana. Secretly, I think they all want me to come so I can do their mending.

I don’t have a crystal ball to see into the future and if my address is going to change anytime soon. But, as I ponder the moments with my family in my window seat, you can be sure I’m doing some serious day dreaming about life under the Montana Sky.

Luckily, another trip is planned soon. The joy of our next "hellos", and seeing the smiling faces of my daughters and grandson welcoming me helps ease the pain of parting. With that thought, I sink back into my seat and relax for the remainder of my flight knowing that I don't need a crystal ball. God holds my future and I know that His plan will be the best one for us all.

Birthday meditations

2010-06-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today, I am sixty-four and I am going to enjoy every last breath before dawn tomorrow when I turn sixty-five. I don’t know the exact time of my birth so I won’t have to wait until a certain hour of the day to officially turn sixty-five. I can wake up and be sixty-five!

When I was born on June 22, 1945, neither the time of the baby’s birth nor their weight and length were listed on birth certificates. I’m sure my mom shared that with me somewhere along the way, and I likely have it jotted down on a piece of scrap paper somewhere. But, Richard Carlson, Ph.D., wrote Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff and I’m taking his advice. Fiddly, if I’m going to turn sixty-five tomorrow, it’s about time I master Mr. Carlson’s charge.

Cheryl, one of my high school classmates from my hometown, Visalia, California, sent an email saying happy birthday in advance. She also wrote, “…As they say, 65 is just a number"! It made me feel hopeful. I can just sit back and relax while getting a manicure and a pedicure this afternoon and wrap my mind around Cheryl’s comments.

Sixty-four hasn’t been so bad. A lot of good things have happened this past year in spite of battling with the pull of gravity. Since my budget doesn’t allow visits for plastic surgery and looking like Joan Rivers with the upsweep eyes, I have to nip and tuck the old fashioned way; exercise and fewer calories. I can see this regime is going to be a lengthy proposition but I’ve heard perseverance has its rewards.

I am a little sad to say good-bye to sixty-four. It went too fast and I didn’t get done all that I wanted to accomplish. But, believe it or not, I’m really excited to cross over. Now I will officially be a “senior citizen” even though I don’t think of myself as being that old.

Well, the hours are passing and I’ve only a short while before the magical moment when the stroke of midnight officially declares that tomorrow is here.
Cheryl is right. Whatever your age it’s just a number.

I’m ready to welcome the ripe young age of sixty-five because, I believe, the best is yet to come! Getting older isn’t always peachy keen, but growing up and stepping out in faith is always in style no matter your age.

Instead of saying I’m getting older, I’m going to believe that I’m getting better. And, that as I turn sixty-five tomorrow God will give me the faith and the courage to deal with whatever lands on my plate as I turn the page and enter this new chapter in my life.

A Mother’s Day investment

2010-05-04T20:11:00.000-07:00

For two days now I’ve been at my computer creating cards. Most of these creations are for Mother’s Day and need to be mailed pronto. Ever since I received a Hallmark Card Studio program as a gift several years ago I’ve enjoyed designing and creating every kind of card you could possibly conceive for the events in another’s life.

Birthday cards, anniversary cards, new baby cards including one for my daughter when she delivered my precious grandson, Finn. The milestone card created especially for my father’s 95th birthday. Sympathy cards, encouragement cards, get well cards, thinking of you cards, retirement cards, wedding cards, and of late a specially crafted congratulations card for my sister, Lezlie, whose graduation is May 5 & 6 from the University of Colorado, at Bolder, with a PhD in Music History.

Some people might ask, “What is the return on your investment in making all these cards?” In other words, how many cards do you get back? Hum… that’s an interesting question and one I have no need to ponder. But, truth be told the physical return is not high. Yet, my purpose in this venture is not procuring the typical sought after return on one’s investment. In my mind, that’s God’s business. My business is being faithful to my calling and my hearts desire to be a blessing. That's my return.

One day my dear Aunt B. said to me, “Jen, you have a little ministry with your cards. Just as I was ready to shake my head, oh, fiddly dee I don’t know about that, I thought to myself perhaps Aunt B. is right? Maybe God is using my talent to help lift the spirits of others.

It’s sort of like the imperishable qualities of a mother. It’s not our physical attributes that are prized by God and a man deserving of a Godly woman. Proverbs 31: 25 reads this way, “Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she smiles at the future.

In creating personalized greeting cards my hope is that the recipient will simply be blessed by some aspect of the card. Perhaps it’s the words written on the card specifically for that person’s need, or the embellishments, or the photos I sometimes include that speaks to their heart in a special way.

I hope your Mother’s Day mail box has a card or two or three that blesses your heart. It might be from me!

The magic at Paterson’s Great Falls

2010-04-15T20:55:00.000-07:00

With all the rain soaking our landscape lately there’s been a growing buzz about Paterson’s Great Falls, in Paterson, New Jersey, one of the birthplaces of the industrial revolution in America. Twenty years ago after moving to the Northeast from Southern California, my family and I went on a Sunday afternoon drive and found ourselves at this natural wonder, now a national park.

I didn’t know then that Paterson was called the “Silk City” because of its lead role in silk production in the United States in the mid-19th century. Or that its history goes back to Alexander Hamilton who conceived of the first major water power system in the United States in 1791. Back in the early nineties, I had to get out my history books and even today this "Top Blonde" is still discovering the wonders of Northern New Jersey and beyond.

So, I got Madame Merlot II, my Jeep, washed and shined from the buckets of rain drops dimming her beauty. I needed a partner in crime so I called my trusty friend and co-hort, Marie Dineen. Between the two of us, we were more than capable of getting ourselves into mischief one way or another.

Marie and I set out early on a stellar pre-spring day for a photo shoot of the Great Falls. Marie grew up in Paterson which made her the perfect choice for my traveling partner. On my own, I can’t be trusted. I’ve been known to miss a turn and end up in another state! What’s worse is I didn’t even know it, but, we’ll let that saga lay dormant for now.

Traveling to Paterson was a breeze. When we arrived in the middle of town, “Cesar” and “Oscar” of the Paterson Police Department traffic division carefully guided us to our destination. Once we arrived and parked at the National Historic Landmark, we walked over to the viewing platform. I got out my camera and tri-pod and started snapping photos of the 77 foot-high falls that were nearly deafening.

While we were still at the platform viewing, a passel of pre-schoolers arrived and went scampering over to the railing to look at the falls. Accompanied by their teachers we learned that the pre-school was across the street and that they came to the Great Falls frequently. No matter. The children were in awe.

Clearly, Mother Nature has anointed the Great Falls with that extra special touch of splendor and magic. Because, after walking over to the bridge area, you become mesmerized. The roar, the mist, the double rainbow and the wonder of it all left both Marie and me breathless at the power of the churning, swirling water. It was beyond impressive especially then with all the rain water surging over the rocky ledge.

What trip to the Great Falls is complete without a stop at Libby’s Lunch? That’s just what we did to cap off our morning before journeying back home.

Though I don’t typically eat hot dogs any more, every now and then you have to break your own rule. And, a stop at Libby’s Lunch on McBride Avenue in Paterson can easily persuade such a decision. Libby’s is historical and Marie and I weren’t about to miss out! It’s been there since 1939 and is the place to be bad. Thus, we indulged in their famous hot dog topped with mustard, fresh chopped onion and the all the way sauce. Of course, you can’t consume a Libby’s hot dog without a few French fries.

Driving home Marie and I felt exhilarated and vowed to return soon. I’ve a feeling it won’t be another twenty years before my next visit to the historical awe-inspiring Great Falls of Paterson, New Jersey.

The luck of the Irish

2010-03-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, I was telling my mom what a lucky lady I am. My friends, Norm and Virginia Rohrer, had mailed me my Day Runner that I’d left at their home after a visit. Norm and Virginia lived at Hume Lake near Sequoia National Park, and I lived in Southern California at that time and was lost without my organizer. That was about twenty years ago. I’m still lost without my organizer. Only now, I carry a smaller one. Thankfully I haven’t left it anywhere lately.

What does this have to do with the luck of the Irish? Everything! For, you see, going back to my conversation with mom, life is a lot about luck. Even if you’re not Irish you may find you have the luck of the Irish. Webster’s II New Riverside University Dictionary reads this way about “luck”, Good fortune or prosperity: success.

But, being “lucky” may be more of an attitude than anything else. It’s also about your perspective and what principles you stand upon.

Just Saturday, March 13, I had a very lucky experience. On the very day of one of the worst storms in the Northeast I was in New York City at NYU for a medical seminar. The wind was near hurricane force and the rain was unrelenting. I’d never seen so many broken umbrellas swept up against fences or strewn in the gutters all smashed to smithereens. I had just gotten off the bus at 42nd Street and Third Avenue and was walking over to catch the M bus down to 34th Street when my hat blew off. It whirled up and around on the current and then was blown smack under a security truck. Suddenly, a tall, able-bodied looking man with glasses and hair askew from the wind who was walking a few steps in back of me bolted into action. He knelt down on his hands and knees and reached under the security truck into black oblivion to grab my hat. When he stood back up he handed me my hat for which I profusely thanked him, and then he continued down the sidewalk. Talk about chivalry!

Yes, indeed, I would acquiesce I was lucky that there was a chivalrous gentleman close by in my moment of need. As I look over my life, fortuitousness has truly been the wind at my back.

And, so, on St. Patrick’s Day 2010, may the Luck of the Irish be with you and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Courage to grow

2010-03-09T17:10:00.000-08:00

With the coming of spring we become motivated to clean out the cobwebs in our homes that have gathered over the winter. We grab up bouquets of daffodils already lining supermarket shelves, and at the first hint of sunlight steaming in through the windows, we rush to open them and let in the first burst of fresh air of the season.

Spring is also a prime time to refresh, refocus, and renew our minds. We may be harboring old resentments, or past hurts, and refuse taking the higher road in our relationships. We assume that the other party is wrong and we are owed apologies and the extension of an olive branch. Sometimes, we are more stubborn than a mule’s resistance to a command by a trail guide in making a move toward reconciliation.

I once read in Ann Landers about two sisters who didn’t speak to each other for over 40 years; something about an egg beater that belonged to their mother.

Call it “spring is in the air” or maybe I’m reaching the vanguard of maturity and finally growing up. Or, maybe it’s simply that I don’t want a lifetime of regrets hounding me on my deathbed. But, whatever the reason, I’m thankful for the motivation to reach out and rectify the past... while I still can.

Thus, I’ve found myself stepping out more fearlessly than in the past to speak up in love and mend a broken relationship. It's really never about whose turn it is to take the high road. It’s about doing the right thing for you.

Go ahead. Speak up and take that small step of courage. If your only motive is finding peace that defies understanding be the olive branch.

It is more blessed to give than to recieve

2010-02-14T21:18:00.000-08:00

“Love is not getting, but giving…. It is goodness and honor and peace and pure living—yes, love is that and it is the best thing in the world and the thing that lives the longest. -Henry Van Dyke.

Valentine’s Day, on the one hand, is a silly and over commercialized holiday that comes once a year. On the other hand, showing love is timeless. The media would have us think Valentine’s Day is just for lovers. But, it’s so much more than that. Valentine’s Day often gives us pause and causes us to look at our relationships and focus on the people in our lives. People like sons and daughters, aunts and uncles, friends, the lonely lady down the block, a friend we’ve lost touch with, and so forth. Valentine’s Day is for everyone.

So, while it may be an over commercialized holiday, we can be quite creative and have some fun with it and spread and share the love in our hearts far and wide. All the better if we’ve retained our child’s heart to pull out upon occasions. Valentine’s Day is one occasion that’s perfect for keeping our child’s heart close by and not tucking it away just because we think we are now “mature”, so to speak.
As a hopeless romantic, and most definitely a woman child, my child’s heart can easily be tapped into and is typically readily accessible. Valentine’s Day gives me a good excuse to give away dollops of love.
This Valentine’s Day I’ve found myself making sugar Valentine cookies and then decorating them with frosting, making Valentine’s Day cards for my gaggle of girlfriends, sending a Valentine’s Day card to a recently widowed woman with a marriage of 60 years, putting together little bags of my sugar cookies in different sizes and handing out to my friends at church with little Valentine shaped cut-out pieces of paper with their names in red, and inviting a special friend for a home made “healthy waffles” brunch.

Silly serendipitous stuff, isn’t it? But, the blessing from creative giving becomes more than one can imagine when you witness the delight in the recipient’s eyes.

The gift of love and care comes right back and fills your own heart to the brim.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

What's in your water bottle

2010-02-05T10:42:00.000-08:00

While sitting around a table the other day for a meeting, I noticed three designer water bottles congregated together and placed directly in front of the other attendees. Resembling sleek skyscrapers, one was light turquoise, one was purple and the other was a lemon yellow. A water bottle these days, like our eye glasses, has become a fashion statement. Heaven forbid we go bounding out the door for work or play with just an ordinary, run of the mill, water bottle. Today, you have to be sure that your container is a vivid color and is made from polyethylene terephthalate, or PET, before we fill it with water.

Like our water bottle that we take such care with that the materials used are of the purest plastic and non-poisonous, what do we tote out the door in our bodies every day? What is filling our tank? Beyond our own packaging, what’s inside our body that we carry out into our community?

Do we tote with us goodness and kindness? Do we leave our houses with the best of intentions to be a world class citizen or are we taking left over anger from last nights interaction with a family member, or a friend, out the front door and carrying it out into the world? Are we an instrument for peace? Do we greet our boss with a smile? Or do we bark at everyone who crosses our path?

Exhaling toxicity before we step out our door and breathing in peace and tranquility to pour into our water bottle only takes a minute. Not only does examining what’s in our water bottle lower our blood pressure but it raises our ability to be a positive voice in our day.

The honor of joy

2010-01-27T11:38:00.000-08:00

Joy might not be something you readily associate with speaking up for yourself but it’s that very emotion that can propel your words in a positive manner. At best, joy is contagious. How powerful is that! You might even get off easy with a little joy because it can change those around you just by your ambiance.

Helen Keller writes in Resolve to Keep Happy. “Joy is the holy fire that keeps our purpose warm and our intelligence aglow. Work without joy shall be as nothing. Resolve to keep happy, and your joy and you shall form an invincible host against difficulties.”

When joy bubbles up inside and courses throughout our body, endorphins are released. They cultivate the feel good element that spurs you to shine. I once read that simple pleasures can lead to the release of endorphins. How exciting that a walk in the woods with a friend or loved one, spotting a cardinal, or even from holding a child or a grand baby can fill you with joy. Make today special for not only finding the joy in your circumference but for spreading your happiness.

Tips for Investing in Happiness

2010-01-25T17:02:00.000-08:00

If you want to be happier, forget about winning the lottery. We’ve all heard the stories about the big winners and how their lives and or relationships fell apart after becoming a millionaire. The grass always looks greener, but is it?

Sure, a newer car, bigger house, or a second home might bring a smile to your face. And, let’s not kid ourselves. More money might be grand and make life easier. But, then what? It won’t be long before you will be looking for the next high.

Harvard psychologist, Daniel Gilbert, writes in the bestseller, Stumbling on Happiness, published by Knopf, that “People who commit to relationships are much happier than those who don’t”. He goes on to say, “When we are connected well to others we feel most happy.”

Speaking up for ourselves and keeping the lines of communication open rather than blocking intimacy is not only healthy; it increases our sense of wellbeing. Surely, when our wellbeing is closer to a ten instead of a crumbling two or three, we will speak up with greater ease. We’ll do less second guessing about what comes out of our mouth. We’ll be making allies of our family and friends rather than enemies.

Nonverbal language

2010-01-21T14:10:00.000-08:00

You might think that speaking up for yourself always means vocalizing. Not necessarily. Please don’t misunderstand. Saying the words one needs to speak in terms of honoring yourself and benefiting others wellbeing continues to be my stand. But, speaking up for yourself is as much about how your carry yourself as it is the words you communicate.

Are you a person who constantly follows the crowd with no thought of what’s right for you?

Growing up we all heard our mother say, “just because Susie jumped over the cliff doesn’t mean you have to do it too? Now that we’re grown, we’ve all learned how to think for ourselves. Well, most of us have anyway. Some people are still lax when it comes to managing their own lives or, if they are like me, are still in process.

I can still hear the echo of my mother’s words in her emphasized voice, “Use that head of yours for something besides a hat rack”. Finally, now in my womanhood of many years and the on the job training I’ve thus far survived called “life”, I hope that I’m making mom proud.

Putting those shoulders back, keeping your head up, and keeping your eyes alert is making the most of your natural assets that are always available at your beck and call. Try it. The benefit to your self-esteem and the impact on your social circle can be life enhancing. Let me know what happens.

Until next time… Top Blonde Speaking Up!

A blue ribbon day

2009-07-21T20:24:00.000-07:00

For my birthday this year, I gifted myself with a trip to Montana to visit my nine-month-old grandson, Finn Nicholas, and my three daughters, Nicole, Lesa, and Aimee. Funny how this little guy with infectious smiles, baby chatter, and his Big Sky blue Montana eyes has become such a force in all our lives.

While departing from the New York Tri-State metropolitan area for the wild frontier where the footprints of Lewis and Clark are imprinted throughout, I was giddy with excitement. Getting my hands on that baby so that he could reacquaint himself with his Grandma was all I could think about on the five-hour flight across the continent.

Sure enough, once we landed and I got to see Finn again, my heart was jumping with joy. Now, I fully understand why grandparents become animated and their eyes light up when talking about grandchildren. These wee ones truly are a source of love, pride, and appreciation all wrapped up with magic and awe. They fill us with a range of emotions in a league all of their own.

With Nicole living in Bozeman, Aimee in Helena, the Capital, and Lesa in Livingston, I try to divide my time. Truth be told, however, most of my time my suitcase ends up in Livingston with this granny happily sharing quarters in Finn's room. I suspect his adoring aunts understand.

Livingston is a historic landmark town (Calamity Jane was one of Livingston's infamous early-day residents) and was shaped by the early settlers who had dreams of building a city. It was the original entrance to Yellowstone National Park and is where Capt. William Clark separated from Meriwether Lewis to explore the Yellowstone River valley in the early 1800's.

One of the many joys I relished while on my visit were my walks with Finn in his chariot that connects to Lesa's bicycle and can be removed to push as a stroller. I had wanted to get back over to the Yellowstone River where I spent several hours in January taking pictures. So, on one of our morning walks I found myself meandering over to Sacajawea Park where the Yellowstone River runs alongside to revisit this inspiring spot.

My only challenge was that in the process of getting out the door with a baby to push Finn in his stroller, I found I was a little rusty with the baby scene and neglected getting the all-important bottle of water for Livingston’s nearly 5,000 feet elevation. With a life-threatening heart muscle disease, I had to stay hydrated. No mind, I figured. Surely, there will be a fountain along the way. Besides, I'll just take it slow and breath deeply.

As we strolled along the river walkway with me pushing Finn, who had now fallen asleep, the rush of the swift waters swirling rapidly downstream and the cool river wind whipping around my face fostered a feeling of freedom. I was drinking in every moment to the max.

The river walk ended at a patch of private property that was fenced off and we headed down the worn path among the tall grass that curved around the ball fields and back to the road. Beyond that, it was only 6-7 more blocks and we’d be back home. Though I felt a need for a drink of water I was sure I would be okay till we got there.

Hum…what’s this? Ah ha. A water spigot ahead!

My pace quickened as I pushed Finn over by the rudimentary spigot for the ball players to quench their thirst that was attached to a wooden post. I turned the handle. Bone dry.

Ok, just deep breath, don't fret, I can make it home. It's mind over matter. Well, maybe not, but staying positive can’t hurt. Finn was still sleeping and oblivious to this old granny's water worries.

We continued and immediately came upon another ball field with the same rudimentary water spigot. Dare I try?

Gripping the handle and turning it brought forth bubbling crystal clear water. I'm saved!

Standing at the back of the ball field after rehydrating like a camel, I had to pause. With my grandchild at my side, the blessing of water and magnificent views of majestic mountains every which way I turned, there was no doubt in my mind that God had given me with a blue-ribbon day!

My tribute to the greatest generation

2009-06-17T15:10:00.000-07:00

When I read that the Pascack Historical Society of Park Ridge, NJ, was hosting a discussion led by a panel of men and women who served the United States during World War II on the battlefield and on the home front, “The Greatest Generation Speaks”, my decision was sealed. This was an indelible piece of history I had to hear.

Upon entering the room my gaze quickly darted past the gathering crowd and landed on a silver haired woman with twinkling eyes, an Army Corps hat atop her head sitting at the guest speakers table looking strong and well lived. Her name, I later learned, was Lt. Beverly Gutterman Rosenstein of Hillsdale. Her warm expression and engaging smile belied her past that while serving on active duty, she received word that her only brother, 1st Lt. Roger L. Gutterman, had been killed on Anzio Beach. Mrs. Rosenstein, was one of five living legions from “The Greatest Generation,” who came to speak about their lives during the war.

One lady, Irene Anderson, Brooklyn born with a sweet smile and a tell-tale Norwegian accent giving way to her European heritage, told of being a 14 year-old American citizen living in Norway when she was placed in Grini detention camp, just outside Oslo. While there, she told the audience, they all learned German “pretty fast”. Breakfast, she shared, consisted of black coffee and pumpernickel bread. Lunch was vegetable soup (no vegetables to speak of), and dinner was beef vegetable soup with the same routine of searching for the slim offerings of vegetables and beef.

Mrs. Anderson told the audience, who sat in rapt attention, that she and the others lived on the top floor and could hear the screams from the interrogation room. After about six months, she was called into the office… and sent home. She went on to share that later, her grandson asked her how she feels about those days during the war. Her face sobering with remembrance and her tone lowering, she exclaimed… “It was just an awful time to learn how mean people cold be.” She ended her missive with a quote from her grandma who had said during the war, because they were up and down many times during the right seeking refuge, “Can’t they bomb during the day”?

1st Sgt. James Anagnost, a Bronze Star recipient, Army 23rd Infantry, Company K, recalled how he was drafted right out of high school and that after a while he went to the captain and said that he wanted combat duty. He soon found himself in a foxhole during the Battle of the Bulge. Mr. Anagnost, resembling a distinguished John Wayne strong look-alike, told of how the Battle of the Bulge was, in truth, a series of battles that lasted several weeks and months.

Eunice Kesper, a spry and animated ninety-three-year old, with silver-white hair, talked about being at a dance with her young husband in the forties when the music stopped and an announcement was made that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. And, how she traveled by train from Fort Dix to Texas to visit her Army husband, sometimes not knowing if he’d be there to pick her up or not.

Mrs. Kesper talked as well about the rationing of goods in those days. She has her own personal butter or margarine story. Margarine, she told us, came in a white block with a little jellybean size pill like form that you put into the block and stirred and stirred and stirred until the white block turned yellow. That cinched it for her. She has stuck with butter ever since.

And then there was Toree Tobiassen, United States Navy, who served on LST landing crafts at the Normandy Beach invasion. Mr. Tobiassen spoke of his harrowing experiences and of the brave men lost on Omaha Beach. His deep, velvet voice echoing his stories gave me an eerie feeling as he told of when twenty-six tanks were sent to the beach and how only two landed. The other tanks sank and the men drowned.

Amidst the mayhem, there were also stories that pulled at my heart. Mr. Tobiassen told of a solider on a bulldozer who got blown off three bulldozers before his injuries grounded him and later, the Queen Mother gave him a flag. It was learned at their first reunion in 1990 that the Queen Mother still remembered that young solider.

As we enter the July 4th season of celebrations, I continue reflecting on the true-life stories of these five men and women. The snapshots from their lives during World War II bear no resemblance to Kodak moments, but they are true living snapshots that will go down in infamy. Their stories, told with gut wrenching details combined with their invaluable sense of humor, enabled me to touch a piece of history I’ll never forget and have my eternal salute.

2009-06-10T21:28:00.000-07:00

The first time I saw the Statue of Liberty it was from a Boeing 747 that was circling New York Harbor in preparation for landing at Newark International Airport. It was my maiden voyage from the Golden State to the East Coast that I first drank in the magnificence of Lady Liberty.

The Statue of Liberty and the enlightenment she represents congers up an overwhelming sense of pride in my heart for all the freedoms America has long fought for. I still remember growing up on the west coast and learning about her in school. It was a copper monument and American symbol that I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d be seeing one day for myself.

That all changed in 1990, on that jet plane flying low for landing. Within months of settling in, my family and I took the ferry to see the statue up close and personal. It was a wickedly hot and humid summer day. We waited for hours in line to ascend the spiral staircase to the crown, soon to reopen (July 4 weekend).

Recently, upon learning that the man in my life, Harrison, born in the Tri-State area has never been to the Statue of Liberty, or Ellis Island, I booked tickets. For his birthday gift, this California gal took this New Jersey lad to visit these historical landmarks.

In the “Through America’s Gate,” exhibit, there was a photo of a woman in the middle of the street covering the entire wall that was especially hard to turn from, so I took a picture. The caption reported that the picture was of an Italian immigrant woman carrying piece work home, Lower East side, 1909. Another woman patron, Barbara Parlegreco, also seemed mesmerized by the photo and we started conversing. Barbara told me that she liked the photo so much that she had taken a digital picture, blew it up, and put it on the wall in her bedroom! I understood.

While walking through the maze of memorabilia, Harrison and I came across another caption that stopped me in my tracks. “The day I left home, my mother came with me to the railroad station. When we said good-bye she said it was just like seeing me go into my casket. I never saw her again,” Julia Goniprow, a Lithuanian immigrant in 1899, quoted in Morrison and Zabusky, American Mosaic, E.P. Dutton, 1980.

Pulling away from the dock I realized I was leaving with a greater appreciation of the land of the free and the home of the brave, than I’d arrived with.

Enjoying the season of Mother's Day in the pink

2009-05-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

While on a new handbag hunt in an Annie Sez store, I found the perfect pink handbag. Suddenly, I felt energized. It was just the right portion of electricity to thrust me into that “just buy it” mode.

Typically, the handbag that would catch my eye and nicely suit my needs was past my price point. When it was all said and done, I’d end up walking out of a store having settled for something inferior in color and style. Not this time. It’s the Mother’s Day season, and I proudly qualify three times over, I justified to myself.

Being a softie for anything “pink” the handbag I was eyeing was scrumptious. It was smart, savvy, and in a lovely soft shade of my signature color. My heart quickened and fantasy took over. I envisioned myself strutting around with my new casual chic handbag on my arm in style. Besides, “Top Blonde” was written all over I, I reasoned. It was the perfect bag for me in every way and my decision was made in a New York minute. I then meandered over to the checkout counter bubbling with excitement like a kid in a candy store about to indulge in a big lollipop.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” I said to, Lucy, the sales representative. Without missing a beat, Lucy said with an assuring smile, “Oh, but color is in this year. Just look at all our handbags in bight spring colors.”

Hum. Glancing at the turquoise, orange, and green handbags lining a shelf on the back wall, I could see she was right. They all looked fabulous.

No sooner had I arrived home with my luscious new pink handbag than the cloud of doubt began taking residence in my head. I should have purchased it in the tan tone instead of pink. It was much more practical.

My dear mom, Helen, deceased now, could tell you practicality wasn’t necessarily my strong suite regarding shopping though she did her best to steer me from my flair for fun and trends to style and class.

After sleeping on my dilemma of whether to exchange my energizing new pink handbag that I loved for the staid but practical tan toned one, I reconsidered my purchase and drove back to the store to see if there were any left. There had been only one pink handbag, but there were three in tan…and they were all still available.

The sales lady that assisted me had been working on the day I made my initial purchase and was surprised to see me back for an exchange. She had seen how jazzed I had been about the pink handbag. I explained that while I loved the pink one and that it would work well with my wardrobe, I thought it was time to be more practical. After all, I was now sixty-something, for goodness sakes, and a grandmother!

We did the exchange, and I drove home with my new tan toned handbag. It was the same style as the pink one, but the fun factor was missing. It was definitely suitable but minus the flair.

When I went to use my new handbag I carefully removed the tags and began filling it with my purse items. It was then I noticed that the stitching on the inside of one of the zippered pockets hadn’t been stitched. Anything put into that pocket would soon disappear into the bowels of the handbag and never be seen again.

Being handy with a needle and thread I knew I could stitch it up but that wasn’t the point. No more settling. Maybe it was time to get into the spirit of pink after all. The only thing left to do was go back to the store and see if the one in my favorite color was still there.

My visit back to the store this time was swift. In no time I was walking back to my Jeep with a silly grin flooding face and fully enjoying the Mother’s Day season in the pink. I think mother would have approved!

A velvet voice

2008-10-30T19:22:00.000-07:00

As my journey on this planet continued and I gained confidence that I did indeed have a right to speak up for myself, and have a voice, wisdom and self-control has become my friend.

It’s never been my position that any of us ever have the right to be rude or belittle other people. Rather, it’s always been my position that if we are rooted in love and grounded from a sane estimate of ourselves, that our expressions will evolve from the sphere of dignity and grace. And, that speaking with a velvet voice truly becomes powerful. Sometimes, the quieter we speak, the more loudly we’re heard.

You ask, “Who am I kidding?” When the gal in the supermarket ahead of us is digging in her handbag for her debit card with two tired and cranky children wiggling around while a crying toddler straddled in the top of the shopping basket is trying to tear into a bag of chips, and all we want to do is just get through the line and head for home…the patron has the gall to ask if we mind waiting while they go fetch a jar of pickles they forgot, most of us aren’t thinking of finding our best velvet voice for our forthcoming verbiage.

No, we’re probably more than ready to give them a piece of our mind in our best screechy voice.

But, wait, where does that get us? And, how does it make us feel as we dash out to our car? Most of us will initially feel pompous for exercising our right to give that patron a piece of our mind for making us wait. But, as we drive home and calm down, we begin feeling like a heel and possibly even berate ourselves for our verbal explosion. A better way would be to express our thoughts about the scenario at hand from a position of personal power (adult dignity) and self-composure. We’d have a very different drive home!

Until next time…Top Blonde… speaking up!

Note to my readers: Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you’ll come back often to see what's new. October 22, 2008, is my initial post and gives the premise for my blog on speaking up for yourself. I hope to see you again soon! Your comments are welcome!