Where I’m From

My personal take on the brilliant poem by George Ella Lyon.

I’m from Sour Cherry Jells, a candy my dad sold that made my tongue, my lips, and my teeth turn red, from Dixie Cups to drink cool water from the bathroom sink at night because it tasted better in tiny paper cups than what came out of the kitchen faucet into a glass.

I’m from Kool Aid ice cubes.

I’m from parents who this November will have been married for 62 years and are together still, who as far as I know have always been together, parents who raised three boys in a meat and potatoes home, who created a midwestern life in the 1960’s that allowed my den-mother-president-of-the-PTA mom to be home at the end of every school day to offer my brothers and me a snack and a reminder to change out of our “school clothes” before heading back outside to play.

I’m from Velveeta Cheese and Spam and Miracle Whip.

I’m from the smell of rosin bags, sweat, and baseball glove leather on the dry, cracked baseball diamond in the humidity of July, from scraped knees on the vacant lot we called “The Dirt Hill”, and the scary time I got the wind knocked out of me while playing football on the Elders’ front lawn.

I’m from KOIL radio and Casey Kasem and Stella’s hamburgers and “Trip someone, get a statistic!” the year I played ice hockey.

I’m from my dad driving home from Rexall on Saturday morning, the Racing Form open across the steering wheel.

I’m from the 1970 Topps hockey card set that started it all, that 23 years later was the down payment on a house, go figure. Melinda and I had a baby now.

I’m from night terrors so bad I’d scream until everyone in the house was awake, that forced my brother to convince my parents to disassemble our bunk bed and let him sleep in peace in the basement, to the absolute knowledge of what peace feels like when your mom lays in your bed next to you at 2am and strokes your head.

I’m from Dr. Oberst telling my parents that behavior modification would cure me, that responding to my screams was reinforcing them.

I’m from the chart on the refrigerator that awarded me points that translated into hockey cards if I could just keep quiet at night.

I’m from being hospitalized in 4th grade because I just couldn’t keep quiet, from tiny orange sleeping pills I proudly swallowed without water to electrodes being attached to my head to figure out why I was, why I was so, so…

angry
mad
frightened
scared
sad
unhappy
don’t you say crazy

the shame, the shame
the SHAME.

I’m from blocking it out, blocking it out, this “scared of the dark” thing, it’s my biggest secret, my hidden shame.

I’m from a temper so bad I would slam doors and scream, one time breaking a clock radio that belonged to my grandparents and that would play “The Last Song” by Edward Bear and “Me and You and a Dog Named Boo” by Lobo — did you know Boo meant grass which meant pot which meant marijuana, what’s that, the song got banned? Why?

I’m from my 3rd grade teacher pulling me by the earlobe in front of a gymnasium full of people present to see my parents honored as lifetime members of the PTA.

I’m from believing that’s what started all the shame, and then from realizing that my shame gave birth to my greatest strength, empathy.

I’m from Saturday morning speech therapy with Mrs Veizer, saltines and water, tongue thrusts and Th’s.

I’m from eighteen months with a headgear, 8pm to 8am, then another 18 months with braces, hey gang, that’s 3 years visiting Dr. Cameron not counting the retainers.

I’m from glasses at age 12. Glasses and braces, why not a red clown’s nose? Oh, I got that, too.

It’s called pimples, pimples and more pimples that I’m from.

I’m from the days I wore my mom’s cover-up to high school.

I’m from Salmonella Group D my senior year, the rectal biopsy, and praying, praying, praying to die — the stomach cramps were that bad.

I’m from Strat-O-Matic with Scott and the 1969 Minnesota Twins, César Tovar is a double A, 1–17.

I’m from bowling with Steve and yes I actually did bowl a 234 with 5 strikes in a row.

I’m from getting kicked off the bowling team my senior year after wearing a pink vest, tight black pants, mascara, and rouge to a party at the coach’s house.

I’m from door-to-door Mason Shoes and a work ethic that means you don’t stop until the job is done and you do your best, from a grandmother who gathered blackberries no matter how many times she was stung so we could have that cobbler and a grandfather who ate just one piece of candy after dinner because he cherished it more.

I’m from the still-dark silence of walking the neighborhood on weekend mornings to deliver The Seattle Times, my alarm going off at 4:52 to wake me, and the hustle of weekday afternoons to get the paper delivered by 5 while avoiding being bitten by that mean dog. 30 homes, $30/month.

I’m from Hunter’s Books and a 40 hour workweek at 17, closing the till and making a night deposit and my high school counselor saying no you can’t get Occupational Education credit for that.

I’m from second semester senior year sitting in accounting class, so bored, looking out the window, writing short stories, waiting to ace the tests so I could get the credit so I could graduate and get the heck out of there and why would I want to waste my time going to college?

I’m from Gray Whisper losing by a nose at 9–1 (I still have my two $10 win tickets) and Bokeet being sold to someone else but now Tom and I won’t be moving to Portland.

I’m from, “It’s time now for the marine weather, brought to you today and every day by Bob’s Market,” from Hank having brought me to Seward to “play radio” for a year.

I’m from Matt, and Si, and Kristopher, and Eric, and discovering I had something to offer children, that working with children was a calling.

I’m from all of this and more.

I’m from I wouldn’t change any of it, even if I could. I think that’s called privilege.

Yeah, I’m from that, too.

Do We Tell Time or Does Time Tell Us?

Years ago, when Chloe, then an only child, was three-years-old, I was home alone with her on a Saturday night. Melinda was out with a friend and I was reveling in the “alone-time” that Chloe and I were having. We made and had dinner together, and might have even watched a little TV while eating.

Decadent, I know.

After dinner, as her bedtime approached, Chloe was sitting at a little desk we had given her with a number of art supplies. Some crayons, tape, construction paper, and a pair of those little plastic scissors that only sorta-kinda work but are unlikely to cut a finger.

She was fully involved in her project, maybe at some deep level recognizing that if she engaged with me I would put a stop to it and insist she go to bed. I was definitely thinking that way but was simultaneously entertaining a conflicting thought to just let her be, mesmerized as I was by her depth of concentration and engagement. I swear the experience altered my brain chemistry and put me in a sort of meditative state.

So instead of putting her to bed, I reached for a pen and paper and found the words for a poem:

The Antique Pony, Chocolate Soup, and Staying Up Late

Saturday night sunset.
The moon comes up, big, orange, and bright,
casting shadows not from itself but as a reflection.
You sit undisturbed,
absorbed in the undiluted concentration of being 3.
Colored paper meeting scissors, manipulated by tiny hands.
Bedtime comes and goes and I ponder…
Do we tell time or does time tell us?

(Click to Enlarge)

The antique pony reference is for a rocking horse we had in the house, and chocolate soup is the pudding Chloe and I had for dessert before it had fully thickened.

Chloe graduated from college in 2015 and as a graduation gift, I presented to her the poem in a frame, enhanced with drawings created for the occasion by my artist friend, Fish Astronaut (and who, as you likely know, illustrates my kindness writings).

That’s a copy of it to the left, obviously.

So much of parenting is an exercise in patience and attention. There is probably another version of me that stopped Chloe that night from her art project, anxious to get to watch a hockey game on TV in Melinda’s absence.

I think children have a lot of wisdom to share if we adults take the time to notice.

Give Away Something that You Value

“True generosity is guided by awareness.” — Piero Ferrucci

I come from a family of “collectors.” For me, my main collection was hockey cards. You know, those rectangular pieces of cardboard that used to get packaged with a piece of gum and sold at the counters of grocery stores and drugstores? Baseball cards are much better known but, me, I collected hockey. Over many years I collected so many cards that I had amassed an impressive collection. About the time my oldest daughter was born, I sold them and made enough money for the down payment on a house.

Crazy, I know.

I also collected record albums, specializing in music from the ’70s in England, specifically what was known as “pub rock.” Elvis Costello emerged from this scene, undoubtedly the best-known musician from the time. But I also appreciated those lesser-known, which included Nick Lowe, Dave Edmunds, Graham Parker, and Ian Dury. I’d buy records that any of these musicians contributed to, which during my senior year in high school included an American three-piece rockabilly band that was gaining some notoriety in England, a band called the Stray Cats (yes, the same band that became famous around 1983 in the US — remember “Rock This Town?” – see the video below). Dave Edmunds produced their first record and it was fantastic, I thought. I found the import-only release at my favorite record store in 1981 and played it regularly.

Once I had kids, my vinyl LPs started fading into the background. They often skipped with the bouncing around of small children and my taste in music didn’t match that of preschoolers. Besides, CDs were all the rage and you could put 5 discs in a player, put it on random, and have a decent mix that would last 4 or 5 hours. No having to flip over an LP every 20–30 minutes. Bye-bye vinyl.

Years ago, I started looking through my records again and found that first Stray Cats record. I actually went hunting for it after hearing a student of mine, a high schooler, reference the band at the school I directed. Knowing that he was getting into vinyl, I thought it would make a fun gift for him. I found it and gave it to him, having that great experience of giving something to somebody that meant so much to the recipient.

In this experience, I gave up something that I valued. Just looking at the album, even the label, evoked memories I hadn’t considered in years. I got nostalgic and started thinking how much the album might be worth on eBay. But I realized that any monetary value it had could not compare with the experience I’d get in giving it to my student.

I think this gets at the best birthday and holiday gifts, at least those that touch me the most. Several years ago I taught a class on the book “To Kill a Mockingbird.” The book moves me to tears every time I read it. This time, my daughter, Ella, was in the class and I read it aloud to her at home. When we got to the end, when it becomes clear that Boo Radley had saved Scout and Jem, I could hardly read for how choked up I was. When Scout realizes what has happened and sees Boo in the corner of her house, saying, “Hey, Boo,” I’m all done. Tears, the whole bit. It’s a brilliant moment in the book, the coming of age moment of a young girl.

For my holiday gift from her that year, Ella had a T-shirt printed for me with nothing but the words, “Hey Boo.” It was such a thoughtful gift, so much recognizing of who I am and what is meaningful to me, that I lost it again. Tears, indeed. That it came from my daughter after having read her the book made it all the more significant.

In the book “The Power of Kindness”, Piero Ferrucci writes, “True generosity is guided by awareness.” I like to think I had an awareness of something that would be meaningful to the student all those years ago when I gave him that record album. Clearly, Ella had that awareness regarding me when she gave me that T-shirt. As Ferrucci says, generosity of this sort transforms us.

We have made the world a little kinder.

My Tribute to Sir Ken Robinson

I learned yesterday that Sir Ken Robinson, a person who served as a huge source of inspiration for me as an educator, had died on Friday after having recently been diagnosed with cancer. Sir Ken came into my life through his TED Talk, “Do Schools Kill Creativity?,” that to this day I think is the most widely watched TED Talk ever. He summed up so much of my educational philosophy in his 20-minute presentation, doing so with humor and poignancy, that when people asked what I thought about schools, I often suggested they simply watch his talk.

Several years ago, I had the honor of having dinner with Sir Ken when he was passing through Seattle on a book tour. We hit it off enough for him to give me his cell phone number, and soon thereafter he interviewed me for a book he was writing. I recommended him to be a keynote speaker at the annual Alternative Education Resource Organization (AERO) conference, me serving as an advisory board member to AERO. He delivered another amazing address.

I actually didn’t know he was in town on the day we had dinner and the unfolding of how we met was a lesson in itself of following one’s inner voice and saying yes to opportunities. The next day I sat down to write about how the whole day had unfolded, later posting the story on my Facebook page. As a tribute to Sir Ken, I present that reflection here.

Thanks, Sir Ken. You will be missed and you will be remembered.

I had a magical experience on Thursday this week, one that I nearly missed. The end result was me sitting in a Seattle restaurant next to Sir Ken Robinson, he of the famous TED Talk on how schools are squelching creativity in children, he and I chatting as casually as if we were close friends. I walked him to the elevator of the hotel where he was staying, whereupon he handed me his business card, having indicated he’d like to learn more about PSCS. Now how did my evening end like this instead of me having just a typical Thursday, watching episodes of “The Office” and “30 Rock?”

Many of you know Steve, one of my co-workers at PSCS. Late Thursday morning, Steve learned from a couple of people that Sir Ken was right then being interviewed in the studio of a Seattle radio station. Surprised that he hadn’t known Sir Ken was in town, Steve discovered that Sir Ken was speaking at an intimate gathering in Seattle that night and that the coordinating host for the event was a former PSCS parent. Informing me of this, my first reaction was, I’m embarrassed to admit, this inner dialogue:

“But I really was looking forward to a quiet night at home. I mean, what chance am I going to have to actually meet Sir Ken? And even if I go to the event, which costs $50, I already am quite familiar with his message, as significant and important as it is. I doubt I’ll learn anything new.”

Not a lot of magic in that point of view.

Still, given that I did know the coordinator of the event and she might be able to swing an introduction, I decided to see if tickets were still available. I went online and found that ticket sales were closed so, considering the event was restricted to 100 people, I assumed the event was sold out.

“There,” I said to myself, “I’ve done my due diligence. Clearly, tickets are no longer available. That’s my message. I’m not intended to go. Now what’s the plot on 30 Rock?”

Still not a lot of magic in that attitude.

Several minutes passed and I’m busy at my desk, responding to email, chatting with students, a typical Thursday morning. But my thoughts kept returning to, “Sir Ken Robinson is in Seattle tonight. I know the person who is coordinating the event. Am I really more interested in television programs?” I decided to call to see if tickets were still available. I found the number for Kim Ricketts Book Events, the company hosting Sir Ken, Kim being the former PSCS parent. I called and a person answers, “Kim Ricketts Book Events, Kim speaking.” I stammer, “Kim, Kim Ricketts, you’re answering your own phone on a day you bring Sir Ken Robinson to town?”

It turns out her receptionist had stepped away from the phone for a split second (a bathroom break, perhaps?) so Kim just happened to pick it up. And after I said who I was, it was mere seconds before both Melinda, my wife, and I were on the guest list and Kim had promised to introduce Sir Ken to us.

A lot of magic is flowing now. I mean if Kim had not answered, I doubt the receptionist would have put me through to her, especially on such a busy day. And if I hadn’t talked to Kim myself, we would not have been put on the guest list, nor would Kim and I have reconnected, chatting a good 10 minutes about our families.

Anyway, to make a long story short, Kim was good to her word and introduced Melinda and me to Sir Ken before the event. He even referenced PSCS in his talk. And then Kim orchestrated it for me to be sitting next to him in a fancy Seattle restaurant for two hours, talking casually and about PSCS. And it was from the restaurant that we walked to the hotel elevator.

I still don’t know what happened on “The Office” or “30 Rock.”

Mindfulness = Magic.

—Andy

PS – I woke up on Friday morning and told Melinda, “I just had the craziest dream. Last night you & I were sitting in a fancy Seattle restaurant with Sir Ken Robinson, the three of us sipping drinks and eating sushi.” Melinda said, “Weird. I had the same dream.”

17 April 2020 – Beer With Grandad

The most important thing for my parents, ages 85 & 86, is family. Living in a retirement community just outside of Seattle, they count on and make plans for regular get-togethers with their grandchildren and children who live close. And they count down days on their calendars for when out-of-town family members, including their two great-grandchildren, are coming to visit, and for those times when they pack their CPAP machines to go on the road themselves.

I also want to give them a lot of credit to have become as technologically savvy as they are. They both have laptops and are comfortable sending and receiving email. My mom has an iPhone and is adept at texting (maybe a bit too adept, if you know what I mean…). And when my brother’s family in San
Francisco sent them a digital photo frame that allowed pictures to be uploaded remotely, my mom embraced what only a few years ago seemed like a sci-fi fantasy to her. The photo frame sits on their dining table and is often set to shuffle during breakfast, just to see what may have been uploaded overnight.

Still, laptops, email, an iPhone, and a digital photo frame do not replace the in-person contact that they crave and, frankly, need to live fulfilling lives. So when the physical distancing and isolation orders came down and they became prisoners in their own apartment with no visitation options, the sadness was measurable. Was there some way to provide them a connection to family that even in a small way could fill the gap?

I gave my mom a call and asked her if she’d like to try chatting on Zoom. To her, I think Zoom was either a hot cereal or a TV show for kids on PBS, so it took a little explaining. I sent her a link to my Zoom room and asked her to click on it (the first time I suggested she click on something took some explaining, too, but she managed).

That first time clicking on a Zoom link brings up a series of screens. To my mom’s credit, she’s learned to not click on the accept or approve buttons when pop-up windows appear, so some additional handholding was needed. But once she had the Zoom app downloaded and installed, and clicking on the link took her to a video screen and she saw me, some of that distancing pain started to abate. I helped her activate her camera and her microphone, adjust her screen a little bit, and we hung up the phone.

We were now chatting on Zoom.

I invited her to participate in a Zoom-based social connection group I had formed to reduce isolation and she accepted. In that first experience, she met two of my online friends, one in England and the other in Denmark, and was hooked on the possibilities. I suggested to her that I invite the family, everyone, to come to a get-together at 5pm on the upcoming Saturday, playfully saying I would call the event “Beer with Grandad” to get her husband, my dad, bought in. It worked.

I wasn’t sure who all might show up for the Beer with Grandad event at 5pm on Saturday. Predictably, my parents tried to log in a few minutes early and were distressed that something wasn’t working. But I arrived early, too, and opened the room. They relaxed a bit. Then, one by one or group by group, family members started to appear.

  • Melinda, my wife, was sitting next to me.

  • Scott, my oldest brother, and his partner Sally logged in.

  • Steve, the middle son, and his wife Deb were on.

  • In came Tammy and Olivia, Scott’s daughters, followed be Stephanie, their older sister, and her husband, Moises.

  • Chloe, Melinda’s and my older daughter, and her partner Alex arrived. So did Ella, our younger daughter.

  • Nick, Steve & Deb’s son, was there, along with his partner, Diana.

  • Nick’s older sister, Jessica, and her husband, Vince, arrived. And perhaps most importantly to my parents, there were Carina, age 4, and Enzo, age 2, Jessica’s and Vince’s kids, the great-grandchildren.

Everyone was there. Everyone.

Beer choices were shared, toasts were made, updates were given. Warmth, what melts sadness, was ample. My parents beamed for well over an hour. Sitting on their living room couch in a retirement community in virtual lockdown, somehow their entire family had come to visit them.

As the hour passed and people moved on to their next Saturday activities, there was positive energy to spare. After I closed the room, I called my parents and my father answered, a rare occurrence. He commented with joy what an incredible experience that had been, going so far as to recognize that it’s unlikely everyone will manage to get together in person before he moves on to the great beer garden in the sky. Lives are full and distances great.

In his reflection, he recognized that the pandemic, as bad as it is, had provided him and my mother an opportunity they would not otherwise have had. For one, what would the chances be of everyone being in their homes at 5pm on a Saturday? And what reason would we have had to try to get together on Zoom?

Yet now we have one, and another opportunity is scheduled to take place this Saturday. It’s again called Beer with Grandad.

Support a Small Business #2 – Gift Cards

(Folks, small businesses that have had to close temporarily or desperately scramble to think of new income streams need our help during the pandemic. I’m promoting those I love and those recommended to me by others here on my personal blog. If you have means or your income stream has not been significantly reduced, I hope you are moved to assist. Supporting these businesses not only provides them with needed income, doing so also offers them concrete encouragement and inspiration. –Andy)

Here’s a way you can support a Seattle-area business that is experiencing a major downturn in business – purchase a gift card! Gift cards give businesses an immediate influx of money without having to provide the service right away.

For instance, purchasing a gift card to a restaurant provides them cash they need now. Once the restaurant reopens for business, you can go in and use your gift card.

Here’s a list of Seattle-area businesses that provide customers the opportunity to buy a gift card through Square. Click on the link and scroll through to find a business you’d like to support. Then click the “Buy Gift Card” link and follow the prompts. To find a different city, go to this link.

I’m aware of this because I use Square to bill my consultancy clients.

27 March 2020 – Life Lessons for Carina

(In 2015, not long after Jessica, my niece gave birth, I made a mixed tape of music for the baby, named Carina. These are the liner notes. Keep in mind, I’m writing to a 2-month-old baby.)

Dear Carina,

Here we are a couple of months after your birth and I present to you a birth day mix. Now, personally, I believe that the official Birth Day Mix, the one that is referenced with upper case first letters, is the responsibility of an uncle. I’ve tried to suggest this to Nick but I’m not sure if ground is being made in this department. If by the time you’ve got this back and forth communication thing down and he still hasn’t provided you with one, you might want to bring it up with him. If you find that difficult, know I’ve got your back. I can talk to him.

I’ve called this particular birth day mix “Life Lessons.” I know, I know, it might be a bit presumptuous on my part to think I have anything of value to share with you, especially considering the quality of your parents. So you are free to take this title with a grain of salt. If it helps you feel better about it, call it “Presumptuous Life Lessons,” “Stuff My Mom’s Paternal Uncle Thinks is Important,” or just “Things to Ignore.”

On that note, I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of prudence lately, having been reading a book called “The Virtue Driven Life.” In it, the author, Father Benedict J. Groeschel, makes a distinction between what he calls natural and supernatural forms of prudence. Natural prudence, to paraphrase him, has to do with doing the sensible thing. It’s naturally prudent to look both ways before crossing the street, for example.

Ask your mom.

Supernatural prudence has to do with doing the right or moral thing. Sometimes these things are in opposition. For instance, it wasn’t sensible, or naturally prudent, for German citizens to hide Jews during the Nazi regime because doing so could cost you your life. Still, it was the right thing, the moral thing, to do. Of course, few did it, the fear of one’s own safety being so great. Those that did do it, sheltered Jews, acted with supernatural prudence.

I’m not sure exactly where the life lesson for you is in all of that. I mean, sure, that looking both ways before you cross the street is good stuff. But you’re just a kid and will be for a long time. You’re probably not going to have to make a decision about whether to act with supernatural prudence, at least not for a while. In the meantime, though, you might want to study up on peer pressure.

Back to the mix. There are 23 songs, each chosen for at least one reason. In many cases, the reason is intended to be a life lesson or, as you know, something you might want to ignore. Your call on that. Rather than leave the lesson to chance, I’ve decided to explain it, which is what follows. If you decide to publish these explanations, either for the Humor or Self-Help sections of the new Amazon brick & mortar bookstore in Seattle (what’s up with that, really?), please split the royalties with a charity of your choice. If you’re struggling to find a charity, you might want to consider The Critter Connection. They rescue and rehabilitate abandoned or neglected guinea pigs.

Cheers,

—A (12/12/15)

1) Yellow Submarine – The Beatles
Follow the logic. A carina is a keel. A keel is the basic foundation of a ship. A submarine is a kind of ship. So the mix begins in honor of your name. I thought about using Lyle Lovett’s “If I Had a Boat,” which really is an inspired choice to begin any mix. But there is a reference in that song to having a pony and I didn’t want to suggest to you that you should expect to have a pony, at least not any time soon. Regarding a lesson here, if you want a pony, go to the racetrack.

2) Time Enough For Rocking When We’re Old – The Magnetic Fields
The lesson in this song is pretty much in the title. But if you need it spelled out, get off your duff and go dancing. Your iPod or iPad or whatever iDevice you’ll be using to alleviate boredom when you’re a teen can wait.

3) Fall On Me – R.E.M.
By the time you’re old enough to be thinking about the environment, I want you to know that people my age were thinking about it, despite the evidence you might have to the contrary. I mean, the country of Estonia got pretty much everyone to stop what they were doing for a day to pick up garbage, for Pete’s sake. I’m not sure if they sorted it into compost, recyclable, and stuff for the landfill, but they were doing something.

4) The Other Side Of Summer – Elvis Costello
See, here’s another one. Don’t let those Beach Boys harmonies fool you, though. By the time old El had written this song, the pessimism was mounting that humans didn’t have the wherewithal to care about the environment. That’s your problem to fix, Carina. Disposables or cloth? Figure it out.

5) Chances Are – Johnny Mathis
This song is on the mix for one reason and you get to decide if it’s a lesson. Right after you were born, there were some photos being passed around of you and your parents. You were pretty much just a little blob in a blanket. I mean you couldn’t even hold your head up yet. Get a life! But in every one of those pictures, your dad has a silly grin on his face. Chances are, he still does when he looks at you.

6) Dancin’ On Daddy’s Shoes – Leon Redbone
Here’s another one about your dad. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s really tall. You’re going to find this really useful at different times. For instance, you’re going to be hoisted onto his shoulders and get a clear view of some future San Francisco Giants pitcher striking out some future Seattle Mariners slugger in the bottom of the 9th of Game 7 to clinch the World Series.

7) Start Wearing Purple – Gogol Bordello
Really, you can’t start wearing purple too early. This lesson should be pretty obvious. Ask your great-grandmother (your mom’s dad’s mom).

8) Beastly Beauty – Peppina & hitRECord
This is supposed to be one of life’s most obvious lessons but no one really pays attention to it, at least not Hollywood producers, TV show casting directors, and Victoria’s Secret. The lesson is that true beauty comes from the inside out. And when this lesson can be complemented with a French chorus, it’s all the better.

9) Je Ne Sais Pas Choisir – Emily Loizeau
Speaking of French, this lesson comes completely in that beautiful language. I’m tempted not to explain it to you with the idea that it might inspire you to learn French. Really, the best time to start learning another language is when you’re super young. You can ask, Chloe, my daughter, your mom’s cousin (I think that means you’re related to her, too). She studied this in college. Oh, regarding the lesson, it’s something about the paradox of choice. Look it up.

10) I’m Sorry – The Lisps
Here’s the deal. It’s important to apologize when you’ve messed up something. But it goes further than just apologizing. You need to make things right again. Not sure how to do that? Ask the person who was wronged.

11) Asking For Flowers – Kathleen Edwards
Let’s just get this out there, state the obvious, identify the elephant in the room. Men can be pretty dense sometimes. This song explains it really well and is the first in a series of songs I’ve chosen to help make the point. Assuming you find yourself attracted to men, make sure you give your attention to guys that know how to give you the respect you deserve. And make sure you’ve studied up on consent, okay?

12) The Quiz – Hello Saferide
If you need some guidance on how to know if a particular guy is worthy of your time, you might want to create a little quiz for him to take. For instance, it’s just not okay to talk in the middle of Seinfeld. It just isn’t.

13) All I Wanna Do is Play Cards – Corb Lund
Or watch football, or drink beer, or hang out with his pals instead of you. Buyer beware!

14) Change is Hard – She & Him
And if you do choose badly at some point, or come to your senses after being swayed by a motorcycle, leather jacket, or whatever iDevice you’ll be using when you’re a teen, have the gumption to dump his sorry ass. Yeah, change may be hard and he may immediately start dating someone else, but it’s not your fault he’s a jerk. Don’t blame yourself like this chick.

15) The Part Where You Let Go – Hem
Love songs are really hard to write. Actually, maybe that’s not true. As some Beatle said, the world is full of silly love songs. Most are drivel, superficial. GOOD love songs are hard to write and we rarely hear them from the perspective of a woman. This one meets my criteria for being good. “Is this the part where you find out I’m there for you?” Is the guy finally going to get over his ego?

16) All Because – Ari Hest
And some guys can be super sweet and genuine. They’ve got their priorities clear and their heads screwed on straight. Again, I don’t want to assume that you’re going to be attracted to men. Hell, I don’t want to assume that you’re going to identify as female. I just want you to spend your time with people who respect you.

17) White Privilege – Macklemore
Here’s another lesson that might take some time to fully appreciate. Face it, you’ve got it good. You won the parent lottery. You got a house, regular food, access to the best education. And you’re white, which affords you all kinds of privilege. Your job is to understand that privilege and learn to be an ally for those who don’t have it. Get busy. The world is counting on you.

18) Soldier’s Things – Tom Waits
Crawl inside this simple song to understand the plight of a woman whose husband, a soldier, has died and she’s trying to sell his stuff to make ends meet. “This one is for bravery…”

19) Snails – The Format
The lesson here can be found in the first line, “Take it slow.” Let things unfold, don’t try to rush them. Everything has its own pace and when we try to force our agenda on that pace we tend to mess things up. Learn from snails who see the benefits in every inch.

20) Knots – Jeremy Messersmith
It takes some effort to actually understand the lyrics of this song but it’s worth expending the energy. In short, the song is about this girl who is a bad-ass drummer. She doesn’t take flack from anyone. We can all learn from her.

21) Prettier Than Me – The Muffs
It really doesn’t get simpler than the lesson in this song that comes from Kim Shattuck, leader and songwriter for the Power Punk band The Muffs. When you do something, do it for yourself. As a woman, do you put on makeup for someone else, or for yourself? The right answer is for yourself.

22) Baby Song – Super XX Man
Carina, you’re a baby. I said it. Call me crass, but it’s true. At the time of this writing, you’re a baby, two months old. Baby, baby, baby. And while you’re only 2 months old, your parents and family have been thinking about and imagining you for many months more than that. This song kind of gets at that, all the thought that goes into the excitement of there being a baby about to be born. The singer/songwriter is an acquaintance of mine named Scott Garred. He once dedicated one of his songs to Melinda and me at a Seattle concert.

23) I Did it All – Tracy Chapman
Tracy Chapman is one of the great songwriters of the last 30 years. You can’t go wrong when you want to listen to any of her albums, and her first from 1988 was a major wake-up call to social justice issues. To wrap up your birth mix I provide this song, chosen to encourage you to live your life so that when you look back at it you can say, “I did it all!”

Support a Small Business #1 – Lady Yum

(Folks, small businesses that have had to close temporarily or desperately scramble to think of new income streams need our help during the pandemic. I’m promoting those I love and those recommended to me by others here on my personal blog. If you have means or your income stream has not been significantly reduced, I hope you are moved to assist. Supporting these businesses not only provides them with needed income, doing so also offers them concrete encouragement and inspiration. –Andy)

Lady Yum is a small, woman-run business in the Seattle area. Founded by Megan Wagstaff and quoting from the company website:

“At Lady Yum, we bring the magic of the PNW to life through our delectable macarons, champagne, wines and artisanal products from the area’s most adventurous and passionate makers. We hope your Lady Yum experience awakens your inner child, shows you how enchanting life in this city can be, reminds you how much there is to be thankful for and inspires you to find the rabbit in your hat. Because that, my friends, is where the magic happens.”

My daughter, Ella, is a baker for Lady Yum and absolutely loves her job of making macarons. The rest of the family loves that Ella works there as she often brings to us some of the broken macarons that can’t be sold (yes, we are willing to buy them, too).

Ella, like the rest of the kitchen and store staff, has had her hours significantly cut since sales have drastically diminished. To Megan’s incredible credit, she has been providing her staff thoughtful support and encouragement, telling them that their jobs are safe, giving them directions on how to file for unemployment, and even offering to help them financially if she is able. Frankly, her response to her staff is phenomenally touching, especially when you factor in the impact the pandemic is having on her dream.

This week, Megan began promoting online ordering and is offering self-determined 10%, 20%, 30% and 40% discounts on online orders in celebration of tomorrow being National Macaron Day (who knew?).

If you’re in the mood for some Lady Yum macarons (and, c’mon, who isn’t?), head on over to this site and take a look. If you decide to order, use any of the following codes to get a discount:
TAKE 10 – 10% off
TAKE 20 – 20% off
TAKE 30 – 30% off
TAKE 40 – 40% off

Keep in mind that the macarons being delivered to you will have been made by Ella and her fellow bakers AND that you will be supporting a Seattle-based small business.

15 February 2020 – Planting Seeds of Kindness

Through our thoughts, actions, and attitudes, we are constantly planting seeds. What kind of seeds are we planting?

Six years ago I invited people to consider this question.

Each day, over ten consecutive days, and using inspiration through original drawings created for this activity by an artist named Fish Astronaut, I encouraged people to complete at least one mindful act of kindness each day.

By mindful, I meant the participants would be well aware of engaging in their acts in response to being involved in this activity. I told them that they could think about them and plan them in advance, or they could come upon them spontaneously. I just wanted them to be mindfully aware of their acts of kindness as they completed them, the mindful part being the fertilizer of their seeds.

Each day, I posted a new image of encouragement. I suggested these drawings were the water and the sun.

For anyone interested, you can access this activity via this link (click on the word “Next” in each posting to access the next day’s drawing).