You don’t need a calendar to determine the season. Simply watch the décor at retailers. Pink, yellow and green – it’s April. Red, white and blue – July. Orange and black – October. Green and red – December. And if the Ravens are doing well – its Purple Friday here in Baltimore each week in January.
In recent years, pink has replaced orange in October, for Breast Cancer Awareness month. Store windows, publications and numerous products, sport pink ribbons or new pink packaging to raise money and awareness.
Pink controversy has arisen with one non-profit’s sale of pink cancer awareness bracelets reading: “I love Boobies.” Designed to raise teen awareness of Breast Cancer and spark conversation, these bracelets are popping up in middle schools and high schools across the country. The campaign is working, but the conversation is not. Schools are banning them and civil rights activists are rallying.
Teenage boys, in many schools, outnumber teenage girls wearing the “I love Boobies” bracelets. Do some have other motives?
Of course they do, they’re teenagers. That is to be expected.
Take the conversation off the words and onto the topic. Breast Cancer kills over 40,000 women each year – mothers, sisters, daughters, friends, neighbors.
I urge school administrators to keep talking, but talk about early detection, treatment and research, not about dress codes and foul language. Boobies, breasts, bust, bosom – these are not dirty words. I say let the boys wear bracelets!
Friday, October 15, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
Privacy Stays Grounded at Take-off
The proximity of fellow travelers on an airplane can invite the uninvited, not only into your personal space, but also into your life.
I tend to be a loner on a plane. I read a book, watch the in-flight movie or take a nap, rarely initiating small talk with my neighbor inches away. A gentleman seated at my left elbow once shared his penchant for Sudoku. Confessing he wasn’t very good at it, he proceeded to give me “helpful tips” as I quietly worked my puzzle. Thanks, I think.
When there’s little turbulence, I like to pop down the seat-tray and play Solitaire. Eyes routinely wander over and folks just can’t help but chime in with strategy points. Solitaire is a singular game, by definition, one might think. Not true, when quarters are close.
I’m flying to Denver tomorrow, Los Angeles and Rochester later this fall. I’ll be bringing a deck of cards, Sudoku and a new book to read. Everyone keeps telling me to buy a Kindle, but I’m afraid I’ll find my neighbors reading along. A gal needs a little privacy every now and then, even on an airplane.
I tend to be a loner on a plane. I read a book, watch the in-flight movie or take a nap, rarely initiating small talk with my neighbor inches away. A gentleman seated at my left elbow once shared his penchant for Sudoku. Confessing he wasn’t very good at it, he proceeded to give me “helpful tips” as I quietly worked my puzzle. Thanks, I think.
When there’s little turbulence, I like to pop down the seat-tray and play Solitaire. Eyes routinely wander over and folks just can’t help but chime in with strategy points. Solitaire is a singular game, by definition, one might think. Not true, when quarters are close.
I’m flying to Denver tomorrow, Los Angeles and Rochester later this fall. I’ll be bringing a deck of cards, Sudoku and a new book to read. Everyone keeps telling me to buy a Kindle, but I’m afraid I’ll find my neighbors reading along. A gal needs a little privacy every now and then, even on an airplane.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Friends and Elections
One never knows how many friends one has until there’s a job to be done. Moving, celebrating or consoling, out of the woodwork they appear.
With many seats up for grabs this election, the Primary race in my county has been contentious. I’ve lost count of the negative TV ads.
I could paper my kitchen walls with the flyers I’ve received. Candidates stop by unexpectedly, leaving personal notes, just like an old friend, “Denise, Sorry I missed you. –Mike” I’m considering delivering my own little notes, “Mike, Looking forward to seeing you this Saturday at the painting party at my house. Your friend Denise"
So many “new friends” are calling the house with reminders “Vote for me in the Primary on Tuesday!” that I’ve stopped answering the phone. This quote caught my eye today: “A friend is someone who is there for you, when he’d rather be somewhere else.” I have a lot of friends looking for me today and I would rather be somewhere else.
When the polls close tomorrow, these "friends" will fade back into the woodwork - until there is a another job to be done.
With many seats up for grabs this election, the Primary race in my county has been contentious. I’ve lost count of the negative TV ads.
I could paper my kitchen walls with the flyers I’ve received. Candidates stop by unexpectedly, leaving personal notes, just like an old friend, “Denise, Sorry I missed you. –Mike” I’m considering delivering my own little notes, “Mike, Looking forward to seeing you this Saturday at the painting party at my house. Your friend Denise"
So many “new friends” are calling the house with reminders “Vote for me in the Primary on Tuesday!” that I’ve stopped answering the phone. This quote caught my eye today: “A friend is someone who is there for you, when he’d rather be somewhere else.” I have a lot of friends looking for me today and I would rather be somewhere else.
When the polls close tomorrow, these "friends" will fade back into the woodwork - until there is a another job to be done.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Eat, Pray, Work
A conference call with a new client last month began “We are a faith-based organization and we pray before all meetings. You can join us if you like.” Some might find this odd. I found it oddly comforting.
I have many non-profit clients. Translation, religious groups. Jewish, Catholic, Presbyterian, they run the gamut. No one has ever asked me to pray with them before. Given the nature of our economy, prayer in business meetings may not be such a bad idea.
I thank God every day I have a job, many don’t. I think that counts as prayer at work. My work is related to government funding approvals. I hope I’m not violating the separation of church and state.
Eat, Pray, Work - sounds like the next hot book title. One woman's search for balance as she plods through everyday life . . . .
I have many non-profit clients. Translation, religious groups. Jewish, Catholic, Presbyterian, they run the gamut. No one has ever asked me to pray with them before. Given the nature of our economy, prayer in business meetings may not be such a bad idea.
I thank God every day I have a job, many don’t. I think that counts as prayer at work. My work is related to government funding approvals. I hope I’m not violating the separation of church and state.
Eat, Pray, Work - sounds like the next hot book title. One woman's search for balance as she plods through everyday life . . . .
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Resume Crisis
I know why so many Americans are unemployed. It’s not the economy. It’s the resumes.
Last month, I advertised an Administrative Assistant opening. Instructions were to send resumes via e-mail. The number of applicants was astounding. I read every resume, even though some intro e-mails and cover letters were enough to render a hiring decision. In short order, my finger ached from hitting the delete key.
“I’m looking for a position where my personality will shine.”
This is a desk job, not an on-camera gig. Delete.
“To secure a challenging opportunity that will enable me to grow and fulfill my dreams and help make the world a better place.”
I can’t help you there. Delete.
“. . . taught job performance in the fulfillment department.”
Read this 3 times. Laughed each time. Delete.
There’s a fine line between making your resume stand out and being quoted in my blog. Most people do not know where that line is. One listed their previous job title as “Director of First Impressions.” One signed the cover e-mail “Peace and Love.” Delete. Delete.
People were eager to work for me as a Property Manager, a Public Relations Director and an Instruction Designer. (not even sure what that is) Did they read the job description? Delete. Delete. Delete.
The insanity went on:
“. . . to meet so you can better guage my skills and experience.” Spelling counts. Consider yourself gauged. Delete.
"Type 35 wpm." I was tempted to write back with a little employment advice, "Keep that information under wraps." Delete.
“I think I meet most of your qualifications, but if you think I don’t, I understand.” Sweet, but delete.
I need someone who can accurately complete work, on time and within budget. If you tell me “personable professional” is your strongest skill, I’m worried. “An exceptional listener” doesn’t top the list either. Delete. Delete.
Resumes arrived from near and far with strange e-mail addresses: PecanDiva, BlueSky and StacyDuck. Delete. Delete. Delete.
I think I’m getting carpel-tunnel.
It may be a while until we emerge from the economic crisis.
In the meantime, we need to address the Resume Crisis.
Last month, I advertised an Administrative Assistant opening. Instructions were to send resumes via e-mail. The number of applicants was astounding. I read every resume, even though some intro e-mails and cover letters were enough to render a hiring decision. In short order, my finger ached from hitting the delete key.
“I’m looking for a position where my personality will shine.”
This is a desk job, not an on-camera gig. Delete.
“To secure a challenging opportunity that will enable me to grow and fulfill my dreams and help make the world a better place.”
I can’t help you there. Delete.
“. . . taught job performance in the fulfillment department.”
Read this 3 times. Laughed each time. Delete.
There’s a fine line between making your resume stand out and being quoted in my blog. Most people do not know where that line is. One listed their previous job title as “Director of First Impressions.” One signed the cover e-mail “Peace and Love.” Delete. Delete.
People were eager to work for me as a Property Manager, a Public Relations Director and an Instruction Designer. (not even sure what that is) Did they read the job description? Delete. Delete. Delete.
The insanity went on:
“. . . to meet so you can better guage my skills and experience.” Spelling counts. Consider yourself gauged. Delete.
"Type 35 wpm." I was tempted to write back with a little employment advice, "Keep that information under wraps." Delete.
“I think I meet most of your qualifications, but if you think I don’t, I understand.” Sweet, but delete.
I need someone who can accurately complete work, on time and within budget. If you tell me “personable professional” is your strongest skill, I’m worried. “An exceptional listener” doesn’t top the list either. Delete. Delete.
Resumes arrived from near and far with strange e-mail addresses: PecanDiva, BlueSky and StacyDuck. Delete. Delete. Delete.
I think I’m getting carpel-tunnel.
It may be a while until we emerge from the economic crisis.
In the meantime, we need to address the Resume Crisis.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Bait and Switch
Speed recording cameras mounted on pick-up trucks in work zones – an ingenious revenue generating vehicle.
Six months ago, signs went up in the beltway construction zone near my exit. Warning Signs adorned with orange flags announced: “Caution Work Zone, Speed Limit Radar Enforced.” The local paper even reported on this new clandestine ‘pick-up truck method’ of traffic enforcement.
The speed limit? 65 miles per hour. Ridiculous, I thought . With all the jersey walls and orange cones, how many people will be caught going 10 miles an hour over that limit. The rubbernecking alone will keep the traffic at a reasonable pace.
Little did I know a bait and switch was in the works. This week,
the signs have a slight alteration. The speed limit reads: 50
The reduced speed will be a safer work environment for the construction crews, but it may take a while for routine travelers
to notice the subtle difference.
More revenue for the county. Perhaps it will refill the budget deficit resulting from all the snow removal expenses this winter.
Six months ago, signs went up in the beltway construction zone near my exit. Warning Signs adorned with orange flags announced: “Caution Work Zone, Speed Limit Radar Enforced.” The local paper even reported on this new clandestine ‘pick-up truck method’ of traffic enforcement.
The speed limit? 65 miles per hour. Ridiculous, I thought . With all the jersey walls and orange cones, how many people will be caught going 10 miles an hour over that limit. The rubbernecking alone will keep the traffic at a reasonable pace.
Little did I know a bait and switch was in the works. This week,
the signs have a slight alteration. The speed limit reads: 50
The reduced speed will be a safer work environment for the construction crews, but it may take a while for routine travelers
to notice the subtle difference.
More revenue for the county. Perhaps it will refill the budget deficit resulting from all the snow removal expenses this winter.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Give Up or Take Up
Whether Catholic, Lutheran or Presbyterian, the time for reflection, repentance and empathy is upon us. Yes, empathy. The age-old tradition of “giving up” something for Lent is a gesture intended to help you identify with the suffering and hardship of your forbearers.
Big on tradition, I passed on the “giving up” gene to my kids.
Now, I’m trying to unravel that. Switching from Catholic to Lutheran a decade ago, my eyes opened to the “Take Up” method of Lenten observance. Help, serve, give, “take up” something new. Empathy and compassion are just as easily practiced when doing rather than denying. Good to know my ritual morning coffee and glass of wine with dinner are safe!
This sits much better with me all around. I’ve always been about action rather than abstention. So kids – help yourself to all the junk food you can stomach this season. But be sure to feed your soul too. Support a cause. Donate. Volunteer. Take up something new.
Big on tradition, I passed on the “giving up” gene to my kids.
Now, I’m trying to unravel that. Switching from Catholic to Lutheran a decade ago, my eyes opened to the “Take Up” method of Lenten observance. Help, serve, give, “take up” something new. Empathy and compassion are just as easily practiced when doing rather than denying. Good to know my ritual morning coffee and glass of wine with dinner are safe!
This sits much better with me all around. I’ve always been about action rather than abstention. So kids – help yourself to all the junk food you can stomach this season. But be sure to feed your soul too. Support a cause. Donate. Volunteer. Take up something new.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Economic Stimulus – Courtesy of Mother Nature
A recent Government Report out of Washington DC claims job market improvement may be slowing. Look out your window gentlemen. New jobs abound in the snow-ravaged mid-Atlantic!
Folks are still digging out from the storm of the century. Millions are being spent on snow removal. Anyone with a plow hitch, a back hoe or a shovel has new income opportunities.
BGE employees, past and present, are gainfully employed. Auto body shops are at full capacity. Bread, milk and toilet paper sales realized a significant jump (at least in snow-phobic Baltimore) as did salt, sand and cat litter.
As the great meltdown occurs, new job prospects arise. Plumbers, roofers and maintenance repair folks of all variety are hard at work on falling gutters, leaking roofs and flooded basements.
New employment opportunities will continue with pot hole repairs, sidewalk re-pointing and road resurfacing. Even arborists will have a full Spring calendar, trimming damaged trees and vegetation encroaching power lines.
As we brace for yet another run of the white stuff, don’t grumble. Remember, Mother Nature’s got her own economic stimulus plan.
It’s working its magic right here in Maryland.
Folks are still digging out from the storm of the century. Millions are being spent on snow removal. Anyone with a plow hitch, a back hoe or a shovel has new income opportunities.
BGE employees, past and present, are gainfully employed. Auto body shops are at full capacity. Bread, milk and toilet paper sales realized a significant jump (at least in snow-phobic Baltimore) as did salt, sand and cat litter.
As the great meltdown occurs, new job prospects arise. Plumbers, roofers and maintenance repair folks of all variety are hard at work on falling gutters, leaking roofs and flooded basements.
New employment opportunities will continue with pot hole repairs, sidewalk re-pointing and road resurfacing. Even arborists will have a full Spring calendar, trimming damaged trees and vegetation encroaching power lines.
As we brace for yet another run of the white stuff, don’t grumble. Remember, Mother Nature’s got her own economic stimulus plan.
It’s working its magic right here in Maryland.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
New Year's Resolution: Read more junk mail.
Junk mail arrives more often than many wish. Stopping the flow of unsolicited mail can be more difficult than canceling a newspaper subscription. (See prior blogs.) Mail arrives routinely for past homeowners, even though I've lived here 6 years. Occasionally, mail arrives for my ex. We split 14 years ago and he has never lived at this address. Apparently the mail marketing gurus did not get the memo.
In early December a fancy letter arrived. “Thank you for transferring your portfolio to L____ M____. Please sign and return the enclosed confirmation to make your file complete.” I threw it in the trash. Who has not received one of these cleverly disguised replicas? I have no desire to change mortgage companies, banks or credit cards.
Yesterday, I lost $35,000. Seems one of my investment funds sold its portfolio to L___ M____ and closed my account. Three phone calls later, I had the money back. That was one harrowing hour.
Unsolicited mail delivery to my house arrives in bundles. I consider myself adept at quickly spotting and disposing of unwanted items. I don’t have time to read every piece of junk mail, but I can’t afford to lose $35,000 either.
In early December a fancy letter arrived. “Thank you for transferring your portfolio to L____ M____. Please sign and return the enclosed confirmation to make your file complete.” I threw it in the trash. Who has not received one of these cleverly disguised replicas? I have no desire to change mortgage companies, banks or credit cards.
Yesterday, I lost $35,000. Seems one of my investment funds sold its portfolio to L___ M____ and closed my account. Three phone calls later, I had the money back. That was one harrowing hour.
Unsolicited mail delivery to my house arrives in bundles. I consider myself adept at quickly spotting and disposing of unwanted items. I don’t have time to read every piece of junk mail, but I can’t afford to lose $35,000 either.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Let Fate Decide the Menu
Two kinds of folks hold Pot Luck dinners. Those who’s choice to host a casual gathering requires them to assure a well-balanced meal is provided for all. And those who throw caution to the wind and let fate decide the menu. I am the latter.
Not all of my guests were comfortable with this planning style when I hosted a contingent of old college pals and spouses for a Pot Luck dinner last month. But they were good sports about it. “What do you need?” some asked. “Bring whatever you like,” I replied. “What dishes are people bringing?” “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
I enjoy the 'luck' part of a Pot Luck and have yet to end up with any dietary balance issues. Besides, will you wither away if you have a bowl of chill, a beer and 3 slices of pie for dinner? I think not.
So next time, let fate decide the menu. It’s half the fun.
Not all of my guests were comfortable with this planning style when I hosted a contingent of old college pals and spouses for a Pot Luck dinner last month. But they were good sports about it. “What do you need?” some asked. “Bring whatever you like,” I replied. “What dishes are people bringing?” “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
I enjoy the 'luck' part of a Pot Luck and have yet to end up with any dietary balance issues. Besides, will you wither away if you have a bowl of chill, a beer and 3 slices of pie for dinner? I think not.
So next time, let fate decide the menu. It’s half the fun.
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