Flip Chart (((hugs))) and brain beating

I teach when I'm not behind the chair and hairdressers can be funny. And fickle. And fussy. BUT, they can also incredibly talented, right brained and overwhelmingly generous. Some of them think of education as something they have to do because someone else has told them they have to. Others see it as a way to grow, and still others use to to show off. I never really care why they are there. I always tell them that I came prepared but their learning is their responsibility and if they walk away at the end of the day with nothing they can use, it's because they chose not to put anything into the time investment. Sometimes they get it, sometimes they don't.

 I use a lot of tools to present the information several different ways to accomadate all the different learning styles and I can tell a pretty good joke when I want so for the most part, people learn if the want to, and if they don't, well - they don't. Anyway, I use music - Get Down On It by Kool and the Gang is my favorite opener; I use flip charts - both fruit smelling markers and the kind that get you high available in a large array of colors (in case someone wants to help with the visuals); I hand out surprises to people to contribute, volunteer first, ask great questions, etc.; We play games, take personality quizzes, share chocolate and other treats, and believe it or not, we actually get around to doing some hair. I share true accounts of personal experience behind the chair and invite my attendees to share theirs as well.

And, I share quotes. A great quote can paint a picture, motivate, educate, inspire and explain. They're like modern day parables only they're usualy true however cleverly worded. Twitter-esque pearls to illuminate or entertain; Flip chart (((hugs))) for the short attention span, often the only thing some will remember from their day of brain beating.

 So, here's a few of my favorite quotes. They may not teach you how to do hair, but who knows? Maybe one will inspire YOU!

 "Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become." Wolfgang Riebe

 "Learning and innovation go hand in hand. The arrogance of success is to think that what you did yesterday will be sufficient for tomorrow." William Pollard Moral to this story? Learning and growth is a lifelong pursuit. We all have plenty to learn and plenty to share.

 "To succeed in life you need three things. A wishbone, a backbone and a funny bone." Reba McIntyre

 "Success is not the result of spontaneous combustion. You must set yourself on fire." Reggie Leach

 "How you choose to deal with the things that bug you set you apart just as much as how you approach your business, your art and your life." dana

 "You must be the change you wish to see in the world." Mahatma Gandhi

 "Be yourself. Everyone else is taken." unknown

 "I find it helps to organize chores into categories: 1. Things I won't do now. 2. Things I won't do later. 3. Things I won't do ever. " Bugs Bunny (dunno who Bugs stole it from though) 

And perhaps my all time fave:

 "If at first you do succeed, try not to look so bloody suprised." Robert Cromeans

 Cheers

Shopping for Leftovers

One of the many things my dad and I shared was a genuine love of food. We loved to cook, eat, buy, share, create, and eat some more food. One of his famous creations was what he called Enchilada stacks. he came up with the idea in the '70's. I have since seen variations but he was just playing around in the kitchen one day and came up with it. I walked into the kitchen and found him there, eyes closed, that familiar look of nirvana on his face. "Try THIS!" "What is it?" I didn't quite trust him. "TRY it! it's Lasagna, only it's made out of stuff for enchilada's! You LOVE enchiladas! TRRRRRYYYYYY IT!" "Does it have broccoli, cauliflower or zucchini in it?" (We lived in California. EVERYTHING had broccoli, cauliflower or zuchini it it.) "Hell NO! THIS is GOOD!" I tried it. Then we stood there together with that nirvana-esque look on our faces. It became one of his most requested dishes when we had or attended parties. He was also very adept at BBQ. And I don't mean the kind where they smoke the meat and then give you a generic ketchup bottle with brownish red liquid in it. I mean the honest to goodness, boiled, then baked, then braised BBQ that took all day, sometimes 2 to make. The kind that the meat falls off the bone and chews itself, travels all the way to your elbows BBQ. He would always set a pan aside and hide it so he and i could enjoy it together later with a couple of cobbs and some diet root beer. We drank DIET root beer so we could have an extra cobb of corn. (I know. That explains the repentent and exclusionary culinary abyss in which I find myself today.) The grocery store was always an adventure too. We came up with the some of the most wonderful ideas about all kinds of things, including food, while we strolled the produce, perused the spices. I have the curious habit of adding up my groceries in my head as I shop. Once we were going up and down every aisle at Kroger. We had a list but when we shopped together, we would each throw in an item or 3 from each aisle as we saw fit. So, our list of 20 items would end up being more like an entire basket and we'd wonder how that always happened. I was reading the labels comparing between two items and when I finally decided on the Raspberry Vinaigrette over the Balsamic, i mentioned we were up to about $64.00 Dad looked at me and made this face. "What?" "Nothing." "That face doesn't mean nothing. WHAT" "REALLY. Nothing." I contmeplated for a moment. "You don't count do you?" "no" He says. "Well, then how do you know where you're done?" (As a single parent, I was always on a tight budget. I had this horrible fear that one day I would be at the check out and not have enough money to pay.) "I'm done when you have what you need." I pointed out that we were, in fact, buying HIS groceries. "I know Sugar. But we're buying YOUR leftovers. " I loved that man.

Socks with Sandals? I don't THINK so!

My dad was a bit of a prankster and he loved a good joke. Most of the jokes he told aren't appropriate in polite company. He was, after all, a sailor. But he was always up to something. One day, he came home from work, and as was his custom, went straight to his room to change his clothes. I didn't think much of it because he always did that. After a bit, my mom followed him and then a couple minutes longer, I was summoned.  As I walked down the hall, I could hear my mom grousing but I didn't know about what and I was pretty sure I was in trouble for something. As I peeked into the room there was my dad. My mom was standing near the door with her mouth covered so she wouldn't laugh - My dad, on the other side of the room, was wearing his brand new Navy Issue, FREE, black plastic prescription glasses. The square ones that everyone wore. He was also wearing his t-shirt, wrong side out and backwards, a pair of gray sweat pants with a pair of VERY short jogging shorts OVER the sweat pants. To complete the ensemble, he was wearing some sandals with his Navy Issue Black socks.  I stood there for a moment taking it all in when he said - "Wanna go out to eat? I got all dressed up for ya'." I stood there for another moment trying to determine whether he was kidding or not and then said, "No." I was as straight faced as he was - for about 3 seconds. Then, I couldn't hold it in any longer and Mom and I both just blew! I was laughing so hard I was crying.  As it turns out, he had done a bit of shopping on the way home, stopped to pick up his new glasses and just decided to show me what he bought, much like I did whenever I got something new.  Whenever we went shopping for school clothes or supplies or did any Christmas shopping or whatever, the first thing I would do would be to remove each treasure from the bag and show him. More often than not, if he was home and not gallivanting around the world on a ship, he would just go with us for the shopping. I think it was probably less painful than having to sit through the unveiling when we got home. Q. How many pencil cases, lunch boxes and backpacks can you get excited about anyway?   A. All of them.

Sailors and ships and movies and promises

We went to see the movie Battleship. It has several actors I enjoy, it's science fiction, it has sailors and aliens. What's not to enjoy? I liked Cowboys and Aliens too. Sue me. For those of you who have been following my blog for a moment, you know that my dad, my hero and my buddy, was lost to me on February 15th, 2012. I have written several blogs that I have not been able to share with you yet, but as promised, when enough time has passed, I will. Back to the movie. I won't spoil it for anyone that wants to see it but the previews show a bunch of sailors doing sailor-y things. They show destroyers aircraft carriers, jets and helicoptors. You see aerial views of the ships, and views from the bridge. I love Navy movies. I love seeing sailors doing sailor-y things. Even if the sailor-y things are the trouble they get into during shore leave or the mundane things they do during drills. My dad used to tell me stories. Like the one where a guy not where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there ended up getting sucked into the engine of a jet on the flight deck. I was pretty young when he told me that story. "How did he get out of the engine?" He just hugged me and promised that he would "...always be where I'm supposed to be when I'm supposed to be there..." He made me lots of promises like that. I always believed him and he always kept his promises. He spent many years on aircraft carriers. He loved ship life. He said once that if he didn't have a family at home, he would volunteer to stay on the ship all the time." I always hoped that none of us would ever do anything to make him want to stay on the ship and we never did. On more than one occasion, we got to tour his ships and we'd eat in the Chief's mess hall onboard. Dad always went on about how much better the food in the Chief's mess hall was. Even better than the Officer's. I didn't disagree although I never ate anywhere else on the ship and had nothing else to compare. In the movie, they honor a dozen or so retired military personnel. They were old men, with a drag in their steps, and crackels in their voices. You could see time in their faces. They looked like old men until they put on their uniforms. Their steps quickened, backs straightened. And you could see the pride in their faces. It was just a movie, but pride and strength and resolve comes with the uniform. At one point in the move, the group of retirees were walking together on the deck of their ship. I could almost see the American flag waving behind them and their families waving from the docks. I got a lump in my throat and my eyes began that burning that I have become acustomed to at the most inappropriate times. I saw my dad standing there in his uniform. Proud, strong and resolved. Never doubting for a moment the honor it was to serve his homeland; to protect his family. His military career lasted 22 years but it defined him till the day he died. His family came first, his country came second. I asked him once what he would have done if he hadn't become a sailor. The thought was almost absurd. I don't remember what he told me but I suspect he would have found a way to serve his family and his country one way or another. He would have lived and died with honor, and the respect and love of everyone who knew him. And he still would have been my hero and my buddy.

midnight churnings

Hello, I have several blogs written that I haven't posted yet. I have been writing. I will post them. I just have to chew on them a bit. I will say that the journaling of memories of my beloved father has been a bit of comfort. I find myself feeling somewhat normal during the day and when I'm busy. But at night, when all is still, it's something else. I have stopped the shedding of daily tears. I can talk about him without that tightness and lack of air. But at night...that's something else entirely. My friend asked me today, "when are you going to allow yourself to mourn?" What? You mean there's more? Strange dreams, restless sleep, a constant gnawing that I have forgotten something? Where has my "normal" gone? I left the water running at work today. I walked out of the dispensary. Several people were there. I felt their eyes on me and I stopped. When I turned to find out why all had gone quiet - odd thing for a bunch of hair dressers - when I noticed the water. I went back, turned it off, and left the room. They all think I was just so busy, or had something on my mind. A couple of them asked me. "What's going on? You seem a little off lately." Oh? hmmm...I hadn't noticed. It's not like I am constantly thinking about my dad's passing. Leaving me here to fend for myself with my mother. My mother and my son, incidentally, had a falling out the day after the funeral. There will be no reconciliation. The words exchanged were more hurtful than usual. That weighs heavy on me. It would break Papa's heart. He loved his family very much. Even those that made love a difficult task. Strange that I felt the need to come share here in the wee hours with you tonight. I don't do so easily or elsewhere. I have managed to turn on the waterworks again, for the first time in several weeks, so I will close now. Thanks for listening.

Scary Movies and Roof Rattling

My sister was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was about 8 years old. In order to pay for the medical/mental help she needed, Dad worked 3 jobs and Mom worked 2. I was one of the original latch key kids.

Dad was stationed at Millington for a tour of Instructor's duty, worked at the enlisted men's club on base as a bartender and managed a pizza hut on weekends. I would often go with them to pizza hut. At that time, they still had bars and bar stools in the Pizza Hut. I would get a pitcher of Root Beer, a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza and a bar stool and there I'd sit and entertain myself for 6 or 7 hours. People started coming in and hanging out while placing bets as to whether or not I'd finish an entire large pizza on my own. It would take me all night, and it was thin crust, but most nights I'd give that large pizza a beat down. That may explain the stringent culinary rehab in which I find myself currently. But that's another story for another day.

On the nights that I didn't go to Pizza Hut or have school the next day, I'd wait up for Dad to get home. He'd roll in from the Enlisted Club around midnight which was just in time for the Friday/Saturday night Double Feature with Sivad (which I later discovered was Davis spelled backward. I was disappointed by that particular revelation. Davis was sooo NOT scary.) Anyway, it was a double feature of scary movies which I LOVED but could not watch alone. So, after having gotten up before birds and sunlight and working 18 to 20 hours a day, Dad would come home, put on his pj's and lay on the couch. He'd lay on his side. Then, I would crawl up and sit on his side and watch both scary movies, generally while peeking through my fingers as soon as the scary music started. I'd watch both features while Dad sawed logs. His snoring was a comfort and reassurance that he was there to protect me from the evils of the world and the monsters on the screen. When the second movie was over, I'd climb down, wake up Dad and he'd go get a couple more hours of sleep before he had to get up and do it all over again. If I tried to watch a scary movie alone, I'd have nightmares and hear every creak and rattle in the house. But as long as Dad was in the room, I was safe. No nightmares or sleepless nights.

Till the day he died, even though I didn't hear it nearly as often, whether it was a soft rumble or a roof rattle, I was comforted by the sound of him sleeping. On the rare occasions when he slept silently, I'd barely sleep at all. The silence was deafening. Once I moved out of the house, it took me a long while to get used to the sounds of night without Dad's rumbles.

I can watch scary movies alone now, sometimes peeking through my fingers, but I still have trouble sleeping if it's too quiet.

Sleep well Papa.

Can Your Daddy Come Out to Play?

We lived in Rhode Island for a year when I was six. That was when/where Dad made it official and adopted me. We lived in a one bedroom trailer. One of those silver ones. When I asked my mom where I was going to sleep, she said, "In the closet in the kitchen." And sure enough, there was a closet with sliding doors in the kitchen. When you opened the doors, there were several side by side drawers with a countertop, and then another shelf above that. The drawers were perfect as my dresser but the actual plan was for me to sleep on the sofa. I was so excited about sleeping in the closet though that they didn't have the heart to tell me they were teasing. So, my dad bought some dense foam and cut it to size and mom got me sheets and pillow. Eventually, they built a room onto the trailer and much to my great disappointment, I moved into a real room.

Across the street from the trailer park was a field. Then, it went nearly straight up and a bit further back from that was woods. When it was warm, it was where all the kids gathered for games of kickball, freeze tag and football. The neighborhood held an Easter Egg hunt. I didn't find any eggs but a little girl gave me one of hers. The BIG thing though, was the snow. The kids all came out with their sleds and dogs and trash can lids and card board boxes and we'd creep up to the top and slide down the side of the hill. Sometimes, it looked like we'd keep going till we hit the street but we never did.

We would put plastic baggies on our hands and feet to keep our gloves and socks dry and we'd stay out as long as we could. I got a sled for Christmas that year. Dad would lay down on his stomach. Duffy, our dog, would jump up and sit between his shoulders and then as many kids as would fit would hop up on his back and down the hill we'd go. The more kids that piled on, the farther and faster we'd go. We'd stay out till we either got tired or wet and then we'd go home to dry out. Often, we'd just get done peeling off our wet coats, gloves, hats and shoes, and Mom would make us hot chocolate. One day, the first occasion that would become many, we were sitting at the table with our hot chocolate when we heard a tiny wrap at the door. Mom answered. One of the neighbor kids that we didn't actually know very well stood there. "Can your daddy come out to play?" Mom turned and looked at my dad. Dad looked at Mom. She smiled and he went to bedroom for dry socks while she dug out more plastic bags. Out he went, with my sled and the dog, and as I watched from the window, dad, the dog and the neighbor kids, piled on and went up and down that hill till nearly dark. We got to have more hot chocolate when he came home. We'd listen to Elvis till I fell asleep.

Let Me Tell You About My Dad

So, let me tell you about my dad.

My mom was married, had 3 children. I was the third. Unfortunately, it was not a match made in heaven and when I was about nine months old, she gathered the courage, or her sense of survival kicked in, something - but she packed up her kids and her stuff and left Buffalo to return home to Corpus Christie. A few years of struggling, socializing and...

Doug and Gloria met at a party - she a divorcee' that worked at a jewelry store - he a Petty Officer, 3rd class (for those unfamiliar with the military, that's one stripe which isn't very many). She had been introduced to him once before and was unimpressed. But a few weeks later, she had gone to the party with his roommate (who by the way, thought Doug and Gloria were a match made in heaven even though he was dating her. I believe his name was Jack. Well, as all good sailor's do, Jack took Gloria to the party and began to enjoy the plentiful and obligatory liquid refreshment. Before anyone realized it, Jack was too drunk to behave and was going around and pinching the other wives, and just enjoying a bit of healthy military mayhem. Someone found Doug and suggested that he do something about his roomie before things got ugly. Now, Doug was a pretty good sized fella with a good stiff swing but Jack was a gooder sized fella with a stiffer swing. So, Doug looks for some commotion and finds Jack. He walked up from behind, started to walk past him and just as he did, Doug swung his arm back, caught Jack in the chin with his elbow and Jack went down like the giant. When asked why he knocked him out Doug just simply explained, "If I didn't knock him out, he'd have been able to hit me back and he would have killed me." So Jack is out like a light and Gloria has no ride home. Doug of course, being the designated clean up crew offers her a ride. He walks her to the door, and says - "I'd really like to see you again. But, if you're not interested in something lasting, permanent and serious, don't waste my time." Gloria contemplated that for a moment, shrugged and said, "ok". (I did not get my communicational gifts from my mother:c) A few weeks later, Doug sat us three kids down and asked if we would allow him to become our daddy. He asked my sister, the eldest, first, then my brother, then me. I remember sitting on the couch and watching him ask us one at a time. When he got to me I gave him a resounding YES! and at that moment, the REAL love affair began. A couple of days later, Doug asked Gloria if the kids could have a dog. She said "NO!" The next day, he showed up with the cutest puppy that we called Duffy. About six weeks or so after the party, Doug and Gloria were married. And the pattern for the next 47 years was set.

My mother and I have always had a tenuous relationship. We don't understand each other very well. We don't think alike, we don't communicate well. But one thing's for certain; she knows how to pick her sailors.

hittin' below the belt

When I was little, the world was a scary place. Everyone was bigger, smarter, funnier, prettier, luckier and more talented than me. They had joyful lives. They didn't fear spiders. They could run faster, swim better, hit the ball. They knew what they wanted to be when they grew up and they were good and successful at everything they tried and the whole world loved them. All of them. I very much wanted to partake of the fruits of society. To be invited to the party of life.

In elementary school, I got beaten up everyday. I still remember the girl that did it. I often imagine her and wonder where she is and how her life turned out. I hope she didn't end up living some dreadful, painful life of want due to the bad Karma she must have acquired for her cruelty. As I got older, I realized that she must have really felt awful about herself. She picked on me to feel better. I doubt it was a successful plan. There was another girl too. She never hit me. But her words hurt worse. I've searched for her from time to time since the advent of the www. She reminded me of a chihuahua. I would think about that when she was running her mouth. As she was spewing her hateful mantras toward me, I would picture a little yippy dog with little hair and bug eyes. It always made me laugh. To this day, whenever I see one of those dogs I think of her. It still makes me laugh although I feel a little bad about disparaging all those sweet little dogs.

It's important to point out here, that for every unkind, creepy kid, I knew far more who were kind, and well, normal.

There's a moral to this story. When someone hit me, I would not hit back. I would stand there and take it, but I would not raise a hand to my aggressor. I think I knew even then, though I didn't understand it at the time. I knew that I did not have it in me to inflict that kind of pain. I don't think that girl ever even bruised me. She hit as hard as she could, but other than the discomfort of a blow to the stomach, she didn't physically hurt me. It was my spirit she broke. I did not understand the need of some to hurt someone else. I was incapable of being unkind in that way because I knew how painful it was. I suspected that nothing I did would hurt as much as whatever it was that was already causing them pain.

As an adult, those concepts are much clearer to me now. Always wondering what is going on in the lives and minds of those who punish themselves by punishing others. The mystery is seldom revealed. As children, we often mistake kindness or apathy or even differences for weakness. I suppose we do that as adults as well. We don't beat them up anymore. Not physically. We withhold love, friendship, respect. We roll our eyes or discount their opinions, assume those we see as weaklings to be wrong or incapable of contributing. Unfortunately for us as well as our victims, we most likely missed opportunities to see within.

.
What I didn't understand as a child was that pretty much, everyone else felt the same way. In my later years, that would evolve into quite a relief. I wanted to be normal, whatever that was. As it turned out, I was. Finally, I recognize the weakness of those who would belittle another in attempts of self edification.

I still don't hit back.

hot pizza and difficult decisions

So, I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately. Many things are happening and coming together, the stars are aligning, the clouds are parting, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. I like to mull things over for a decade or so before speaking about them but the time has coms...Mr. Scribbler and I chatted about it today...

So here's the dealio; I work for a growing ~ and wonderful ~ company that gives me the tools and the freedom to grow and  prosper in any way I see fit. Mostly. The wee bits that irritate me like a tortilla chip stuck in your gums or that hangy downy stuff on the roof of your mouth when you eat pizza that's too hot for human consumption are few and far between and for the most part, negotiable. 

So, I am coming up on my 5th anniversary with my company and in a very short time I shot to the top of the heap. I am a member of the National Design Team which allows me to travel; affords me educational opportunities that I would otherwise forego because of my  coughsotightIsqueakcough frugal tendencies; opens new doors of opportunity and affords me the teeny tiniest bit of distinction and prestige. It also gives me a reason to get really dressed up and spend the night in a swanky hotel once a year so they can thank me for my fabulousness while still wallowing very low on the food chain. I'm cool with that. I've been doing what I do in some form or fashion for what will be 29 years in June and still love going to work every day. In short (ok, I know it's much too late for that) I'm at the top of my game at present. 

AAAAANNNNNNNDDDDDDD...

I will be 50 on my upcoming birthday. Now, if you know me even a bit, you know I LOVE birthdays. Yours, mine, everybody's. Even my 50th. I can hardly wait. It has, however, brought home a realization. The choices I make now are more crucial than ever. If I take a few risks, I could substantially improve my quality of life in the next 5 to 15 years, and retirement will just be a continuation of the celebration. 

And therein lies the problem. I suddenly feel a tremendous amount of pressure concerning some career choices that I'm facing. I have several opportunities and fully expect to retire from my company. It's good. It's designed that way. Many doors opened when I hit the ranking of 7th in the company (out of 850ish), when I  made it through the auditions for the design team (they pay me to travel and talk shop), and most recently was awarded Trainer of the Year (I just wanted to brag about that one:c ) Other opportunities though are surfacing and mostly due to my success with my company. For example, I am being encouraged by several Redken Artists to submit the paperwork and a demo vid to become an Artist for Redken. I would still be able to do all the things I'm doing with my company; working behind the chair, training, traveling, etc. It would require a fairly large financial investment on my part because none of the preparatory training is in my area. It all calls for  travel and missing several weeks of work, plus, it's training I will have to pay for because it's necessary prior to sending in my application. I haven't missed several weeks of work even cumulatively in 29 years! I have until the end of December to get it all together if I want to be part of the 2012 Redken Recruitment. 

The icing on the cake? There's no guarantees. I could spend thousands of dollars, miss roughly a month of work, and not make the team. And, even if I do make the team, the rewards are more in terms of intangibles than tangibles because it takes several years and several bits of good luck for it to become particularly lucrative. My business in the salon will certainly be enhanced. I'll rise above the mere mortal designers in education and perks, and my skill level will expand so my clients will benefit quickly. But the pay off will be slow and steady and most likely match what I would do anyway without doing the audition at all.

So, I dunno. My practical side says it's too much for too little. My innards tell me - hell yeah! Education is everything, always "worth it" and is a monumentally integral part of who I am. My emotional and karmic reaction is that I have a responsibility to magnify that in which I excel and share my gifts. 

Any thoughts?