whatever turns you on

Posted on February 28, 2013 by Kate

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Surround yourself with things that give you encouragement and inspiration. Could be a quote scribbled on a Post-It. Could be your favorite picture of your kids. Could be a comfy chair at your desk that makes you feel like the Queen Bee. Or King Bee. Or whatever gender of whatever insect turns you on. Could even be regularly scheduled time with your mentor.

For me? Saddles. Anything horsey, really. The smells of leather and horse sweat, the sounds of hooves hitting dirt or clomping on pavement, the sounds of spurs jingling on each step and, of course, the incomparable beauty of the animal. It settles my mind. It makes everything else seem less heavy.

When our heads and hearts are in a good place, we are more relaxed. And it shows in everything from our body language to the expression on our face. It just helps keep the Negative Nellie routine at bay. Your co-workers, your kids teachers, your friends….everybody will see you are a pretty cool dude to just roll with the punches and smile while you’re doing it.

Too bad that isn’t reason enough to wear my spurs to the office.

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be abnormal when the job is messy

Posted on February 27, 2013 by Kate

Ever look at a task or project and think This is such a mess; there is now way it will all come back together? We all do. It’s perfectly normal to have that reaction. It’s the next part where you should choose to be abnormal.

Ya see, you gotta start somewhere and sometimes that means you gotta break down the job into small parts. Or, you gotta start with lots of different pieces. And, you gotta expect it to be messy.

Oh, it can get messy. And sticky. And it can look like something you don’t want any part of. But, this is the precise moment when you can choose to dive in…or not…

Don’t do the ‘not’. Don’t be a wimp. Most people choose the ‘not’ and you’re not most people. So, be different and be bold. Jump into that mess. Throw things out that bring no value and won’t last. Keep the things that can be shaped, molded or baked into something good. Just remember to be gracious, willing to hear opinions and accept advice. I said be ‘abnormal’ in an unexpectedly get-it-done kind of way. That’s different than being a know-it-all. If you’re confused by this, we need to talk.

That’s right. I’m telling you to get yourself to work and bake some cookies, people.

And then share them with me. Or your boss. Actually, it’s probably better to share them with your boss. But, I’m here if you have any leftovers.

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the chicken fight

Posted on February 1, 2013 by Kate

I woke up this morning wishing it were not 41 degrees so I could sit outside with my coffee.  Then, I remembered this little incident. Happy Friday!!!!!

One Saturday morning, I was sitting on the patio sipping coffee and listening to the sounds of the morning.  I don’t know how long I’d been there when I realized the chickens were talking more than usual.  One quick glance inside the coop and I knew the problem. They were completely out of food.  ”Well, even chickens need breakfast,” I said outloud as all 6 of those chickens seemed to be yelling at me to hurry up.

As I walked the 20 yards or so to the storage room, all sorts of thoughts ran through my head. I’m so glad we have these chickens. The smell isn’t that bad. And their clucking is starting to actually be a sound of home to me.  Then I opened the storage room door to memories of my great grandmother tossing food out in her yard to the guineas and peafowls.  I admit I can get caught up in the romance and nostalgia of an event so I nearly got misty eyed when I reached for the plastic Folgers can inside the feed bag…I could remember Mama’s metal can she used for the same purpose.

On the walk back out to the coop, I leaned my head back to feel the warm and humid Georgia summer air on my neck feeling carefree, thankful…happy. I just love having these chickens, I thought again. About 10 yards away, I tilted my head to the side and began to squint my eyes as I watched the chickens jump around the coop in excitement…or fear…or something. Oh, please don’t let there be a snake in there, I thought.  With the open Folgers can full of feed in one hand, my other hand resting on the door latch, I searched the ground for anything that might have gotten these chickens so worked up. Oh well. Who knows. With absolutely no regard for anything but not letting them escape, I opened the door and stepped inside.

“Whooooo!” and “Stop!” and “What IS it?”I believe is what came out of my mouth. Loudly. And high-pitched. And somewhat crazed.

Those birds – all 6 of them – came after that Folgers can and the hand that was holding it with a ferosity I certainly did not know they possessed.  I remember their wings flapping and my free had swatting a feather away from my face. I remember how loud their clucks were under that tin roof and how my own yelps echoed around all of us. I remember the door slamming behind me and hopping from foot to foot while feed sloshed and scattered. I even remember trying to remember if there was such a thing as Chicken Scratch Fever or it that was only a cat thing. Or, if that was even a thing at all. And, I remember thinking I’ll bet this is a sight – me in my pajamas in this coop with these 6 chickens coming after me.

I had all these thoughts – but not the most important one. The one that would tell me to drop the can…until after I’d glanced out to the left to see Andy Crook drive by. I swear, it seems like every time I need to do something real quick in the yard in my pajamas, there he is.

But, isn’t that the way? We get so wrapped up in the catastrophe of the moment that we can’t even think clearly enough to help ourselves. We get so busy having a fit over something going wrong, that it takes entirely too long to straighten things out. So, the next time your state of affairs gets you all riled up, try to remain calm. Stop. Take a breath.  Think through your circumstances and plan your course of action. Drop that Folgers can or whatever your chickens are going after. And, get out of the coop!

And you can wear your pajamas if you want to.  But, I really wouldn’t suggest it.

 

 

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gettin’ twinkly

Posted on January 30, 2013 by Kate

Well, it’s that time of year again. We are over Christmas. We are even over being over Christmas. Now, it just seems like we’re waiting for something to happen. I’m seeing it with my friends and I’m seeing it at the office. It’s a lull. And it’s temporary! But, man, does it bring down the mojo.

As I was thinking through this today and wondering what we could do to spice things up and rejuvenate everyone at work, I remembered something Ben did at Christmas.

To appreciate what you see in this picture, you have to know that I’m a 1 Tree and Downstairs Only kind of holiday decorator. A 1-Tree’r. None of this every room gets a tree with the “main tree” in the family room. I firmly believe that November 15 thru January 1 of any given year is enjoyed by only a select few, really, and I am neither organized enough nor creative enough to be in that group. I eat my way through. It works for me.

So, Ben took matters into his own hands and strung these lights outside his bedroom door. White twinkle lights count as decoration in my book (which I realize may not be rooted in wisdom) so it felt sort of fairy tale-ish to walk upstairs.

At the time, I had eaten too much peanut brittle and chocolate covered almonds to appreciate what he’d done, but now that all the other decorations are gone, the happy Christmas songs are silent and this middle Georgia weather is not quite hot but balmy and sort of chilly, I’m getting it. He made his own happy and did it in a way that others could enjoy.

Maybe that’s what we should all do. Hang up some twinkle lights. Literally, maybe…just don’t come crying to me if your boss makes you take them down. But, figuratively? Heck yeah! A Snicker bar to a swamped officemate could be your twinkle light.  You could make a batch of cookies for the break room.  You could offer to pick up your friend’s kids for school and let her enjoy a few extra quiet morning minutes.

So, get twinkly, people. Let that little light shine!  Then, come back here and share what you did!

 

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borrowing trouble

Posted on January 23, 2013 by Kate

Sometimes I see something and want to burn that vision or image in my brain forever. This is one:

Emma’s boots in the kitchen. When I look at these boots, I re-walk the millions of miles she’s traveled in them right along with her. I know exactly where that dirt came from and why it’s there. There’s a whole story surrounding those spur straps and know just where they are worn the most on the soles.

Needless to say, when I snapped this picture, I had nearly talked myself into a Mama Meltdown. I was so sentimental! I was trying to imagine what it would be like when those boots will be someplace else. I mean, she’s getting older. She’s growing up. She’s going to go off to college, I’m certain. Then? After that? Will her boots ever find rest in this kitchen again???

Geez, Lady. Get yourself together. Is that what you’re thinking? Well, you should be. Talk about borrowing trouble! How about let’s just enjoy the here and now and let tomorrow take care of itself.

Sheesh!

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remembering the peacock

Posted on January 16, 2013 by Kate

Today, I was driving along Main Street in our little town (yes, it’s really called Main Street) and happened to catch a glimpse of a peacock in someone’s yard. It surprised me a little, honestly. When I was growing up, I would see peacocks pretty regularly in my great grandmother’s yard then, later, in my grandmother’s yard. I guess I got my need to have fowl in the yard from them – my chickens do make me happy.

So, today’s sighting reminded me of a…err…an…incident. I guess that’s the word I would use. The memory still makes me laugh out loud. I just love this about the South. Just when you think you are being civilized and slap full  of class, something like this happens and makes you remember where you came from. And I just love it.

From May 2011:

I have very clear memories of my great grandmother walking around in her yard wearing her big straw hat, carrying a handful of corn kernels and calling up her guineas and peacocks. She would walk down the steps from her front porch and take a right. Walking between that corner of the house and the enormous magnolia tree (the one favored for climbing) would lead her toward the chicken house.  This is the path I can remember her taking. I remember the sound she would make and how those birds would come out of nowhere to grab a kernel or two as she scattered them in the grass. She would talk to them , they would eat and then each would be on their way. Not that anyone I know has ever eaten a peacock, but it was always clear to me – even when I was 8 years old – that the pecking order (sorry for the pun)was set and non-negotiable.  People first, peafowls second.

Apparently, the order has been upset.

Over the weekend, we went to a family reunion in South Georgia. Admittedly, there are several aspects of this little get-together that I could focus on that might provide you a giggle or two, but I’m going to stick with the peacock. As southern family reunions go, it wasn’t a big crowd. Fifty or so. And food for many more.

It was held at a cabin out from town. On the front porch were rockers so the adults could keep an eye on the little kids running around, visit with each other and catch anybody that tried to leave early. The scenery was beautiful – beyond the cars in the driveway were longhorn cattle grazing in a field, buffalo milling about and colorful peacocks hopping from fencepost to ground to tree to Mercedes.

Yes, Mercedes. Someone had driven a beautiful, flawless, perfectly clean, black and new Mercedes to this little soiree and not only had some of the first cousins noticed, but so had one of the peafowls. It seems that this bird was threatened by his own reflection. In retaliation of another male being on his turf, he attacked. Over and over. Beak and claws slammed into the German luxury car parked in a South Georgia field as children frolicked, ladies tried not to stare and the men looked sympathetically at the owner.

So, I ask you. What has become of this peacock to think it so important that it would attack a symbol of the higher order?  I don’t know exactly, but I can tell you this. There was a maroon 1998 Buick parked right next to that Mercedes and it left without a scratch on it. Seems to me that peacock made his choice and I’m going to remember what I saw. You’d be well-served to remember, too. Sometimes things aren’t all beautiful blues and greens and long graceful feathers. You’d better look beyond the glitz and watch out for your car.

People 0, peafowls 1.

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nobody can kill the whole covey

Posted on January 4, 2013 by Kate

I am reading a book called The Old Man and the Boy by Robert Ruark. Daddy gave it to The Hubs and our son to read a year or so ago. They each have tossed it around a bit but neither have really sunk into it yet. Ya know how sometimes the time just has to be right to really sink into a book?

This book is a compilation of stories told by a grandson as he learns from his grandfather to hunt and fish in the hills of North Carolina.  The inside flap of the book says this: “[The Old Man] has an infinite store of things he wants the Boy to learn, to understand, to possess as his very own. And, always, the Boy listens, quiet, fascinated.” As the Boy says, “The Old Man knows pretty near close to everything. And mostly he ain’t painful with it…”

The Old Man shares some wise words in this book. And, to my liking, they are sometimes hidden in a tale, a set of instructions or just an observation. In the first chapter, the Old Man gives the Boy his first shotgun and talks to him about quail hunting. On their first go out, Pete, the bird dog, points at a covey and when the birds “shoot up like rockets on the Fourth”, the Boy “fired both barrels and nothing dropped. At all.”

I’m just going to give you this next part straight from the book because it’s so good:
I looked at the Old Man, and he looked back at me, kind of sorrowful. He shook his head, reached for his pipe, and made a great to-do about tamping down the tobacco and lighting it with a kitchen match.
“Son,” he said, “I missed a lot of birds in my time, and I will miss some more if I shoot enough of them. But there is one thing I know that you might as well learn now. Nobody can kill the whole covey – not even if they shoot the birds on the ground running down a row in a cornfield. You got to shoot them one at a time.”
The Old Man said he didn’t know what I’d be when I grew up, and didn’t care a lot, but he said I might as well learn to respect quail, if only for practice in the respect of people…The way you handled quail sort of kicked back on you.

I kind of regret to inform you that this came from page 4. Only page 4. And I understand the entire book (303 pages, to be exact) is full of this kind of stuff. This is good stuff! I could fill The Civilized Minute for a year with this kind of stuff. But, I’ll try to pace myself.

Just this short bit made me think about new years resolutions. Hate ‘em. Just keeping a “resolution” through Lent is a burden, so 365 days? It’s too much. Plus, how can you choose just one thing? How can you name the one thing that would make your life better for an entire year? It’s too much. Did I mention that already? So, when the Old Man told his grandson Nobody can kill the whole covey, I wanted to yell That’s what I’m sayin’! Why set yourself up for failure? I’m certainly not opposed to having goals, but how about making them attainable. Give yourself a reasonable chance to succeed, for Pete’s sake (not Pete the bird dog; the other Pete). Choose one thing you’d like to accomplish and work on it. Work hard on it. And when you – and only you – feel like you’ve done all you set out to do, choose another thing.

And, of course, that last sentence about respect…it IS something to be taught, ya know. We don’t come into this world understanding respect and how to show it. And teaching respect is a big part of our responsibility as parents, mentors, coaches, group leaders, supervisors and friends. I like the way the Old Man goes about it. He eases into the concept by using an activity the Boy enjoys. Maybe you aren’t a hunter, but I’ll bet your team at work would respond to the give-and-take of learning to manage flex time or I’ll bet your child would understand the lesson in the context of a sport.

I happen to like quail hunting and enjoy watching our son and daughter learn the respect, humility, self-discipline and skill involved in such a sport. I wonder if the Old Man is going to weave in a way I can teach them to keep their rooms clean. Or to not leave their shoes in the kitchen. Or to not leave their shoes in the driveway. I’d better keep reading…

 

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my big fat southern christmas 2012

Posted on December 28, 2012 by Kate

It started back in 2010 with a post called My Big Fat Southern Christmas in which I explained how our Christmas had been big, fat and Southern. Then, again in 2011, I recapped our holiday and explained the role of the You Girls and how people were scooping pimento cheese with potato chips. It had the potential to be devastating for Mama, but it turned out ok. This year, the post is back. With absolutely nothing new at all.

I have been looking forward to writing this post, actually. In my very limited life as a writer (enjoyed mainly by The Hubs, my sisters and some cousins), these Christmas pieces seem to be entertaining. But – really – what’s the big deal with a Southern Christmas? It’s not like it’s a snowy white Christmas. Or, a bright lights, Broadway show, Rockefeller Center Christmas. It’s usually not even very cold. Last Christmas, The Hubs had to turn on the air conditioner just so we could build a fire in the fireplace. Happy Holidays, Georgia Power.

Christmas morning started our trek to cover all the Christmas bases, although this year it was on fast forward. We started with a brunch that was DE-licious. Bacon, cheese, grits, eggs in no particular order or combination and propped up by homemade biscuits. Then, a mid-afternoon “lunch” starring ham, glorified macaroni and Mrs. Brenda’s brownies held together with things like collards, squash, dressing and pimento cheese.  Dinner brought the addition of 18 mouths, 3 casseroles, a turkey, some people from California…and explosives – not meant for the people from California. I know I ate all that. I have the jiggly thighs to prove it. And I know we opened gifts. I have some beautiful tokens to prove that. It just happened so fast this year. All in one day to be precise.

Just a little detour here…….Why would a grown man give an 11 year old boy tannerite? Uncle Fortson? I’m waiting. And further, when I see a video on Facebook of a group of cousins varying in gender and age blowing up things and scaring off the bird hunters and the birds, where are the adults? Explosives aren’t new to us, to be honest. I have an uncle – isn’t it always an uncle? – who has a habit of spicing up parties with a little fire and smoke. But, I can’t really talk about that. I think there is still an open investigation. But I don’t think he ever shot the explosives with a rifle in order to detonate. That was our own personal flair for the dramatics. And, again, I’m forced to consider the difference between Southern and Redneck.

So, all of this…the food, the people, the forms of entertainment(?)…it was all pretty much what it normally is. That is to say, it was the expected combination of typical and atypical. Normal. But, recently, I’ve been reminded how completely and totally NOT normal this is to an awful lot of people. For example, some people actually monitor their salt intake.

During December, I ran across 2 articles: Why Do Southern Drawls Sound Uneducated to Some? in the Huffington Post and Happy Holler-days! in the New York Post (which is about the popularity of TV shows set in the South). “It seems that all a cable network needs for a hit show lately is some Southern accents and a little twangy, banjo background music” writes Kate Storey from the NYPost.

Exhibit A: my son and nephew, their Southern accents and twangy banjo music

Reading those articles, then going through a whirlwind Christmas made me think about this fascination with our Southern way of life.

Is it the food? Maybe. It is unexplainable how so many people that have eaten the Southern way for generations can actually live beyond their 40’s? Paula Deene is/was the epitome of soul food and look what happened to her. In a way, it’s like cheating death and I would imagine the millions of Health magazine subscribers would want to get to the bottom of that. Some people talk about ingredients or the fact that there are Southern chefs who have found their wayward souls cooking in places like NYC or San Francisco doing things to collard greens that didn’t come recommended by the UMW.

I think it doesn’t have anything to do with the food, where it was grown, where the chef grew up or was trained. I think the fascination is with the entire Southern way of life and eating the food and going to these restaurants allows a little glimpse of just that.

Yes, there are shows like Swamp People, Duck Dynasty and Redneck Millionaires and while those portrayals are not altogether untrue,  there are also the Southern people who simply go to work, enjoy their family, attend church and just “do their thing”, as my Daddy would say.  It’s doubtful there are pictures on those big city menus that show a man’s rough hands from pulling those peas in order to get them into the puree. And that’s not nearly exciting enough to make it to cable television.

Maybe it’s the slow pace that allows for the stories to be told and handed down that appeals to the jet-setters. Those biscuits I mentioned before? They were kneaded in a bread bowl handed down 3 generations. And  just yesterday, I heard a grandson tell some hilarious stories about his grandfather who delivered newspapers growing up in Auburn, Alabama to some pretty funny characters.  I guess we can only hope the taste of fresh corn in a dimly lit restaurant provides even a sliver of a view of our life. ‘Course, if the customer actually shucked that ear, that’d get him a little closer.

And, ok, there is the quirkiness that can be hard to turn away from. One of these articles I mention explains the attraction to shows set in the South because “those are shows that were based on a very strong character — characters with character, so to speak. Maybe they’re more prevalent in the South.” Ya think?

I’ve never been to New York City or San Francisco or Chicago (Chicargo, to most people I know) so I’ve never eaten Southern food in any of their restaurants and I’ve never asked them how they spend their Christmases.  But, I, for one, am tickled to see such interest in what goes on down here. And, if we can rub off on even one person, I hope their job is governmental and they reside in DC. That group may rival us in the “very strong character” department, but we’ve got ‘em where it counts and we, apparently, count large in TV.

And NRA.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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after all these years

Posted on December 21, 2012 by Kate

This picture was taken nearly one year ago to the day.

My baby girl. Or, if I were to really wallow, it’d be My Baaayybbyyy! But, wallowing causes premature wrinkling, so not gonna do it.

She’s older now. By a whole year. And in the life of a teenager, that’s a lot of water under the bridge. Watching her grow and change and listening to the unintended wisdom she shares is one of life’s greatest pleasures. This is true with Ben, too. He just delivers a broader punch. Sometimes literally. JV Wrestling, you know.

But, back to Emma. Months ago, she and I were pulling into the Publix parking lot after our late afternoon horseback ride (which is typical since I can’t seem to knock the dust off the slow-cooker and prepare anything ahead of time) and I off-handedly asked, “What should we get for dinner?”

“Can we eat something fried?” she asked.

“No.”

“What about mac and cheese?”

“No.”

“You’re trying to get us to eat healthier, aren’t you?” she prompted as she pressed the Scan on the radio within the first 3 bars of a song. How does she know she doesn’t like that song so quickly?

“Yes.”

Silence. We pulled into the parking space and I turned off the car.

“I don’t know,” she said as she opened her door to get out. “Just don’t get pork chops. I really don’t like pork chops.”

What?? I knew I was wearing the kind of expression that would one day require Botox to undo, but What?? It’s the other white meat!

“You don’t like pork chops?” I asked in slow motion, starring at her as we walked into the grocery store. “But, I’ve cooked pork chops since you were tiny! It’s my go-to meat!”

“I know,” she said and raised her eyebrows.

“Since when do you not like pork chops? And what about pork tenderloin??” I really had to get to the bottom of this.

“Nope. Neither. Never have. But you always cook them so I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

That conversation will go down as one of the great shockers of my life. At 14, she finally confessed that she hates to eat the one thing I have been putting in front of her with (probably) astonishing regularity since her molars came in. Well. Where does the mother go from here? Why didn’t she tell me? And, what are going to have for dinner???  

Hold tight, o ye of little faith. I rallied. I’m a mother, for Pete’s sake. So, we talked about all the ways you can tell somebody what you really think without hurting feelings or appearing obnoxious or demanding. We talked about how it’s often the right thing to do to take what’s given to you in a gracious way, but – especially with people close to you – there are time when it’s fine to suggest an alternative if the gift or gesture or food is not something that floats your boat. More times than not, the giver wants to know what you think because they want to give you want you want or what would be helpful to you. You just have to be very careful in the delivery of that opinion.

She seemed to get it, although I’m not sure she’ll use any of what I said in the foreseeable future. And, in care you’re wondering, we ended up getting chicken. The new other white meat.

The only problem that remains is this: our usual Christmas Eve dinner is a pork tenderloin wrapped in bacon and rosemary. So, now what???

 

 

 

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everybody learns differently

Posted on December 14, 2012 by Kate

Isn’t it funny how we all learn differently?

Some need to write everything down, read through all the steps, and only then will they attempt. Some like to just jump right in with a hands-on approach. Then, others need to hear before they want to give something new a try.

Have you noticed there is no right or wrong way to learn? Finding the method that works for you is what makes it “right”. Trying to be like the person next to you can make it “wrong.” In college, I wanted to be able to study with music playing. I had lots of friends who needed that background noise to help them focus. That background noise only made me want to stop studying and go out.

As leaders (at work or at home), it can be hard to watch someone go through the learning steps that work for them when their method is different from our own. Why isn’t she writing anything down? has been stuck on replay in my head lately. But that’s just because I have to write it to be able to remember it. Lots and lots of patience will prove to be your friend here because there is reward waiting when you see a co-worker or a child put into practice the one thing you swore they weren’t paying attention to.

Give your child or your team some elbow room to learn. And don’t forget mistakes are part of what makes the lesson stick.

And, once again, I’ll remind you this is a ‘do as I say and not as I do’ kind of  blog.

 

 

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