Cutting back

In celebration of spring, I'm cutting back on quite a few things. Okay, it's not really in celebration of spring, it's out of necessity — financial, physical, and sanity-saving necessity. I've survived and dare I say even thrived (in non-financial ways only, of course) after corporate cutbacks. Now the time has come for a few personal cutbacks.

Here are the ways I'm cutting back:

Telephones — This week, Jim and I officially drop the land line and go to cell-phone-only mode. Which is fine by me, as I loathe phones ... and loathe even more telemarketing and political phone calls. Good riddance, home phone.

Cable television — This week we also drop all cable television and will rely on Netflix, Hulu and television networks (thank heavens for HDMI cables!) for our television fix. Farewell, DVR and On Demand.

Screen time — Not only am I cutting down time in front of the television screen, I'm cutting down time in front of the computer screen, too. I have a life ... I need to live it, not let it pass me by while I'm blogging and commenting, tweeting, e-mailing and Facebooking.

Idle time — Less screen time equals more active time: gardening, cooking, crafting, reading, playing piano, walking the dogs. And plenty of time to figure out if "Facebooking" can legitimately be used as a verb.

Dog food — Speaking of walking the dogs, they're officially overweight. The vet says Mickey weighs twenty pounds more than he should. Which means Lyla surely rates the same in rotundity. So not only do I need to walk the dogs more, I need to feed them less. Per the vet. Which is hard because they love snacks. And we love giving them snacks.

People food — Jim and I love eating snacks, too. But we're cutting back, working toward a more healthy diet. So we not only look better, but so we feel better, too. A lovely, thin, and healthy friend of mine recently recommended YOU: On a Diet. So I'm reading it, taking it to heart, implementing some of the suggestions, such as replacing white rice with brown, enriched flour with wheat.

Sugar — Per the suggestions in YOU: On a Diet, the cut causing the most trepidation has been sugar. Because Jim loves his sugar. I recently purchased for the first time ever a package of Splenda. It sweetens my iced tea and Jim's chocolate brownies just fine so far, so I plan to continue buying it ... as long as my pared-down budget allows for the outrageously expensive sugar substitute. Or until Jim cries "Uncle!"

Spending — Jim and I, like most of those living above the poverty line, have become accustomed to a certain lifestyle — a lifestyle unnecessary filled with stuff. Too much stuff. Stuff we don't need. So I'm paring down and no longer spending as much on stuff. Stuff of any sort. I've committed to grocery shopping every other week instead of every week so there's less food stuff. I resist temptation for all non-food spending by refusing to look at the bright and shiny ads in the Sunday newspaper, and I immediately delete e-mail offers from Overstock.com and — heaven help me to continually find the strength! — Amazon.com.

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What have you managed to — or plan to — cut back in your life?

The tunes they are a-changing

I'm proud to say my family is musical. We dabble in playing — a guitar and piano here, a recorder and ukelele there — but it's in the listening to music that we really excel. As a whole, our hearts, minds and ears are open to myriad genres, everything from classical to Christian, country to show tunes, hard rock to soft rock and many that aren't really rock at all. We even have our family favorites in the rap genre. (I must admit, though, jazz and easy listening rarely pass notes in our homes, our cars, our iPods.)

Music plays a prodigious and powerful role in our family, which is why I'm happy to see the love of music continue with Bubby. Since he was an itsy-bitsy baby, music moved him. And like the rest of us, he's happy to sample and savor tunes from varied genres, with recent favorites ranging from "Twinkle, Twinkle" to "Baby" by Justin Bieber to "A New Hallelujah" by Michael W. Smith to "We Will Rock You" by Queen.

I'm thrilled Bubby finds such joy in music. Yet I'm saddened that many of my most-cherished memories of experiencing music — and watching my children experience music — are things he and the youngsters of today will never know, thanks to the ever-evolving face of music.

Music rituals kids of today will never experience

• The satisfaction of placing the needle in the exact desired spot on a record.

• Flipping through album, cassette, or CD bins at the music store.

• Staying up late to watch a favorite group on "The Midnight Special."

• Making and receiving the perfect mix tape.

• Waiting for hours to catch the beginning of a favorite video in order to hit "record" on the VCR in time so it can be replayed in full again and again.

• The horror of a record or CD being cracked, a cassette tape being eaten.

• The horror — and sometimes giggles — associated with scratches and subsequent skips in an album.

• Singing along with a record, perfectly including the skip without missing a beat.

• Weighing the arm of the record player with a penny to get past the skips.

• Searching for secret messages and meanings in backmasking.

• The thrill of finding a favorite song on an AM station while traveling by car, seemingly miles from civilization.

• Waiting by the radio with cassette recorder in hand to record a favorite tune when Casey Kasem announces it No. 1 for the week.

• Marveling at the artwork on an album sleeve.

• Holding the album lyrics in hand while singing along.

• Memorizing the order of an album to the point that when hearing one of the songs on its own, you automatically hum the bars to — and expect to hear — the next song on the album.

• American Bandstand.

Today's question:

What fading or long-gone musical rituals do you lament?

I'll just say no

When I was a teen, I succumbed to peer pressure far more often than I should have. I did things that weren't good for me just because "all the cool kids are doing it." Trying to fit in, trying to be like everyone else was the name of the game, just as it surely — unfortunately — is for today's youth.

When I became a mother, there was still a lot of peer pressure, but of a different sort. There was the pressure to outfit my kids in the latest fashions, keep them enrolled in and entertained by the latest and greatest activities. We rarely had the funds to pay for those fashions and fun things, so the need to do as all the cool moms were doing became less important. I couldn't afford to be like them, so I had no choice but to be myself.

As the girls reached the teen years and all the cool moms were (supposedly in some cases, literally in others) letting their kids run around without curfews, attend co-ed slumber parties or throw parties with alcohol purchased by the adults, I no longer had any desire to be like the cool moms for they didn't seem all that cool to me. I was a mean mom, or so I was told ... often. I had strict rules and high expectations for my daughters. The girls, of course, broke those rules ... often. And they fought against my expectations. It didn't change anything, though, because I purposefully made the choice to not be cool, to be myself, to do what I thought was right. For me, for mine. Regardless of pressure, be it from my peers or my kids.

Now that I'm a grandma, I'm faced with a different kind of peer pressure. Well, to be honest, it really has absolutely nothing to do with being a grandma and everything to do with being a grandma online. Yep, as someone who lives a large chunk of her life on the Internet, I'm confronted regularly by those who want me to do as they do, to follow their lead. And once again I'm doing the uncool thing: I'm just saying no.

To what am I saying no? Well, here's the list of things the cool folks, the popular folks do online that I'm resisting. Don't take offense and don't take it personally if you do these things; just take it as forewarning that I don't do these things, that I won't do these things if you ask.

Here goes. I hereby say no to:

• Passing along forwards. Whether they're cute or funny or elicit a warm fuzzy and especially if they're hate-filled or try to convince me I must send it to 10 friends in order to prosper or find true love. Forwards all get the same treatment from me: the delete button.

• Changing my Facebook profile photo to a color befitting a cause or holiday. Mostly just because I'm lazy.

• Posting or joining or following — or whatever the correct term is — a blog meme.

• Adhering to the rules of an award that requires me to list 16 personal things about myself then pressure eight of my favorite bloggers to do the same by honoring them with the same award. Awards are thoughtful ... unless they require work.

• Changing my Facebook status in support of a cause. (I'm starting to see a minor theme to my list, related to my laziness. Maybe?)

• Entering giveaways that require me to visit and comment on the sponsor's page then — optional, but for extra entries — "like" a Facebook page, follow the blogger on Twitter, and tweet and retweet until the sun rises and sets 16 times.

There are other, less frequent actions friends (and some foes) try to pressure me to take, but those above are at the top of my just-say-no list. Like I said before, don't take offense if you do any of them. I don't have a problem with you doing it, I just have a problem with me doing it. So I won't.

The great thing about peer pressure as a grandma is that it's really no pressure at all.

Excepting, of course, the pressure I felt to let you all know in advance of my just-say-no plan. Just in case you asked. Just so when I ignore your request, you won't feel slighted ... or upset ... or like you want to kick me out of the blogosphere.

(Which means, I suppose, that I still have a few minor peer-pressure issues to work out. Even as a grandma.)

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What kind of peer pressure do you resist now that you wouldn't have resisted at a younger age?

3 magic words

If any of you are like me -- and I have a feeling there are a few of you -- after reading the title of this post, you're likely scanning the text to discover as quickly as possible the three magic words of which I write. Well, this post doesn't work that way because the three magic words are unique to each person; no generic magic words to be found.

That's right. There's three for me, and there's three for you ... and you ... and you.

Let me explain: Many of you will remember my recent lament about not having epiphanies upon reading articles in MORE and O magazines. Though I've yet to have an epiphany, I did recently read a life-improving article in O, written by Martha Beck, O's goal-achieving guru in residence. The article, loosely translated, describes a new method for achieving one's goals. And since reading it, I've been a little less consumed with epiphanies and more focused on reaching my goals ... with the help of three magic words.

In the article (http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Goal-Setting-Strategies-from-Life-Coach-Martha-Beck), Beck tells the reader to imagine she's achieved an ultimate goal, to actually visualize what achievement of that goal looks like. The ultimate goal for me, the one I visualized in detail, was making my living off my words, through published books and my blog.

Yay for visualization. But that's not the end of the exercise.

Beck says to then think of three adjectives for how you would feel upon reaching such a goal, three words describing your psychological takeaway upon such an achievement. Beck's rationale being, basically, that it's often not the actual achievement we desperately seek, but the feelings and emotional payoff that would accompany the achievement.

In terms of achieving my writing goal, the three adjectives I came up with were creative, empowered and financially secure.

But wait -- that's still not the end of the exercise.

Beck continues by saying that instead of focusing so hard on that specific goal, you should focus on using those three magic words you came up with. She encourages you to engage in actions or tasks that would lead you to feel one or more of those words, even if the tasks aren't directly related to that original goal. Because, again, it's not the goal that soothes the soul, Beck says, it's the feelings we imagine resulting from that goal that we desire. The goals may still be achieved but they're no longer, in and of themselves, the end-all, be-all.

Believe it or not, I think Beck's right. Since doing the exercise, I've focused on tasks and activities that make me feel creative, things that make me feel empowered, things that contribute to being financially secure. Most of the tasks relate to only one of the adjectives at a time, and many of the activities have nothing to do with becoming a well-paid writer. Yet I feel more content about my career goals, my career path.

Because of my improved attitude about my career goals since this little exercise, I thought I'd apply it to another goal/dream of mine to see if it does the same -- the dream of having all my family living nearby ... my children and my grandchildren, all within easy visiting distance.

So I visualized the scenario, the goal, in detail, and I came up with three adjectives related to achieving it. Hence, going forward I will pursue activities that elicit feelings associated with my three new magic words: nurturing, intimate, memorable.

I've just set about putting my new magic words into action, so I'm not sure where they will take me. But I'm crossing my fingers that the three adjectives related to my family goal are as magically effective as those regarding my career goal have been. Even just a smidgen of the magic will be much appreciated if it can ease by the slightest bit the burden of having chunks of my heart living 815 miles away.

It's worth a shot, I believe. I'll share the good news of its effectiveness with you once I see that the magic's in motion.

Abracadabra, here goes!

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Today's question:

Following Martha Beck's exercise, what is one of your three magic words?

10 things I want(ed) to be when I grow up

Last week I had dinner with one of my favorite people, a dear friend who is very much like me on many things, but oh-so different from me on one very big thing. That big thing being parenting.

It's not that my friend and I have different parenting philosophies, it's that she isn't a parent at all, never wanted to be a parent, a mom. Ever. I, on the other hand, am a mom, have always wanted to be a mom. From the time I was a child, the position of Mom has been at the very top of my list of things I wanted to be when I grew up.

Being a mom wasn't the only thing on my list of things I want to be when I grow up, though. Here are more:

10 things I want(ed) to be when I grow up

A writer. I remember as far back as middle school, dreaming about being a writer. I became a writer, made a decent living for a short period of time as a writer, continue to be a writer.

A disc jockey. In elementary school, I worked on a presentation with a group, and we chose to present our findings on Mary McCleod Bethune radio style, with intermissions featuring snippets of music. The presentation made me realize I loved playing the part of DJ. Every now and then I still get a hankering to host a radio program ... featuring music, not news or blathering bumbleheads.

A cosmetologist. I wanted to be not just a hairstylist, but a cosmetologist. I went to school for it, was on my way to earning my license. Then I got pregnant, the chemicals weren't a good idea for the baby, and "Beauty School Dropout" became my theme song for a while. (Was soon thankful this dream was never realized!)

Interior designer. Again, started classes. Again, got pregnant ... and decided continuing school was too much for a mom with two little ones and an overworked husband.

Backup singer. I'd still like to be this. I don't want to be in the forefront, the glaring spotlight. But providing backing vocals for the star -- and maybe a solo during the bridge now and then -- would sure get my toes tapping, my hands clapping, and heart soaring.

Parenting magazine editor. Ann Pleshette-Murphy, editor of Parent magazine when my girls were little, was my idol. I've accomplished this one. Not to the degree of Ann, only on a regional parenting publication level, but accomplished just the same. 'Twas one of the highlights -- and much-missed positions -- of my writing/editing career.

Librarian. This was at the top of my list for many years, just below writer. Still is some days. Too bad a library science degree is required.

Bookstore owner. Plan B for sharing books, since a degree isn't required to sell them. Cash is required, though, and I never had it. Proof that things happen -- or don't happen -- for a reason, as I'd surely be suffering the plight of today's independent booksellers.

Pie shop owner. I make pretty good pie. I wanted to share it with others. I planned to call it Pie in the Sky. Or Pie Hopes. Again, no money -- and the rise of the cupcake -- brought those hopes to a fizzle. Although, I've been reading lately that pie is the new cupcake. Hmm ...

Restaurant owner. Witnessing hundreds of college classmates of Megan and Andrea, miles from home and craving Mom's cooking, got me seriously considering starting up a Homesick Restaurant featuring daily specials from mothers across the country (credit to Anne Tyler for the name). The girls graduated before I put the plan into action -- fortunately, as the location was seven hours away in a town I never planned to visit again once they were done with college.

Looking at this list, I see that nearly everything on it, attained or not, has contributed to or enhanced my position as Mom. Cosmetology class provided the tools for cutting and styling the hair of three little girls. Interior Design courses helped me in creating the desired ambiance in my home. DJing and backup singing? Well, I love and share music with my kids; always have, always will. The words I write and share -- whether magazine articles, books or blogs -- are often related to parenting in one way or another. Food fancies require no expanation, as that's what moms do: show their love through food.

Bottom line is this: I may not have done all I once dreamed of, but those dreams made a difference in the one that mattered most, the one that became a reality -- being a mom. And who knows? There's still plenty of time to achieve a few of those on my list I still find appealing.

Anyone up for leading a granny band? If you've got the vocal ability and nerves for centerstage, I'd be all over supporting you with a few doowops and handclaps from behind.

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What did you want to be when you grew up?

WYSIWYG

I was not popular in high school. I didn't run with the athletes or hit the books with the academic overachievers. I wasn't firmly ensconced in the tight-knit groups of loners or stoners, and I wasn't in band, cheerleading, or glee club. I wasn't popular with any one group, had fairly superficial contact with most groups.

Nope, I wasn't popular. I wasn't well-known. So when it came time to hand out the senior superlatives at the end of our high-school years -- those labels marking what a student was or would become -- my superlative was chosen by the journalism kids from the "List of BS Superlatives For Classmates Not As Cool As Us Or That We Don't Know." While others were named "Most Likely To Succeed" or "Best Smile" or "Most Likely To Dunk It In The NBA," I was labeled as, get this, "Most Likely To Metamorphose Into A Computer." Honest to God. That is what my fellow seniors named me. In print. For all to see.

Which was weird. On so many levels. But mostly because computers weren't popular at the time. Bill Gates was likely still perfecting code, business computers were behemoths, and home computers were unheard of. So it was rather odd and unexpected for such a superlative to be chosen -- for me or for anybody. But, for whatever reason, that's the superlative with which I was saddled. Because they didn't know me.

Or did they?

Maybe even all those decades ago it was clear what a prominent place computers would eventually have in my life. Maybe back then, some forward-thinking classmates knew that one day I would see the value of actually becoming a computer.

Strangely enough, I do now see the value. Quite clearly. In fact, there are several reasons I think being a computer would be awesome. As long as I could still enjoy the physical pursuits of humans -- such as hugging those I love, laughing at Conan, and delighting in margaritas and Funyuns (not at the same time, of course) -- I'd be all over that. I'd be thrilled to metamorphose into a computer because there are oh-so many cool applications that would come in mighty handy.

First off, I'd have the ability to reset to a former time (because I'd use Windows, of course) to eliminate cussed up days bogging me down or, better yet, to turn back the effects of time on my system. I'd be fully loaded with McAfee Total Protection so I'd never be affected by viruses. Scan Disc and Defrag would be ideal for getting rid of the accumulated junk and reorganizing the misplaced folders and files of my soul and psyche.

Plus, just think of the peripherals and programs I could add to increase my speed, my power, and to make the very most of my life. I'd add more memory when my memory became full (or I lost it). I'd definitely have iTunes so I could have any song any time I pleased. And Picasa would provide me instant access to photos of friends and family; no more Grandma Brag books weighing down my purse.

It doesn't end there. As a computer, I'd have, of course, a keyboard. Which means I could hit ESC any time I needed just that -- to escape. I could DELETE things I regretted saying, hit the ALT button to do things a little different. I'd have a CTRL button for those times I felt a little out of control. The PAUSE/BREAK button would be used regularly throughout the day when I needed one or the other. And when a pause or break wasn't enough to make a difference, the SLEEP button would come to the rescue.

Most of all, though, I think I'd get the most use and enjoyment out of the one handy dandy little button situated directly between INSERT and PAGE UP. I'm talking about the HOME button.

When things got confusing or I just needed to start over -- as is the case more and more often of late -- or even when I just grew tired of traveling across the world, zooming around on the web, I could hit the HOME button. I know my loner self, my introverted-gain-my-energy-from-time-alone-self, and I know I would hit it hard and I would hit it often.

Because whether I morph into a MAC or a PC, an iPad or a computer not yet even invented, I'd still be me. I'd still maintain that one file, that one belief that no programmer, no person, no experience, no application will ever be able to delete from my system: the from-the-bottom-of-my-processor belief that, for me, there truly and absolutely is no place like home.

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What computer application or ability would you most want to implement in your life?

10 things I forget I love ... until I remember

I love jams and jellies. Chokecherry, strawberry, pomegranate, cherry. Yum! I eat jam or jelly nearly every day. On peanut butter sandwiches. On crackers. On toast. On English muffins. On bagels. (Not all in the same day, of course.)

Recently though, as I toasted an English muffin, I noticed the honey in the cupboard and decided to travel that oft-ignored culinary road. So I put it on my toasted muffin instead of jelly or jam, took a big bite, and instantly thought, "Yum! Why don't I have honey more often?"

I always forget how much I love honey -- until I experience it again. I do the very same thing with lots of things, especially the following.

10 things I forget I love ... until I remember

1. Feeding the ducks at the park.

2. Cucumber pickles. Ya know, the delicacy that's just sliced cucumbers, vinegar, salt, and pepper.

3. Riding a bike.

4. Wearing a dress. So much more comfy than pants.

5. Singing "Amazing Grace." Like this.

6. Stretching out on the living room floor in front of a blazing fire.

7. Wrapping a wet toddler in a towel and holding him like a swaddled baby.

8. Campfires at night. With marshmallows on sticks and stars up above.

9. Brach's Milk Maid Caramels. Unwrapped slowly. Savored even more slowly.

10. Getting on the scale and the number being much lower than expected.

Okay, No. 10 hasn't happened in a long, long time. Probably because of all those Milk Maids I've been savoring of late. But I have no doubt whatsoever that I will remember how much I love it, if/when I'm fortunate enough to experience it again.

Today's question:

What would be on your list of things you forget you love ... until you remember?