OK. So I created a "Fan Page" on Facebook late Thursday night--I mean late into the wee hours after working a full day at the office (with my first meeting in Greenwich starting at the still-dark-outside time of 6:45 AM)....a long day--and about 36 hours later, shazam! I had 48 fans. Whoa!
I find that amazing! Did you sign up as a fan because you're thinking about joining us in Southwest France next summer for COUNTRY FRENCH TREASURE HUNT & THE ART OF ILLUSTRATED JOURNALING? Are you simply a self-confessed Francophile who is thrilled to find an online soul mate? Supporting me in this most recent endeavor just because you are a kind and wonderful friend and reader? Thinking of taking an escape with your spouse or your college-age son or daughter as a way to explore the world? Maybe you find yourself agreeing on several counts.
Well, I admit: that my contagion about this project is oozing from every pore of my being. I have always wanted to study art in France, always wanted to shop the flea markets and outdoor fairs, always wanted to hunt for treasures in the winding alleyways and off-the-beaten-path shops where I suspect rare finds await me...finds that, honestly, I know I will never uncover stateside. And with three bathrooms left to renovate and decorate in my Connecticut house, I continue to look for inspiration in country French antiques and treasures. I remain attracted to rough textures, painted furniture, wonderful lines and evidence of decades of wear and tear, whether it be on a piece of furniture, in a light fixture, worn into a decorative accessory or in a primitive work of art. I am anxious to slip into my walking shoes and explore the Southwest Perigord region of France. Rural France. The part of France that oftentimes gets overlooked in favor of Paris or Provence. I yearn to uncover the sights and sounds of bustling market days; the aromas of locally baked pastries; the slow indulgences in the wines of the region. I find myself rejuvenated every single day with pure and simple imaginings of just how wonderful this exploration will be. I long to take a “time out,” both physically and emotionally, from the demands of my day job, my life at home and my board and community responsibilities. If only just for twelve days…
And having studied the four illustrated travel books of my colleague and partner, Diana Gessler, I am most anxious to learn how to sketch, draw maps and people and cartoons and caricatures--not to mention paint in watercolors, hand letter factoids and insights...and to learn how to slow down enough in my journeys that I stop and record things artfully. As an oil painter, I have never received instruction in watercolor painting. I actually bought a journal, just like the ones Diana uses for all of her travels large and small, and took it with me on our summer vacation this year to Bermuda. Let me tell you: The Art of Illustrated Journaling is a lot more difficult than it looks to the untrained eye! I really struggled with it. Was completely frustrated by it. My pages looked like a kindergartner did them. My lettering was sloppy and unprofessional looking. So it is with great anticipation to be able to sit at the feet of the master and learn how to illustrate with confidence. With joy! To create works that I will be proud to pass down to my kids and my grandkids one day. I look forward to traveling the world and recording each and every trip in handpainted images, with beautiful lettering and wonderful inscriptions, in the hope that they will be treasured by my family. That they might be humble heirlooms, appreciated and prized long after I am gone by those nearest and dearest to me. Like my art. My hand-hooked rugs. And needlepointed belts. Treasured like the artfully-constructed photo albums of our own family’s history of life on earth together.
And I admit that I frankly never even thought about illustrated travel journals until I met Diana and really got to know her. I always thought that one was to record travel in photographs and perhaps, in written journal form. So this whole concept was new to me too! Refreshingly new! And I embrace it with expectant optimism and a sense of adventure!
Take a peek at these photos of the Dordogne region where we will be traveling. And visit our itinerary at: http://rousset-perigord.org for all the information you need. If you'd like to receive a hard copy of the brochure, registration form and terms & conditions sheet, please send an email to me at: emomrx@yahoo.com with your mailing address and I'll send these to you via snail mail. Also feel free to call Dr. Beverly Held, who holds a Ph.D. in Art History from the University of Michigan and who has developed and offered over 2000 Cultural & Culinary educational programs for 15 years. Dr. Held has been exploring France for the past two decades and thoughtfully renovated Petit Rousset, the 18th-century farmhouse and art studio which will be our home for ten days this summer. She will gladly take your call at: (415) 933-9799.
We'd love to have you join us! Our philosophy: “Chez Nous-Chez Vous.” We want you to feel at home in our little paradise.
Until next time, all blessings!
Carolina
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Country French Treasure Hunt & The Art of Illustrated Journaling
The inspiration for Country French Kitchens, the book, arose from percolating design ideas during the course of several trips to Paris, armchair travel to Provence…and my own frustration at the lack of resources available for developing an American translation of this style. You can view the results of my own country French kitchen installation via video on my amazon.com author’s page. While it doesn’t show you the entire room, it gives you a glimpse into some of the solutions that my renovation offered me and my family for the space.
Since then, I have been looking forward to further travel to France, to scout local markets, explore those rural villages which time constraints had never before allowed, and shop for the Provencal fabrics, pottery and glassware that I currently purchase stateside.
A dream come true, I will be leading a group of students in a sojourn to Southwest France, specifically the Dordogne region, in July-August of next year. As a group, we will hunt for country French treasures, scavenging the countryside in search for all things beautiful and wonderful. I’m teaming up with fellow teacher Diana Gessler, a gallery-represented fine artist and author of five books, four of which are bestselling illustrated travel books. Her latest, Very Washington, DC, earned her a signing at the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History. Diana will be teaching The Art of Illustrated Journaling, as she has found that her students are able to beautifully illustrate their own travel experiences in their own developed style, once techniques in pen and ink drawing, watercolor washes and map-drawing, caricature doodling and fancy lettering are taught. Diana has been illustrating her own world travels in journals for the past 30 years. Her students testify that she has forever changed not only the way they travel and the way that they "see" places, people and experiences; indeed, they claim that she has changed their lives.
We will, together, explore the beautiful Dordogne region of Southwest France, named for the river that runs through it, and have timed the trip to take advantage of the many brocantes (open-air antique fairs) and vide-greniers (open-air flea markets) that the area has to offer during these twelve days of our trip. Hunting for country French treasures for our own homes and for permanent capture into our personal illustrated travel journals, we'll wander quaint villages, scavenge the markets, and explore the true rural countryside, enjoying French food and wine in the process. On-site instruction in The Art of Illustrated Journaling and Country French Design will occur both in the newly-renovated art studio of the 18th-century farmhouse, Petit Rousset, which will be our home for twelve days, as well as during our day trips to these various markets, fairs and other noteworthy excursions.
During a recent corporate breakfast of the global investment bank from which I run my daytime advisory practice, the keynote speaker, Jonathan Clements, co-author of The Little Book of Main Street Money, noted three financial goals that appeal to the cave dweller in each of us. The second goal is to “build a life of thoughtful progress.” He advises us to “spend our money on building life experiences.”
“You’ll always have Paris,” he told the audience. Travel, unlike shopping trips to department stores to buy expensive merchandise which yields temporary pleasure, gives you more and better memories over the years. It helps you build a life of thoughtful progress.
We'd love for you to build memories and make “thoughtful progress” by joining us in France. Please visit our online page for terms and a registration form, as well as our brochure:
http://www.rousset-perigord.org/LPRLibrary/2010/gessler-fernandez.shtml.
Feel free to call me with any questions (203.942.8282). If you are unable to join us but know of a world-traveling or Francophile friend, please ask them to contact me at: emomrx@yahoo.com or to call me to discuss. The trip is limited to 18 guests.
Until next time, sending all my very best!
Carolina
Since then, I have been looking forward to further travel to France, to scout local markets, explore those rural villages which time constraints had never before allowed, and shop for the Provencal fabrics, pottery and glassware that I currently purchase stateside.
A dream come true, I will be leading a group of students in a sojourn to Southwest France, specifically the Dordogne region, in July-August of next year. As a group, we will hunt for country French treasures, scavenging the countryside in search for all things beautiful and wonderful. I’m teaming up with fellow teacher Diana Gessler, a gallery-represented fine artist and author of five books, four of which are bestselling illustrated travel books. Her latest, Very Washington, DC, earned her a signing at the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History. Diana will be teaching The Art of Illustrated Journaling, as she has found that her students are able to beautifully illustrate their own travel experiences in their own developed style, once techniques in pen and ink drawing, watercolor washes and map-drawing, caricature doodling and fancy lettering are taught. Diana has been illustrating her own world travels in journals for the past 30 years. Her students testify that she has forever changed not only the way they travel and the way that they "see" places, people and experiences; indeed, they claim that she has changed their lives.
We will, together, explore the beautiful Dordogne region of Southwest France, named for the river that runs through it, and have timed the trip to take advantage of the many brocantes (open-air antique fairs) and vide-greniers (open-air flea markets) that the area has to offer during these twelve days of our trip. Hunting for country French treasures for our own homes and for permanent capture into our personal illustrated travel journals, we'll wander quaint villages, scavenge the markets, and explore the true rural countryside, enjoying French food and wine in the process. On-site instruction in The Art of Illustrated Journaling and Country French Design will occur both in the newly-renovated art studio of the 18th-century farmhouse, Petit Rousset, which will be our home for twelve days, as well as during our day trips to these various markets, fairs and other noteworthy excursions.
During a recent corporate breakfast of the global investment bank from which I run my daytime advisory practice, the keynote speaker, Jonathan Clements, co-author of The Little Book of Main Street Money, noted three financial goals that appeal to the cave dweller in each of us. The second goal is to “build a life of thoughtful progress.” He advises us to “spend our money on building life experiences.”
“You’ll always have Paris,” he told the audience. Travel, unlike shopping trips to department stores to buy expensive merchandise which yields temporary pleasure, gives you more and better memories over the years. It helps you build a life of thoughtful progress.
We'd love for you to build memories and make “thoughtful progress” by joining us in France. Please visit our online page for terms and a registration form, as well as our brochure:
http://www.rousset-perigord.org/LPRLibrary/2010/gessler-fernandez.shtml.
Feel free to call me with any questions (203.942.8282). If you are unable to join us but know of a world-traveling or Francophile friend, please ask them to contact me at: emomrx@yahoo.com or to call me to discuss. The trip is limited to 18 guests.
Until next time, sending all my very best!
Carolina
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Country French Design Inspiration in the Dordogne!
Stay tuned for the itinerary on an upcoming Arts Education trip to the Dordogne region of Southwest France, named for the river that runs through it. With my friend and colleague Diana Gessler, we'll be teaching The Art of Illustrated Journaling as well as Country French Design via our very own Treasure Hunt! Learn how to capture travel memories permanently in your own handpainted, hand-rendered journal using time-tested techniques of five-time author Diana Gessler, along with tips from Country French Kitchens author Carolina Fernandez. Record your adventures in pen and ink drawings, watercolor washes, creative doodling, caricatures of the people we'll encounter on our day trips, quirky maps and individualized comments during this twelve day sojourn. We will scavenge the brocantes (open-air antique fairs) and vide-greniers (open-air flea markets) in the quaint villages on our journey; peek our heads into authentic country French kitchens; shop for locally made fabrics, pottery and produce; and enjoy glorious French food and wine along the way. We'll explore lands inhabited since prehistoric times, including the charming villages of Eymet, Bergerac, Ste. Alvere, Monpazier and Sarlat, among others. Details forthcoming! We'd love you to join us!
Monday, August 17, 2009
Laughing and Crying with Julie
If you’re a French foodie, French interior design book junkie and/or, like me, are particularly crazy for French kitchen design, then run—don’t walk—to the nearest theater to catch Julie & Julia.
Just when I thought that Meryl Streep had performed at peak in her latest films, The Devil Wears Prada, Mamma Mia! and Doubt, I was transfixed watching her completely and totally absorb (I hate the word “channel”) the persona and larger-than-life character of Julia Child.
Oh my!
What a charmed life, living in Paris in the 50’s. The dinner parties. The daily trips to the patisserie. Fresh air and fresh food. Lots of free time. Could life be any sweeter? I flashbacked to my days in Miami, where we were also given a short-time assignment because of my husband’s job. The direct parallel to my own life gave me a small lump in my throat as I felt her pain of idleness. Of displacement. Of being in a strange—yet beautiful—land with no friends, no calling, no discernible purpose. We, too, lived in near nirvana-land. We had the boat, the pool, the tennis courts. The dinner parties. Fresh (hot) air and fresh food (fish).
But shy of old friends or even neighbors who might carry on a meaningful conversation, I felt isolated and above all else, lonely. As did Julia.
And then, watching her transformation as she developed and then carried out her Big Idea: to follow her intuition (certainly not just plain dumb luck resulting from her boredom) and attend classes at the Cordon Bleu, the opportunities that followed, the friendships that were nurtured. Finding her “true work.”
I saw a part of Julia of which I was totally unaware. I entered her life as she spoke to me with words and actions that gently pricked my heart. For I saw that all of my struggles in working as an author and as a writer were faced by her. And by Julie Powell, played by the terrific Amy Adams. I clung to every word. Every scene. I know I’ll need to see it at least three of four more times—soon!—to absorb all of its messages completely.
Both Julie and Julia found there true work in passions outside of their day jobs. Both stuck it out. When things didn’t go their way. When time pressures reared their ugly heads. When they faced rejection by the publishers and people whose opinions mattered most to them. When exhaustion and frustration and rejection surrounded their higher callings, they persevered anyway. As anyone who has ever tried to get published knows all too well, this is the normal course of affairs. Death of vision. Working when others are relaxing. Obstacle after obstacle and naysayer after naysayer.
Being true to myself pushed me into a two-year labor of love with the publication of Country French Kitchens. It was an inspired idea. One of my few epiphanies. It was born from frustration by a lack of resources in the marketplace and a desire to help others get the information that I craved. Most people told me that it would never see the light of day. I am not an interior designer. I am not a kitchen designer. I am not French. I am not a classically-trained chef. The odds were certainly against me. I am, above all else, a wife and mom to four. I work as a Financial Advisor by day. I happen to have a passion for art and design and have renovated eight homes along the way. I happen to love writing and painting more than anything else and desire to make a difference in this world. I chose to not give up. I chose to work at this project at the end of every work day—like Julie—and to devote every weekend to it until it was completed.
Like Julie, there were a few times when I dropped the proverbial roast on the floor. Sometimes, when one is juggling too many balls, one of them will fall on one’s foot. But, like Julie and Julia, I knew that I needed to follow my gut. Be true to myself. Find and follow my true work.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on Julie & Julia. Finding more personal life parallels than most, perhaps, it struck too many chords for me to count. Did it likewise do that for you? Let me know: emomrx@yahoo.com.
Bon Appetit!
Just when I thought that Meryl Streep had performed at peak in her latest films, The Devil Wears Prada, Mamma Mia! and Doubt, I was transfixed watching her completely and totally absorb (I hate the word “channel”) the persona and larger-than-life character of Julia Child.
Oh my!
What a charmed life, living in Paris in the 50’s. The dinner parties. The daily trips to the patisserie. Fresh air and fresh food. Lots of free time. Could life be any sweeter? I flashbacked to my days in Miami, where we were also given a short-time assignment because of my husband’s job. The direct parallel to my own life gave me a small lump in my throat as I felt her pain of idleness. Of displacement. Of being in a strange—yet beautiful—land with no friends, no calling, no discernible purpose. We, too, lived in near nirvana-land. We had the boat, the pool, the tennis courts. The dinner parties. Fresh (hot) air and fresh food (fish).
But shy of old friends or even neighbors who might carry on a meaningful conversation, I felt isolated and above all else, lonely. As did Julia.
And then, watching her transformation as she developed and then carried out her Big Idea: to follow her intuition (certainly not just plain dumb luck resulting from her boredom) and attend classes at the Cordon Bleu, the opportunities that followed, the friendships that were nurtured. Finding her “true work.”
I saw a part of Julia of which I was totally unaware. I entered her life as she spoke to me with words and actions that gently pricked my heart. For I saw that all of my struggles in working as an author and as a writer were faced by her. And by Julie Powell, played by the terrific Amy Adams. I clung to every word. Every scene. I know I’ll need to see it at least three of four more times—soon!—to absorb all of its messages completely.
Both Julie and Julia found there true work in passions outside of their day jobs. Both stuck it out. When things didn’t go their way. When time pressures reared their ugly heads. When they faced rejection by the publishers and people whose opinions mattered most to them. When exhaustion and frustration and rejection surrounded their higher callings, they persevered anyway. As anyone who has ever tried to get published knows all too well, this is the normal course of affairs. Death of vision. Working when others are relaxing. Obstacle after obstacle and naysayer after naysayer.
Being true to myself pushed me into a two-year labor of love with the publication of Country French Kitchens. It was an inspired idea. One of my few epiphanies. It was born from frustration by a lack of resources in the marketplace and a desire to help others get the information that I craved. Most people told me that it would never see the light of day. I am not an interior designer. I am not a kitchen designer. I am not French. I am not a classically-trained chef. The odds were certainly against me. I am, above all else, a wife and mom to four. I work as a Financial Advisor by day. I happen to have a passion for art and design and have renovated eight homes along the way. I happen to love writing and painting more than anything else and desire to make a difference in this world. I chose to not give up. I chose to work at this project at the end of every work day—like Julie—and to devote every weekend to it until it was completed.
Like Julie, there were a few times when I dropped the proverbial roast on the floor. Sometimes, when one is juggling too many balls, one of them will fall on one’s foot. But, like Julie and Julia, I knew that I needed to follow my gut. Be true to myself. Find and follow my true work.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on Julie & Julia. Finding more personal life parallels than most, perhaps, it struck too many chords for me to count. Did it likewise do that for you? Let me know: emomrx@yahoo.com.
Bon Appetit!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
What Makes a Country French Kitchen Country French?
It's the question I hear all the time. Check out my response in the latest issue of ARTES, an e-magazine devoted to fine art and design. Country French Kitchens is the featured book of the May issue.
Go to: www.arteswriting.com.
Go to: www.arteswriting.com.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sweet and Gentle Milestones
Our family hit a milestone two weeks ago. Or, better said, our son did. Nick graduated from Wake Forest University. Magna cum laude. With a degree in Psychology and two minors. My own son did better at my alma mater than I did. And I’m thrilled for him.
Many of you readers have followed Nick’s journey, which has been a rather remarkable one, to say the least. And so it was with enormous gratitude and yes, pride, that we watched him march across the stage and accept his diploma. Our throats caught emotion and our hearts and minds filled with unspeakable joy.
Milestones. It seems like we’ll all be facing them in these next few weeks. Commencements. Weddings. First jobs. Prom. Our daughter will hit a milestone in two weeks when she’ll perform the difficult Fritz Kreisler Praeludium and Allegro at her spring recital. Her nearly-80-year-old grandmother will make the trek to Connecticut to experience it; as a younger woman, she taught more than 200 violin students a week, and considers watching her own grandchild play this signature piece of violin repertoire part of her reward for all of those years of diligence.
It is, of course, the successful passing of mini-milestones that allow us to enjoy the major ones. I sat through Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star ten thousand times in preparation for the glory of the Kreisler piece. And yet I still get a lump in my throat when I hear a three-year-old play it. It brings a floodgate of memories of the hours spent in our living room, holding the bow on my kids’ 1/16th size violin or singing the song or turning on the tape so they could listen to it as they fell into dreamland.
One must make sweet and gentle leaps before she can make more strenuous ones. And so it goes. On and on and on.
During the course of my more than twenty-two years of motherhood, there were many days when I found my mini-milestone to be as sweet and gentle as a shower taken without interruption. Or a morning met with dry sheets on all four of our kids’ beds. Sweet and gentle was the mini-milestone of ninja turtle underpants instead of pull-ups; Tide-with-a-bow-on-top and our kid’s initiation into personal laundry instead of mom-the-family-laundress doing it all. Sweet and gentle milestones included clean kids’ bedrooms without nudging. Christmas recitals and soccer tournaments. Our daughter singing—live and onstage—to the Jonas Brothers.
I have come to realize that one doesn’t get to experience the joy of a major milestone until one witnesses the victories of multiple sweet and gentle mini-milestones along the way. Book contracts don’t come along until one has written dozens of articles and stories gratis. Singing to the Jonas Brothers doesn’t happen until one has memorized all of their songs, could lip sync them in each one of their movies, and traveled great distances to more than one of their concerts. Homes don’t get renovated until one has read hundreds of decorating magazines and made dozens of expensive decorating mistakes. One cannot perform the Kreisler concerto until she has mastered the Bach A Minor Concerto first. And college graduations just can’t happen until one has pulled all-nighters for finals and research papers for four years running.
As you go through the days of June, recognizing achievements in your own life and in those of whom you most love, allow yourself the indulgent luxury of re-living a few of the more painful and monotonous memories of the path to victory. Re-live, if briefly, some of the journey. When your daughter accepts the math award, remember all of those nights when you helped her with simple addition. At the tennis banquet, think of all of those days when you were the human ball machine, gently tossing her balls so that she could one day play on the varsity team. The days of June are sweet: they are abundantly filled with milestones of all shapes and sizes. May they bring to you, like they are bringing to us, unspeakable joy!
Many of you readers have followed Nick’s journey, which has been a rather remarkable one, to say the least. And so it was with enormous gratitude and yes, pride, that we watched him march across the stage and accept his diploma. Our throats caught emotion and our hearts and minds filled with unspeakable joy.
Milestones. It seems like we’ll all be facing them in these next few weeks. Commencements. Weddings. First jobs. Prom. Our daughter will hit a milestone in two weeks when she’ll perform the difficult Fritz Kreisler Praeludium and Allegro at her spring recital. Her nearly-80-year-old grandmother will make the trek to Connecticut to experience it; as a younger woman, she taught more than 200 violin students a week, and considers watching her own grandchild play this signature piece of violin repertoire part of her reward for all of those years of diligence.
It is, of course, the successful passing of mini-milestones that allow us to enjoy the major ones. I sat through Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star ten thousand times in preparation for the glory of the Kreisler piece. And yet I still get a lump in my throat when I hear a three-year-old play it. It brings a floodgate of memories of the hours spent in our living room, holding the bow on my kids’ 1/16th size violin or singing the song or turning on the tape so they could listen to it as they fell into dreamland.
One must make sweet and gentle leaps before she can make more strenuous ones. And so it goes. On and on and on.
During the course of my more than twenty-two years of motherhood, there were many days when I found my mini-milestone to be as sweet and gentle as a shower taken without interruption. Or a morning met with dry sheets on all four of our kids’ beds. Sweet and gentle was the mini-milestone of ninja turtle underpants instead of pull-ups; Tide-with-a-bow-on-top and our kid’s initiation into personal laundry instead of mom-the-family-laundress doing it all. Sweet and gentle milestones included clean kids’ bedrooms without nudging. Christmas recitals and soccer tournaments. Our daughter singing—live and onstage—to the Jonas Brothers.
I have come to realize that one doesn’t get to experience the joy of a major milestone until one witnesses the victories of multiple sweet and gentle mini-milestones along the way. Book contracts don’t come along until one has written dozens of articles and stories gratis. Singing to the Jonas Brothers doesn’t happen until one has memorized all of their songs, could lip sync them in each one of their movies, and traveled great distances to more than one of their concerts. Homes don’t get renovated until one has read hundreds of decorating magazines and made dozens of expensive decorating mistakes. One cannot perform the Kreisler concerto until she has mastered the Bach A Minor Concerto first. And college graduations just can’t happen until one has pulled all-nighters for finals and research papers for four years running.
As you go through the days of June, recognizing achievements in your own life and in those of whom you most love, allow yourself the indulgent luxury of re-living a few of the more painful and monotonous memories of the path to victory. Re-live, if briefly, some of the journey. When your daughter accepts the math award, remember all of those nights when you helped her with simple addition. At the tennis banquet, think of all of those days when you were the human ball machine, gently tossing her balls so that she could one day play on the varsity team. The days of June are sweet: they are abundantly filled with milestones of all shapes and sizes. May they bring to you, like they are bringing to us, unspeakable joy!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
What Mom Really Wants for Mother’s Day: A Little Something
There were countless years when all I really wanted was a nap. Then some when the thought of a restaurant dinner out—no cooking, serving or cleaning up—was our family’s little Mother’s Day ritual. But our favorite “Mother’s Day restaurant” closed when the economy headed south, and, frankly, the idea of spending all that money to feed our large brood just doesn’t turn me on this year. No. Not this year.
In the Recessionista spirit of “less is more” and Simplify-Simplify-Simplify, all I really want this year is a little something. My hunch is: this is what’s driving you too.
Mom wants:
Something a little fun: something slightly impractical that won’t break the family’s bank that she would most likely never buy were it not for Mother’s Day. I splurged with something a little crazy when I took the money my mother always sends me for Mother’s Day and—a few weeks early when I was on a random shopping trip out-of-town—bought a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer’s in turquoise. Not your average fifty-something’s choice for a new pair of shades. I admit: they’re a little zany. But hey: girls just wanna have fun.
Something a little sweet: chocolate or a cupcake or a big bowl of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. Mother’s Day screams: eat something caloric with a high fat content. My husband knows that I can do without an entire box of chocolates…but he better bring me a super dark bar or two to nosh on throughout this coming week.
Something a little tender: we don’t need much, do we? Just enough to let us know that all of our daily sacrifices are noticed…at least one day a year. Tender to me means someone in my family proactively dealing with the dirty dishes in the sink and the clean ones in the dishwasher. The crumbs on the floor and the old food in the fridge. Before I even mention it. Tender to me means having one of my teenagers wash and vacuum my car as a complete surprise. Tender to me means my husband brewing the morning coffee and delivering it to me in bed.
Something a little time-indulgent: An extra-long peek at the newspaper. That proverbial Sunday afternoon nap that almost always seems so out of reach. A leisurely phone call to a friend. Getting horizontal on the sofa with a new book. Painting the forgotten canvas. Dabbling. A pedicure.
Something a little orderly: especially meaningful to those of us who feel like we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders is an orderly environment. Whether it means that the kids pick up their loosely-strewn toys or that the teenagers pick up the laundry all over their bedroom floors; whether hubby might kindly re-organize the stacks of magazines on the family room coffee table or that he’ll neatly stack the mail in the drawer. Orderliness breeds creativity. And oh! How we could all use a larger dose of that.
Mother’s Day has a different connotation for every single mom. Some ignore the day altogether. Some require unusually high levels of doting and devotion. I just want a little something.
Whatever you need, whatever inspires you to motherhood with excellence: I am sending along my very best wishes for a most wonderful day. And hopefully, you will have some control over how, exactly, you spend it.
In the Recessionista spirit of “less is more” and Simplify-Simplify-Simplify, all I really want this year is a little something. My hunch is: this is what’s driving you too.
Mom wants:
Something a little fun: something slightly impractical that won’t break the family’s bank that she would most likely never buy were it not for Mother’s Day. I splurged with something a little crazy when I took the money my mother always sends me for Mother’s Day and—a few weeks early when I was on a random shopping trip out-of-town—bought a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer’s in turquoise. Not your average fifty-something’s choice for a new pair of shades. I admit: they’re a little zany. But hey: girls just wanna have fun.
Something a little sweet: chocolate or a cupcake or a big bowl of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. Mother’s Day screams: eat something caloric with a high fat content. My husband knows that I can do without an entire box of chocolates…but he better bring me a super dark bar or two to nosh on throughout this coming week.
Something a little tender: we don’t need much, do we? Just enough to let us know that all of our daily sacrifices are noticed…at least one day a year. Tender to me means someone in my family proactively dealing with the dirty dishes in the sink and the clean ones in the dishwasher. The crumbs on the floor and the old food in the fridge. Before I even mention it. Tender to me means having one of my teenagers wash and vacuum my car as a complete surprise. Tender to me means my husband brewing the morning coffee and delivering it to me in bed.
Something a little time-indulgent: An extra-long peek at the newspaper. That proverbial Sunday afternoon nap that almost always seems so out of reach. A leisurely phone call to a friend. Getting horizontal on the sofa with a new book. Painting the forgotten canvas. Dabbling. A pedicure.
Something a little orderly: especially meaningful to those of us who feel like we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders is an orderly environment. Whether it means that the kids pick up their loosely-strewn toys or that the teenagers pick up the laundry all over their bedroom floors; whether hubby might kindly re-organize the stacks of magazines on the family room coffee table or that he’ll neatly stack the mail in the drawer. Orderliness breeds creativity. And oh! How we could all use a larger dose of that.
Mother’s Day has a different connotation for every single mom. Some ignore the day altogether. Some require unusually high levels of doting and devotion. I just want a little something.
Whatever you need, whatever inspires you to motherhood with excellence: I am sending along my very best wishes for a most wonderful day. And hopefully, you will have some control over how, exactly, you spend it.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Weekend Rhythms
It’s not that I don’t love my job; it’s that I love my family and my home. Friday night comes and, wow! I can hardly wait to pull into my driveway. The weekend has its own distinct rhythms, and I have come to honor and respect them. Yes, indeed, to cherish them.
Friday usually means leaving work after the market closes. I rarely stay past five and hope to leave a little past four. As it’s typically the slowest day of the week, I work accordingly, catching up on all of the things in my inbox and other administrative tasks left behind in the swoosh of client calls and market volatility. The drive home holds less tension than do the other four work days. Bloomberg radio, my constant driving companion, is more tolerable. On Fridays, I feel slightly less responsible for carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. That’s what others are hired to do, what politicians are expected to do. I literally feel my body settling deep down into my leather car seat as I wind my way through the Connecticut countryside. There is a discernible calmness of mind and of spirit. For I know that I will be able to focus my energies, for two days anyway, on everything else that I have going on in my life.
That night almost always means food from our favorite local Asian restaurant. And while we try to mix up the selections from week the week, we find that it’s consistency in flavors nourishes not only our bellies, but our spirits as well. Few things calm me down for the weekend ahead more than does a piping hot bowl of curried soup. I usually desire an almost immediately horizontal position shortly thereafter. It is one of the few times during the week that I turn into a potato before darkness sets into the night. A movie on cable might follow. Or some TV time with my hubby or kids. But generally, Friday evening to me and my family means tummies full of Asian food, our dog at one of our feet, and a blanket covering a body that has gone completely limp.
Saturday morning is another story entirely. For me, it means an early rise and a good game of tennis with the gals. Court time is 8 AM sharp, and the combination of chasing down balls, a decent sweat and a lot of laughter is my favorite start to the day.
And then one of my favorite rituals takes place: my Saturday morning trip to the local grocer. My husband oftentimes offers to go instead, but I remind him that to deny me the trip is to strip me of one of the most emotionally enjoyable experiences of my week. The grocery store is legendary. Stew Leonard’s claims to be the largest dairy store in the world. But to me, it means the freshest fruits and vegetables that I can find, plenty of naked chicken and beef and pork, and one of the best selections of seafood in the area. The store is laid out in a maze, and once entered, it is very difficult to turn around and start all over again, as you’ll be going against traffic if you do. A walk down the first aisle finds me squeezing Florida oranges, eyeing the freshly baked muffins, pinching French baguettes and enjoying a sample size of just-brewed coffee.
It’s on to the deli counter, where “naked” meats, all without preservatives or fillers or antibiotics or hormones are served up with a smile. But my favorite aisles are those bearing freshly-picked herbs and vegetables. Ahhh! There’s nothing like a whiff of fresh cilantro to get one’s creative culinary juices flowing! An hour later, groceries are placed into the cloth bags that I carry in with me; an effortless commitment to a greener grocery trip is one of its rewards.
The lunch treat is chock full with my discoveries. Fresh mozzarella and vine-ripened tomatoes. Avocados. Berries. Could it get any better than that?
Saturday afternoon usually affords me either the luxury of working on one of my miscellaneous projects: a new book or a proposal or assembling a few sunshine baskets. Or catching up on my mail. I love getting lost in the work that lies on my home office desk. Ignored by me all week for utter lack of time or energy, it demands my attention by Saturday afternoon, and I am happy to oblige. The work carries me into the night, at which point my brain is no longer able to fully function. Thinking through a multitude of potentialities, the speed and variety which sometimes feels like raindrops falling into a waterfall, I have to lay down in an effort to calm my mind down. A horrible napper, I like to try midday nonetheless. The Saturday afternoon nap is a weekend ritual that is, to me, irresistible in concept anyway.
The evening gives me the time to cook up some of that wonderful food that I bought only hours earlier. Working in my French kitchen, I remain inspired by the great French chefs who have come before me. For I’m just a country cook. A home cook. Trying to please just my family and me. And sometimes friends, too, when we’re fortunate enough to have them over to share in the bounty.
It’s very French to slow down and enjoy the process of preparing food for your loved ones. If you stopped and asked some of the world’s best cooks what their secrets were, I suspect that the mere slowing down to work through the process would be one of them. Of taking the time to slice the vegetables. Or rolling out the dough. Cutting off the stems and peeling the fruit. Setting the table with beautiful china and linens and silver and candles.
And on Sunday, our laziest of all days, when other than attending worship services and leisurely catching up on our favorite magazines, books or papers, we hang out as a family and delight in the art of doing nothing. A nibble here and perhaps another meal or two to prepare, the weekend ends on a note of contentment and peace. Yes, the kids command our attention. Yes, the dirty laundry screams at me from its basket. And the crumbs on the floor need sweeping. The dog walking. But the rhythms of the weekend give us pause from the pressures of life. Our bodies, designed to take note and give in, relish the gaps in time that only the weekend brings.
I hope that as you contemplate re-calibration and the changes that it may inevitably bring to your work week, your family and your personal bottom line, that you are able to see them, as I have. And to respect and honor them. In order to increase your level of peace. Family harmony. Of infusing beauty into your home. Nourishing food into bodies. Oh! The weekend. Blissful intervention into the state of the world in which we find ourselves.
Peace,
Carolina
Friday usually means leaving work after the market closes. I rarely stay past five and hope to leave a little past four. As it’s typically the slowest day of the week, I work accordingly, catching up on all of the things in my inbox and other administrative tasks left behind in the swoosh of client calls and market volatility. The drive home holds less tension than do the other four work days. Bloomberg radio, my constant driving companion, is more tolerable. On Fridays, I feel slightly less responsible for carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. That’s what others are hired to do, what politicians are expected to do. I literally feel my body settling deep down into my leather car seat as I wind my way through the Connecticut countryside. There is a discernible calmness of mind and of spirit. For I know that I will be able to focus my energies, for two days anyway, on everything else that I have going on in my life.
That night almost always means food from our favorite local Asian restaurant. And while we try to mix up the selections from week the week, we find that it’s consistency in flavors nourishes not only our bellies, but our spirits as well. Few things calm me down for the weekend ahead more than does a piping hot bowl of curried soup. I usually desire an almost immediately horizontal position shortly thereafter. It is one of the few times during the week that I turn into a potato before darkness sets into the night. A movie on cable might follow. Or some TV time with my hubby or kids. But generally, Friday evening to me and my family means tummies full of Asian food, our dog at one of our feet, and a blanket covering a body that has gone completely limp.
Saturday morning is another story entirely. For me, it means an early rise and a good game of tennis with the gals. Court time is 8 AM sharp, and the combination of chasing down balls, a decent sweat and a lot of laughter is my favorite start to the day.
And then one of my favorite rituals takes place: my Saturday morning trip to the local grocer. My husband oftentimes offers to go instead, but I remind him that to deny me the trip is to strip me of one of the most emotionally enjoyable experiences of my week. The grocery store is legendary. Stew Leonard’s claims to be the largest dairy store in the world. But to me, it means the freshest fruits and vegetables that I can find, plenty of naked chicken and beef and pork, and one of the best selections of seafood in the area. The store is laid out in a maze, and once entered, it is very difficult to turn around and start all over again, as you’ll be going against traffic if you do. A walk down the first aisle finds me squeezing Florida oranges, eyeing the freshly baked muffins, pinching French baguettes and enjoying a sample size of just-brewed coffee.
It’s on to the deli counter, where “naked” meats, all without preservatives or fillers or antibiotics or hormones are served up with a smile. But my favorite aisles are those bearing freshly-picked herbs and vegetables. Ahhh! There’s nothing like a whiff of fresh cilantro to get one’s creative culinary juices flowing! An hour later, groceries are placed into the cloth bags that I carry in with me; an effortless commitment to a greener grocery trip is one of its rewards.
The lunch treat is chock full with my discoveries. Fresh mozzarella and vine-ripened tomatoes. Avocados. Berries. Could it get any better than that?
Saturday afternoon usually affords me either the luxury of working on one of my miscellaneous projects: a new book or a proposal or assembling a few sunshine baskets. Or catching up on my mail. I love getting lost in the work that lies on my home office desk. Ignored by me all week for utter lack of time or energy, it demands my attention by Saturday afternoon, and I am happy to oblige. The work carries me into the night, at which point my brain is no longer able to fully function. Thinking through a multitude of potentialities, the speed and variety which sometimes feels like raindrops falling into a waterfall, I have to lay down in an effort to calm my mind down. A horrible napper, I like to try midday nonetheless. The Saturday afternoon nap is a weekend ritual that is, to me, irresistible in concept anyway.
The evening gives me the time to cook up some of that wonderful food that I bought only hours earlier. Working in my French kitchen, I remain inspired by the great French chefs who have come before me. For I’m just a country cook. A home cook. Trying to please just my family and me. And sometimes friends, too, when we’re fortunate enough to have them over to share in the bounty.
It’s very French to slow down and enjoy the process of preparing food for your loved ones. If you stopped and asked some of the world’s best cooks what their secrets were, I suspect that the mere slowing down to work through the process would be one of them. Of taking the time to slice the vegetables. Or rolling out the dough. Cutting off the stems and peeling the fruit. Setting the table with beautiful china and linens and silver and candles.
And on Sunday, our laziest of all days, when other than attending worship services and leisurely catching up on our favorite magazines, books or papers, we hang out as a family and delight in the art of doing nothing. A nibble here and perhaps another meal or two to prepare, the weekend ends on a note of contentment and peace. Yes, the kids command our attention. Yes, the dirty laundry screams at me from its basket. And the crumbs on the floor need sweeping. The dog walking. But the rhythms of the weekend give us pause from the pressures of life. Our bodies, designed to take note and give in, relish the gaps in time that only the weekend brings.
I hope that as you contemplate re-calibration and the changes that it may inevitably bring to your work week, your family and your personal bottom line, that you are able to see them, as I have. And to respect and honor them. In order to increase your level of peace. Family harmony. Of infusing beauty into your home. Nourishing food into bodies. Oh! The weekend. Blissful intervention into the state of the world in which we find ourselves.
Peace,
Carolina
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Recalibrating
I’m noticing it everywhere. In the people in my office. In business associates. Clients. Early morning television hosts. The neighbors.
The shock has worn off and reality has set in: we’re in a new place now.
At first, some of us were in near-panic mode. Utter shock and disbelief at what had happened to our economy. And then that of other countries. Incredulous at the collapse of Bear Stearns and then of Lehman, the news of corporations running into problems and banks asking for money, we now roll monikers like TARP off our tongues as easily as we blab iPod or Blackberry (it hasn’t been that many years since these two came off the shelves y’know); and understand how derivatives and credit default swaps work almost as much as we understand the way furnaces heat our homes or oil lubricates our engines. Bernie Madoff? A household name. Ditto for John Thain, Ken Lewis and Jeffrey Immelt.
Incredible.
So this is our new normal. And parts of it are absolutely wonderful (OK. Not the Madoff part. But he’s in jail now.)
I believe it is wonderful that people are taking more responsibility for their personal finances. That they are questioning the way their money is being handled. That they are starting to understand what they own and why they own it.
I believe it is wonderful that the age of selfish indulgence is at least temporarily suspended. A fun story on NPR this morning charted the lessons a young gal is learning about coping through these new times. And she was lamenting that she has given up her daily five-word-long, brewed-in, several-dollars-at-a-pop Starbucks for a generic brand that she makes herself at home. Poor thing. I mean seriously. What have we come to? My own almost-eighty-year-old mother has never enjoyed a cup of Starbucks on her own nickel. And didn’t know what to do with the corrugated cardboard sleeve when I handed her one!
I believe it is wonderful that we are finally starting to look at price tags when we shop for clothing. That it’s suddenly cool again to wear “gently worn” suits or carry leather handbags purchased from your local consignment shop.
That we are questioning the need for gadgetry when we know darn well that simple tools and appliances usually do the trick. That expensive, flashy cars don’t really get us to where we need to go any more reliably than more vanilla models. That dinners in are usually more nutritious than dinners out.
I believe it is wonderful that families are helping family members who have temporarily been displaced out of jobs and of homes. Taking adult children and their kids in. Pitching in as families have always pitched in.
2009 is going to be about recalibrating. For whether you realize you are doing it or not, you are changing something about the way you do things. You are doing one of the above. Or you are re-thinking your line of work. Or your travel plans for spring break. Or your summer vacation. Or the colleges on your family’s wish list. Or your eating patterns and entertaining habits. Your driving routines. Dry cleaning needs. I have noticed in my many daily conversations with clients and with friends: we are coming to accept this new realty as just that. It’s our new reality. And so we better smile and make the best of it.
Recalibrate. In order to best serve you and your family’s needs. Or of your clients or customers. Your professional integrity or the probability of ensuring longevity in your line of work. Recalibrate to preserve your physical and mental health. To save yourself. Recalibrate to regain your spiritual bearings. To become centered.
Recalibration. That’s what’s ahead for us in 2009. For all of us. Whether we want it or realize it. Or not.
Recalibration holds enormous opportunities for blessings and for growth! I hope you start looking for them, reaching out to others who might help you find them, and discover something new about life. About yourself.
Blessings,
Carolina
The shock has worn off and reality has set in: we’re in a new place now.
At first, some of us were in near-panic mode. Utter shock and disbelief at what had happened to our economy. And then that of other countries. Incredulous at the collapse of Bear Stearns and then of Lehman, the news of corporations running into problems and banks asking for money, we now roll monikers like TARP off our tongues as easily as we blab iPod or Blackberry (it hasn’t been that many years since these two came off the shelves y’know); and understand how derivatives and credit default swaps work almost as much as we understand the way furnaces heat our homes or oil lubricates our engines. Bernie Madoff? A household name. Ditto for John Thain, Ken Lewis and Jeffrey Immelt.
Incredible.
So this is our new normal. And parts of it are absolutely wonderful (OK. Not the Madoff part. But he’s in jail now.)
I believe it is wonderful that people are taking more responsibility for their personal finances. That they are questioning the way their money is being handled. That they are starting to understand what they own and why they own it.
I believe it is wonderful that the age of selfish indulgence is at least temporarily suspended. A fun story on NPR this morning charted the lessons a young gal is learning about coping through these new times. And she was lamenting that she has given up her daily five-word-long, brewed-in, several-dollars-at-a-pop Starbucks for a generic brand that she makes herself at home. Poor thing. I mean seriously. What have we come to? My own almost-eighty-year-old mother has never enjoyed a cup of Starbucks on her own nickel. And didn’t know what to do with the corrugated cardboard sleeve when I handed her one!
I believe it is wonderful that we are finally starting to look at price tags when we shop for clothing. That it’s suddenly cool again to wear “gently worn” suits or carry leather handbags purchased from your local consignment shop.
That we are questioning the need for gadgetry when we know darn well that simple tools and appliances usually do the trick. That expensive, flashy cars don’t really get us to where we need to go any more reliably than more vanilla models. That dinners in are usually more nutritious than dinners out.
I believe it is wonderful that families are helping family members who have temporarily been displaced out of jobs and of homes. Taking adult children and their kids in. Pitching in as families have always pitched in.
2009 is going to be about recalibrating. For whether you realize you are doing it or not, you are changing something about the way you do things. You are doing one of the above. Or you are re-thinking your line of work. Or your travel plans for spring break. Or your summer vacation. Or the colleges on your family’s wish list. Or your eating patterns and entertaining habits. Your driving routines. Dry cleaning needs. I have noticed in my many daily conversations with clients and with friends: we are coming to accept this new realty as just that. It’s our new reality. And so we better smile and make the best of it.
Recalibrate. In order to best serve you and your family’s needs. Or of your clients or customers. Your professional integrity or the probability of ensuring longevity in your line of work. Recalibrate to preserve your physical and mental health. To save yourself. Recalibrate to regain your spiritual bearings. To become centered.
Recalibration. That’s what’s ahead for us in 2009. For all of us. Whether we want it or realize it. Or not.
Recalibration holds enormous opportunities for blessings and for growth! I hope you start looking for them, reaching out to others who might help you find them, and discover something new about life. About yourself.
Blessings,
Carolina
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sneaux Day!
OK. It’s corny. Just keeping up the French/Gleaux thing……
We’re covered in at least 8 inches of fresh powder. And it’s still coming down. Glorious! As I sit at my desk in my third floor office, on top of a ridge in this tiny New England town of ours, I stare out my windows, which frame brown tree limbs, starkly rising, and sometimes swaying, in this winter wonderland of white. The wind howls; I hear it through the glass. As it blows, ice-laden snow swirls across the window panes, giving sound to the otherwise silent, beautiful scene.
Turning my thermostat up just one more degree, I gaze out, mind spinning with thoughts of everything I want to accomplish on this snow day.
Snow days are like free days. Pure gifts. Expanded time. With no ability to get to my office nearly a one-hour drive away from home—or not until my plow guy comes to rescue me anyway—I automatically saved two full hours which would have been spent just driving! My pool is closed as well; riding my stationary bike in my basement “gym” will save me another hour and a half. And aaah! The rare treat of the no make-up-pantyhose-high-heels-getting-dolled-up ritual just landed me another free thirty minutes. Snow day math!
Trying not to hyperventilate with this newly-found time on my hands, with full mug of coffee at fingertips, I plan to:
• Put in my daily quiet time. Read. Reflect. Pray.
• Catch up on all personal emails.
• Write this newsletter.
• Log into my work system and do everything I possibly can while working remote. Answer all emails. Keep tabs on the market. Make outgoing phone calls. Turn on cable business TV programs. I will try my darndest to work during market hours only. (Snow days are gifts, after all. Other work calls too!)
• Eat breakfast with my hubby. What a rare treat! I’m usually out the door before the sun comes up.
• Catch up on laundry during short work breaks. (I can almost never get completely caught up during normal work weeks. Can you?)
• Eat lunch with the kids. Whoa. Another rarity. (I think I’ll make hot chocolate. Williams Sonoma has the best mix ever. Have you tried their handmade marshmallows? Yummo.)
• Put a chicken in the oven and let it slow-roast all day. (Dinner on the table on a work night? Are you kidding?)
• Finish a book proposal. (Even with that industry in depression, it doesn’t hurt to keep trying!)
• Try to organize my thoughts and make lists for all the stuff I’m behind in. (Where do I start. I feel myself hyperventilating a bit: kids school papers, board responsibilities, thank you notes, organizing old magazines, de-cluttering the kitchen. Go into attack mode once the markets close.)
• Work on photo albums after dinner. (Nick will graduate in May and when asked if he’d rather I make him a hand-stitched needlepoint belt or present him with a photo book of his life, he said he wanted the book of his life. Wild! So I need to get crackin’. Lesson I learned: don’t under-estimate those precious photos! Put them in good order and try not to get hopelessly behind. Your kids treasure them more than you might realize.)
• Assemble four sunshine baskets. (Every month, I try to get four baskets delivered to people in need of a bit of cheer. I keep my eyes and ears open for someone who has just had surgery, lost a job, is faced with a major illness or accident. It never fails; there are always at least four people a month. I save the wooden cartons that tangerines are packed in and use them for the base. Then I stuff them with paper filler and load them up with as many treats as fit in. Small treats. Could be French soaps, chocolate bars, a pack of stationery, tiny gift book. Simple things which might bring a bit of cheer to someone’s day. Try it. If everyone who reads this newsletter makes four baskets a month, we could be a few thousand points of light to people who need that energy!)
That’s it. That’s my snow day planned out. Mental free-for-all. If you live on the east coast, chances are, you’re snowed-in too. Don’t squander this time! Catch up on sleep and then, fly! And if you aren’t living under a snow drift right now, well, carry on, do your thing and make a difference in one way or another today. At least make a sunshine basket. Or two.
Blessings on your day!
Carolina
We’re covered in at least 8 inches of fresh powder. And it’s still coming down. Glorious! As I sit at my desk in my third floor office, on top of a ridge in this tiny New England town of ours, I stare out my windows, which frame brown tree limbs, starkly rising, and sometimes swaying, in this winter wonderland of white. The wind howls; I hear it through the glass. As it blows, ice-laden snow swirls across the window panes, giving sound to the otherwise silent, beautiful scene.
Turning my thermostat up just one more degree, I gaze out, mind spinning with thoughts of everything I want to accomplish on this snow day.
Snow days are like free days. Pure gifts. Expanded time. With no ability to get to my office nearly a one-hour drive away from home—or not until my plow guy comes to rescue me anyway—I automatically saved two full hours which would have been spent just driving! My pool is closed as well; riding my stationary bike in my basement “gym” will save me another hour and a half. And aaah! The rare treat of the no make-up-pantyhose-high-heels-getting-dolled-up ritual just landed me another free thirty minutes. Snow day math!
Trying not to hyperventilate with this newly-found time on my hands, with full mug of coffee at fingertips, I plan to:
• Put in my daily quiet time. Read. Reflect. Pray.
• Catch up on all personal emails.
• Write this newsletter.
• Log into my work system and do everything I possibly can while working remote. Answer all emails. Keep tabs on the market. Make outgoing phone calls. Turn on cable business TV programs. I will try my darndest to work during market hours only. (Snow days are gifts, after all. Other work calls too!)
• Eat breakfast with my hubby. What a rare treat! I’m usually out the door before the sun comes up.
• Catch up on laundry during short work breaks. (I can almost never get completely caught up during normal work weeks. Can you?)
• Eat lunch with the kids. Whoa. Another rarity. (I think I’ll make hot chocolate. Williams Sonoma has the best mix ever. Have you tried their handmade marshmallows? Yummo.)
• Put a chicken in the oven and let it slow-roast all day. (Dinner on the table on a work night? Are you kidding?)
• Finish a book proposal. (Even with that industry in depression, it doesn’t hurt to keep trying!)
• Try to organize my thoughts and make lists for all the stuff I’m behind in. (Where do I start. I feel myself hyperventilating a bit: kids school papers, board responsibilities, thank you notes, organizing old magazines, de-cluttering the kitchen. Go into attack mode once the markets close.)
• Work on photo albums after dinner. (Nick will graduate in May and when asked if he’d rather I make him a hand-stitched needlepoint belt or present him with a photo book of his life, he said he wanted the book of his life. Wild! So I need to get crackin’. Lesson I learned: don’t under-estimate those precious photos! Put them in good order and try not to get hopelessly behind. Your kids treasure them more than you might realize.)
• Assemble four sunshine baskets. (Every month, I try to get four baskets delivered to people in need of a bit of cheer. I keep my eyes and ears open for someone who has just had surgery, lost a job, is faced with a major illness or accident. It never fails; there are always at least four people a month. I save the wooden cartons that tangerines are packed in and use them for the base. Then I stuff them with paper filler and load them up with as many treats as fit in. Small treats. Could be French soaps, chocolate bars, a pack of stationery, tiny gift book. Simple things which might bring a bit of cheer to someone’s day. Try it. If everyone who reads this newsletter makes four baskets a month, we could be a few thousand points of light to people who need that energy!)
That’s it. That’s my snow day planned out. Mental free-for-all. If you live on the east coast, chances are, you’re snowed-in too. Don’t squander this time! Catch up on sleep and then, fly! And if you aren’t living under a snow drift right now, well, carry on, do your thing and make a difference in one way or another today. At least make a sunshine basket. Or two.
Blessings on your day!
Carolina
Sunday, February 22, 2009
She's Got Moxie
When our daughter was a freshman in high school, we encouraged her to audition for a role in her high school play. She had always expressed—since she was a toddler—interest in drama, be it in commercials, TV…or on our kitchen floor with some antics she had invented on her own.
So her lack of interest in auditioning for her school play, based on the fact that “only seniors” are allowed to be the lead, and “if I can’t be the lead, I don’t want to be in it” was met with a gentle rebuke on my part of just how presumptuous (arrogant?) that attitude was.
“You need to work yourself up to the lead, hon.You can’t just expect to be given the lead role until you’ve paid your dues for the three years leading up to senior year” was my motherly advice.
Undaunted, she stood her ground and, to my amazement, would truly have rather sat in the audience and watched the play than been in it with a minor role.
Our only daughter has always had a singular focus on what she wants. Like a bull in a china closet, she sets her eye on a goal and then just busts through until she gets it.
A couple of years ago, she set her sights on the Jonas Brothers. Literally and without reservation. They became a young teen girl’s obsession, one which we thought would quickly pass. But oh no. Every song was memorized. Every performance recorded. Every tune downloaded, poster hung, t-shirt bought.
Her dream had been, from the moment she laid eyes on them, to one day meet them. Either shake their hands or get their autographs or sit close enough at a concert to get within eye range.
So when she found out last month that MTV was putting on a contest for the Jonas Brother’s #1 fans in the Tri-State area, she knew she had to enter. She insisted that she was, indeed, their #1 fan. And this might be, after all, her best shot of achieving her life dream.
The contest called for her to gather her BFF’s and shoot a short video that captured how they were their #1 fans and why they should win the contest. A whirlwind of activities—amidst finals, travel volleyball, babysitting and violin lessons (homework?)—resulted in them submitting their video on time and earning a place in the MTV studios last weekend. She and her two also-Jonas-Brothers-#1-fans-best friends threw themselves into the project with abandon. Knocked themselves out. Bought adorable outfits accented with hot pink tights and lime green Converse hightops for the big day when they would hang out at the studios hoping to enter the finals.
Contest rules prevent me from going any further. But if you’d like to see how the story ends, please look for details at the end of this newsletter.
Bottom line: a singular focus requires vision unlike anything anyone else will hold for you. It requires gritting your teeth when the going gets tough, and dusting the dirt off your jeans when you fall on your butt. It requires holding your head high when everyone else tells you you’re nuts. And just sticking through it when the odds are stacked completely against you.
It usually results in several detours, U-turns and yield curves along the way, throwing you off path when you least expect it. It also typically comes with a “death of vision” before the story is fully told. Just when you think you are close to finishing the deal, a major door gets slammed in your face.
Our daughter’s case involved all of this. But it’s also a story of not quitting before the miracle.
Perhaps you’re there right now. Working at something that looks hopeless. That’s against all odds. You’re down and out. Broke and broken. Ready to throw in the towel.
I’d invite you to give it just a little bit more time. Get through this week. Rent Bottle Shock on cable; it’s a story of grit and grind and falling off the horse and persevering when the odds are completely stacked against you.
Or tune in to MTV on Monday night, February 23 at 6:00 PM to see how my daughter’s dream played out.
Until next week, sending all my very best,
Carolina
So her lack of interest in auditioning for her school play, based on the fact that “only seniors” are allowed to be the lead, and “if I can’t be the lead, I don’t want to be in it” was met with a gentle rebuke on my part of just how presumptuous (arrogant?) that attitude was.
“You need to work yourself up to the lead, hon.You can’t just expect to be given the lead role until you’ve paid your dues for the three years leading up to senior year” was my motherly advice.
Undaunted, she stood her ground and, to my amazement, would truly have rather sat in the audience and watched the play than been in it with a minor role.
Our only daughter has always had a singular focus on what she wants. Like a bull in a china closet, she sets her eye on a goal and then just busts through until she gets it.
A couple of years ago, she set her sights on the Jonas Brothers. Literally and without reservation. They became a young teen girl’s obsession, one which we thought would quickly pass. But oh no. Every song was memorized. Every performance recorded. Every tune downloaded, poster hung, t-shirt bought.
Her dream had been, from the moment she laid eyes on them, to one day meet them. Either shake their hands or get their autographs or sit close enough at a concert to get within eye range.
So when she found out last month that MTV was putting on a contest for the Jonas Brother’s #1 fans in the Tri-State area, she knew she had to enter. She insisted that she was, indeed, their #1 fan. And this might be, after all, her best shot of achieving her life dream.
The contest called for her to gather her BFF’s and shoot a short video that captured how they were their #1 fans and why they should win the contest. A whirlwind of activities—amidst finals, travel volleyball, babysitting and violin lessons (homework?)—resulted in them submitting their video on time and earning a place in the MTV studios last weekend. She and her two also-Jonas-Brothers-#1-fans-best friends threw themselves into the project with abandon. Knocked themselves out. Bought adorable outfits accented with hot pink tights and lime green Converse hightops for the big day when they would hang out at the studios hoping to enter the finals.
Contest rules prevent me from going any further. But if you’d like to see how the story ends, please look for details at the end of this newsletter.
Bottom line: a singular focus requires vision unlike anything anyone else will hold for you. It requires gritting your teeth when the going gets tough, and dusting the dirt off your jeans when you fall on your butt. It requires holding your head high when everyone else tells you you’re nuts. And just sticking through it when the odds are stacked completely against you.
It usually results in several detours, U-turns and yield curves along the way, throwing you off path when you least expect it. It also typically comes with a “death of vision” before the story is fully told. Just when you think you are close to finishing the deal, a major door gets slammed in your face.
Our daughter’s case involved all of this. But it’s also a story of not quitting before the miracle.
Perhaps you’re there right now. Working at something that looks hopeless. That’s against all odds. You’re down and out. Broke and broken. Ready to throw in the towel.
I’d invite you to give it just a little bit more time. Get through this week. Rent Bottle Shock on cable; it’s a story of grit and grind and falling off the horse and persevering when the odds are completely stacked against you.
Or tune in to MTV on Monday night, February 23 at 6:00 PM to see how my daughter’s dream played out.
Until next week, sending all my very best,
Carolina
Sunday, February 1, 2009
What Women Really Want: Beyond Budgets and Botox
Several months ago, one of the members of my PWAC group (Professional Women’s Advisory Council)—which will be celebrating its one-year anniversary this month!—told me that she’d been giving a lot of thought to the comments of her female patients. A plastic surgeon, she was more intimately involved with them than most docs. And she found herself talking with them a lot, as one might expect a female doc to do, and hearing five resounding themes:
• women want to be beautiful and really like their faces, skin and bodies
• women want to become financially independent
• women want a female legal advocate
• women want to be deemed physically sensuous and enjoy beauty in their personal spaces
• women want to strive towards spiritual maturity and find meaning and purpose in life
She noodled on these conversations for months, trying to figure out how she might help her patients move more effectively towards these five goals while at the same time, meet the challenges of her own practice and its inherent limitations, as she believed herself to be professionally qualified in just one of these areas.
We met for coffee and she shared with me her concerns as well as a vision of how fellow women professionals might help women find what they really wanted. And would I have an interest in playing a role.
My immediate “of course!” has taken us, along with three others, to organize an event this week for women throughout Fairfield County who are seeking answers to some—if not all—of these issues. From consults with my plastic surgeon doctor friend to free facials to learning more about budgets and Botox: we will, together, aim to move more women forward.
Even as one of the five chosen to be part of this exciting evening, I find myself searching for answers as well. For trying to make more sense out of the nonsense going on all around us. Of reaching for books off my library shelf for a second read. Keeping the nightlight on past bedtime to read just one more chapter of a novella on spirituality. Trying to regain a calming, affirming sense of peace in this otherwise turbulent time. Confirming purpose. For faith is the one constant in life. Let’s face it: our bodies will age and our eyelids will droop; our finances will flux; we probably won’t confront legal issues on most days; and we will feel more sensuous some days and much less on others. But faith endures. Seeking spiritual maturity, walking further down the journey is something which, when strived for, only grows deeper with the passing years.
These other issues are important. Vitally so. And I am a firm believer that, as women, we need to get a grip in each one of these other areas. From my perch, too, I hear these same themes day in and day out. And I think that especially now, we yearn for extra compasses to mark our paths. For more clearly defined data points from which to draw conclusions and chart new paths.
We’re expecting almost two hundred women at our event. If you are just now reading this for the first time and would like to come, please, just shoot me an email. We’d love to fix you a wholesome goddess potion and introduce you to some women who may change your life! Information empowers people. And we want to be there as a way to give back to the community that information which has been hard-earned by each one of us over the course of our professional careers.
What women really want is information to make empowered decisions. To lead well-intentioned lives. To create lives worth living.
I hope you’ll join me!
All my best,
Carolina
• women want to be beautiful and really like their faces, skin and bodies
• women want to become financially independent
• women want a female legal advocate
• women want to be deemed physically sensuous and enjoy beauty in their personal spaces
• women want to strive towards spiritual maturity and find meaning and purpose in life
She noodled on these conversations for months, trying to figure out how she might help her patients move more effectively towards these five goals while at the same time, meet the challenges of her own practice and its inherent limitations, as she believed herself to be professionally qualified in just one of these areas.
We met for coffee and she shared with me her concerns as well as a vision of how fellow women professionals might help women find what they really wanted. And would I have an interest in playing a role.
My immediate “of course!” has taken us, along with three others, to organize an event this week for women throughout Fairfield County who are seeking answers to some—if not all—of these issues. From consults with my plastic surgeon doctor friend to free facials to learning more about budgets and Botox: we will, together, aim to move more women forward.
Even as one of the five chosen to be part of this exciting evening, I find myself searching for answers as well. For trying to make more sense out of the nonsense going on all around us. Of reaching for books off my library shelf for a second read. Keeping the nightlight on past bedtime to read just one more chapter of a novella on spirituality. Trying to regain a calming, affirming sense of peace in this otherwise turbulent time. Confirming purpose. For faith is the one constant in life. Let’s face it: our bodies will age and our eyelids will droop; our finances will flux; we probably won’t confront legal issues on most days; and we will feel more sensuous some days and much less on others. But faith endures. Seeking spiritual maturity, walking further down the journey is something which, when strived for, only grows deeper with the passing years.
These other issues are important. Vitally so. And I am a firm believer that, as women, we need to get a grip in each one of these other areas. From my perch, too, I hear these same themes day in and day out. And I think that especially now, we yearn for extra compasses to mark our paths. For more clearly defined data points from which to draw conclusions and chart new paths.
We’re expecting almost two hundred women at our event. If you are just now reading this for the first time and would like to come, please, just shoot me an email. We’d love to fix you a wholesome goddess potion and introduce you to some women who may change your life! Information empowers people. And we want to be there as a way to give back to the community that information which has been hard-earned by each one of us over the course of our professional careers.
What women really want is information to make empowered decisions. To lead well-intentioned lives. To create lives worth living.
I hope you’ll join me!
All my best,
Carolina
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Circulating
Razor-cutting layoffs. Breaking contracts. Combining offices. Consolidating businesses. Declining earnings. Foreclosing mortgages.
The headlines give me headaches.
My day job puts me in the epicenter of the swirl of the financial world. News spinning around the globe has the potential to put me into a downward spiral and true blue funk by dinnertime.
We’re all affected by these events in one way or another. Can’t escape them. No where to hide. The trickle-down effect has monumental implications. One person’s job loss means one neighborhood foreclosure and all of a sudden, your home, thousands of miles away, is devalued. Or the goods and services that you lovingly present to the world have become, on a dime, completely devalued. Practically worthless in our global economy. Your bottom line is now in sight as never before and you, too, question the validity of your livelihood, your prospects for career survival and your long-term outlook for your chosen profession. For just when we thought it was safe to go outside again, we see darkness lurking in every corner. Even attorneys, who reside in one of the very few professions that have always been thought to be recession-proof, are suddenly witnessing massive layoffs and office closings. (See today’s feature article in the Wall Street Journal).
But take heart. There’s always reinvention.
I love the whole concept of reinvention. In fact, I’m not quite sure it’s really fair to call it that. I view it more as “continually striving to become the person who God designed you to become.” Moving toward the Promise Land of flowing milk and honey. Eventually finding and doing that for which you were created. Spending years in jobs and homes and physical locations as training grounds for that which you were really made for. Being placed in circumstances with people who you might find wonderful or irritating as a way to build character. Performing repetitive acts day in and day out not as the fatal end of a life spend in torture, but as preparation for the glorious work you are supposed to be doing as you mature toward your ultimate destiny.
People accuse me of constantly reinventing myself. And I’m always simultaneously amused and flattered by it. Because they mean well. But I view reinvention as a way of continually working on myself. Always stretching. Enduring growing pains along the way which cause me enough discomfort to figure out how best to move forward. How to finally bask in the light of what I was put on earth to do.
One of the best ways to reinvent yourself—to grow into your completed self—is by throwing yourself out there. Fully. Circulating. Of putting yourself in unfamiliar surroundings, talking to unfamiliar people about unfamiliar things. And then walking away, perhaps scratching your head, wondering “What in the heck was that all about?” Last week I allowed myself a one-hour weekday lunch-hour visit to a Jin Shin Jyutsu practitioner for a complimentary treatment. The practitioner is a member of my BNI group, and she offers all members a complimentary one- hour visit. Having no earthly idea what to expect, me being a practicing, very Western Christian with little exposure to Eastern traditions, I was hesitant. Not overly excited about the prospect. Slightly unnerved by it actually. Totally out of my comfort zone. It turned out to be a wonderfully relaxing experience which was honestly exactly what I needed to reduce my level of toxic stress which had been building up in my body over these last, what, eighteen months?
Most people I talk with these days are in dire need of reinvention. Out of work with no idea where to run or how to move forward, they have little comprehension of the why and the how of getting out there moving again. Of circulating among the living. Of going to parties or of actually throwing one of their own. Of accepting luncheon invitations or meeting a friend for morning coffee. Of asking “who do you know?” to mere acquaintances.
I’ve always enjoyed inviting perfect strangers to dinner. Or someone “dangerous” to tea. It’s simultaneously invigorating and wildly uncomfortable. Living in the uncomfortable zone is a whole lot more threatening than playing all the time in the safety zone. Or, as they say: “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much space.”
Please take a peek at a few of the events in which I’m participating in these next couple of weeks. If you need to reinvent yourself or you just need to get out and meet some new and interesting people, I invite you to circulate with me. Circulating is invigorating. Energizing. It leaves one feeling wildly and optimistically expectant and open to all that one’s mind can imagine and believe.
I hope to bump into you soon!
Blessings,
Carolina
The headlines give me headaches.
My day job puts me in the epicenter of the swirl of the financial world. News spinning around the globe has the potential to put me into a downward spiral and true blue funk by dinnertime.
We’re all affected by these events in one way or another. Can’t escape them. No where to hide. The trickle-down effect has monumental implications. One person’s job loss means one neighborhood foreclosure and all of a sudden, your home, thousands of miles away, is devalued. Or the goods and services that you lovingly present to the world have become, on a dime, completely devalued. Practically worthless in our global economy. Your bottom line is now in sight as never before and you, too, question the validity of your livelihood, your prospects for career survival and your long-term outlook for your chosen profession. For just when we thought it was safe to go outside again, we see darkness lurking in every corner. Even attorneys, who reside in one of the very few professions that have always been thought to be recession-proof, are suddenly witnessing massive layoffs and office closings. (See today’s feature article in the Wall Street Journal).
But take heart. There’s always reinvention.
I love the whole concept of reinvention. In fact, I’m not quite sure it’s really fair to call it that. I view it more as “continually striving to become the person who God designed you to become.” Moving toward the Promise Land of flowing milk and honey. Eventually finding and doing that for which you were created. Spending years in jobs and homes and physical locations as training grounds for that which you were really made for. Being placed in circumstances with people who you might find wonderful or irritating as a way to build character. Performing repetitive acts day in and day out not as the fatal end of a life spend in torture, but as preparation for the glorious work you are supposed to be doing as you mature toward your ultimate destiny.
People accuse me of constantly reinventing myself. And I’m always simultaneously amused and flattered by it. Because they mean well. But I view reinvention as a way of continually working on myself. Always stretching. Enduring growing pains along the way which cause me enough discomfort to figure out how best to move forward. How to finally bask in the light of what I was put on earth to do.
One of the best ways to reinvent yourself—to grow into your completed self—is by throwing yourself out there. Fully. Circulating. Of putting yourself in unfamiliar surroundings, talking to unfamiliar people about unfamiliar things. And then walking away, perhaps scratching your head, wondering “What in the heck was that all about?” Last week I allowed myself a one-hour weekday lunch-hour visit to a Jin Shin Jyutsu practitioner for a complimentary treatment. The practitioner is a member of my BNI group, and she offers all members a complimentary one- hour visit. Having no earthly idea what to expect, me being a practicing, very Western Christian with little exposure to Eastern traditions, I was hesitant. Not overly excited about the prospect. Slightly unnerved by it actually. Totally out of my comfort zone. It turned out to be a wonderfully relaxing experience which was honestly exactly what I needed to reduce my level of toxic stress which had been building up in my body over these last, what, eighteen months?
Most people I talk with these days are in dire need of reinvention. Out of work with no idea where to run or how to move forward, they have little comprehension of the why and the how of getting out there moving again. Of circulating among the living. Of going to parties or of actually throwing one of their own. Of accepting luncheon invitations or meeting a friend for morning coffee. Of asking “who do you know?” to mere acquaintances.
I’ve always enjoyed inviting perfect strangers to dinner. Or someone “dangerous” to tea. It’s simultaneously invigorating and wildly uncomfortable. Living in the uncomfortable zone is a whole lot more threatening than playing all the time in the safety zone. Or, as they say: “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much space.”
Please take a peek at a few of the events in which I’m participating in these next couple of weeks. If you need to reinvent yourself or you just need to get out and meet some new and interesting people, I invite you to circulate with me. Circulating is invigorating. Energizing. It leaves one feeling wildly and optimistically expectant and open to all that one’s mind can imagine and believe.
I hope to bump into you soon!
Blessings,
Carolina
The 7th F: Why “Find” Should Be One of Your New Year’s Goals
Over the years, as I’ve written out my New Year’s goals, I have usually confined them to easily identifiable chunks, following a simple prescription of “the 6 F’s.” My husband, aiming to simplify-simplify-simplify, keeps it at just that: we have four kids and being Fernandez’s, we are, quite simply, the six F’s. And so we use this as a sort of model for goal-casting. Let me walk you through how we do it.
Faith: We set goals that help us walk a little further down our faith journeys. I wrote a goal of daily reading of the Scriptures, of daily prayer. I also admire the author Eugene Peterson, and I always have a yearly goal of reading more of his work. Perhaps you’ve been yearning to take a class or join a small group of like-minded souls who will come along side you in your faith walk. Commit your faith-based goals to paper.
Family: Developing wonderful families does not happen by chance. It takes insight, thoughtful planning, commitment, time, energy and passion. What simple rituals could you put into place that would enrich your family relationships? Daily walks together? Reading the classics aloud each night? Playing Scrabble together on the weekends? Dinner around the dining room table? An annual ski trip? Summers at the beach? Commitment to your kids’ sports schedules? Sitting with them while they practice the violin?
Friends: What do you need to do to continue your relationships well into your golden years? Do you have long-term friendships? What has kept these friendships alive? Sending birthday gifts and cards? Once-a-year trips together? Shopping? Frequent emails or phone calls? Dinners out? What could you be doing proactively that would ensure that these relationships stay healthy and strong?
Financial: Are you financially independent? If not, what steps should you take in order to move you closer to it? Can you pay down your debt? Look for a sideline job? Re-enter the workforce? Save more? Freeze lifestyle? With most people taking a significant whack to net worth in 2008, we are all thinking about the state of our finances and specifically, what we need to do to regain lost positions.
Fitness: Are you strong? Do your eyes radiate perfect health? Are you flexible? Can you maintain aerobic exercise for twenty minutes seven days a week? Are you committed to an exercise regimen? For how long? Which days of the week?
Fun: Do you look forward to each new day? If not, why not? What do you want to change about your daily existence that would bring more enjoyment to life? Take up painting? See more movies? Read more books? Spend more time with your kids? See more of the world? Give more to philanthropic organizations that bring you joy?
So there you have it. “The 6 F’s.” But the most intriguing “F” to me is the seventh one. “Find.”
Find that for which you were created.
God had a great idea when He created you. He had something in mind for you to do. A reason to put you on this earth. A mission. A purpose. Have you figured it out yet? One of man’s instinctual drivers is to seek that for which he was made.
As you write out your yearly goals, I would encourage you to spend a good deal of time reflecting on just this. It’s not something that most of us can easily or quickly do. For as time passes and we grow up, we soon discover that there are always new things that we are supposed to be doing. When we’re young, we’re supposed to be good students. And perhaps, if we’ve been blessed with giftedness in a specific area, perhaps with athletic prowess or musical or artistic ability, we are of course required to explore it and to use it. But as we get older and assume greater worldly responsibilities to family and kids and career, we often lose sight of what we were put on this earth to do. Meditate on this. Imagine possibilities. Allow yourself to think of the bodacious. Crazy big.
People who habitually write down their goals have a higher probability of achieving them. Study after study has shown this to be true. Commit to writing them down before the week is over. Give yourself the license to enjoy quiet contemplation. As the weeks go on, consistently review these written goals. Make yourself accountable towards achieving them. And, moving forward, watch your dreams unfold.
God bless,
Carolina
Faith: We set goals that help us walk a little further down our faith journeys. I wrote a goal of daily reading of the Scriptures, of daily prayer. I also admire the author Eugene Peterson, and I always have a yearly goal of reading more of his work. Perhaps you’ve been yearning to take a class or join a small group of like-minded souls who will come along side you in your faith walk. Commit your faith-based goals to paper.
Family: Developing wonderful families does not happen by chance. It takes insight, thoughtful planning, commitment, time, energy and passion. What simple rituals could you put into place that would enrich your family relationships? Daily walks together? Reading the classics aloud each night? Playing Scrabble together on the weekends? Dinner around the dining room table? An annual ski trip? Summers at the beach? Commitment to your kids’ sports schedules? Sitting with them while they practice the violin?
Friends: What do you need to do to continue your relationships well into your golden years? Do you have long-term friendships? What has kept these friendships alive? Sending birthday gifts and cards? Once-a-year trips together? Shopping? Frequent emails or phone calls? Dinners out? What could you be doing proactively that would ensure that these relationships stay healthy and strong?
Financial: Are you financially independent? If not, what steps should you take in order to move you closer to it? Can you pay down your debt? Look for a sideline job? Re-enter the workforce? Save more? Freeze lifestyle? With most people taking a significant whack to net worth in 2008, we are all thinking about the state of our finances and specifically, what we need to do to regain lost positions.
Fitness: Are you strong? Do your eyes radiate perfect health? Are you flexible? Can you maintain aerobic exercise for twenty minutes seven days a week? Are you committed to an exercise regimen? For how long? Which days of the week?
Fun: Do you look forward to each new day? If not, why not? What do you want to change about your daily existence that would bring more enjoyment to life? Take up painting? See more movies? Read more books? Spend more time with your kids? See more of the world? Give more to philanthropic organizations that bring you joy?
So there you have it. “The 6 F’s.” But the most intriguing “F” to me is the seventh one. “Find.”
Find that for which you were created.
God had a great idea when He created you. He had something in mind for you to do. A reason to put you on this earth. A mission. A purpose. Have you figured it out yet? One of man’s instinctual drivers is to seek that for which he was made.
As you write out your yearly goals, I would encourage you to spend a good deal of time reflecting on just this. It’s not something that most of us can easily or quickly do. For as time passes and we grow up, we soon discover that there are always new things that we are supposed to be doing. When we’re young, we’re supposed to be good students. And perhaps, if we’ve been blessed with giftedness in a specific area, perhaps with athletic prowess or musical or artistic ability, we are of course required to explore it and to use it. But as we get older and assume greater worldly responsibilities to family and kids and career, we often lose sight of what we were put on this earth to do. Meditate on this. Imagine possibilities. Allow yourself to think of the bodacious. Crazy big.
People who habitually write down their goals have a higher probability of achieving them. Study after study has shown this to be true. Commit to writing them down before the week is over. Give yourself the license to enjoy quiet contemplation. As the weeks go on, consistently review these written goals. Make yourself accountable towards achieving them. And, moving forward, watch your dreams unfold.
God bless,
Carolina
Stretch Forth Thy Hand
Last night I held what will be the first of more than a dozen country French-style diners in my home to support local charitable organizations. From Habitat for Humanity to the arts organizations which enrich our area, these “dining for dollars” events were first conceived as a way to reach beyond the normal boundaries of a book.
I had this idea that my book, ground-breaking in the sense that it was the first of its kind to address a highly-niched area of interior design, Country French Kitchens could be used for a greater good. That although it is certainly lovely and serves as both a widely-read reference book for design professionals and artists, as well as a book for renovators, remodelers, design-book addicts and Francophiles, that perhaps it could be used in a way to expand the boundaries. That it could be an engine-driver for philanthropy.
More than a dozen of these dinners have been bid on at local live auctions, held at yearly galas, and have brought in somewhere in the neighborhood of $30,000 for philanthropic endeavors of all kinds. And that’s a really neat thing.
Last night’s dinner was one of two that were the result of a bidding war between two friends. They each hit their bidding limit and, each hating to lose, asked me if I would do two dinners instead. Because it raised double the amount of money for the charity, I gladly obliged. The other winning bidder will come with her guests next Saturday.
I headed for the grocer straight from my early morning tennis game. My preference is to support locally-owned merchants who carry locally-grown produce. Ah! What a delightful Saturday morning ritual this has become for me. Fully–awakened by a solid hour-and-a-half of chasing down tennis balls, along with a thermos of downed hot coffee, I always arrive at the grocery store early enough to avoid all crowds.
Scanning the bakery isles left me with only a French baguette, which would be used a few hours later for sopping up a fabulous feast of fresh mussels in white wine sauce.
The gourmet cheese isle was full of delicacies. My personal favorite, a Danish bleu, was swept up for the planned endive salad with roasted walnuts and pears, which, when drizzled with a homemade emulsion, would prove to be the perfect precursor to the entree.
It was on to the fresh produce isle, where it was time to pick up the most aromatic herbs I could find. Sprigs of thyme, rosemary and flat-leaf parsley would all find their way into my shopping cart. Rosemary would coat the roasted, buttery cashews which, served hot, would greet my guests upon their arrival; thyme and parsley would work itself into the boiling broth of chicken stock and white wine where the mussels quickly cooked. Fresh Brussels sprouts, sautéed in my giant copper pan, proved earthy and nutty, and oh-so-flavorful with a few pieces of thick-cut bacon added for good measure (is there anything that isn’t made wonderful with the addition of a little bacon?)
The dairy isle held heavy cream, a required mainstay in my crème brulee. That, along with real unsalted butter and high-quality, extra virgin olive oil, provide all of the fat one’s diet requires (along with real ice cream of course). No artificial ingredients in diary allowed!
A bone-in veal loin was cut by the butcher. Oh my goodness was it divine! Hearty and flavorful, with a sauce whisked with chicken broth and the bits from the bottom of the pan (among others) gave it the soothing quality for which I was striving (and my body craved.)
Speaking of soothing: there’s just nothing like crème brulee for that final spoonful. My fourteen-year-old son loved using the kitchen torch to give each individual serving that fabulous crusty top; his reward was two servings instead of one and mine was watching him gobble it up with pure delight.
I confess to being a lousy Monday-to-Friday cook. Work gets in my way. As does my long commute, football carpool and frankly, physical and mental weariness at the end of most days. Weekdays find us “catch as catch can.” Grazing. Noshing on naked deli meats and cheeses. Nuts and fruits. Raw veggies or good organic soups, even though they usually come from a can. Pitiful as it might sound, it remains my weekday dinner MO.
So when the luxury of a weekend day comes when I have nothing else to do but prepare for a dinner party, I find it—surprisingly—absolutely delightful. I love primping my house: fluffing the pillows on the sofas and lighting the candle in their sconces; arranging flowers into a container and re-arranging chairs around the dining room table; polishing the silver and ironing the linens; pre-heating my oven and warming up my heart for service to others.
Entertaining requires a focus on others. And away from self. For it is such a time-consuming process that all thoughts of self must be essentially abandoned. No time for a manicure if the hors d’ oeuvres must be prepared pronto. Forget worrying about dressing like a glamour-puss when you’ll be popping your head into and out of a hot oven and thrusting your arms into sinks of sudsy water. Throw away those spike heels for a decent pair of ballet flats as you’ll be on your legs for a good eight hours or so.
Entertaining requires lifting your spirits in order to lift those of your guests. It means taking your mind off your troubles and seeking to make everyone around you at ease. Of laughing, of extending, of reaching beyond your comfort zone when breaking bread with complete strangers whom you have worked for since dawn in order to create an evening to remember.
“Be careful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” This is the Old Testament verse from the Bible which I have personally claimed as my command for hospitality. Interesting or surprising at it may be, after all the groceries have been procured and put away, after all the dishes have been prepared and consumed, and after all the dishes have been washed and dried and put back in their place, it is always—always!—me, the entertainer, who has received the richest blessing. To fill the stomach of a friend or a stranger, to serve in the humblest of ways, brings the mightiest of rewards.
It is my hope this week that you might outstretch your hand to someone who could use a dose of nourishment. Bodily or otherwise. For by nourishing, you will be nourished. In the exhaustion of the aftermath of your evening, you will find refreshment of soul. And when you awaken in the morning, you will be at peace with the world.
Sending to you all blessings on your week,
Carolina
I had this idea that my book, ground-breaking in the sense that it was the first of its kind to address a highly-niched area of interior design, Country French Kitchens could be used for a greater good. That although it is certainly lovely and serves as both a widely-read reference book for design professionals and artists, as well as a book for renovators, remodelers, design-book addicts and Francophiles, that perhaps it could be used in a way to expand the boundaries. That it could be an engine-driver for philanthropy.
More than a dozen of these dinners have been bid on at local live auctions, held at yearly galas, and have brought in somewhere in the neighborhood of $30,000 for philanthropic endeavors of all kinds. And that’s a really neat thing.
Last night’s dinner was one of two that were the result of a bidding war between two friends. They each hit their bidding limit and, each hating to lose, asked me if I would do two dinners instead. Because it raised double the amount of money for the charity, I gladly obliged. The other winning bidder will come with her guests next Saturday.
I headed for the grocer straight from my early morning tennis game. My preference is to support locally-owned merchants who carry locally-grown produce. Ah! What a delightful Saturday morning ritual this has become for me. Fully–awakened by a solid hour-and-a-half of chasing down tennis balls, along with a thermos of downed hot coffee, I always arrive at the grocery store early enough to avoid all crowds.
Scanning the bakery isles left me with only a French baguette, which would be used a few hours later for sopping up a fabulous feast of fresh mussels in white wine sauce.
The gourmet cheese isle was full of delicacies. My personal favorite, a Danish bleu, was swept up for the planned endive salad with roasted walnuts and pears, which, when drizzled with a homemade emulsion, would prove to be the perfect precursor to the entree.
It was on to the fresh produce isle, where it was time to pick up the most aromatic herbs I could find. Sprigs of thyme, rosemary and flat-leaf parsley would all find their way into my shopping cart. Rosemary would coat the roasted, buttery cashews which, served hot, would greet my guests upon their arrival; thyme and parsley would work itself into the boiling broth of chicken stock and white wine where the mussels quickly cooked. Fresh Brussels sprouts, sautéed in my giant copper pan, proved earthy and nutty, and oh-so-flavorful with a few pieces of thick-cut bacon added for good measure (is there anything that isn’t made wonderful with the addition of a little bacon?)
The dairy isle held heavy cream, a required mainstay in my crème brulee. That, along with real unsalted butter and high-quality, extra virgin olive oil, provide all of the fat one’s diet requires (along with real ice cream of course). No artificial ingredients in diary allowed!
A bone-in veal loin was cut by the butcher. Oh my goodness was it divine! Hearty and flavorful, with a sauce whisked with chicken broth and the bits from the bottom of the pan (among others) gave it the soothing quality for which I was striving (and my body craved.)
Speaking of soothing: there’s just nothing like crème brulee for that final spoonful. My fourteen-year-old son loved using the kitchen torch to give each individual serving that fabulous crusty top; his reward was two servings instead of one and mine was watching him gobble it up with pure delight.
I confess to being a lousy Monday-to-Friday cook. Work gets in my way. As does my long commute, football carpool and frankly, physical and mental weariness at the end of most days. Weekdays find us “catch as catch can.” Grazing. Noshing on naked deli meats and cheeses. Nuts and fruits. Raw veggies or good organic soups, even though they usually come from a can. Pitiful as it might sound, it remains my weekday dinner MO.
So when the luxury of a weekend day comes when I have nothing else to do but prepare for a dinner party, I find it—surprisingly—absolutely delightful. I love primping my house: fluffing the pillows on the sofas and lighting the candle in their sconces; arranging flowers into a container and re-arranging chairs around the dining room table; polishing the silver and ironing the linens; pre-heating my oven and warming up my heart for service to others.
Entertaining requires a focus on others. And away from self. For it is such a time-consuming process that all thoughts of self must be essentially abandoned. No time for a manicure if the hors d’ oeuvres must be prepared pronto. Forget worrying about dressing like a glamour-puss when you’ll be popping your head into and out of a hot oven and thrusting your arms into sinks of sudsy water. Throw away those spike heels for a decent pair of ballet flats as you’ll be on your legs for a good eight hours or so.
Entertaining requires lifting your spirits in order to lift those of your guests. It means taking your mind off your troubles and seeking to make everyone around you at ease. Of laughing, of extending, of reaching beyond your comfort zone when breaking bread with complete strangers whom you have worked for since dawn in order to create an evening to remember.
“Be careful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” This is the Old Testament verse from the Bible which I have personally claimed as my command for hospitality. Interesting or surprising at it may be, after all the groceries have been procured and put away, after all the dishes have been prepared and consumed, and after all the dishes have been washed and dried and put back in their place, it is always—always!—me, the entertainer, who has received the richest blessing. To fill the stomach of a friend or a stranger, to serve in the humblest of ways, brings the mightiest of rewards.
It is my hope this week that you might outstretch your hand to someone who could use a dose of nourishment. Bodily or otherwise. For by nourishing, you will be nourished. In the exhaustion of the aftermath of your evening, you will find refreshment of soul. And when you awaken in the morning, you will be at peace with the world.
Sending to you all blessings on your week,
Carolina
The Cupcake Index
We’ve used indices for about one hundred years to measure the strength of the economy. Bullish and bearish sentiment indices on the S&P 500. The Dow Jones Industrial average. Net buyers to net sellers. The Consumer Price Index. Producer Price Index.
And then there are the more subjective indices. The Hemline Index, which uses the relative skirt length to kneecap in determining direction of the capital markets. The Lipstick Index, which measures purchases of small indulgences as a reflection of consumer buy-in, or of the pent-up demand for luxury when one is least able to afford it on a grander scale.
I propose we add another relevant and clearly revealing economic index: The Cupcake Index. For not only in times of economic uncertainty but in times of economic prosperity, cupcakes provide the immediate gratification that people all over the world need.
And we especially need them now. Small enough in which to indulge without gnashing your will-powerless teeth with guilt. Tidy enough to embrace without leaving too many crumbs as out-of-the-office-for-a-quick-cupcake-fix evidence of breaking-the-diet-and-taking-a-work-break-all-at-the-same-time. Sweet enough to inject that required afternoon shot of sugar to the brain. Inexpensive enough to justify when most other discretionary longings are on indefinite freeze.
But alas, cupcakes provide one more element which practically requires them to receive an index all their own: they propel everyone higher on the happiness scale. And God only knows how we all need to inject more happiness into our lives. Cupcakes, while perfectly glorious eaten in private, are particularly satisfying while shared. Unlike an entire cake which, let’s face it, represents a wholehearted commitment (of inviting the neighbors over for an hour and putting up a pot of coffee), cupcakes can be noshed on with or without beverage of choice. Gulped down within a few minutes. Walking, standing or sitting at a cupcaketerie with a friend. A lone cupcake—vanilla, chocolate or ohmygosh red velvet—topped with buttercream icing cut in half and shared with two forks, is perhaps the single best remedy for a global economic recession. And moving higher on that happiness scale.
And I’m not alone. The New York Times feature story “Will Cupcakes Be the Next Krispy Kreme?” prompted blog responses from readers across the country. Turns out: people are mad for cupcakes. They’re clearly here to stay. Having taken the Big Apple by storm, lines wrap around the corner at the now famous Magnolia’s Bakery. Its third store just opened, competing head-on with Crumbs and Cupcake Café, among others. And while sales figures are hard to pin down, it’s clear that entrepreneurs are committed to elevating the previously lowly school-kids treat to connoisseur status. And heck: at $3 per, this is not exactly an every day treat. If one were to chart the Cupcake Index, I presume the line would be upward sloping to the right. With bullish indicators.
I would advise that as you move forward through these grayest of days: days of political and economic uncertainty, days when we clearly don’t know whether our favorite auto maker will survive the end of the fiscal year or find itself on the auction block, days when you’re not sure where or for how long you will be employed, that you treat yourself and a friend to a cupcake. To a forced break from the madness. To meaningful conversation. To creating a business relationship or continuing a personal friendship. To two forks and two coffees. To creating a distinct memory.
Oh, sweet cupcake. The cure for all of life’s worries. May an index be created just for you.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
And then there are the more subjective indices. The Hemline Index, which uses the relative skirt length to kneecap in determining direction of the capital markets. The Lipstick Index, which measures purchases of small indulgences as a reflection of consumer buy-in, or of the pent-up demand for luxury when one is least able to afford it on a grander scale.
I propose we add another relevant and clearly revealing economic index: The Cupcake Index. For not only in times of economic uncertainty but in times of economic prosperity, cupcakes provide the immediate gratification that people all over the world need.
And we especially need them now. Small enough in which to indulge without gnashing your will-powerless teeth with guilt. Tidy enough to embrace without leaving too many crumbs as out-of-the-office-for-a-quick-cupcake-fix evidence of breaking-the-diet-and-taking-a-work-break-all-at-the-same-time. Sweet enough to inject that required afternoon shot of sugar to the brain. Inexpensive enough to justify when most other discretionary longings are on indefinite freeze.
But alas, cupcakes provide one more element which practically requires them to receive an index all their own: they propel everyone higher on the happiness scale. And God only knows how we all need to inject more happiness into our lives. Cupcakes, while perfectly glorious eaten in private, are particularly satisfying while shared. Unlike an entire cake which, let’s face it, represents a wholehearted commitment (of inviting the neighbors over for an hour and putting up a pot of coffee), cupcakes can be noshed on with or without beverage of choice. Gulped down within a few minutes. Walking, standing or sitting at a cupcaketerie with a friend. A lone cupcake—vanilla, chocolate or ohmygosh red velvet—topped with buttercream icing cut in half and shared with two forks, is perhaps the single best remedy for a global economic recession. And moving higher on that happiness scale.
And I’m not alone. The New York Times feature story “Will Cupcakes Be the Next Krispy Kreme?” prompted blog responses from readers across the country. Turns out: people are mad for cupcakes. They’re clearly here to stay. Having taken the Big Apple by storm, lines wrap around the corner at the now famous Magnolia’s Bakery. Its third store just opened, competing head-on with Crumbs and Cupcake Café, among others. And while sales figures are hard to pin down, it’s clear that entrepreneurs are committed to elevating the previously lowly school-kids treat to connoisseur status. And heck: at $3 per, this is not exactly an every day treat. If one were to chart the Cupcake Index, I presume the line would be upward sloping to the right. With bullish indicators.
I would advise that as you move forward through these grayest of days: days of political and economic uncertainty, days when we clearly don’t know whether our favorite auto maker will survive the end of the fiscal year or find itself on the auction block, days when you’re not sure where or for how long you will be employed, that you treat yourself and a friend to a cupcake. To a forced break from the madness. To meaningful conversation. To creating a business relationship or continuing a personal friendship. To two forks and two coffees. To creating a distinct memory.
Oh, sweet cupcake. The cure for all of life’s worries. May an index be created just for you.
Blessings on your week,
Carolina
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