Act Fast—Offer Expires at Midnight!

Drink Up!

Expiration dates. They’re on just about everything these days. Eggs, boxed oatmeal, yogurt, canned foods, juices, milks of all kinds (cow’s, soy, almond) . . . even beer. There are expiration dates on lotions and cosmetics, too. “Best before October 23, 2012,”or “Discard on July 17, 2011,” or “Use by January 15, 2011.” Oops. Missed that one. As you can see, we have until mid-March to finish this half gallon of almond milk.

Dark and Stormy Night

But one thing that doesn’t have a printed date or even an implied one is our memory. I may not be able to remember what I had for lunch on Saturday, but I can tell you every gory detail of my encounter with the neighborhood bully—when I was 4 years old. I love that old lingering memory. I hold on to it. Feed it. Embellish it. It is my memory. It is ME! It helps determine who I am today! Oh, really? A punch in the stomach by a territorial brat made me who I am? That’s scary. He may have had power over me as a kid on that particular Friday evening. (Oh, yes . . . it was a dark and stormy night—well, dusk.) But if I say that who I am was partially determined by that event, then he still has power over me. Right? After 50 years or so. Wow, that’s a strong bully. Wow. That’s a really strong story.

Some stories provide a lesson or help give us direction. But some stories, some memories are just plain limiting. And somewhere along the way we seem to forget the lesson that was the point of the story to begin with. We hold on to the memory and define ourselves by it. You know the line, “I used to do this, so this is what I still do. This is who I am.” I’ll give you a concrete example: I taught art for about 15 years. Well, that was about 20 years ago. And yet, sometimes I still call myself an art teacher or faculty member. Why? I love those memories. I love that story. I love being that. But, in reality, I am no longer a teacher—not in the traditional sense. But, since that memory has no expiration date, I can remember it over and over again, and speak about it for as long as I want. Notice, I didn’t say for as long as it’s useful. I said . . . for as long as I want.

To break loose from old habits and patterns that no longer serve us is perhaps one of Life’s greatest gifts, as well as one of the toughest challenges. We are all storytellers. When I was a kid, there was a common phrase people liked to use—to tell stories, which really meant to lie. “Now, don’t be telling me any stories!” translates to “Are you lying to me?”

Foiled Again!

Here’s another story: I fenced in college. Am I a fencer today? No, but if I describe myself as a fencer I am perpetuating a potentially dangerous story. Yet there’s typically no inner voice that challenges my memory, “Now, don’t be tellin’ me any stories!” Oh, no! No voice warns me. I’m completely free to lie to myself. Yikes! Storytelling allows me to tiptoe into both the unimaginable and the impractical. Story is a powerful way to re-imagine life as I want it to be. The key is to know when stories have outlived their usefulness.

Shells of Experience

The fact is, that none of the stories we write for our lives have much to do with who we really are. Whether they are stories of woe or glory days, they all eventually become merely the empty hulls of life—no longer imbued with relevant meaning. Instead, they often become a tidy little place in which to hide a tangle of emotional attachments. Stories are great, but the trick is to keep enough objectivity and distance so as not to get sucked into believing that they’re real—or worse yet, convinced that they represent who we are, because that’s just not true.

Lyrics for "Storytellers"

Perhaps stories are just crossroads, a place where we suddenly see ourselves differently or critical decisions are made. Here’s the song we wrote that grew out of our own conversations about the power of story called Storytellers. But, you have to remember that it’s only a story we made up because it was useful that day. It’s set to expire the minute another, fresher one comes along.

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

The Upside Low Down by Cheryl

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music—Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch in Tuscany

Fencing photo from the internet: DAVELEHLl/ESPN.COM/Action

This Little Piggy Went to Market

Sunday mornings are wonderful here in the San Francisco Bay area. At least they are for me, and here’s why:

When we moved to California in 1992 I discovered the Los Gatos Farmers’ Market. Of course there are Farmers’ Markets strewn about the entire state, each claiming some accolade, such as “The Bay Area’s Best,” “Largest Market in the South Bay,” “An Urban Village Market,” “French Market,” and even, “One of the Oldest Markets in . . .” (You fill in the blank.)

Sunday Morning Market

But the Market in Los Gatos is the one I love. I’ve been to others. They’re great, but just not my market. I think it could be the scale of things. Los Gatos is a very vibrant village. Picturesque. The market is set up in the town square next to the park and the towering redwoods. Tents line both sides of the street and the vendors usually have everything we need for an entire week.

First Things First

First, I wait my turn for coffee at the nearby Los Gatos Roasting Company. There are joggers, parents with kids, earthy-types, business-types and those like me—weekend wanderers/wonderers. Then, with coffee in hand, I begin my stroll. Each Sunday I walk through the market, looking at the produce. It’s usually pretty similar each week, but I always enjoy the walk through.

Catch of the Day

My main stop is at the fresh fish stall. It’s a family run operation and they come over the hill from Santa Cruz with the best tuna, sole, salmon and scallops in the world. This stall is definitely my major purchase site. One morning they had halibut, but I was a bit late and all they had left were halibut “cheeks.” I bought them and after dinner that night, decided that they rank near the very top of my list of tasty fish/seafood. After the choices are weighed, they’re put into a bag of ice, which I then tuck into my little red Coca Cola insulated bag and zip it closed.

Arance Rosse

Then I go a little further to the section that’s in front of the post office, where I usually buy golden beets. They’re beautiful and so good and easy to prepare. At the adjacent booth, last week, I bought blood oranges—sort of a sentimental nod to Italy, since blood oranges seem more plentiful than the regular ones there. In Italian, the blood oranges are arance rosse, red oranges. Regular ones are called arance bionde, blond oranges.

Vegetable Rainbow

Having completed my perusal of the entire market, I cross the street to buy pomegranate jelly. Then I retrace my steps and am stopped in my tracks at the colorful produce spilling over the edge of a table. It was a beautiful work of art. I couldn’t resist the yellow carrots. At another stand I bought shitake and portabella mushrooms, an herb lettuce mix, cauliflower, broccoli and brussels sprouts.

Ready for the Ride Home

Typically, my last stop of the morning is to buy a newspaper from a young man, standing against the bakery wall. He usually has ear buds tucked into his ears. His eyes were closed, mesmerized by the music. I reached for a newspaper and his eyes sprang open. “Good morning,” he said and looked into the sky. “Fantastic day!” I handed him a dollar and he tucked a San Jose Mercury News into my bag, alongside my billowy carrot tops. As I turned to cross the street, I called back to him over my shoulder, “You’re right! Perfect day! Couldn’t be better!”

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music—Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch in Tuscany

Convenience and Choices

Old Worn Out USB Hub

About six weeks ago, in Italy, I needed a USB hub for my computer. My old one had clearly  reached the end of its life, so buying another one was in order. But, since I was in Italy and it was Saturday evening, buying a new one right away was out of the question. “So?” you might ask. So I’d have to wait until Monday, since absolutely NOTHING is open on Sundays. Well, that’s not entirely true, but for all practical purposes, it seems that the whole country is closed!

Not our local Euronics Store!

Monday morning, we got into the car and drove 20 minutes to the local Euronics store on the outside edge of Florence, just down the hill from Fiesole. Coincidentally, they were sold out of the brand that I prefer. I cornered a clerk to ask if there could possibly be more in the back room. His answer was very Italian, “No, sono finiti. No, they are finished.” This phrase translates to mean “sold out.” There’s no checking for an upcoming delivery date or even a hint at when the supply might possibly be replenished. In fact, these are silly wonderings because no one knows.

Inside MediaWorld

There’s no such thing as contacting another store to check their stock. Here are my simple choices: I can buy another brand that is unfamiliar and looks as though it was assembled from the Leggos left over after kindergarten recess, OR . . . we could go out to MediaWorld and buy one there. Wait! Isn’t that at the I Gigli MALL west of Florence? Why, yes it is. That’s only about 45 minutes from here, right. Bite the bullet. Get into the car. Let’s go. It’s not that far distance-wise, but crossing the city, negotiating traffic, taking the correct exit, and doubling back a couple of miles (excuse me, kilometers) all make up the “little” pieces of the puzzle that take time and energy, easily consuming an entire morning.

Now let me explain Italian mall shopping: it seems that everybody shops at the exact same time. I don’t know why. The parking lot is usually full, with at least 30 cars circling, looking for that one random parking space that will open up any minute—that ONE slot. 30 cars. Do the math. So after cruising the parking lot we head off to the remote back lot and score a parking spot. Then in we go.

Cool USB Hub with Retractable Chord

MediaWorld is tucked into a back corner of the mall. There’s a security person stationed at the entrance who visually scans our hands for merchandise and suspicious looking bags. None. “Okay. Benvenuti. Welcome.” We buy the hub, pay the cashier, who asks scowlingly, “Volete una borsa? Do you want a bag?” The appropriate answer is no, since plastic bags are quite out of fashion, due to environmental concerns. We climb into the car and reverse our tortuous route. In Fiesole, we stop for lunch, because it’s now 1:30—national lunchtime in Italy.

Flip-side: Yesterday in California, a different hub failed. The computer couldn’t “see” an external drive. What to do? Why just go buy another one, right? I also needed to pick up another external drive to archive some files, so off I went.

My Powerful and Compact New External Drive

I arrived at Office Depot, where external drives were on sale this week. They were out, but my favorite sales associate, Ed, called another store and asked if they’d hold one for me. 15 minutes later, I arrived at a different OD and announced my arrival. A friendly clerk retrieved my drive from the backroom, I paid the cashier, and took my little plastic bag to my car. Within a relatively short period of time, I had exactly what I needed—at a discounted price.

Conveniently Located

I chuckled to myself at the differences. In Italy, I know of 2 stores that sell electronics. In California, I can think of quite a few within 15 minutes: besides Office Depot, there’s Best Buy, Office Max, Staples, Frys, and Target. Yes, Target, a megastore where a good old American consumer can buy PJs, shampoo and USB hubs—one stop. In Italy, clothing is typically found in clothing stores. Shampoo can be purchased at the local grocery store or a pharmacy. USB hubs are available at the few electronics stores.

Here in the USA, we’ve modified store hours to accommodate shoppers. Need a lightbulb at 2:30 am? Surely, there’s an all night drugstore right around the corner. Literally want a midnight snack? No problem. Lots of grocery stores keep late hours.

In Italy, the consumer does NOT drive hours of operation. Want something on Sunday? Sure you do. And surely you can wait until Monday. Maybe American consumers have instant gratification switches that are broken and remain constantly on. We want what we want, when we want it. Now!!!

Just Taking Care of Business

This past fall, I met a young marketing intern, just finishing her stint at a hotel in Florence. She expressed amazement at Italians lack of marketing focus. She said, “There’s money to be made and they don’t seem to care! They just close their shops, put a sign in the window and take a 2-week vacation. What are they thinking?”

What indeed? Perhaps they’re thinking that Life is a balance. Perhaps they are thinking that waiting for something makes it more valuable, or at least appreciated. Perhaps they’re thinking that time spent with family is its own reward. There are always different shoppers on other days—not to worry—it all works out. They embrace the concept of working to live, not living to work.

So maybe, I’ll shut down my computer, along with its peripherals and take a walk or read a book. Maybe I’ll snuggle up with a doggie in a sunny patch on the floor.

I think Italy has been a good influence on me, don’t you? Don’t you?

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music—Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch in Tuscany

Providence

As 2010 came to a close, the floodgate of memories opened and I reminisced with friends about times gone by. Here’s one of those sweet memories.

Come On In

For a couple of years I was on faculty at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods College in  western Indiana. It was a dream job. In fact the campus is so beautiful, that when a friend drove me there for the first time, I was enthralled. It was magical. There were beautiful rolling hills, manicured lawns and century old university buildings harmoniously dotting the idyllic landscape. Wow. I thought, I would happily, cheerfully work here.

Great Equestrian Studies

So I compiled my resume and submitted it to Sister Susanne, the dean of faculty—yes, I said Sister. SMWC is the oldest Catholic women’s college in the country,  founded by The Sisters of Providence. I felt like that was a good omen. The Dean’s single question to me as I handed her my application was, “How did you know that we have an opening?” I had to admit that I didn’t, but secretly took that as another good sign. She promised to read my file and get back to me. We had vacation plans, so the next day, we were off to Disney World in Florida.

Rich History

It was the typical family vacation: we rode all the rides, explored Epcot and exhausted ourselves, as most people do on a such excursions. On the second day, the cell phone rang. Human resources had reviewed my file and they invited me 2 days later for an interview with the department chair, Sister Laurette. Wow. Not only was my head spinning from the excitement of Disney World, now it was spinning with the possibility of becoming a faculty member at SMWC. I was absolutely giddy.

Following our family vacation, we returned to western Indiana and I drove the 30 minutes south to campus for my scheduled interview. As I approached the gates, I was again overwhelmed by the picturesque setting. I really wanted the job, even though I knew almost nothing about the position.

Now I must admit that my prior experience with nuns was through movies. They were always bedecked in full habits, with their faces framed within starched wimples. The sisters at SMWC could dress in the traditional habits, if they so chose or in “business clothes” if they selected that option. They were “women of the cloth” either way. Many adorned their white blouse collar with a simple gold cross. Sister Laurette chose that option. My first impression of her was that she was beautiful. A stately woman, around 20 my senior, she was completely open and warm. She was very direct and deliberate. After our interview, in which I fell more deeply in love with SMWC, Sister Laurette told me that the next step was to meet the head of the visual arts department.

I got the job. I taught art history and was the gallery director. When I arrived on campus in the spring and fall, it looked like a Currier and Ives print. In the middle of winter, it was transformed into a beautiful snow globe, with flurries dancing and swirling before landing—oh, so perfectly on the ridges of the buildings.

Symbol of Quality

I had taught at another college before our relocation, but SMWC was completely different. My previous experience was in a co-educational setting. The “Woods” was a women’s college. Class sizes were small. “If the women need a particular course, we offered it,” I was told. No classes were canceled due to insufficient enrollment. The Sisters of Providence were there to “provide” to the students what was needed, when it was needed. There was a simplicity and a peacefulness in their offer and there was a grace in accepting what was provided. Nothing was taken for granted. The women were supported and encouraged. They were respected and loved. And so was I.

From the outside, looking in, you might say that I’m lucky. You could point to any number of events in my life that have been just what I needed at the precise moment to be most effective. You’d be right. But thanks to those 2 years that I was on faculty at the Woods, I learned some important lessons—about trust and providence. That experience gave me the language to appreciate the things that come my way or just simple work out—as well as those that seem like a challenge at the time. Providence. May the new year bring us the courage to accept it graciously. Happy New Year!

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

New Music—Virtual CD

In Touch in Tuscany