Mom's Flowers...

When my father passed away, my mother had the mammoth responsibility of not only raising three young children by herself, but also taking care of a monster yard. We lived up against the mountain and every weed known to man (it seemed...) ended up at our house.

My mom battled. Boy, did she battle! She valiantly fought the forces of mother nature with as much strength as could be contained in all of her five feet, zero inches. She used, as her weapons, plants that were as tough as she was. She loved iris flowers, mostly because they came back year after year and if you let them, they'll multiply and become even more abundant year after year.

Mom's gone. New neighbors live in the house we called home for almost four decades. And because her iris plants were so hearty, our new neighbors asked if we wanted some of the flowers to transplant to our yard.

Of course.

That was last year. This is the time of year they bloom and they're beautiful.

One of my childhood memories is each spring on Memorial Day my mom went to the yard and cut several iris flowers. We had a rainbow of colors back then. We'd take them with us to my father's grave and leave them there as a reminder of what he meant to all of us. Since my mother knew him the best, it meant the most to her. And, if conditions were right, we'd take along some snowball blooms as well.

I don't know if the flowers will make it this year. We're pretty sure the snowballs will be long gone come Memorial Day. Too bad. I'd love to decorate their graves with flowers from our yard, just as she did all those years. It's a tradition worth keeping.

A Book Signing In West Jordan, Utah...

It's been a while since I've been to a book signing. Back in the day, when I thought about book signings, I imagined what took place at book signings. There would be a table with books, of course, The author sitting with a collection of pens greeting each guest with a warm smile, a little banter, and a lot of autographs. I saw long lines of excited patrons waiting their turn to greet, banter, and receive the signature.

And I suppose many book signings are just like that. But there are other kinds of book signings out there and they go a little differently than what I've described. Sure there's a desk, some pens, lots of books, and (usually...) a smiling author. Sometimes, however, that long line of anxious and excited book-carrying people just doesn't materialize and people can approach the author without having to wait their turn.

This is, in no way, a reflection on the author, or the quality of his/her writing, it's just a fact of life. Unless you're a household name, or a household name among a specific fanbase or group of people, long lines just don't happen when you're doing a solo book signing. At least, that's what I've seen a couple of times.

At today's event while I was there, a few of Dave's friends gathered to chat and wish him well. If you know Dave, he's a great conversationalist, among other things. And he many times brings along a beautiful guitar on which he strums. I brought my copy of his latest novel. I did not buy it today, but I did buy it at a Barnes & Noble bookstore last month. I stood in line, sort of. I was a little anxious and a little excited, and I was greeted with a smile. So, I guess it's not the quantity of who attends, but the quality of experience of those who do.

Sometimes...It's Just Not Fair

Ever had one of those mornings, or middle-of-the-nights where you can't seem to stay asleep? It doesn't happen a lot, but it did the other night. And not being able to sleep means different things--at least to me--depending on what day of the week it is. If it's later in the work week and I find myself awake at 3am, not a big deal. I can get through one or even two ten-hour shifts at work because I know I'll be able to sleep in over the weekend.

But if I find myself awake at 3am on a Monday or Tuesday morning, well...that can get problematic. We all have things to do and not getting enough sleep can throw a wrench into our plans. I also don't know how getting older makes things better or worse. I've heard people need less sleep as they age. I seem to need more.

Earlier this week I woke up around 5am. That's a tough call. I mean, I could try to go back to sleep, but my alarm was set for 5:30am. I usually grab my phone and do a little surfing, because 1/2 hour can go by quickly. I did not expect to fall asleep ten minutes before the alarm went off, and then wake up five minutes later.

I suppose in the grand scheme of things, getting five or six hours of sleep instead of seven is not that big a deal. And if I'm not sleeping to the point where my health is compromised, I can take time off work. Still, when you're laying there and you see the time on the clock, it doesn't seem fair.

Beware...The Sign!

Earlier this week a co-worker put up this little sign.

It pretty much speaks for itself.

In the almost twenty years I've been with my employer, there were times I had access to United States federal tax information. Didn't get a brightly-colored sign, though. John is lucky.

When the sign first went up, I wondered why it was needed in the first place. I imagine many of you working for companies that handle sensitive data, you probably have to attend trainings to make sure you properly handle all that sensitive data. At my work we are required to take a bevy of trainings

every

single

year.

I'm sure my company wants their employees to be the best trained, most competent ever, but I'll bet all that training allows my work to get a deal on insurance and other protections that cost money. And, to be honest, having to endure the same trainings over and over again, year after year, is really a small price to pay for allowing me to keep my job.

So, since we all take training that basically tells us that if it's not our job or our information, butt out, do we need the sign? How effective is the bright sheet of paper with black san serif letting that's both large and larger, that's both bold and bolder anyway?

Well, if you notice, I was outside the cubicle when I snapped the picture, so I guess it works pretty good.

The School Of Greatness With Lewis Howes Podcast...Worth The Time

I'm a podcast junkie. It's true. I've blogged about it before. There was a time when I was spending a lot more time listening to podcasts, but I've cut back a little in the last year. The ones I end up listening to are good.

A few weeks back I heard of--and heard--a speaker, Lewis Howes. The man was engaging and the story of his personal journey (to this point...) was a real "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" tale. Check it out--it'll give you inspiration when you think you can't do something.

Inspiring, fascinating, worth my time to listen. 

And when I found out he had his own podcast, I quickly subscribed.

Podcasts come in various lengths. Many writing podcasts range between ten and twenty minutes. On double speed those bust out pretty fast. There's a lot of great podcasts lasting an hour or so, This American Life, Radiolab, In Our Time (though that one's usually about forty-five minutes...).

And then there's longer ones. Sometimes The Nerdist goes about an hour and a half, the same for The Time Ferriss Show, and even longer. When I checked out Lewis Howes's The School of Greatness With Lewis Howes, it was one of the longer ones. I like a longer podcast, but sometimes no. Can't just crank those out.

But after listening to one of Lewis's podcasts, I was a fan. And when I heard one today with guest Kyle Cease titled, Use Humor to Overcome Fear, the podcast may be quickly climbing my scale of most-liked broadcasts. The episode with the mentalist Oz Pearlman was flat-out great. I look forward to enjoying many more stories from him and other amazing guests. You can access his podcasts and other information about his growing media empire at his website: HERE.

If you're looking for an interesting and motivational podcast, give Lewis's a chance. It will be worth your time, too.

Beards...And All That They Entail

I've made it no secret that I am unable to grow a beard. I can't grow a mustache or a man bun either, but this post is about beards.

Beards are all the rage nowadays. Athletes have them, actors, when not needing them for a part, grow them like flowers in a flower bed. We can blame the Richardson men, or some other icon that's influenced modern society. But, really, what's the point? They are popular now and are here to stay, at least, for the foreseeable future.

I'm in no way anti-beard. I've always thought, when it comes to men's grooming trends, that if it were possible, I would most likely experiment with facial hair options. I think a goatee might look good on me. I can always imagine because that's pretty much all I can do--imagine.

I think having a beard would be cool. 

That is, until I go shopping at Costco.

Have you been to Costco lately? I don't know about all Costcos and this is definitely not a Costco-specific thing. But when I'm at my local Costco, they have several employees that prepare food, employees visible to the shopping public. And of those food-preparing employees, many of them have beards. And because they have beards, they are required to don beard nets.

I don't know about you, but there's just something about beard nets that look a little strange. I guess hair nets look weird, too, even though their concept and purpose are the same. Maybe wearing beard nets are cool--a type of status symbol among workers. Since they have awesome beards, they get to wear awesome beard covers. I don't know.

Yes, the facial hair revolution is alive and strong and I, like billions of women, watch the parade from the sidelines. On the bright side, if I ever work in food production, I'll save money on hair nets, mustache nets, and beard nets. That's a win-win-win right there.

The Power Of The Purrrrrrr...

We have pets.

Yes, they're the basic couple of cats and a dog. We've shied away from the exotic ones, snakes, spiders, lizards. The most unusual pet we ever had was a hedgehog. He made a great pet. We do all we can to make our pets's lives as comfortable as possible. We feed them, give them shelter, and try to make them happy. 

The dog is either very happy, or she does her best to convince us that she is.

The cats...

Well, they're cats. I have no idea what they're feeling.

Or thinking.

Or plotting/scheming.

I was not a cat person growing up. My mom grew up on a farm and didn't like cats. She was involved in a traumatic experience as a child which turned her off to cats. We did get one, Lucy, almost fifty years ago when we first moved to the town in which we now live, but Lucy disappeared. We were sure we saw the cat a few months later living with the old cat lady at the corner. She must have had twenty cats or more. We were just kids then and we always blamed the neighbor for stealing our cat.

The more I come to understand cats, the neighbor probably wasn't at as much fault as the cat itself. Lucy probably didn't like living with a family with three children all under the age of ten.

So, having cats around is new for me. I guess I'm still getting used to it. Having any pet is a responsibility, but with cats, I think it's more than usual. Not only do they demand your physical attention, but a psychological one as well. They almost require you try and figure them out, something you can never fully accomplish.

Especially, when they purr.

What is it about that purr that can have such a huge influence on some people? I don't understand it, but when they come up to you, all sweet and innocent (making you forget the mess they made in the hall or how they're turning your once nice furniture into pin cushions...), you pet them and they begin to purr. It's hypnotic. I think, without that ability to purr, cats would lead very different lives than they do now--no scientific evidence to back this up, just my opinion.

And so, at some point in the near future, I'll be resting comfortably in my bed, maybe getting ready to go to sleep, or casually watching a game or movie and the creature will spring, come over and lay down. Then the purr begins. And what you thought was fact, suddenly disappears.