A friend recently sent me a text asking if I was “interested in being a model in exchange for a free breakfast”.  I responded with a resounding YES, since that’s what friends are for, RIGHT?
What was with last week’s post?Truth be told, I wanted to play hooky and go to a matinée with a girlfriend; the only way I could make this happen was to re-purpose a bit of writing I had waiting in the wings. Like everything else though, this was done with intention as I also wanted to introduce you to some new stuff.  So here goes,
A few months ago, I was asked to write an e-learning module about the Power of Tenacity; as I contemplated the topic, I wondered what makes a person tenacious? Are you born with tenacity, or is it a learned characteristic? If we are born with the ability to be tenacious, how do we tap into it? It was with these questions in mind that I started my research.
NOTE:  Sections of this post include implied PROFANITY; please click with caution.
Truth be told, sometimes I’m purely exhausted.  So when my son asked if he could contact his cousin about attending some concert, I grunted my version of permission, positive he wouldn’t get tickets.  Man, was I wrong.
A few months ago one of my business partners invited me to a networking event; since it was hosted in my hometown, I gladly accepted.  Upon arrival I realized that this wasn’t a typical networking event — instead, I’d been invited to attend a “Professional Wisdom Circle”.
A few weeks ago, as I was pulling out of the kiddy drop-off line, I had this intense urge to slam my foot on the gas and speed down the strait that led from my kid’s high school to our home.  As my heart raced, I lifted my foot from the gas and the words “Lime Rock†popped into my head.  Giddy for a moment, my next adventure started to unfold.
Last week as I was preparing for brunch with friends, I found myself in the local liquor store. As I wandered the aisles lined with wines from around the world, I smiled, remembering the times I’d spent exploring Germany, Italy, and France. While my fingers skimmed the Cupcake and Mommy’s Time Out labels, I felt the exhaustion of parenthood wash over me and was silently grateful to be beyond the diapering phase of my life. It was with this relieved and rested spirit that I raced to find the vodka, but alas, the liquor store wasn’t done with me.
Perched very high-up on a shelf with other surprisingly orphaned bottles of booze, was the largest bottle of champagne I’d ever seen. More astonishing than the size was the brand VEUVE CLICQUOT, or translated from French to English, “Widow Clicquot.” With sweet heart I remembered how Chris and I fell in love with the champagne’s history on a cruise many years ago. Upon hearing the brand’s translation, we devilishly contemplated the details surrounding François Clicquot’s death. We marveled at how the Madam could rise to such prominence in an era where women were not permitted to open a personal bank account.
While I gazed at the bottle, I remembered every-single-popped-cork. Toasting new homes, promotions, and the birth of our children, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot was an iconic character in every adventure I enjoyed with Chris. Inspired, I purchased that exact bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and in the spirit of charity, I auctioned it off at a fundraiser called the Great Pumpkin Ball, with proceeds benefiting a cause very dear to my heart — Good Grief.
As I’ve previously written, I had reason to visit the Azores, a small archipelago of nine islands in the Northern Atlantic Ocean. [Read more…]
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Sometime ago there was an American missionary living in a very tiny village. The young woman was a teacher who labored alongside the native people. One night, a boy from the missionary’s class brought her a crudely wrapped gift. The teacher was surprised as this little boy was very poor. What could he possibly give?
