After buying the new bathing suit with more "coverage" a few weeks ago and discovering I felt pretty much miserable (and old) in it, I bit the bullet and went bathing suit shopping again last Thursday.
I was feeling a bit brave when I dug out my old favorite two piece and tried it on last week. You know what? It really doesn't look that bad. I officially brought it out of retirement and started wearing it to the pool.
Feeling secure in my old two piece once again, I returned to the store on Friday and bought not one, but three new two piece suits. The first one, a bit more revealing than my old favorite, and the other two a lot more revealing than any I've worn in recent history.
Do I look like a nineteen year old in any of the suits? Of course not!
Do I really care? Nope!
I don't go to the pool to compete with anyone, neither am I trying to attract the attention of any members of the opposite sex. I don't crave positive re-enforcement or wolf whistles (except from my husband, of course) I just want to be comfortable and cool. It's that simple.
I feel good about my decision. Better yet, I feel downright liberated!
I will wear my new bathing suits with my head held high. Anyone who doesn't like it ... feel free to look the other way!
Becky J. Taylor
June 21, 2010
http://www.boldnewday.com
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Me, Myself, and Becky Taylor
Today started out in a rather unusual way.
Admittedly, the way life's been behaving lately, it's gotten difficult to distinguish between usual and unusual.
But this morning was "unusual" in a happily amusing sort of way. I got a text from my daughter Angel in Ohio almost as soon as I woke up. She said my four year old grandson, Jayden had called to her from the living room, saying "Mamaw Becky" was on t.v. Angel checked the screen and saw there was a Sylvan Learning Center ad airing which featured a woman whose name was displayed in the lower corner of the screen.
The name was "Becky Taylor"
How odd! Jayden thought his Mamaw Becky was on t.v. and the woman he'd mistaken to be me just happened to have the same name.
Of course, Jayden is only four years old and can't read yet. That would seem to eliminate the possibility he'd simply recognized the lady's name.
I thought about it and recalled seeing the same ad several months ago. I wouldn't have remembered it except for the fact that I'd noticed Becky Taylor and I shared the same name.
End of story, right?
After giving it more thought, I considered the possibility that the other Becky Taylor and I might also share similar coloring, etc, therefore making it possible that Jayden had the two of us confused as one and the same.
The name thing? Well, that part was surely a very funny coincidence!
If you've followed me very long at all, you'll know I can't let these things rest that easily. I had to investigate.
A quick "google" search revealed a photo of the other Becky, lending evidence to my theory that our similar hair and skin color had confused my grandson.
My attempts to find the Sylvan commercial online were not quite as successful. That came as a real disappointment because I really needed to figure out if the name "Becky Taylor" had been spoken at any time during the ad.
My curiosity was beginning to get the best of me, so I did what came most naturally.
I looked up the other Becky Taylor on facebook (yes, I found her there) and sent her a message explaining the situation to her.
Becky Taylor seemed to get as much of a kick out of the story as I, and verified for me that her name is not mentioned verbally in the ad at all. The only reference to "Becky Taylor" is the one printed on the screen.
Now, let's take a "logical" look at the facts, shall we?
What are the chances of there being more than one Becky Taylor in the United States?
"Becky" is a very common name, and so is "Taylor" ... so do the math. There are hundreds, if not thousands of us. Nothing remarkable to report on that aspect of the story.
The likelihood of any two of those Becky Taylors bearing similar physical traits?
Well, America is the proverbial "melting pot" of the world, so again, nah! No big surprise there either.
The possibility of a four year old boy living in southern Ohio, seeing someone on a t.v. commercial and mistaking her for his "Mamaw Becky" who lives in Georgia?
Still no big shock factor there. (YAWN)
BUT, a four year old boy in southern Ohio spotting a woman on t.v. whom he believes to be his "Mamaw Becky" and it turns out the woman on t.v. and his Mamaw Becky actually share the same name?
That's a bit more difficult to explain away.
Becky Taylor (of Sylvan Learning Centers fame) thinks Jayden recognized the name, and in conjunction with the other similarities, came to the conclusion that he was seeing his "Mamaw Becky" on television.
My daughter was hesitant to accept that possibility, until I reminded her that Jayden had likely seen my name written on the Mothers Day card she'd recently mailed to me. After a short period of convincing argument on my end, Angel finally agreed (or at least decided to humor me) to consider that possibility.
Long story short ...
It is a small world after all.
Reality is truly stranger than fiction.
My four year old grandson is most likely a genius (just like my other four grandchildren happen to be)
...and I have a new friend. Her name is Becky Taylor, just like me!
5/11/2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com
Admittedly, the way life's been behaving lately, it's gotten difficult to distinguish between usual and unusual.
But this morning was "unusual" in a happily amusing sort of way. I got a text from my daughter Angel in Ohio almost as soon as I woke up. She said my four year old grandson, Jayden had called to her from the living room, saying "Mamaw Becky" was on t.v. Angel checked the screen and saw there was a Sylvan Learning Center ad airing which featured a woman whose name was displayed in the lower corner of the screen.
The name was "Becky Taylor"
How odd! Jayden thought his Mamaw Becky was on t.v. and the woman he'd mistaken to be me just happened to have the same name.
Of course, Jayden is only four years old and can't read yet. That would seem to eliminate the possibility he'd simply recognized the lady's name.
I thought about it and recalled seeing the same ad several months ago. I wouldn't have remembered it except for the fact that I'd noticed Becky Taylor and I shared the same name.
End of story, right?
After giving it more thought, I considered the possibility that the other Becky Taylor and I might also share similar coloring, etc, therefore making it possible that Jayden had the two of us confused as one and the same.
The name thing? Well, that part was surely a very funny coincidence!
If you've followed me very long at all, you'll know I can't let these things rest that easily. I had to investigate.
A quick "google" search revealed a photo of the other Becky, lending evidence to my theory that our similar hair and skin color had confused my grandson.
My attempts to find the Sylvan commercial online were not quite as successful. That came as a real disappointment because I really needed to figure out if the name "Becky Taylor" had been spoken at any time during the ad.
My curiosity was beginning to get the best of me, so I did what came most naturally.
I looked up the other Becky Taylor on facebook (yes, I found her there) and sent her a message explaining the situation to her.
Becky Taylor seemed to get as much of a kick out of the story as I, and verified for me that her name is not mentioned verbally in the ad at all. The only reference to "Becky Taylor" is the one printed on the screen.
Now, let's take a "logical" look at the facts, shall we?
What are the chances of there being more than one Becky Taylor in the United States?
"Becky" is a very common name, and so is "Taylor" ... so do the math. There are hundreds, if not thousands of us. Nothing remarkable to report on that aspect of the story.
The likelihood of any two of those Becky Taylors bearing similar physical traits?
Well, America is the proverbial "melting pot" of the world, so again, nah! No big surprise there either.
The possibility of a four year old boy living in southern Ohio, seeing someone on a t.v. commercial and mistaking her for his "Mamaw Becky" who lives in Georgia?
Still no big shock factor there. (YAWN)
BUT, a four year old boy in southern Ohio spotting a woman on t.v. whom he believes to be his "Mamaw Becky" and it turns out the woman on t.v. and his Mamaw Becky actually share the same name?
That's a bit more difficult to explain away.
Becky Taylor (of Sylvan Learning Centers fame) thinks Jayden recognized the name, and in conjunction with the other similarities, came to the conclusion that he was seeing his "Mamaw Becky" on television.
My daughter was hesitant to accept that possibility, until I reminded her that Jayden had likely seen my name written on the Mothers Day card she'd recently mailed to me. After a short period of convincing argument on my end, Angel finally agreed (or at least decided to humor me) to consider that possibility.
Long story short ...
It is a small world after all.
Reality is truly stranger than fiction.
My four year old grandson is most likely a genius (just like my other four grandchildren happen to be)
...and I have a new friend. Her name is Becky Taylor, just like me!
5/11/2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com
Friday, March 6, 2009
In The Dark
Help!
Mr. Taylor is out of town and I don't know how to operate the majority of our house lights.
You think I'm kidding? Well, I'm not.
Such occurrences are common in the Taylor household. My wonderful husband, having a tangent for all things electrical, likes to periodically re-program the automated lighting system in our home.
Apparently he grew bored with the way things were working sometime between the last time he went out of town without me, and yesterday when he left again.
I discovered that fact in the early evening when I realized it was growing dark outside and neither the lights in the keeping room or living room had turned themselves on yet.
For a good ten minutes I plundered around in the twilight looking for the magic box that dictates such matters. The last time I was in this position, both sets could be controlled by a gadget that sits on our bedside stand. Obviously that has changed and no one bothered to send me a memo.
I finally met with success when I recalled seeing a new magic box sitting on the end table in the keeping room. Feeling my way back through the house, I located it and repeatedly pressed buttons until Voila'!
There was light!
After that, all was well in my little corner of the world until 11:00 p.m. which happens to be the designated hour for "lights out". At that time I was sitting on the bed watching videos on my laptop computer when I heard the tell-tale click that accompanies the night-time darkness through out the house.
Except for the glow of my computer screen, I found myself once again sitting unwittingly alone in the dark.
Thank goodness the magic box that sits beside our bed still works for our master bedroom lights! Otherwise I would have been forced to go right to sleep.
Which probably would have been a good idea given the fact that at promptly 6:30 a.m. 365 days a year, our room lights up as bright as the noon day sun! There are no pesky, noise making alarm clocks for us! Instead it's wakey wakey, rise and shine via a bright light in my face ... whether I need it or not.
While, in time I usually manage to figure out how to work the rest of the lighting mechanisms, I've never mastered the "alarm lights" that faithfully announce the break of dawn. Because I was clueless as to how to turn the darn thing off, I use to unplug the clock before I went to bed if I didn't otherwise have to wake up at the 6:30 the next morning.
Eventually I succumbed to the powers that be and learned to deal with it.
Oddly enough I am not technically challenged. I do have a degree in science. Back in the days of working in the hospital lab, my job required a decent knowledge of instrumentation. I could dis-assemble a number of extravagantly expensive pieces of medical equipment, put them back together and calibrate them without blinking an eye.
And yet I am challenged by a matter so simple as turning my own house lights off and on.
I have to wonder if keeping me in the dark is my husband's way of making himself feel needed. With that in mind, I suppose it really is a small price to pay.
Mr. Taylor is out of town and I don't know how to operate the majority of our house lights.
You think I'm kidding? Well, I'm not.
Such occurrences are common in the Taylor household. My wonderful husband, having a tangent for all things electrical, likes to periodically re-program the automated lighting system in our home.
Apparently he grew bored with the way things were working sometime between the last time he went out of town without me, and yesterday when he left again.
I discovered that fact in the early evening when I realized it was growing dark outside and neither the lights in the keeping room or living room had turned themselves on yet.
For a good ten minutes I plundered around in the twilight looking for the magic box that dictates such matters. The last time I was in this position, both sets could be controlled by a gadget that sits on our bedside stand. Obviously that has changed and no one bothered to send me a memo.
I finally met with success when I recalled seeing a new magic box sitting on the end table in the keeping room. Feeling my way back through the house, I located it and repeatedly pressed buttons until Voila'!
There was light!
After that, all was well in my little corner of the world until 11:00 p.m. which happens to be the designated hour for "lights out". At that time I was sitting on the bed watching videos on my laptop computer when I heard the tell-tale click that accompanies the night-time darkness through out the house.
Except for the glow of my computer screen, I found myself once again sitting unwittingly alone in the dark.
Thank goodness the magic box that sits beside our bed still works for our master bedroom lights! Otherwise I would have been forced to go right to sleep.
Which probably would have been a good idea given the fact that at promptly 6:30 a.m. 365 days a year, our room lights up as bright as the noon day sun! There are no pesky, noise making alarm clocks for us! Instead it's wakey wakey, rise and shine via a bright light in my face ... whether I need it or not.
While, in time I usually manage to figure out how to work the rest of the lighting mechanisms, I've never mastered the "alarm lights" that faithfully announce the break of dawn. Because I was clueless as to how to turn the darn thing off, I use to unplug the clock before I went to bed if I didn't otherwise have to wake up at the 6:30 the next morning.
Eventually I succumbed to the powers that be and learned to deal with it.
Oddly enough I am not technically challenged. I do have a degree in science. Back in the days of working in the hospital lab, my job required a decent knowledge of instrumentation. I could dis-assemble a number of extravagantly expensive pieces of medical equipment, put them back together and calibrate them without blinking an eye.
And yet I am challenged by a matter so simple as turning my own house lights off and on.
I have to wonder if keeping me in the dark is my husband's way of making himself feel needed. With that in mind, I suppose it really is a small price to pay.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Things That Go BOOM In The Night!
There has to be a logical explanation. I'm sure of it.
A few weeks ago in the middle of our Friday night slumber, my husband woke me up and asked if I would go upstairs and have Adam turn his music down. I roused myself from a deep sleep and slid off the side of the bed into my slippers. Sure enough, there was a distinct "boom bah boom bah boom boom" in full surround sound rocking our entire house. The effect was much like that of sitting beside a car with it's stereo on full blast at a stop light.
And yes, the origin of the "boom bah boom bah boom boom" was the upper story of our house, where the boy's bedroom is located.
Teenagers!
"Why is he even up at this hour, much less listening to music that loudly?" I grumbled as I pulled myself up the stairs.
About half way up, I realized the sound was actually coming from the media room.
"Adam!" I barked (have I mentioned that I'm not really at my "best" when my sleep is interrupted?) "Why are you watching a movie at this hour? Turn it down! You're waking up the neighborhood, for pete's sake!"
Grrr!
Adam's bedroom door sprang open and he appeared, looking a little disheveled and very perplexed.
"I didn't turn it on Mom, it woke me up too." he explained.
That was weird. I couldn't help but notice a discomforting eerie glow spilling into the hallway from the media room. With a measure of caution, I approached the DVD player (which is actually operated by remote from the upstairs office) and investigated, then pressed the "off" button. The noise stopped and the eerie glow disappeared.
I assured my son that it was just a fluke and went back downstairs where my husband, snuggled down deep inside the warmth of his blankets, had already fallen back to sleep.
"Walt! Walt!" I shook him until he popped his head from under the covers and opened his eyes.
"The DVD player just turned itself on." I explained. "It woke Adam up too, he hadn't even been in there!"
"Oh." my groggy spouse responded, "That's strange" ... and went right back to sleep.
I shrugged it off and crawled back into bed myself.
A few days passed and I hadn't thought any more of the incident.
Then it happened again. We came home from a holiday party and sure enough, there was a movie showing in full surround sound in our media room. The only problem was, no one was home when the show started.
This time, Mr. Taylor went upstairs and looked into it. Just as I'd done before, all he could think of to remedy the problem was simply to turn the DVD player off.
Once more, time passed and the self-starting movie situation became a distant memory for the three of us.
Until last night. Third verse, same as the first ... and second. It was the middle of the night again and everyone was sound asleep. I was awakened by two of our cats fighting in our bedroom. I got up and shooed Skippyjon, the younger cat, toward the vicinity of the foyer. He normally sleeps with Adam, but on occasion will manage to be outside his room when the door closes for the night. Skippyjon’s attempts to get into our bed instead always invites a brutal attack from the older Siamese.
Once a safe distance from the older, hissing, snarling cat, I scooped Skippyjon into my arms and began my trek to Adam's bedroom.
I paused at the foot of the stairs. There was that noise again. My first thought was that Adam was still awake at 2:45 a.m. on a school night and he was in big trouble. When I got to his door, Skippyjon in tow, however, I saw that his bedroom was dark. The boy was snoozing away.
Sighing, I dropped Skippyjon inside the bedroom door and closed it before he could run back out, then went to the DVD player and hit the "off" button.
By then, the whole ordeal was starting to get a little old! I went back to bed and woke Walt up, explaining that we really did need to figure out why the DVD player has suddenly acquired a mind of it's own and put this nonsense to an end. He assured me he would look into it.
Thank goodness.
This morning Walt left for work and I (because I wasn't able to get back to sleep easily last night) slept in. Once up for the day, I went through my usual morning routine, then sat down to work at the computer.
Within a few minutes, the whole house began dancing to the now all too familiar sound of "boom bah boom bah boom boom". Obviously, that DVD player is not planning to go down without a fight!
I've been tolerating the noise for a while now. For some reason I feel no sense of urgency in climbing up those stairs and turning it off this time. Maybe I'll just wait and see how long it lasts. Could be the dastardly DVD player is plotting against me, trying to see how many times I'll actually come up there and hit the "off" button before I finally rip the evil device out of the wall altogether. I can almost hear it mocking me now. Perhaps it plans to make me it's human slave.
Nah. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for the DVD player taking on a life of it’s own. I’m also fairly certain that it isn’t actually plotting my demise. It is, after all, only a shiny box with a bunch of wires stuffed inside. Surely it poses no threat to a human being such as myself.
Never the less, in case you’re “listening” my little electronic friend. You’d better watch out! The next thing that goes "boom" in the night around here just could be your shiny metal case hitting the floor. Don’t mess with me, you will NOT win!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
I Wish I Had A Cookie
My mother (L) and Aunt Ethel (R)In Memory Of Aunt Ethel
2/23 - 12/08
I grew up in a ridiculously small town on the outskirts of Appalachia. It was the kind of town where everyone knew everyone and they all looked out for each other.
My Aunt Ethel lived two doors down the street from us. The neighbors yard that sprawled between our houses was distinctly marked with a worn path leading from our back door to her front door.
I walked (or rather ran) that path nearly every day as a child. Even as young as three years old, I made the journey by myself on a regular basis.
There was never a need to knock on Ethel's door, a mere "Hi Ethel!!!! I'm here!" as I entered her living room was good enough.
I can still hear her voice as she would call back to me, "Hello, Becky Jean! Come on in!"
Ethel always kept a cookie jar filled with macaroon cookies in her kitchen, and I would make a beeline for it first thing upon arrival. For a few minutes I'd sit at her kitchen table and chatter to her, my skinny long legs dangling off the edge of the chair as I gobbled down the delicious treat.
My mother had a sweet tooth herself, so of course we had cookies at our house too. Somehow they just didn't taste as good to me as the cookies at Ethel's house did.
The things we remember from our childhood are interesting to me. My Aunt Ethel was a wonderful woman, always gentle, kind and loving. I cherished her, and was most definitely very fond of her macaroon cookies. Even though I've long since given up eating them, I still think of her every time I spot a package of them sitting on a store shelf.
Aunt Ethel passed away only two days ago at the age of 85. She was the last one left of the Fairchild sisters. I'm glad she's gone on to Heaven and can't help but smile when I think of the reunion that must have taken place as she entered the gates. No doubt my mother and her other siblings all met her there, those big trademark "Fairchild" smiles glowing as they welcomed her in.
I was able to see Ethel during our trip to Ohio for Thanksgiving. Walt and I stopped to visit her twice while we were there. She was failing quickly but her mind was surprisingly sharp. She recognized me right away and talked about the hibiscus plant we'd given her last summer.
It was a good visit and one we were grateful for, but it left Walt and me both in tears.
I spent the better part of yesterday evening and this morning trying to no avail, to find a decently priced airline ticket so I can fly home for the memorial service. At this point, it looks like I'll either be driving or not going at all.
I can't imagine missing it but I may have no other choice.
How did life get so complicated anyway? It's been a rough week in general. Besides all the stress naturally associated with the holidays and Ethel's passing, I've got three or four other situations that are pressing, all of them "urgent" in one way or another.
I have important appointments scheduled for tomorrow night and Friday. Even if I don't go to Ohio, I will likely cancel those. A couple other situations are causing me aggravation and grief too, but I can't do anything about them right now.
So instead, I have chosen to sit in my pajamas and sort my thoughts for a while. Dealing with life logically can almost be a handicap at times. I'm not without emotions, don't get me wrong. It's just that logic tends to prevail and I am able to slip into this "auto-mode" as I manage my way through the necessary evils in life.
But you know, sitting here as I negotiate all the pros and cons and consider all the what's and if's, I find my mind repeatedly drifting back to one thing.
I really just wish I had a cookie.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Rush Hour
Today's start was just as rocky as yesterday's was good.
The alarm went off at 6:30 as usual. I got out of bed and dragged myself up the stairs to awaken my fourteen year old son, a monumental task even on a good day.
Thanks to an aching neck, I didn't sleep well last night so I was particularly groggy this morning. I promised myself I'd take a nap as soon as the boy left for school. The minute the door closed behind him, I treated myself to a pain pill and went back to bed, noting that I had about an hour and a half to sleep before I needed to get up and prepare for a phone coaching session I had scheduled for 10:00.
I'm not sure my head had even hit the pillow before I was happily back in sleepy town. I was in the middle of a rather interesting dream, part of which involved me reminding myself that I needed to wake up in time for my appointment. I mean, literally ... in my dream I mentioned that I probably needed to check the clock and make sure I didn't miss it.
I took my own advice and woke up to see what time it was. The alarm clock's blazing red numbers said 9:57. Ugh! I had three minutes before I had to be "at work". I sprang from the bed, ran into the bathroom and washed my face, brushed my teeth, and thanked God this was a phone session which meant I didn't have to change out of my pajamas!
On the way to get the phone, I opened the door and sent my dog, Jordan outside. Lately, he's developed a tendency to wait until I'm on the phone, then start barking to go out. Not very "professional" sounding for to my clients on the other end of the line, so I thought I'd get ahead of the game and put him out before the session started. All I'd have to do was check the front steps a couple times during the session and make sure he was lying in his usual spot.
Finally, I dialed the number and got the session started, only five minutes late which wasn't bad, all things considered. It actually worked out well because my client said she too was running behind.
Ten minutes into the session, my cell phone rang. Normally I turn it off or at least leave it on "silent" during coaching times, but today was an exception to that rule. I got out of my seat, walked to the counter where it lay ringing and picked it up. It was my husband calling.
My client asked, "Do you need to get that?" I told her "no" and apologized for the interruption. Walt must have forgotten that I had an appointment, as he's usually good about not calling during my sessions.
While I was up and moving around anyway, I figured it would be a good time to check on the dog.
Dog? - Gone!
I stepped outside and looked up and down the sidewalk for him. There were no signs of my dear canine friend anywhere.
I decided the wayward critter must have moved to the garage to get out of the wind, so I went back inside the house and walked to the back door to check. He wasn't in the garage either but the cat managed to slither past my leg and ran out as soon as the back door opened. I quickly hit the garage door control and let it down to block the cat's escape. The cat could stay in the garage until I later. Maybe some time out there in the cold would teach him a lesson about trying to bolt outside in the first place.
Surprisingly enough, I was able to maintain my conversation on the phone throughout the extra activities taking place around me.
About that time, a call from my husband beeped in on the business line. This meant there must be a problem that merited immediate attention. I asked my client if I could call her right back and she said, "Sure! No problem" By then, she was probably happy to have the chance to start looking in the yellow pages for a new coach anyway.
I hung up the phone, then dialed Walt's number while simultaneously walking out the front door to look once again for Jordan.
Still gone!
On the phone, Walt's apologetic voice informed me that we had a lunch meeting at 12:00, at a restaurant a 30 minute drive away. He asked if I could pick one of his associates up and meet him there. By then, it was about 10:30. That meant I had another 30 minutes of a session to complete, which would have the call ending at 11:00. It would allow me only 30 minutes to find something decent to wear, fix my hair (which was in dire need of washing) put on some makeup .. and find my dog before I had to leave.
With a promise that I'd try to be there on time, I hung up the phone and walked around the front of the house, calling my dogs name while a cold November wind blew it's way up my pajama pants and down the sleeves. Needless to say, I was chilled to the bone.
Finally, I spotted the prodigal Sheltie waddling back up the street towards the house, obviously a little perplexed about my impatience with him over the matter.
Ignoring the fact that my cell phone was ringing AGAIN, I said a prayer that the neighbors hadn't seen me out wandering around in my pajamas, and went back inside to call my client back.
And again, she was very understanding about it all. I apologized one more time, and told her I was going to give her a free session next week to make up for today's debacle. She said that wasn't really necessary, but accepted my offer anyway ... a relief since I figured by that time I'd been put on her "expendable" list.
We hung up the phone at 10:55. The dog was inside resting comfortably in front of the gas fireplace, the cat was howling to be let in from the garage, and I had 35 minutes in which to pull myself together.
GO!
I raced into the closet and found a pair of reasonably wrinkle free brown slacks. Eyes scanning the rack for a blouse that would match, I grabbed a lacy short sleeved top from it's hanger. It didn't exactly fit into the "fall apparel" category but it would have to do. I would find a jacket to go over it ... somehow.
I started to slip into a pair of brown boots but noticed they didn't look right with those particular pants. Shoes! I'd bought a pair of shoes specifically for that reason not too long ago, where were they?
Aha! Shoes! Now socks! My choice was considerably narrowed by the fact that they would actually have to match since I was wearing shoes instead of boots and therefore more likely to be seen by the public. Aha! But I'd done laundry only yesterday and a pair of matching brown socks were readily available. Thank goodness for small favors!
I can't say I was proud of the way my hair looked when I finished, but there was no time for fussing over it. I brushed it, sprayed it, made an attempt to style it with my fingers and called it done. Makeup was slathered on in record time. I even managed to find a pair of earrings and a necklace to compliment the lacy top.
It was 11:25. I had five minutes to figure out where I'd left my watch and rings, find my keys, and get to the car.
I stopped at the hall closet to get the jacket I needed to cover my summer blouse but it was not there. Instead, I opted for a distinctly winter, casual coat. By that time, who cared! I put it on and ran out the door.
As I backed the car out of the driveway, I applied some lipstick then called the lady whose call I'd previously ignored. I was still talking to her when I arrived at the home of the gentleman I was suppose to be taking to the lunch meeting.
Still talking also when I rang his doorbell. He opened the door, and I (still talking on the phone) smiled and said "Hi! I'm Becky. Are you ready to go?"
We got into the car and headed for the restaurant.
It looked like we just might make it there by noon! YAY!
...Until we got about 10 miles from the house and discovered the traffic was at a near standstill on Rt. 400. I called Walt, who was by that time waiting at the restaurant, and advised him of the situation. "Don't worry about it" he consoled me. "Just get here when you can."
At long last we arrived at the restaurant at precisely 12:30, exactly thirty minutes late.
I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I sank into my chair. A round of applause and laughter went up from the other meeting attendees.... and no one seemed the least bit aware that I was in an unusual state of dishevelment.
Maybe there is something to be said for making an "entrance" after all.
The alarm went off at 6:30 as usual. I got out of bed and dragged myself up the stairs to awaken my fourteen year old son, a monumental task even on a good day.
Thanks to an aching neck, I didn't sleep well last night so I was particularly groggy this morning. I promised myself I'd take a nap as soon as the boy left for school. The minute the door closed behind him, I treated myself to a pain pill and went back to bed, noting that I had about an hour and a half to sleep before I needed to get up and prepare for a phone coaching session I had scheduled for 10:00.
I'm not sure my head had even hit the pillow before I was happily back in sleepy town. I was in the middle of a rather interesting dream, part of which involved me reminding myself that I needed to wake up in time for my appointment. I mean, literally ... in my dream I mentioned that I probably needed to check the clock and make sure I didn't miss it.
I took my own advice and woke up to see what time it was. The alarm clock's blazing red numbers said 9:57. Ugh! I had three minutes before I had to be "at work". I sprang from the bed, ran into the bathroom and washed my face, brushed my teeth, and thanked God this was a phone session which meant I didn't have to change out of my pajamas!
On the way to get the phone, I opened the door and sent my dog, Jordan outside. Lately, he's developed a tendency to wait until I'm on the phone, then start barking to go out. Not very "professional" sounding for to my clients on the other end of the line, so I thought I'd get ahead of the game and put him out before the session started. All I'd have to do was check the front steps a couple times during the session and make sure he was lying in his usual spot.
Finally, I dialed the number and got the session started, only five minutes late which wasn't bad, all things considered. It actually worked out well because my client said she too was running behind.
Ten minutes into the session, my cell phone rang. Normally I turn it off or at least leave it on "silent" during coaching times, but today was an exception to that rule. I got out of my seat, walked to the counter where it lay ringing and picked it up. It was my husband calling.
My client asked, "Do you need to get that?" I told her "no" and apologized for the interruption. Walt must have forgotten that I had an appointment, as he's usually good about not calling during my sessions.
While I was up and moving around anyway, I figured it would be a good time to check on the dog.
Dog? - Gone!
I stepped outside and looked up and down the sidewalk for him. There were no signs of my dear canine friend anywhere.
I decided the wayward critter must have moved to the garage to get out of the wind, so I went back inside the house and walked to the back door to check. He wasn't in the garage either but the cat managed to slither past my leg and ran out as soon as the back door opened. I quickly hit the garage door control and let it down to block the cat's escape. The cat could stay in the garage until I later. Maybe some time out there in the cold would teach him a lesson about trying to bolt outside in the first place.
Surprisingly enough, I was able to maintain my conversation on the phone throughout the extra activities taking place around me.
About that time, a call from my husband beeped in on the business line. This meant there must be a problem that merited immediate attention. I asked my client if I could call her right back and she said, "Sure! No problem" By then, she was probably happy to have the chance to start looking in the yellow pages for a new coach anyway.
I hung up the phone, then dialed Walt's number while simultaneously walking out the front door to look once again for Jordan.
Still gone!
On the phone, Walt's apologetic voice informed me that we had a lunch meeting at 12:00, at a restaurant a 30 minute drive away. He asked if I could pick one of his associates up and meet him there. By then, it was about 10:30. That meant I had another 30 minutes of a session to complete, which would have the call ending at 11:00. It would allow me only 30 minutes to find something decent to wear, fix my hair (which was in dire need of washing) put on some makeup .. and find my dog before I had to leave.
With a promise that I'd try to be there on time, I hung up the phone and walked around the front of the house, calling my dogs name while a cold November wind blew it's way up my pajama pants and down the sleeves. Needless to say, I was chilled to the bone.
Finally, I spotted the prodigal Sheltie waddling back up the street towards the house, obviously a little perplexed about my impatience with him over the matter.
Ignoring the fact that my cell phone was ringing AGAIN, I said a prayer that the neighbors hadn't seen me out wandering around in my pajamas, and went back inside to call my client back.
And again, she was very understanding about it all. I apologized one more time, and told her I was going to give her a free session next week to make up for today's debacle. She said that wasn't really necessary, but accepted my offer anyway ... a relief since I figured by that time I'd been put on her "expendable" list.
We hung up the phone at 10:55. The dog was inside resting comfortably in front of the gas fireplace, the cat was howling to be let in from the garage, and I had 35 minutes in which to pull myself together.
GO!
I raced into the closet and found a pair of reasonably wrinkle free brown slacks. Eyes scanning the rack for a blouse that would match, I grabbed a lacy short sleeved top from it's hanger. It didn't exactly fit into the "fall apparel" category but it would have to do. I would find a jacket to go over it ... somehow.
I started to slip into a pair of brown boots but noticed they didn't look right with those particular pants. Shoes! I'd bought a pair of shoes specifically for that reason not too long ago, where were they?
Aha! Shoes! Now socks! My choice was considerably narrowed by the fact that they would actually have to match since I was wearing shoes instead of boots and therefore more likely to be seen by the public. Aha! But I'd done laundry only yesterday and a pair of matching brown socks were readily available. Thank goodness for small favors!
I can't say I was proud of the way my hair looked when I finished, but there was no time for fussing over it. I brushed it, sprayed it, made an attempt to style it with my fingers and called it done. Makeup was slathered on in record time. I even managed to find a pair of earrings and a necklace to compliment the lacy top.
It was 11:25. I had five minutes to figure out where I'd left my watch and rings, find my keys, and get to the car.
I stopped at the hall closet to get the jacket I needed to cover my summer blouse but it was not there. Instead, I opted for a distinctly winter, casual coat. By that time, who cared! I put it on and ran out the door.
As I backed the car out of the driveway, I applied some lipstick then called the lady whose call I'd previously ignored. I was still talking to her when I arrived at the home of the gentleman I was suppose to be taking to the lunch meeting.
Still talking also when I rang his doorbell. He opened the door, and I (still talking on the phone) smiled and said "Hi! I'm Becky. Are you ready to go?"
We got into the car and headed for the restaurant.
It looked like we just might make it there by noon! YAY!
...Until we got about 10 miles from the house and discovered the traffic was at a near standstill on Rt. 400. I called Walt, who was by that time waiting at the restaurant, and advised him of the situation. "Don't worry about it" he consoled me. "Just get here when you can."
At long last we arrived at the restaurant at precisely 12:30, exactly thirty minutes late.
I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I sank into my chair. A round of applause and laughter went up from the other meeting attendees.... and no one seemed the least bit aware that I was in an unusual state of dishevelment.
Maybe there is something to be said for making an "entrance" after all.
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