People Don't Know Their Influence -- Part One

There's an old saying about children ... "they don't do what you say, they do what you do." Sad, but probably true.

I think it's possible for many people to go through life without realizing they are being watched. I've had great bosses, great ministers, great friends. I'm watching. I'm learning.

Nick Seats allowed me to follow him around in his agency while I was in high school and college. (Like a Labrador Retriever with her tongue hanging out.) He inspired me.

The mean, mean teacher I had in my freshman year of college told me I would never cut it. She thought I wasn't tough enough. Wanna Bet?

Several years ago, a daughter of my friend had to write a paper about someone she admires. When she chose me, I was honored. Another friend brought me back to earth by saying, "She probably likes the way you smoke."

The Pasadena gang of my childhood still influences me. (Both the children and the parents.)

The obvious one is my parents. Love abounded in our household, along with a strong dose of morals and responsibility. But my favorite influence is that they both know how to laugh with abandon.

My goldies (bestest friends in the whole wide world) taught me what friendships can be. They can span decades. They can survive hard times. They can transport you in time and allow the inner child to emerge. They can hold you hostage with photos or notes they have kept.

Syd Cook taught me what a boss is supposed to be. He spoiled me for anyone else. He exemplifies traits I aspire to have. He also taught me that when your plane is sliding on an icy runway, headed for Lake Michigan, it's ok to grab hands and say, "This is not how I planned to f+++ing die." (We obviously survived.)

My girlfriend group has no idea how much I study them. I learn everything from style to parenting (or grandparenting) tips. I am the perpetual student at their feet.

There are many more. That will be Part Two. Stay tuned.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

Are you singing yet?

"Sock it to me, sock it to me..."

I'm a voyeur. A few years ago, a friend of mine decided to change her life. In her terms, it meant no more bullsh** and I'm not going to do anything I don't want to do. I respected it but I also kind of brushed it off as a mid-life thing. As an outsider looking in, I remember thinking the people who give her the most problems and the most pleasure are the people she values most. She married one of them. She gave birth to a couple of them. One of them gave birth to her. You cannot control these relationships. I hate this expression but, they are what they are.

When the oldies moved in with us, the elephant in the room was the alpha male position. Hangdog was used to being the head of the household. So was Big Daddy. The Belle was used to doing things her way. So was I. We worked our way through the maze and usually found compromise.

As you know, I tend to tell my parents everything. I'm not sure this is normal. We disagree on many things but Aretha would be proud, we do it with respect. (Or we just hang up.)

I'm taking a lesson from my friend. You (my friends, my parents, my relatives, the children, the husband) can tell me anything and I will listen. I will try to learn and correct my faults. There's one caveat: Please speak to me with respect. For who I am and who I want to be. For what I've given you and what you've given me. Respect our history. Respect my phase in life and expect the same in return. Actually, demand it.

Mothers get a free pass on some of these things. Every once in a while, I try to dodge a question. There's a reason Wild Bill called her, "The Prosecutor." She will get it out of me. It takes about 20 seconds.

Aretha would be proud. All it takes is a little prodding...

"Just a little bit... Just a little bit."

A Voyeur Moment

I always thought that a voyeur was a spy, someone who peeped on others. But, nerdy Sheri looked it up. It actually means, "a person who obtains sexual gratification from looking at the sexual actions or organs of others."

I enjoy spying on others but I get no sexual satisfaction from it. Guess I should stop referring to myself as a voyeur.

In my youth, we had a problem with peeping Toms in the neighborhood. My aunt and uncle lived down the street. He worked nights. She had a regular peeping Tom. So, she would call our house and we would all run to her. I was a child but I remember my mom, my other aunt (who lived with us at the time,) and I climbing in the car and screeching down the street. A broom was our weapon of choice.

In high school, my friend, J, and I used to spy on our boyfriends. She was/is tall and I was spry. I could stand on her shoulders and we could get a glimpse in windows. Then, someone would spot us. She would scream and start to run -- forgetting that I was on her shoulders. I landed in a lot of bushes but she always came back to save me.

Other people's homes are fascinating to me. I love to look at their decorating styles, their choice of collectibles, etc. Many years ago, a co-worker had a party for the department in his home. His wife collected everything -- Hummels, Precious Moments, and more. There were hundreds, if not thousands of them. I walked around thinking, "Who dusts all of this?" Last week, the husband and I attended a lovely wedding reception for a friend's son. It was held in their home and their gardens. The gardens were something out of Eden. Lush, beautiful and HIGH MAINTENANCE. I hope they have people to take care of that.

Other people's lives may look interesting but I remind myself of the old saying about the grass being greener on the other side. I watch men treat their wives like queens and I wonder, "Does he treat her like this at home or is this just for public consumption?" Everyone can put on a good front for a while. It's what happens behind closed doors that matters.

So, I will continue to spy and eavesdrop on the oldies. I wish I could still stand on J's shoulders. We could probably learn a lot. I've got to find a new word instead of voyeur -- maybe I'll just go with spy.

If the Shoe Was On the Other Foot

I'm a voyeur. I watch the oldies with a mix of admiration and fright. I ask too many questions. I track how they're feeling and I try to pay attention to the medication trends. (No one is allowed to touch their medications.)

I watch her tend to his every need. I watch her fry food, do his laundry, make sure the coffe is hot and plentiful, etc. He's very polite but it's also expected.

Maybe that's how she willed her way out of her bout with cancer. She knows no one would take care of him in the custom that he has come to expect. She barks at him but she's the only one who is allowed to get crabby with him. She becomes an armed guard if anyone even tries. She's a little (but mighty) watchdog and he is her territory.

I'm just tracking along behind her, picking up the pieces and making notes about what I will not do when it's my turn.