“Lemonade! Twenty five cents!”
My daughter and her neighborhood friends are shrieking up and down our street, their marketing plan for their lemonade stand consisting mainly of yelling their heads off.
And it’s working.
An adorable older couple on even more adorable matching bikes, complete with baskets and flags, glide up to the folding table parked in our driveway to place their order.
I am in sales and work from home so today I am perched on my sunny front step with my laptop since my office is anywhere I have a great wireless connection. I watch my kid serve up sparkling pink glasses of summer, making conversation as she does, “It’s my birthday tomorrow; I’m going to be 9!”
I smile to myself as I eavesdrop. She’s a chip off the old blonde block as anyone in sales knows: it’s not about the product it’s about the relationship. “Good job, kiddo,” I think to myself and calculate her someday commission into my own retirement income. At this rate, I’m thinking her innate ability to connect with people will help me secure a place on the Mediterranean.
The cute couple offer synchronized crinkled grins. And the curly haired woman pipes up, “Oh really! Well, I turned 90 last month.”
“And isn’t she beautiful,” the old man adds.
I cannot help myself, I simply must join in the conversation and inquire from my sun-drenched stoop, “How long have you two been married?” After all, I am eternally searching for evidence that true love exists and who better to ask than two almost centurions on matching bikes?
“Ha!” the old man laughs loudly and I am momentarily confused.
What’s so funny?
I don’t have to wait long for clarity when he proudly shouts back, “We’re not! We’re living in sin!”
The old woman giggles coyly.
“That. Is. AWESOME!” I announce as I yelp my approval.
Yeah, yeah. I am queen of conservative but there was something about this aged pair on this sunny spring afternoon that was very affirming. No matter where you stand on marriage, you couldn’t help but be taken in by the happiness they shared. The kind of happiness that makes you buy matching bikes and stop at lemonade stands together. The kind that makes you proclaim across manicured lawns and nuclear families, within ear shot of children, that you love this person and you don’t care what the world says.
They finish their drinks, thank my daughter and her friends, and sail side by side back down the shaded street.
My daughter runs up to me. “What’s living in sin mean?”
I laugh and reply candidly, “Well, it means that people live together but aren’t married.”
“Oh” she says and I see her processing the concept, one I will get into a bit more when she's 19, not 9.
“Normally, it’s not something that God wants people to do but I think when you’re 90 years old, God probably makes exceptions. We can’t be sure but what we can know is that they sure seem pretty happy together don’t they?”
“Yep!” she agrees and then announces, “And they tipped me a dollar!” She runs back to her business of pushing sugar water, obviously satisfied with my brief commentary on co-habitation because she is soon in a chorus with the rest of the kids once again, “Lemonade! Only twenty five cents! Cold Lemonade! Get it here! Only twenty five cents!”
I silently thank the older couple for the value of their visit. And I don’t mean the buck they tipped my little girl.
Love is possible.
At any age.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
How Did We Do It?
My bestest bud, Naomi, and I are collapsed in repreive next to my fire pit last Friday night, glasses of Reisling in hand, feet up on my wicker outdoor ottoman. Our children run and play around in the backyard on some crazy adventure as we lazily sink into the cushions to ponder present, past, and future.
The conversation winds around and at one point aimlessly wanders back to our college days. Naomi randomly observes, a crinkle appearing between her eyebrows as she does, “You know, how did we ever even get a hold of each other back then? We had no cell phones.”
“Or email,” I add as I sip my wine.
“And no Facebook!” she exclaims with a smirk of puzzlement, “Good gawd, we actually had to be in our dorm rooms to have a phone call."
“I had an answering machine,” I recall as I linger in the hallway of my memory for while.
“Hey Audra, it’s Cami. Let’s go to Theta Chi tonight!” “Hey Audra, meet us on the second floor of the library.” “Audra, it’s your mother. You’re bank account is over drawn again! Your dad is furious!”
Yep. That was it.
Answering machines.
“But what if we were out? How did we find each other?” Naomi's perplexed state growing as she contemplates the prehistoric life we once led.
“Um, we just ran into each other? Or we set it up ahead of time?” I volunteer with a shrug.
Naomi feigns shock and horror, “Holy crap, how did we even have any friends at all? It's a miracle I even know you!"
“I think we just relied more on serendipity back then.”
“In other words our social lives were a crap shoot? No wonder we ended up married to idiots," she evaluates, sealing her hindsight with another taste of wine.
I frown and look sideways at her as I state the obvious, “Um, it’s a Friday night right now. We have cell phones, email, and Facebook. And the only testosterone currently in our lives is in the form of your sons.” I glance back at the swing set that is currently doubling as a rocket ship in a childhood fantasy. I think they are pretending to shoot lasers at each other, and my daughter may actually be winning.
Naomi takes in the scene and surrenders. “Good point.”
“Maybe we should just pretend it's 1991 and throw it all back into the universe. You never know, a couple hot, funny, secure and emotionally healthy available men may just wander into my backyard.”
“Not likely.”
“Hey, how do you know?” I challenge.
“Because,” she deadpans and takes a gulp of Reisling, “I didn’t call ahead and leave an invitation on their answering machines.”
The conversation winds around and at one point aimlessly wanders back to our college days. Naomi randomly observes, a crinkle appearing between her eyebrows as she does, “You know, how did we ever even get a hold of each other back then? We had no cell phones.”
“Or email,” I add as I sip my wine.
“And no Facebook!” she exclaims with a smirk of puzzlement, “Good gawd, we actually had to be in our dorm rooms to have a phone call."
“I had an answering machine,” I recall as I linger in the hallway of my memory for while.
“Hey Audra, it’s Cami. Let’s go to Theta Chi tonight!” “Hey Audra, meet us on the second floor of the library.” “Audra, it’s your mother. You’re bank account is over drawn again! Your dad is furious!”
Yep. That was it.
Answering machines.
“But what if we were out? How did we find each other?” Naomi's perplexed state growing as she contemplates the prehistoric life we once led.
“Um, we just ran into each other? Or we set it up ahead of time?” I volunteer with a shrug.
Naomi feigns shock and horror, “Holy crap, how did we even have any friends at all? It's a miracle I even know you!"
“I think we just relied more on serendipity back then.”
“In other words our social lives were a crap shoot? No wonder we ended up married to idiots," she evaluates, sealing her hindsight with another taste of wine.
I frown and look sideways at her as I state the obvious, “Um, it’s a Friday night right now. We have cell phones, email, and Facebook. And the only testosterone currently in our lives is in the form of your sons.” I glance back at the swing set that is currently doubling as a rocket ship in a childhood fantasy. I think they are pretending to shoot lasers at each other, and my daughter may actually be winning.
Naomi takes in the scene and surrenders. “Good point.”
“Maybe we should just pretend it's 1991 and throw it all back into the universe. You never know, a couple hot, funny, secure and emotionally healthy available men may just wander into my backyard.”
“Not likely.”
“Hey, how do you know?” I challenge.
“Because,” she deadpans and takes a gulp of Reisling, “I didn’t call ahead and leave an invitation on their answering machines.”
Thursday, April 22, 2010
KFGO 9:00 Thursday, April 22
Tune in to KFGO tonight at 9:00 to hear "Chronicles of a Girl" live!
If you don't live in the area you can listen online at http://www.kfgo.com/.
If you don't live in the area you can listen online at http://www.kfgo.com/.
Bush Whacking
Who sings that song? It goes, “You’re so vain. I bet you think this song is about you, don’t you, don’t you?”
Oh yes.
Carly Simon.
Well, I’m going to write a new one. And it’s going to go like this:
“You’re so vain. I bet you think this Facebook status is about you, don’t you, don’t you?”
Seriously.
Has this ever happened to you? I mean really.
I was once accused of being passive aggressive in a Facebook status.
Excuse me for a minute. I must now temporarily collapse while rolling around and around on the floor laughing hsyterically because THAT.
Is funny.
Anyone who knows me for more than two minutes knows there is nothing about me that could ever be construed as passive. If I don’t like you, I don’t beat around the bush. I beat you with the bush (or any handy shrub I can find).
Okay, not literally. Whacking someone with a bush isn’t exactly legal. But what I am going to do is let you know what I think. And there is nothing passive about that. Over the years I have gotten better at using more discretion. Which for me basically means that now when someone makes me mad I don’t tell them to bite me.
At least not right away.
In corporate America, the Meyer’s Briggs personality test is hugely popular and it rates different components of your personality. According to its assessment, Audra is Emotional, Intuitive, and Judging. Not the worst combo. It does mean that even though I’m emotional, I am usually spot on when it comes to deciphering people’s motivations. And then I swiftly categorize them accordingly.
These are wonderful attributes for my career in sales. I connect with people on a human level, figure out their motivations, and then definitively make recommendations that match their goals. Over and over, people trust me and selling comes easy for me. And it’s not manipulative; it’s just a fantastic fit for my personality. If you have a problem, I’ll tell you if I can sell you something that’s going to fix said problem.
And.
I don’t beat around the bush.
Although in my personal life, sometimes this isn’t such a good thing. My candor is great for my career, but not so great in the rest of my life in conflict situations when emotions are running high. In those cases, sometimes the best thing to say is nothing.
Yeah, I am working on that one.
So in the meantime, anyone who knows me can at least trust this fact:
How I feel will never resemble any level of encryption.
Because if I write a song about you, or a Facebook status for that matter, the last person you'll need to consult.
Is Carly Simon.
Oh yes.
Carly Simon.
Well, I’m going to write a new one. And it’s going to go like this:
“You’re so vain. I bet you think this Facebook status is about you, don’t you, don’t you?”
Seriously.
Has this ever happened to you? I mean really.
I was once accused of being passive aggressive in a Facebook status.
Excuse me for a minute. I must now temporarily collapse while rolling around and around on the floor laughing hsyterically because THAT.
Is funny.
Anyone who knows me for more than two minutes knows there is nothing about me that could ever be construed as passive. If I don’t like you, I don’t beat around the bush. I beat you with the bush (or any handy shrub I can find).
Okay, not literally. Whacking someone with a bush isn’t exactly legal. But what I am going to do is let you know what I think. And there is nothing passive about that. Over the years I have gotten better at using more discretion. Which for me basically means that now when someone makes me mad I don’t tell them to bite me.
At least not right away.
In corporate America, the Meyer’s Briggs personality test is hugely popular and it rates different components of your personality. According to its assessment, Audra is Emotional, Intuitive, and Judging. Not the worst combo. It does mean that even though I’m emotional, I am usually spot on when it comes to deciphering people’s motivations. And then I swiftly categorize them accordingly.
These are wonderful attributes for my career in sales. I connect with people on a human level, figure out their motivations, and then definitively make recommendations that match their goals. Over and over, people trust me and selling comes easy for me. And it’s not manipulative; it’s just a fantastic fit for my personality. If you have a problem, I’ll tell you if I can sell you something that’s going to fix said problem.
And.
I don’t beat around the bush.
Although in my personal life, sometimes this isn’t such a good thing. My candor is great for my career, but not so great in the rest of my life in conflict situations when emotions are running high. In those cases, sometimes the best thing to say is nothing.
Yeah, I am working on that one.
So in the meantime, anyone who knows me can at least trust this fact:
How I feel will never resemble any level of encryption.
Because if I write a song about you, or a Facebook status for that matter, the last person you'll need to consult.
Is Carly Simon.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Parkas and Prozac
I wonder . . .
Do people in Hawaii every get depressed? What about the Caribbean? Do they sell less Zoloft there? Are razor blades hard to find?
I would assume.
Because I live in the anti-sunshine section of the world and let me tell you, it can be downright depressing. At least for the six months out of the year that winter’s icy hands try to strangle all the happiness out of the world in its 50 below/cloudy for days/clutches.
Seriously.
If you have not been to North Dakota you do not know cold. And you do not know cloudy. Imagine if Seattle were in Antarctica not Washington.
That.
Is where I live.
And every year round about the Ides of January I start fantasizing about a suicide plan. Let’s see, how tightly does that garage door shut anyway? And what did I do with that extra rope again? How high are those rafters?
Well, not quite, but by then I definitely have a full blown case of cabin fever punctuated by my longing to be able to walk outside without my face hurting. In fact, winter induced depression actually has a medical term: Seasonal Affective Disorder. And yes. The acronym?
You got it.
S.A.D.
I am not even making this up! It’s real. Google it.
My mom always jokes that she is solar powered: happy when the sun shines and driving my dad nuts when it doesn’t. (I do think my father secretly checks the forecast every day in some feeble effort to decipher my mother.)
And so, of course, everyone who doesn’t live in this Godforsaken Tundra does ask the obvious: WHY DO YOU PEOPLE LIVE THERE?
Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because we’re all phobic about leaving our homes so being trapped inside them by ice, snow, and sub-zero is our idea of fun.
Duh! Sucks to be us, yes, it does. But it is a good question. And every winter I do wonder the same thing and start checking out the real estate market in Tampa.
Honestly, I think the reason people do reside here might have everything to do with the euphoric arrival of spring. Because I will tell you what, there is nothing better than watching your backyard transform from an ice cube to Eden. Witnessing that monumental miracle floods you with relief that Mother Nature is not a b*tch after all.
Because look at that tulip.
Hello?
She brought flowers. It's time to kiss and make up.
Alright, so up this way she may be a little bi-polar, but her tundra temper tantrum is temporary. Eventually people put away the rope and razor blades and trade them in for beer and boats.
And that “SAD” acronym takes on a whole new meaning.
Summer’s
Arrived
Dude.
So party on.
(At least until next November anyway.)
Do people in Hawaii every get depressed? What about the Caribbean? Do they sell less Zoloft there? Are razor blades hard to find?
I would assume.
Because I live in the anti-sunshine section of the world and let me tell you, it can be downright depressing. At least for the six months out of the year that winter’s icy hands try to strangle all the happiness out of the world in its 50 below/cloudy for days/clutches.
Seriously.
If you have not been to North Dakota you do not know cold. And you do not know cloudy. Imagine if Seattle were in Antarctica not Washington.
That.
Is where I live.
And every year round about the Ides of January I start fantasizing about a suicide plan. Let’s see, how tightly does that garage door shut anyway? And what did I do with that extra rope again? How high are those rafters?
Well, not quite, but by then I definitely have a full blown case of cabin fever punctuated by my longing to be able to walk outside without my face hurting. In fact, winter induced depression actually has a medical term: Seasonal Affective Disorder. And yes. The acronym?
You got it.
S.A.D.
I am not even making this up! It’s real. Google it.
My mom always jokes that she is solar powered: happy when the sun shines and driving my dad nuts when it doesn’t. (I do think my father secretly checks the forecast every day in some feeble effort to decipher my mother.)
And so, of course, everyone who doesn’t live in this Godforsaken Tundra does ask the obvious: WHY DO YOU PEOPLE LIVE THERE?
Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because we’re all phobic about leaving our homes so being trapped inside them by ice, snow, and sub-zero is our idea of fun.
Duh! Sucks to be us, yes, it does. But it is a good question. And every winter I do wonder the same thing and start checking out the real estate market in Tampa.
Honestly, I think the reason people do reside here might have everything to do with the euphoric arrival of spring. Because I will tell you what, there is nothing better than watching your backyard transform from an ice cube to Eden. Witnessing that monumental miracle floods you with relief that Mother Nature is not a b*tch after all.
Because look at that tulip.
Hello?
She brought flowers. It's time to kiss and make up.
Alright, so up this way she may be a little bi-polar, but her tundra temper tantrum is temporary. Eventually people put away the rope and razor blades and trade them in for beer and boats.
And that “SAD” acronym takes on a whole new meaning.
Summer’s
Arrived
Dude.
So party on.
(At least until next November anyway.)
Taking the Airwaves Hostage
Tune in to KFGO later this week to hear "Chronicles of a Girl" live (you can listen online if you don't live in the area). I'll be on the air with Jason Spiess hashing out the good, the bad, and the ugly of dating.
I'll post the link as well as the air time and date as soon as the the schedule firms up.
Thanks for reading!
~Audra
(Monday's post will appear tommorrow, my weekend was insanity!)
I'll post the link as well as the air time and date as soon as the the schedule firms up.
Thanks for reading!
~Audra
(Monday's post will appear tommorrow, my weekend was insanity!)
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I'm Seeing a Pattern Here
I am having the absolutely oddest experience right now.
Everyone, and I mean everyone in the entire world, is doing one of two things:
Breaking up.
Or getting married.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration. It is not the whole world, just my world. But still, I know a lot of people. It’s still a paralyzing phenomenon sweeping Fargo/Moorhead.
One I am grateful I am not participating in because both sound like a heaping helping of stress. Since I am sans relationship I am doing neither, thank you very much.
Seriously. What is going on? Are we in some rare astronomical situation where the planets have somehow aligned to form a Mickey Mouse constellation? The effects of which are forcing couples to decide now if they ever plan to go to Disney World in a family vacation situation?
I mean good gawd.
Three good friends have broken up in the last few months with their long term boyfriends.
And two more have gotten engaged.
I’m feeling slightly bi-polar as my subsequent conversations with my social circle has no happy medium, it’s either, “What a bastard!” or “What a prince!”
I feel like calling up some of my happily married girlfriends just to ask them to tell me about the mundane yard work their husbands are doing. I seriously am craving a conversation that revolves around a couple's biggest dilemma being whether to plan lilacs or dogwoods along the fence in the backyard.
Because I am not sure I can take much more of this reality waffling between congratulations or castration.
And so, there you have it blogarama fans. The earth has entered some kind of force field. So beware. If you’re in a relationship and not sure where it’s headed . . . well, don’t look up at the sky tonight.
You may just see Mickey up there.
And be forced to make a decision whether you want to discover the magic.
Or not.
Everyone, and I mean everyone in the entire world, is doing one of two things:
Breaking up.
Or getting married.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration. It is not the whole world, just my world. But still, I know a lot of people. It’s still a paralyzing phenomenon sweeping Fargo/Moorhead.
One I am grateful I am not participating in because both sound like a heaping helping of stress. Since I am sans relationship I am doing neither, thank you very much.
Seriously. What is going on? Are we in some rare astronomical situation where the planets have somehow aligned to form a Mickey Mouse constellation? The effects of which are forcing couples to decide now if they ever plan to go to Disney World in a family vacation situation?
I mean good gawd.
Three good friends have broken up in the last few months with their long term boyfriends.
And two more have gotten engaged.
I’m feeling slightly bi-polar as my subsequent conversations with my social circle has no happy medium, it’s either, “What a bastard!” or “What a prince!”
I feel like calling up some of my happily married girlfriends just to ask them to tell me about the mundane yard work their husbands are doing. I seriously am craving a conversation that revolves around a couple's biggest dilemma being whether to plan lilacs or dogwoods along the fence in the backyard.
Because I am not sure I can take much more of this reality waffling between congratulations or castration.
And so, there you have it blogarama fans. The earth has entered some kind of force field. So beware. If you’re in a relationship and not sure where it’s headed . . . well, don’t look up at the sky tonight.
You may just see Mickey up there.
And be forced to make a decision whether you want to discover the magic.
Or not.
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