Currently Reading:
The Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap: A couple decides to open a used-book store in an Appalachian coal town.
Kisses from Katie: A young woman gives up her comfortable life to move to Uganda and help children there.
Hush: Another mystery from the editor-in-chief of Cosmopolitan magazine.

An Open Book?

Random ramblings from my (not so) glamorous career in public relations 

I recently read a book by a former presidential speechwriter. It was full of enough foibles, egos and bamboozlers to make you wonder how our government ever managed to function. But it was also pretty funny. And it got me to wondering if I might have enough material from my communications (AKA public relations and public affairs) career for a book. Some of the highlights might include:

At a major automotive company:
- I served as a technology executive’s speechwriter and created the first-ever international vehicle press kit when I knew nothing about cars (and still don’t).
- I had the “honor” of being one of few women to attempt control of a microphone for angry stockholders at two annual meetings. I got chosen because I was a “nice girl,” according to the meeting organizer.
- I received one of those pink telephone message slips asking me to return a call from the CEO. Now, that was terrifying.
- I was told by a university representative that planning for that CEO’s speaking engagement there had been worse than organizing a visit for the president of the United States.
- I once had a performance review by a boss so eager to catch a flight that he just checked off a bunch of boxes on the review form and didn’t even read it. Needless to say, it had no relevance to my actual performance.
- I was asked to sit in on meetings with the executive management team so that I could rearrange their nameplates when they took a break, thereby changing the seating arrangement. I think we used to do this in second grade.
- I received a final payroll check for .01.

At a major food company:

- I spent the early part of my career defending the company against a concerted and thorough anti-biotechnology campaign by a national activist organization. I even followed several activists around town when I learned they were up to something near the corporate offices that ultimately involved rappelling.
- The late 60 Minutes curmudgeon Andy Rooney hung up on me when I didn’t agree with him that toaster pastry fires were funny.
- I was assigned to get more national media attention for the CEO, who wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect. He eventually got a presidential appointment, so something worked.
- I had to come up with media statements defending the company’s use of sugar in children’s cereals, a perennial “favorite.”
- In my spare time I would use a keyword search to find trademark violations for the trademark attorney, whose office was next to mine.

I planned this big luncheon and was sitting on the right in royal blue minding my own business when the president of the division decided to recognize my work with a very public kiss.

At a major pharmaceutical company:

- I was able to book the governor to speak to our workforce and she had to wing her remarks because her wing man forgot to bring her speech. I have a cherished photo of the governor and I cracking up afterward.
- I was asked to book Notre Dame football legend Lou Holtz for an employee event in Indiana and had to ask who Lou Holtz was.  Oops.
- I was kissed by the division president in front of an entire workforce at a major luncheon. Eeew.
- My greatest media moment came when I learned press coverage of a drug’s 100^th anniversary had attracted 350 million media impressions. This despite the fact that the press kit generated by the PR agency included the misspelling of the drug creator’s name and had to be completely redone at the last minute.
- My draft press release concerning a major workforce downsizing was mistakenly speed dialed by a secretary to the local newspaper instead of the company executive who was supposed to approve it.

And other random vignettes:

- I originally wanted to be a flight attendant and got hired by a major international carrier until a fuel crisis cancelled my training permanently. But never fear, I finally realized my dream and became a flight attendant at around the age of 60. The training was nightmarish, with the showing of a crash film on what should have been an upbeat graduation day. I lasted about five minutes in the air, deciding that a potential emergency landing shortly after earning my wings was a sign that I needed to be grounded.
- I spent a crazy month in New York City after college graduation trying to establish a career as a model. I was accepted by one of the top three agencies at the time, but ultimately decided that if the painting of a turkey to enhance its color was the highlight of my stay, then I better not stay. Still, my agency didn’t give up and was able to convince a fashion magazine to come to my hometown and shoot me for the college issue. Somebody said I looked like Ted Kennedy in the photos.
- I was hired for one job primarily because I was a Sagittarius. One of my friends nearly didn’t get hired because she was a Scorpio.
- During college, I worked as a housemaid in a Scottish hotel and spent the first few weeks just trying to understand the Scottish-brogue English. Later, I worked temporarily with the British subsidiary of the major automotive company and had a lot of problems with spelling (centre instead of center, for instance) and verbiage (such as “boot” for a car’s “trunk.”) The company ultimately sent me on an assignment to visit their PR offices in several European countries. I had no maps and was driving a tiny car, which might have even been a stick shift. I will never drive on the German Autobahn again. Ever.

Hmm, I’ll have to mull this over a little more and I need a catchy title. Right now, the best I can come up with is Retire Before You Figure Out What You Want To Do When You Grow Up.

Pumpkin spice it up when snow falls
Although we're in the middle of snowfalls here in Michigan that seem more Januaryish than mid-November, I'm still loving the taste of pumpkin. It seems like this classic fall flavor has really come into its own during the past several years, perhaps spurred on by Starbucks' pumpkin spice latte (whose sugar content we won't discuss).

Following is my list of all things pumpkin I've consumed so far this year:

The aforementioned Starbucks drink.
Regular coffee
Chai tea
Soup
Scones
Muffins 
Donut holes
Eggo waffles
Hershey's kisses

There is also a pumpkin spice home scent to keep fall alive, even when snow has covered those golden and red leaves. But gingerbread awaits.

Enjoy!

 

Too much stuff no more: my moving experience to feather a smaller nest

We homeowners love our stuff. From that first nest we feather, the stuff grows to fit our spaces. I ought to know. I’ve lived in 11 homes and countless apartments (I probably could count them, with much effort) since finishing college in the 1970s. So when I found my present home, a 1,300 square foot cottage with no basement, I had to decide if I could surmount the biggest challenge in buying it – TMS (Too Much Stuff). 

I definitely had expanded to fill the 2,600 square foot home with lots of basement storage I most recently lived in. In addition to plenty of furniture, I had stacks of treasures ranging from Christmas decorations and several trees to totes full of toys and Barbie dolls belonging to my two daughters who had flown the coop. I also have three cats and a dog and all their stuff.

So, tape measure in hand, I first had to figure out if the furniture I couldn’t part with would fit in the new space and then decide how to part with the rest of the extra furniture. Luckily, my eldest daughter was in the process of moving into a new home and was more than happy to take most of the pieces that wouldn’t fit in my downsized space.

 

Goodwill was the next destination, sometimes on a daily basis and often with the car fully loaded. Everything I donated received close scrutiny beforehand, when I asked myself three questions:

Would this be useful in my new home?

Would I miss it if it were gone?

Does it have sentimental value?

In many cases and many carloads, the answer was no.

 

One of the biggest dilemmas and nearly a deal breaker at the cottage was where I would locate three cat litter boxes. Lacking a basement, I didn’t want the boxes scattered around the house, but one day, looking at the long sunroom, I came up with a genius solution. I would hide them behind three plastic cabinets with lots of drawers for storage, cover the cabinets with a long tablecloth and then top them with a combination of baskets and greenery. Victory!

 

 

The sunroom (pictured) also became the showcase for two prized possessions from Goodwill – original oil paintings of giraffes, beautifully framed, which I had bought on sale for an unbelievable $15. Other must-have pieces there included two all-weather-wicker chairs previously used on a front porch and a former kitchen cabinet repurposed for package wrapping materials. Then, post-move, I found a wonderful all-weather wicker sofa with an end table reduced by about 60 percent – sold!

 

This is just one example of how I furnished my new home, through careful editing of possessions, maximizing their use and letting go of TMS.

 

Which means my daughter has the Barbie dolls and I’ve still got my teddy bear.

 

 

Riverside Reads:
Fun books from the library for any season

Bringing Home The Birkin: A guy moves to Barcelona and begins a successful international business as a purveyor of Hermes goods, especially Birkin bags for some very well-scarfed customers.

Confessions of a Prep School Mommy Handler: The title says it all; author is a Michigan resident

Kate, The Making of a Princess: A review of all things Kate Middleton, from family history to royal wedding.

Love, Nina: A collection of letters to her sister from a London nanny.

So Pretty it Hurts: Further exploits of girl-about-town Bailey Weggins, who attracts murderous intrigue. By the editor-in-chief of Cosmo.

 

 

Meet the seniors, the four-legged versions
I am, if nothing else, a major animal lover. I brake for squirrels, have been known to lure snapping turtles out of busy roads and have chased down and leashed more than my share of stray dogs. So it comes as no surprise to me that I am a devoted mom to senior pets with special needs.

Meet the pets:

Annie (pictured with a dog toy), a 18-year-old rescue cat with bladder cancer and arthritis, is my best sleeping buddy. She has had two surgeries to remove the bladder mass, which was first benign and then turned cancerous and is now on chemotherapy. She pre-dates all my other pets and my two daughters, so she has a special place in my heart.

Charlie (pictured in the dog's kennel), a chubby 12-year-old tabby rescue cat, loves all people and animals and is a major “purrer.” He has been on a special diet due to a urinary blockage several years ago and now is being treated for pancreatitis. He and Annie like to groom each other and sometimes nap together.

Dee-Dee, age 11, found wandering in a local park near a busy road, has chronic eating issues and does not enjoy the hair trims I provide every few months. She likes to wrestle with Charlie and hiss at Annie.

Carli, a hyperactive 5-year-old beagle/terrier mix is a two-time rescue dog and has anxiety issues relating to other dogs and people, but usually tolerates her feline family. Carli barks. A lot. She is also very smart and I have taught her quite a few tricks. To walk her, I use a harness and a collar with two leashes and just hope that we don’t see any other dogs along the way because she gets hysterical. She loves kong toys and all things peanut butter.

You hear a lot about the “sandwich” generation of baby boomers, taking care of children and parents. Maybe aging pets are the condiments for that sandwich. Or maybe I should just feed them sandwiches. 

 

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The park across the river from my cottage

 

Childhood memories find a new home

One of my fondest childhood memories goes “up north” to a cottage my parents would rent for two weeks. I loved having the water a few steps from the door, the serenity of quiet nights and star gazing and awaking to chirping birds and crickets instead of car engines on the road. So when I recently became an empty nester and retired, I decided to see if I could extend those two blissful weeks into a new lifestyle. Could I actually find the cottage life in a large city? I knew it wouldn’t be easy on a decidedly limited budget, because being near water was my number-one priority.

My real estate agent and I took more than a few field trips to places that had water access but needed way too much work. We toured some nicer homes with no water nearby just to make sure I would not settle for the more urban living experience again.

Then a little yellow house popped up on a real estate website. It was cute, decidedly “cottagey” and, best of all, was across the street from a bucolic public access to a river. I remember cautiously sending the listing to my real estate agent, because the 70+ year-old cottage was 1,300 square feet with a crawl space instead of a basement. I would be moving from a 2,600-square-foot house with a large basement and lots of storage. Still, I had to see it, so off we went.

The cottage was definitely way cute, with 17 newer windows and several river views, along with a tree lined, fenced backyard. It was air conditioned, freshly painted, newly carpeted and the bathroom had been updated as well.

But the kitchen and one of the bedrooms retained the original knotty pine and several of the rooms had been painted barn red. The washer and dryer hookup were located in a narrow area that presented challenges. And then there was that crawl space – accessible only through a belly-flopping entrance outside and offering an uncomfortable, sandy environment for pipes and wiring inside.

Complicating matters was the fact that I needed to find a place for my three cats’ litter boxes. It could have been a deal breaker, but I decided then and there that I could make this cottage work for me.

My real estate agent made me wait awhile before making an offer, assuming that I had temporarily lost my mind, I guess. But after almost daily drive-bys to the house and its woodsy, “up north” neighborhood, I knew it was the perfect fit.

I didn’t exactly relish the idea of taking out a 30-year mortgage. So, with the blessing of my investment advisor, I decided to make a cash offer that shaved thousands of dollars off the asking price. Surprisingly, the young owner accepted it. He had been out of the house for about 18 months and apparently wanted out financially as quickly as possible.

In the weeks that followed, a measuring tape and Goodwill became my closest allies in finding the perfect fit for possessions to keep or donate. I spent considerable time drawing diagrams with dimensions for each of the cottage’s rooms and figuring out how to make them cozy and not cluttered. Anything remotely beachy, nautical or water-inspired was retained.

Somehow, everything fell into place. I carved a dining area out of the living room and discovered that my electric fireplace fit perfectly in a nearby nook. I angled furniture, when possible, to maximize storage space behind. The litter box issue was solved in the sunroom with three plastic storage cabinets covered with a tablecloth that hid them perfectly.

More neutral paint, including a favorite blue from my previous home’s kitchen, took away the barn and added the beach. My biggest cosmetic splurge was in the kitchen, where the knotty pine was refaced with white beadboard cabinetry. I also added a stacked washer and dryer and upgraded the electrical wiring in the process.

Gradually, I incorporated some waterside accessories. I scoured thrift and discount stores for bargain fabrics, pillows, pictures. Florida shells I’d collected over the years finally found a more visible home, even hot glued to picture frames. I deviated slightly from my theme when I found two beautiful giraffe paintings at Goodwill on sale for $15. Had to have them! Maybe the sunroom will someday become a safari retreat.

And now I never have to leave my “up north” vacation. My dog and I visit the river on a daily basis and it’s fun to chat with local fisherman, one who’s been angling here for 30 years. My neighbors share the love of all things waterside, with boats galore. Across the river, there’s a lovely park with more fishing and picnic spots and two ice cream parlors just beyond (and maybe too easily walkable for my waistline).

The view across the street from my cottage

I’ve still got a list of things to do to shore up my cottage. But I only have to look across the street to capture those childhood memories. One of my newest wall accessories says it best – “sail the seas to parts unknown with me.” I’m very glad I leaped into the deep end and resurfaced with my new cottage life.

A new mom at 50:

It all began with a 10 year old's sunny smile

I always knew deep in my heart that I wanted to be a mom. As I collected college degrees and built my career resume, there always seemed to be something missing in my life as I moved from Michigan to England to Indiana to New Jersey and back to Michigan. Looking back, my decision to pursue adoption didn’t really have anything to do with saving an impoverished child or becoming less self-focused. I simply wanted to be a mom and there were already plenty of children out there who needed one.

 

In focusing on Russia as my adoptive country of choice (before adoptions by Americans were prohibited several years later), I knew there were many adoption agencies doing business there, with an estimated 750,000 older children needing families. Since most adoptive parents wanted babies and toddlers, there was a desperate need for parents who didn’t mind foregoing diaper changing and the terrible twos.

 Thus began a nightly journey into adoption options as I visited hundreds of research links and adoption agency websites. And then one day, this photo of a very cute 10-year-old girl popped up on my computer screen as I was surfing through an agency website.  This was before the restrictions on photo listings were imposed, so I had seen plenty of older children represented by these agencies. Something about her sunny smile and the sparkle in her eyes made me stop and read the few sentences about her.

After many days of beating back many uncertainties (not the least of which was my advancing age of 50), I decided it wouldn’t hurt to call the adoption agency and ask for a video and additional photos of the child, whose name was Maria. The photo of her that I particularly liked was a precursor to the fashionista she was to become.  Even though her clothes were old and worn and not even her own, she had put them together with a certain flair.  She had even managed to avoid the head-shaving ritual that so often occurred due to lice infestation and sported a stylish bob.  And of course there was that smile!

Once I decided to adopt Maria, I had to commit to the adoption agency representing her. The agency was based in Texas with the international adoption office in California and I live in Michigan. Computers, faxes, phone calls and overnight mail cemented our relationship, which actually began on a decidedly negative note when my adoption facilitator was fired. He eventually created a less than honest adoption agency and wound up on the FBI’s 10-most-wanted list. Fortunately, my adoption process was not impacted by this turn of events.     

At long last, I received THE CALL from the adoption agency informing me that everything was approved and authorized and I could fly off to Russia. My first meeting with Maria in her orphanage was an experience I will never forget, yet meeting her was also more like a homecoming of sorts.  I had internalized her video, her photos and her background information so much that I felt I had known her for a long time. At our first meeting, with her tentative “hello, mama,” the face and especially the smile were as familiar to me as any daughter’s would be. 

Our court date for adoption approval, however, could probably not have been more stressful.  Translator in tow, we were met at the courthouse by Maria’s wailing, hysterical grandmother.  But I knew I had to focus on the job at hand – getting through testimony in front of the judge, who turned out to be an imposing woman who never cracked a smile. All I could think was that our future together depended on one word from her – yes or no.  Finally, she returned and rendered her decision.  I could adopt Maria, but there would be a 10-day waiting period, ostensibly to allow any of her relatives to come forward and claim her. I was thrilled with the decision, but also disappointed by the delay. 

Returning to Russia after 10 days, followed by several days of completing paperwork, a medical exam and an embassy visit (along with excursions to a zoo and McDonald’s), in Moscow, we were free to leave for the United States.  I remember skipping through the airport hand in hand with my new daughter, much to the amusement of other travelers. It had been such a long journey to get there, but I knew that the real journey was yet to come – the journey toward becoming mother and daughter.

(Note: about two years after adopting Maria, I returned to Russia to adopt another 10-year-old, Lucy. Today, they are in their 20s, and building adult lives in Michigan and Italy, respectively. November is National Adoption Month )