A friend and I were sharing a glass of wine and somehow ended up on the subject of how much better candy was when we were kids. Remember all the great penny candy? Like, hot dog bubble gum, lollies, those big rings with a HUGE candy diamond in the middle and never forget...Pop Rocks. Pop Rocks of course are still around today as they are the best candy EVER!

But lets not leave out the gross ones. Those button things that came on strips of paper that you had to strip off with your teeth, those weird wax mini bottles with some tiny amount of liquid inside?  Don't confuse these with wax lips. Wax lips were AWESOME! They were gross to chew, but that didn't stop us from thinking they just might be gum... this time. No little brown bag was complete without them. 

My parents got slave labor because of penny candy. I would pull the tops off dandelions over an huge yard for a nickel, shine my Dad's work shoes for a dime and even agree to not fight with my sister, Janice, but that costs them a quarter. In the 60's, a quarter was like $100. Really.

We were the cool generation. Today, the great candy of our time is gone because parents are afraid their kids will choke. Not our parents. We would suck on Fireball jawbreakers while ramping our bikes off of 2x4's put in place by our Dads. No helmets, no choking... just stitches, bruises and scraped elbows Yeah, we were much cooler.

Hey, remember putting playing cards on the spokes of your bike...

A Day in the Life...

So, it all started with planning for guests at my house for Easter dinner. It started out simply enough. I had the meal all planned, the house was clean; I had even cleaned out my car so I could give a lovely tour of Dubuque after dinner.  In fact I was so organized and so far ahead that last night, I emailed a good friend and thought, “I will spend some sometime Amy, have some fun conversation over  cocktails and then get up at the crack of dawn to get any finishing touches done in the morning. It will be a nice weekend.”

I woke up this morning, and decided to take the dog (yes, the handsome, Simon) for a walk to wear him out. It makes him a better host. If I can wear him out, he will find a corner and drop out cold for the day.  We were off on this beautiful morning, 9:30AM, me and the dog, enjoying the beautiful countryside of the Asbury trail system. 

After about quarter mile there was “the pond.”  Simon lives for this pond, it’s very clear, pretty low water, maybe 3 feet, just perfect for an old man to float around in for a while. As the water was so clear, I thought, “Who cares? Let him go.”  The instant he went in, a man walked by and said, “I wouldn’t have let him go in there, my dog got stuck in the mud last week.”  Well, we all know Simon and his hips, so I knew this was going to end badly. There he was 6 feet out and stuck solid.  In my hands were his leash, poop bags and car keys. Yes, car keys.

I thought I left everything on the shore when I waded out to waist high water to drag this old man out of the mud. The mud kept sucking the shoes off my feet, so I gave one up and kept pushing his butt out of the mud. He of course is trying to “help” so he is splashing like hell on the front end. I get him out. I get back up on shore and then decide that I like those sneakers, they are Coach and I am not giving them up. I go back in for the sneaker. I find it, full of mud and other scary things..

Simon is covered in clay/mud from his ears to his tail and so am I. I have mud in my hair, in my teeth, my ears and all the way up to my chest. All this is bad enough, but remember I have a houseful of people coming at 12:30. 

No keys. Yep, no keys. They are in the pond.

I am on my stomach pulling up handfuls of scum, no keys. People are walking by and a guy finally asks if he can give us a ride back the house. So, for 15 minutes, I am walking back to this man’s truck with mud in my hair, teeth etc. while people are strolling by in their Sunday wear, looking at me like I have been assaulted.

This man offers to let me sit in his truck and I refuse as I am a disaster and instead ride home in the back of his pickup with my dog.

(Company coming at 12:30…)

Now, of course my neighbor is standing in her front yard, (the same neighbor that was present for the ground squirrel episode this past winter) if you don’t know that story that is for another day. She saw me leave in an hour ealier in my shades and baseball cap, in my clean SUV and now sees me return in the back of a strange pickup truck covered in mud.  She is a very good friend so she comes over and helps me get Simon down out of the truck and stands there smiling, not saying a word. I told her I needed a ride back to my car, but I had to find keys to the car and the house. Jan just smiled and said “certainly. But I get EVERY detail on the way.” Fine.

Well, I cleaned the garage several weeks ago and put the extra house keys in such a safe place, that I could not find them. The only way in the house is through the dog door. Yep….

Company coming at 12:30….

I get on my hands and knees and crawl in the house through the dog door. I go upstairs open the door and tell Jan I will be right out.

Simon gets in.

 I walk out of the bathroom and my huge, black lab is in the middle the house in full shake out. FULL SHAKE OUT.  There is mud on the walls, on the windows and every glass table in the living room. PLUS, the white table cloth and all the table settings that I put out that morning. I just stand there and breathe.

Company coming at 12:30…

I get the keys, we go get my car,  I get home, throw Simon in the tub and give him a bath, run around and strip off clothes, table cloth, etc. and throw everything in the washer. I grab Windex spray all the tables, wash the dishes, reset the table, sprayed Febreeze and called it good. It is now 11:40.

I take a shower, redo hair and make-up, mop the floors, clean the bathroom AGAIN, (you cannot image how much mud came off that dog!) and as the first car pulls in, I slam a shot of Irish whiskey.

After everyone left, I dropped on the couch and decided to focus on the positive.

1)      I had a crock pot main course. Thank God!

2)      All food prep was done

3)      I had extra car keys

4)      I found my extra house keys, IN the house (bright as a bulb, am I)

5)      Wet mud comes off walls and glass very easily

6)      My neighbor was home to give me a ride

7)      I saved my shoes

8)      AND, I still have Irish whiskey left in the kitchen for a nice little night cap

Happy Easter.

Marching to My Own Strange Drummer

Sitting in my office on a beautiful 70 degree March day, sun stream in g in the windows, listening to Norah Jones and having just completed a project that I have been working on for months, I stared out the window and wondered why I did all this. Why jump off a cliff to be self-employed in my 40’s, why do it during the worst recession since the Great Depression, why leave a big corporate job, that was secure, great pay, great benefits  and even a great boss. And the answer was simple. I just simply, HAD to do it. To own my own ad agency has been my dream since I was a very little girl. It was like the calling women get to become Nuns. It was there, then it was stronger and then it was all consuming. Like a screaming in my soul. Sounds dramatic I know, but that is what it was. A calling.
People were hurt by what I did. Even though I went above and beyond to make sure my employer had plenty of notice, 90 days, and I spoke to my staff and tried to explain that this was not a rash decision, but a lifelong dream, people were hurt.  Even a couple of very good friends I had made, have fallen away and become “busy” when I reach out, but you know, that is ok. I am not mad at them and I don’t feel guilty about me.  People depended on me in my previous job, both from a client and employee/employer standpoint, but in the end, I decided that  I did have a right to live the life that I wanted to live, and in some sense, even an obligation to meet my own goals, because as they say “this isn’t a dress rehearsal,” folks.  And, frankly, I had outgrown my current position and I was bored. I needed a higher stress level to do my best work, more control over how to best serve my clients, and time to truly work to grow my clients businesses. I knew I could build a better mousetrap if I had the freedom to do it. I know when my clients tell me how much happier they are now, how much better service they are getting, and how I have become a partner in their business, that this was the right decision. Right for me, for them, for my life in general.

 People ask me what I will do if this business doesn’t survive in this economy. That makes me smile. Because, as strange as it is, I don’t really fear that.  If that happens, I will simply thank God for the strength to try. All that matters to me, is that when I look in the mirror when I am 80 years old, I can say, “Good for you, girl, you always wanted to live your life as a cliff jumper and march to your own drummer.” But mainly what matters to me most is that I kept a promise  I made to myself  on my 18^th birthday, “in the end, I will always listen to what my soul tells me is right and live my life according to that direction.”

 I will be able to smile at that old lady in the mirror, with a young girl’s blue eyes and say, “Good for you, girl, you have become what you aspired to be.”