Bill's Ski Goggles

Skiing. Less than an hour from our house we can ski hills. Under two hours we can ski foothills. Over two hours we can ski mountains. For you New Englanders reading, this is not scientific measurement, just a Midwesterner’s flat wisdom of a few slopes. We are under two hours away from Crotched Mountain – which we all agree was a very unfortunate name. We are pronouncing it Crotch-ED Mountain. An expiring timeshare led to a quickly planned weekend ski trip where accommodation space was available.

With a still tender back and little confidence, I held down the fort in the cafeteria as Bill skied alternately with Will and Liam all weekend. Will has become an adventurous skier with little fear of falls and with lofty goals of skiing all the runs on every mountain. As Bill said, “Thank goodness there are no double-blacks at Crotch-ED Mountain.” When Will came back Sunday morning and gave the low-down on the terrain park jumps he landed, I looked wide-eyed, questioningly at Bill. “No, I didn’t do them; my body can’t take that any more.”

After lunch on Sunday, it was Liam’s turn to ski with Dad. Being a visual person, Liam starts at Point A (the top) and skis to Point B (the bottom). Horribly tough to watch for me, he points the skis downhill and takes off like a terror, edging the skis to a slice of pizza only to stop at the bottom. Bill tried to point out the virtues of taking longer swoops around curves, but Liam successfully skied his path, so why would he do it any differently?

Liam and Bill gathered their equipment and headed out, leaving Will and I to the art of cutting out intricate paper snowflakes and playing Set. An hour later, Bill brought Liam back to swap skiers. Looking straight at me, a red-cheeked Bill says, “Are my goggles here?” Crumbs, I (equipment girl) may have swept them onto a chair before lunch. I rummage through the bag and find nothing. I look back to Bill and in his silhouette I see his goggles on his helmet. More specifically, backwards on his helmet so the lenses are looking behind him.

With a question in my voice, I say, “They are on your helmet…?” “But I asked Liam and he said they weren’t there.” Liam had been looking at Bill’s face when he answered, and the black goggle strap blended seamlessly with the black helmet. The back of the black helmet.

We now know that Bill’s helmet is – apparently – completely reversible.

Rhododendron Droop

This morning, before going to weather.com to check the day’s forecast, I checked the vista from my dining room windows.  The massive rhododendron growing against the house is our privacy screen, protecting the room from drivers’ gazes as they zip down the hill.  Sprawling out eight feet and up ten feet, she is my crown jewel.  Landscapers want to give her a good trim, but I can’t bring myself to interrupt that big ball of green that erupts in purply-pink blossoms around Mother’s Day.

Today what I see is the Rhododendron Droop, and I know it’s below freezing.  Her leaves curl in on themselves and hang frigidly, yet the blossoms awaiting spring stand stoically, tightly clenched in the cold.  How can she withstand days like this and bloom majestically in a few months?

The Rhododendron Droop means bundling up when I go out and appreciating the warmth when I come in. The Rhododendron Droop reminds me to take a few moments to be still, mindful of the day and what I will do. Knowing in stillness there is strength.

 (Eager for spring? Check out English Garden Inspiration.) 

Go Grow! 4 Ways to Develop a Growth Mindset

Who sits at your table? Whether they know one another or not, you have a host of people who regularly gather around your power table.  Who makes you laugh?  Who listens well?  Who best gives feedback?  Who is kind?  Who can give you a swift kick when you need it?

One of the women regularly at my table is Julie Henszey, a friend from college, an entrepreneur, and -- might I add -- a tri-athlete and a summiteer of Mt. Kilimanjaro.  As a one-to-one life coach, Julie leads people in achieving personal goals and career goals.

Here, practical and positive, Julie shares four strategies for creating a growth mindset.  Check them out... and go grow!

Four Ways to Develop a Growth Mindset (Guest Post by Julie Henszey)

Do you ever feel like you’re just not cut out to do something well? It could be bowling, public speaking, crossword puzzles, working with spreadsheets, getting places on time, or a million other things. What do you tell yourself when you perform poorly?

Our mindset makes all the difference in whether we achieve success when the going gets tough. Research suggests we have a choice between two mindsets: a fixed mindset and a growth mindset.

Fixed Mindset: The belief that your abilities are fixed, that you are born with a set amount of intelligence that doesn't change, and that the world is just a series of tests that prove either how capable or incapable you are.

Growth Mindset: The belief that you are capable of learning and therefore enhancing skills and expertise, that success comes through effort, and that the world is full of interesting challenges that can help you learn and grow.

Here are four ways we can develop and stay in a growth mindset so we can move forward and achieve our goals.

1) Learn from your past and put it aside.  Don't dwell on past mistakes and let them consume you. Ruminating in this way often reflects and reinforces a belief that we can't change. Don't let your mistakes define you. I distinctly remember a time when I embarrassed myself horribly in a group situation and was really hard on myself about it. Then I realized that I had a choice. I could either believe I was an idiot or I could say, You know what, I just used incredibly bad judgment and it's something that happens to all of us once in a while.

2) Seek constructive feedback.  When we have a fixed mindset, we don't want to hear criticism because it might just prove that we're not intelligent or capable. Being exposed is harsh and we want to avoid it. If we do get feedback, we're likely to defend ourselves unnecessarily. We hear the other person saying I'm just trying to help but we feel attacked.

With a growth mindset, we want to hear criticism. We want to know where we can improve.

3) Stick to a difficult task.  A big problem in the United States is that when media allows us to see every slam dunk in the NBA or every Donald Trump underling, we tend to think Wow, I wish I could be that good. We can’t see the years of blood, sweat, and tears behind the success. Even Beyonce hits a wall now and then. Every successful person is tenacious.

So don't give up when the journey is long and tedious. Stay engaged.

4) Be curious.  When you face roadblocks on your path to success, be curious about how to address the problem. Don't just look for obvious solutions and then give up when they don't work. Instead, ask yourself, If I were looking at this situation as a complete stranger, perhaps an alien from another planet, what would I see? What would I ask myself? Bold innovations don’t happen when people think conventionally.

Attack your next goal with a growth mindset and see how it works. I'm positive it's going to put new wind in your sails!

(Get inspired! Visit Julie Henszey's website: Next Step Goals & specifically her One-to-One Coaching page.  Julie has a growth mindset -- check it out and leave the Baggage behind.)

An English Slug

Jet lag. Lying in bed mouthing, “I must sleep.” And the mind is no where near contemplating this possibility. That is the back drop for the most recent philosophical chat with 8-yr-old Liam. In the dark at 2 a.m. in England over Christmas. The last big question he put out there was: “Are slugs nocturnal?” The question may have been cows in Iowa or the squirrels at home. But in England: slugs.

Honestly, I didn’t know, but it was a thought-provoking question. As Liam drifted off, my mind latched onto the question. I think slugs just move as they can where they can. Certainly they can’t think, “Ahhh, dusk is approaching! I must hurry to shelter!” No, I think they just sleep where they get tired, be it day or night.

We gave up trying to get the boys adjusted to English time; they slept until very late morning and went to bed no earlier than midnight. A week later, again another philosophical discussion in bed, in the wee English hours. “Mom,” Liam started hotly, “Slugs ARE nocturnal! I stepped on one tonight walking back to Grandma’s from Auntie’s! My socks got all sluggy!”

I nearly gagged. English slugs are big. This is a healthy English slug, next to my sister-in-law's finger:

Ooo-ga. I really felt for the kid! That was not worm squishin’ that was creature squishin.’ With only socks on to boot. I had forgotten our conversation the following morning; otherwise, I would have thrown that pair of socks away along with the ones caked in mud.

And now I'm wondering, in my cold-induced jet-lagged state, how big does a spider, worm, bug, or rodent need to be to elevate it to an unsquishable creature? Of course, there is no generic answer for that, for we all have different tolerance levels. From English to Iowan standards, I'm somewhere in between.

(These tolerance levels between Bill's family and my family are best portrayed, respectively, in Uncovering the Real England: Spiders and Dancing with a Foreign City Slicker.)

Have Origami Yoda paper must you?

Early in 2012, Will and I spent time – read that as hours – searching on-line for special paper so Will could make Tom Angleberger’s Origami Yoda.  That needle in the haystack we were hunting is double-side origami paper: brown on one side and green on the other. We have been out of the paper for some time now, and last week I ensued once again on the search.  This post is meant as a kind of lighthouse, a beacon, to help all those who need this particular paper to make this Yoda.  After all, Yoda says, “Always pass on what you have learned.”

I do not speak Yoda; therefore, I have enlisted Will’s help today in writing this post.  You may need to be between the ages of 6 and 17 and/or an origami aficionado, and/or a Star Wars buff to understand the following.  If you aren’t, consider sharing this with someone who is… you must.

With Will’s help…

Like Origami Yoda do you?  Need green and brown origami paper do you?

If you take the quick and easy path, sith you will not become but get yoda origami paper you will! Kim's Crane Origami Supplies.  To the rest of the galaxy give!  Share you must!

To make this you want?

“Patience you must have my young padawan.” - Yoda

Book Draggin'

Before I joined Bill and the boys in England for Christmas,  I elected to do a private bag drag to Paris, on my own for 36 hours. Yes, I elected myself -- because who else would elect me to go to Paris by myself?  I spent a little more to get there rather than go straight to England, but… no regrets. Well, perhaps, one.  I packed a small roll-aboard to be checked at Logan.  After packing what I would need for 36 hours in Paris, my little bag was only half full.  Elation!  That left plenty of room to pack what I love best to drag with me: books.

I knew I would be taking a commuter train from Charles de Gaulle airport to the Paris Nu Gord station and then getting on the Metra once in the city.  What I hadn’t anticipated was emerging from the underground train station via three long flights of stairs to the surface of Paris.  Facing those stairs, I decided to just drag the stacked bags up them, rather than separately holding my carry-on bag, which also contained books, and the roll-aboard bag.

The first French words I heard directed toward me came from behind, “Madame! Madame!”  The tone packed a double meaning: ‘you ding-a-ling’ and ‘let me help you’ as this woman graciously picked up the back end of my bag combo and helped me lug it up two sets of stairs.  “Merci, Madame!  Merci!” is all I could reply because I don’t know how to say, “Yes, I am a ding-a-ling, and I can’t believe I tried to do that.  Could I look any more like an American tourist if I tried? Thank you so very much for helping me!” in French.

After that whirlwind visit, I packed my books and took a taxi back to the Charles de Gaulle airport.

***

Packing to leave England, I put most of the books in the suitcases that would be checked, including the children’s books I had bought while in England.  I volunteered to do all the packing of the four big suitcases.  Although unspoken, I'm pretty sure Bill and I both know that’s best.  He only needs to physically haul these bags that always get a big orange “HEAVY” label on them.  It would be more emotionally painful for both of us for Bill to actually see how many books were in the cases.  Particularly, since his travel reading material consists of just one Kindle in his backpack.

***

On the plane coming home from England, a silver-haired gentleman heaved a carry-on into the bin above me.  I flinched.  After take-off, he brought it down and took it back to his seat.  I didn’t see what he took out, but in just moments he re-stashed the bag above my head.  When we landed, he approached me with many books in his hand.  I looked away, giggled, then looked back and smiled as he was about to lay his stack of books on the aisle floor.  Yuck!  “Sir!  Excuse me!  I’ll put my tray down for your books while you get your bag out.”  In an accent unidentifiable to my ear – Queen’s English? Australian? American? – he perfectly enunciated, “Why, thank you. That’s so kind.”  I tried not to look at the titles.  That felt like an invasion of privacy, but I couldn’t help see ‘Virginia Wolf’ on one of the bindings.  Serious reading.

My generosity sparked conversation.  “What do you do?” he asked.  “I’m a writer.”  “Really?  What do you write?” “I write 1st-person humor and nostalgia essays, and I publish them on my blog, lindamalcolm.com.”  “Ahh, do you have a card?” “Yes, but they are packed away in my checked luggage.”  With all those books.  I asked, “What do you do? I see you are a reader!” “Yes, I’m also a writer… of books.”

Then, through the shuffling of passengers, he disembarked. Leaving a hole of information that I want filled: Reader and author of books who flew from London to Newark, what do you write?  And… thank you for carrying eight to ten paperback novels with you on-board.  It was comforting to meet another serious book dragger.

A friend once told me, "Books are like money: I just need them to live."

(Have you ever smelled Norton's Anthology of Poetry?  That's how poems are meant to be smelled, ... er... read.  Like Wordsworth's "Daffodils.")

The Advent of the iPod Touch

It was time.  We relented.  I needed my computer to write.  I wanted my iPad back too.  Both had been Minecrafting vehicles to my discontent.  They are mine.  As in the possessive form of the word. Bill and I stayed up late one night before we went to England so we could set the new iPod Touches up at home.  Side by side on the coach, we followed directions explicitly, making sure they were both set up identically.  We agreed to use the user ID our iTunes is set up with so the boys would have access to the music we have downloaded.

Christmas morning in England… Whoa!  We are the best parents ever!  Immediately, the boys tap into the Wi-Fi and join one another in the same Minecraft file.  They try sitting side by side on the settee.  They move to different rooms and chat with one another via the game.  Heck, I even get into the action by joining them via my iPad, which is back in my possession.  I go into their file.  Liam sees me and writes, “Hey, Mom?  Is that you?  Cool!  Follow me.  I’ll give you a tour.”  So I bumped him with my little blocky man – Will says that is how you say “hi” to one another.  I worked out the forward button and followed him around this strange cubed environment.  Then, I walked my little blocky man right into the pit where Liam’s pet pig was.  And I couldn’t get out.  Chatting back and forth didn’t help.  Finally, Liam came to my physical rescue, then politely uninvited me out of the file.  I think I was too much work.

Play soon ended and the real work began on Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, an English holiday.  Will wanted to change the passcode to access his iPod.  As long as Bill and I knew it, we didn’t have a problem with that.  Will told Liam he was changing his, and Liam thought that was a good idea too.  However, Bill and I didn’t know Liam was on the same course of passcode changing.

Liam came into Grandma’s from his aunt’s house next door and plopped down to go to work.  I could feel a stiff breeze and knew the door was open.  Liam, intent on the iPod, wasn’t responding to my multiple requests to close the door.  “LIAM, CLOSE THE DOOR!” finally got his attention.  After closing the door, Liam returned to his iPod but was locked out.  I didn’t realize that he had been changing his passcode in those seconds I was commanding him to shut the door.  Liam couldn’t remember what he had changed his passcode to.  We guessed the passcode five times and were then permanently locked out.  (Might I ask, iPeople, where is the “Forgot your password?” prompt that we Windows people rely on, frequently?)

The ensuing scene replicated one of those Christmas movies: horrible to the characters but hilarious to the viewers.  Bill worked eight hours straight to get the thing back on-line.  His hair stood on end; he tends to pull his hair with these kinds of challenges.  (He had me in a fit of laughter earlier this week: I had delegated to Bill the job of reading through the draft of our new will.  He had a stiff Mohawk by the end of that ordeal.)  Early evening, Bill pulled in Liam’s uncle and nephew and their computer.  A couple more hours of heads together, and there were cheers from the kitchen.  It had been recovered.

Home, on January 1st, another holiday.

The bag that had ripped on the way to England was duct-taped at Bill’s mum’s house before our bag drag began.  At the airport, the tape had failed, so Bill found a little store that would wrap the bag in plastic for us.  We had a good laugh about it once we got home and it was still securely wrapped.  Liam thought it looked like a mummy.  Bill, in the laundry room with the bag, took this picture of it…

…then sent it via text to his sister with the ha-ha caption: “Bag in Condom!”  Very funny, until you hear your 8-year-old say, “I just got 'Bag in Condom!'”  And then your 10-year-old chime in, “Hey, I did too!”  I track Bill down in the laundry room, his iPhone still smoking in-hand.  “Did you hear that?”  No.  “Do you want to go explain?  …No, never mind.  I will.”  As I deleted the message from the iPods, I rattled off something like it’s not a polite word to use with your friends at school, it means to wrap something tightly.  Surely, my vagueness has set up some definition searching on the Internet, hmmm?

An hour later, Liam finds me in the laundry room emptying bags.  “So Brad is going Sanibel Island, huh?”  I’m baffled: How did Liam know his friend was going there?  I had just spoken to Brad’s mom but not yet shared my conversation with Liam.  Lo and behold, Brad’s mom had just texted me via the iWaves about their trip.  (Note: I have a non-iPhone, so it didn’t actually go to my device.)

Yes, the immediacy of the need for the boys’ independence and our privacy became all too clear.  All of which is probably possible with the appropriate settings in one iAccount, but after throwing the ball back and forth between us on who could and would research the settings, Bill and I agreed the easiest thing to do would be to set up separate accounts for each of the boys.  And we needed one lead iGeek in the house.

Home on Snow Day Friday, January 4th, another holiday of sorts.

iWas consumed with iStress, but iEmerged victorious releasing Will into his own iWorld.  Next, iAm on to Liam’s – with no texting by Bill in the mean time.

iAm in iHell, but iHave found iHelp on the internet via Windows on my laptop.

Baggage

Carry-ons. Roll-aboards. Suitcases. Trunks. The insane lugging of stuff. Containers to haul what we need with us. I often say to Will & Liam that need is a funny word. I take two small carry-ons on board planes and put them under the seat in front of me; then I watch the frenzied roll-aboarders as they look for an empty slot in overhead bins to hurl their over-stuffed roll-aboards. And I flinch when it’s above me that they take that almighty swing upward.

We checked four suitcases to come home from England. After traveling, the sight of our bags circling on luggage delivery systems in Baggage Claim warms my heart. Even if they are ripped, bent or marred, they usually hold up well enough not to scatter dirty laundry everywhere. Reclaiming them is the last step in our travels controlled by the airline. Ahhh…Freedom.

In England, the cases were packed with new Christmas presents and our clothes, with the exception of the mud-covered white socks and underwear that Liam peeled off after falling at the swampy cricket pitch. The likelihood of mud stains coming out wasn’t good. Shoes and jackets and sweat pants were recoverable. There was liberation in throwing the socks and underwear away, in declaring “no” on what I could’ve labored on over two or three washes. No guilt. No designer-ware here.

Once home we’ll lug the heavy bags through the mudroom and to the laundry room. And sometimes we live out of the bags for days, but flying on the 31st, we have the 1st as a holiday to recover and empty the bags. Do laundry. Find homes for new Christmas presents. Get toiletries to the bathrooms. And finally, when the cases morph from heavy baggage to empty luggage, they return to the basement. Except for the one that ripped on the way to England and is now held together with duct tape and shrink wrap. It has served us well. It was a freebie, and it’s time to relinquish it.

So many vessels. As we haul them around and feel their weight, “baggage” moves to the negative realm, particularly if it’s not unpacked, and only keeps getting heavier as more is shoved inside. What good is lugging baggage around? It’s heavy. Not economical when it comes to time. If every unpleasant or challenging event results in a big old suitcase or trunk – a kind of mental scoreboard of everything bad that’s ever happened… Ye gads. Time to lighten the load. At least down-size to a roll-aboard. Keep the lessons learned neatly packed. Perhaps pare them down little by little to a small carry-on.

Baggage – whether big suitcases on wheels or trunks our ancestors used to heft along – serves us well to take on travels to new places and to old favorites.

Unpack the rest and throw away anything caked in mud.