Cristine's 1st Recipe - My Tacos!

A couple weeks ago, my friend Cristine asked that once a week, if I didn't mind, could I supply her with a recipe for dinner. She had grown tired of the same old, and wanted some inspiration in the kitchen. Like me, she cooks for two (her husband and herself), but recently, she found out there is a third on his or her way. Right now, the doctor said the third is the size of an onion, so I figured, what better time to start developing a recipe box for Cristine. This way I'll be doing my part to help the onion grow into a healthy, happy honeydew.

So ... on this page, once a week, I will publish one of my recipes for Cristine (and my other readers of course.) They are generally adaptations from other sources, but with a portfolio of making family dinners since the seventh grade, prepping alongside Chef Derek and his crew at the restaurant I used to manage, and signing up for the sport of cooking with my boyfriend, I believe these recipes are tried and true. Happy cooking and feasting!

Taco Night for Two

When deciding what to make for dinner during the week nights, I turn to several sources for inspiration including Food and Wine, Saveur, Smitten Kitchen, Pioneer Woman, and my recipe binder (no link available ... yet). However, once every couple of weeks, I defer to the oracle of my boyfriend and ask, "What should I make?" This inevitably ends up with the answer, "Taco night!" I have to agree though, this is the go to solution for a spiced up, satisfying and sensational meal.

We both grew up eating tacos and fajitas with our families on a regular basis, so it's one of those innate cravings that we get. But after trying tacos, tostados, burritos and fajitas from East to West; dive to fine dining restaurant, my palate for the traditional Ortega taco kit has evolved. So, I have taken my best memories from Fiestas past and stacked them into a double wide hard shell.

This is my latest and greatest recipe for tacos. A forewarning though - you will need to be ready to go when the first flame hits the first pan. Everything should be chopped, in order, and thought through. Its a fierce, 30 minute game of sizzling and stirring, but I'm telling you, the sweat and tears (from the onions of course) is well worth it. You'll also be surprised to find out that your hubby (or significant other) can easily house FIVE of them in one sitting.

Shake up a margarita (or virgin one, Cristine) and have fun been being a little senorita for the evening.

Ingredients

Meat

3/4 lb Ground chuck (I have also used slow roasted and pulled pot roast, pork shoulder, and chicken thighs, which are GREAT options, but the memory of childhood lies in the ground chuck!)

1/4 cup minced sweet yellow onion

2 cloves of garlic minced

1 tablespoon butter 

3 Chipotle Peppers in Adobe Sauce chopped up

2 Tablespoons of the Adobe Sauce (take this from the same can of peppers)

1/2 cup Beef Stock

1 (or 2) teaspoons Cumin (I use one because the boyfriend thinks Cumin smells like a Yeti)

1/2 teaspoon ancho chile powder 

1 teaspoon Salt (or more based on preference)

1 teaspoon to 1 Tablespoon corn starch (for thickening sauce)

Caramelized onions

1 tablespoon butter

1 onion thinly sliced

1 clove garlic minced

1 teaspoon jalapeno, poblano, or serrano pepper minced (optional)

Salt 

Pinto Beans

1 can Frijoles Pintos

4 cloves garlic minced

1/2 cup chicken stock

1/2 tablespoon butter

1 Tablespoon chopped cilantro

Salsa Fresca

1 ripe tomato diced evenly

1 ear of sweet corn, kernels removed (click here for instructions)

1/4 cup red onion minced

1 teaspoon minced jalapeno pepper (optional)

1/2 teaspoon minced garlic

1 Tablespoon olive oil

1 Tablespoon cilantro

Squeeze of lime juice

Salt

Pepper

Guacamole

1 ripe Avocado (save the pit)

1 clove garlic minced

Juice of one lime

1 teaspoon chopped cilantro

Salt and pepper to taste

Drizzle of olive oil

Shredded Colby and Monterrey Jack cheese

Taco shells (I prefer the double thick crunchy ones)

Procedure

Okay, like I said this is a timely process, so here is the order in which you need to do things:

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and set the taco shells on a baking sheet to the side of the oven.

2. Salsa and Guacamole (They are super easy, so get them out the way and on the table)

Salsa

In a medium bowl, combine the ingredients, stir, and let sit.

Guacamole

Peal and pit the avocado (but save the pit) - mush it up, and mix in the rest of the ingredients in a small bowl. Put the pit in the center and let sit. (Somehow the pit has magic powers that makes the guacamole not turn brown)

3. Pinto Beans

Beans

In a small pot on the back burner, melt butter over medium heat. Add minced garlic and cook for 1 or 2 minutes. Drain the can of pinto beans and add to the pot along with the chicken stock and cilantro. Let this mixture steam over low to medium heat until everything below is done.

4. Meat and Onions (these generally take the same amount of time, so you basically want to do these simultaneously)

Meat 

In a large saute pan on the front burner, melt the butter over medium heat. Then add the meat, onions and garlic and cook till meat is browned (probably 7 minutes). Add the beef stock, peppers, adobe sauce, cumin, ancho chile, and salt. Let it simmer for three minutes so the flavors blend together. Thicken the sauce with corn starch. Add a teaspoon at a time and stir in until you reach the right consistency.

Onions

In a large saute pan on the other front burner, melt the butter over medium heat. Then add the onions, garlic and pepper (if you are using.) Saute, stirring occasionally, until the onions are golden brown and caramelized.

5. Heat the Taco shells: Put the Taco shells in the pre-heated oven for 5 minutes.

6. Mash the Beans: Open the pot of beans, and with a potato masher or spoon, mash up the beans so they are roughly pureed.

7. Assemble the serving station with all the ingredients and invite your significant other to 'dish up!' My favorite way to stack them is meat on the bottom, then beans, cheese, onions, salsa, guacamole, and a little hot sauce on the top.

OLE!

Lo

7 Days, 4 Cities, 33 Miles, 1 Take-Away

As you may or may not know, I am training for the Chicago Marathon. I'm following Hal Higdon's novice II plan, which is an 18-week regimen complete with training tips and Marathon best practices (and is available for free online.) One of the tips Hal frequently references is to vary your workouts and courses. His theory is that running long distances for 18 weeks can get monotonous, so seeking out diverse terrains can keep you motivated and able to make the most of your training experience.

I took Hal Hidgon's advice very seriously this week and trained in four different places in seven days: New York City, Chicago, Houston, and Cap Cod. (Granted, my training coincided with work and personal travel, but I still thought it was a cool feat.) This week I’ve run through scorching heat, soaking humidity, dense fog, balmy breezes, torrential downpours, crowds of people, commuter traffic and parades. Each run and climate presented new challenges and different applications to Hal's theory of varied workouts, but after putting his principle to practice, I concluded that more than the diverse settings, it was the people around me on each course that kept me motivated and going strong.   

So let me take you down 20 of the 33 miles that I ran this week. 

10 miles through Central Park, New York City

Last weekend I was in New York City for an engagement party. On Sunday morning I set off to run the very dense and congested Central Park course. With a loop around the reservoir added, it was 10 miles of running alongside, around, and through crowds. People were out by the masses pushing strollers, riding bikes, jogging, power walking, racing, and rollerblading in a giant loop around the Park. And I was playing dodgem through this semi-controlled chaos. Everyone had their own method of making it around the loop, but all of us were determined to go the distance. 

The crowds were a little stressful at first, especially during the segment where I had to combat Puerto Rican Day and Girls on the Run traffic, but after I figured out my pacing and the culture of the movement, I was able to hold my own, and ultimately excel. All the people, and the pulses and rhythms that radiated from them, inspired me to keep going, push harder, and do better. By the time I hit the 7 mile mark, I was pretty sure I could have run a whole marathon that day. I realized that all the other people in the park were indirectly supporting my efforts and making me better. Somehow, we were all better together. 

After making it the full 10 miles, I was greeted at an ad hoc finish line by my boyfriend, which was the best support system possible. I didn't know whether or not we would be able to meet up - but there he was at 59th Street and Fifth Avenue, rooting for me as I clocked in for the day.

Later that day, my biggest fan and I met up with friends in Battery Park to board a ferry bound for an evening of celebration at the Bayonne Golf Club.

5 miles in Naperville, Illinois 

I live about thirty miles outside of Chicago, in the burgeoning suburb of Naperville. And it seems like the entire adult population of Naperville finds a means of rapid transportation to get out of this suburb and into Chicago every morning. Just as they are trying to do this, I put on my running shoes and attempt to compete with their speed and ferocity.

My weekday runs in Naperville are generally more like sprints, because I have a limited amount of time before I have to shower, change and make it to work. I tend to rush out my door and onto the streets to do battle with the traffic. The sidewalks are unpredictable, so I tend to stick to the side of the road, driven by the need to beat the cars. I'm sure about 80% of the morning commuters are now familiar with the girl in the yellow or white hat running through Naperville every morning. I sense their respect and encouragement as they have learned to defer to me a bit. Just like the masses in Central Park, they contribute to making me a better runner. 

Oh ... and one more thing helps too. Everyday I pass by my biggest fan's house and there is the continuous potential that he will pop outside to surprise me and cheer me on from the sidelines. He has done this on numerous occasions, and like I said earlier, this is the best support system of all.

And from there ... off to work I go (it just so happens that this work day included a Chicago White Sox game!) 

6 miles in Houston, Texas  

This run presented several big challenges which included scorching heat, overwhelming humidity, and developing cold symptoms. When I stepped out of my hotel at 8:00 AM, it registered 98 degrees with a heat index of 104. No one else was running. It was just me. I had mapped out a run on Gmap-pedometer that took me to the river (which I actually learned was a Bayou or a man-made ditch later in the day) and then back along more major roads. Since I was in Houston alone, running alone, I thought this was the safest bet. 

However, after I made it to the Bayou, I couldn't imagine making it back. I was drenched already and there was no one next to me or around me to motivate me to keep going. I stopped and watched all the Texans in their air conditioned cars drive past me, giving me incredulous stares, not encouraging me like my commuter rivals in Naperville. I knew I had to be on the job soon, so I sucked it up, turned around and started back. Instead of taking the same route though, I felt out another way ... and ended up running into the others - The other people out exercising that morning. These were the natives who had found the best place to do it, which was along a promenade, under huge trees shading us from the sun, in the most beautiful community. As I passed the power walkers, they gave me smiles, approving nods, and even a cheer or two. As it got even hotter and as I went from drenched to whatever is more sweaty than that, I picked up my pace and made it through, because I had all these wonderful Southern supporters around me. 

When I got back, I called my boyfriend to tell him about the hottest run ever. As always he played the part of my biggest fan, impressed, encouraging, and invested in my performance. 

And I got some kudos from new friends made in Houston as we celebrating that night after a long work day.

9 miles in Woods Hole – Cape Cod, Massachusetts

Really challenging runs are inherent when you are training for a Marathon. One of those came today as I ran the shore trail from Woods Hole to Falmouth and back again. It was a 9 mile jaunt that on any other day should have been a piece of cake, but for some reason today, it was just painful. I was mid-cold and pretty congested. I also felt heavier than usual – I felt that my legs were dragging the way they did during that Rutgers game senior year, when I just couldn’t lift them up to get to a ground ball. (And we ended up losing)

I made it though – I did the whole distance and still clocked in at my normal pace. But unlike the other runs this week, I made this one because of the people that I am running for. They weren't on the trail with me that day. It was a pretty quiet trail in fact. Rather, they were there with me in spirit - They are the children and families that have been served by the programs of Ronald McDonald House Charities. I am driven because I want to run for them - because they may never get to run through the country like I can. I am running for Josh, who has cerebral palsy; CJ, who is still recovering from a traumatic accident; Elsie who has been through 25 surgeries and is stronger than I will ever be; and Joshi who drew me a picture to tell me about his courageous journey ahead. I know each of these fighters would have run a marathon as well, and if they could have done it, I can do it. That's what pushed me through this tough run and what keeps pushing me to make it to the finish line on October 10. 


The thing that I have learned through training this week is that I need other people around me to make me better. Being alone on the trail is nice sometimes, but in order for me to go this grand Marathon distance, I need lots of support, even if its from strangers. It's all the other people out there that make me better on and off the trail.

... And after the long runs and the big one on October 10, it really helps when there are celebrations and glasses of wine to look forward to. 

... especially when they're on a skiff in Woods Hole!

Lo 

If you want to support my fundraising efforts for Ronald McDonald House Charities and the over four million children and families we serve each year through programs like the Ronald McDonald House, please visit www.active.com/donate/RMHC2010/LaurenLo 

Happy Anniversary!

Yesterday I celebrated my paper anniversary … with my company. I'm proud of this milestone and believe that the relationships I have established with my teammates and company at large are stronger than ever. As I was congratulated, toasted and pinned (yes, I got the official company pin), I started to think about the deliberations and realizations that went into reaching the goal of a job that compliments and enhances me. Ironically enough, I went through a similar process of reflection during my grand search for a special significant other.  

Much of the soul-searching process through my twenties has happened over fruitful dialogues touching on personal case studies, best practices, and next steps with friends and family. In particular, I have a good friend who is the master of finding lessons and 'realizations' in our lives. About once a week I talk with Rebecca on the phone. For about a half an hour, usually during our commutes home, we deliberate over trials and triumphs of our work and personal lives. Rebecca generally comes to the conversation confident in the education she has acquired in the past week, and ready to share it. Without fail, there is always a moment in the call where she soundly states, "This week I came to the realization that...." and these realizations can range from "I need to date someone older than me" to "I need to date someone younger than me." From "I just love living in the city of Pittsburgh” to "I just need to get out of here!!"

After years of thoughtful reflection, my takeaway from these calls is that we need different things, both complementary and contradictory at different times in our lives to render us satisfied, successful and … (sigh) complete. Our personalities and characters are rich and complicated and there is not one size fits all solution to the age-old mystery of what will make us happy. 

However, many target their job or a committed relationship as the bedrock of happiness - They hope to be confidently employed doing something they are passionate about; and committed to a person who shares their passions. After finding what I believe to be healthy, happy, and committed personal and work relationships, and after hours on the phone with Rebecca, I believe there are ways to cut to the chase in your search for contentment on the job or in a relationship. AND … you should start with these four questions:

1. What makes you sustainably satisfied and if you don't know you should stay on question 1 till you know. This may be the most time consuming and difficult of the questions, but taking leaps and bounds into jobs and relationships without knowing what really makes you tick, can be devastating in the end.

2. Do you want to play for a team or are you better off alone? 

3. Are you a good team player? 

4. Do you believe you can play on, significantly contribute to, and grow within this specific team?  

If you answer no to question 2 you should be self employed and single for the rest of your life. 

If you answer no to question 3, it’s okay to a certain degree. If you are a really bad team player, again you should be self employed and single for the rest of your life.) If you are not a perfect team player at first, this is a skill more or less that you can improve throughout the years. This is part of your learning curve and development on the job or in a relationship. 

And for question 4 - once you have done your due diligence in terms of researching the pros and cons of the team you are thinking about playing for - do you really think this is the one you want to be committed to.

Here's how this process went for me:

In college, and in particular when studying abroad in Rome, I learned what really made me happy in life. That was a balance – a balance between the world of arts and athletics; family and friends; faith and exploration. I had the opportunity to do everything and I was busy with, invested in, and excited by all the different undertakings. After I graduated from college though, I signed up for a job that didn't allow this rich balance. This made me unhappy and I knew I had to redirect and research a career move that was going to open the doors to what had previously made me happy. I wanted to play for a team that would nurture and challenge me; enable my growth and maturity, and celebrate milestones with me. 

With due diligence, hard work, and a little bit of luck, I believe I have found a company that I want to work for throughout the majority of my life.

Similarly, I knew I ultimately wanted to play on a team in my personal life as well. When seeking Mr. Right, I looked toward my other relationships and team members that made me happiest and most successful: Those people that accepted me for who I was, built up my confidence, made me feel more empowered, echoed my enthusiasm for life, challenged me to think in different ways, and helped me score the winning goal. I wanted the same kind of teammate in my significant other. I tried on chiropractors and architects; bankers and producers; short ones and tall ones; good ones and bad ones; but only one stuck. Granted, I think I was in the right place at the right time when stumbling upon the boyfriend, but I believe it took a lot of finding what I didn't want, to know exactly when I found what I did want.

After saying this though, after I believe I have landed in the right job and alongside Mr. Right. I couldn't help but think about the news we heard a couple weeks ago - when we learned about the separation of esteemed marital partners, Tipper and Al Gore. After celebrating their forty-year anniversary, they retired from each other. Without rumors of cheating, children out of wedlock, or abuse many analysts said that this marriage was successful. It fulfilled a role in both Al's and Tipper's lives, and now they were simply ready for the next stage of their lives. 

In corporate America, even in my company, where the majority of employees are lifers – you inevitably end up in retirement. When you want to get the most out of the remaining years of your life and have saved enough money to do it, you say toodle-loo and hit the links, travel the world, become a docent, go fishing, or do whatever it is you find relaxing. It's a great period of time for further exploration into the ways of the world.

However, I don't want to think that the same form of retirement holds true in a marital relationship - That after you have raised children, developed the talent, and sent them off to conquer the world, you should want to retire from your partner. I want to believe that in each phase of life, if you have been lucky enough to find the right teammate, you will want to play on that team till the game is over. 

My coach used to always say, overtime is the toughest, but most important part of the game - we had to play the hardest, not let up, and concentrate more than ever. I guess Al and Tipper were okay with draws and stalemates. Or, they came to the realization that they never really answered question 1, and now they wanted to find that for themselves. 

Rebecca and I have been on and off the phone for almost twenty years – basically from the third grade on - talking about crushes and crashes. These vignettes have ultimately always led to discussions about what makes us happy. This is the most important question you can ask yourself. Before signing up and signing on to a team in corporate America or with a significant other, make sure you take the time to get to know yourself first. I truly believe that if you do this, you will make stronger, smarter decisions in your relationships - you will make more positive contributions and celebrate many more anniversaries.

Lo 

In Memoriam of Memorial Days Past

I am braising short ribs to cap-off a fun-filled Memorial Day weekend. I have three hours to spare according to Miss Smitten Kitchen before the bones separate and I'm supposed to pry my hand away from my glass of wine to start the fat-draining, reduction making, and swiss chard preparing processes. So while partially paying attention to Notre Dame's attempt to beat Duke in the NCAA Men's Lacrosse Championship game, I'm getting that nostalgic, what-happened-in-years-past feeling. Ah ... where have I been in Memorial Days past? And how far have I come?

In 2000 I was playing lacrosse in the National All-Star tournament in Springfield, Massachusetts. I finally made the Mid-Atlantic team as one of the two or three players that Pittsburgh gets to send, and I was determined to showcase my goal-scoring talent. Even though the experience was a humbling lesson in how real lacrosse was played, I managed to knock in a couple of goals in front of the college recruiters that lined the field. Soon after the tournament I graduated from the Ellis School (my high school) with horrible tan lines from a day spent at the pool, ready to start the next Chapter in my academic and athletic adventures. But first, my best friends and I celebrated at every nightclub in Cancun.

The Memorial Day weekends of college were not that memorable - I think they can be summed up by lazy days at the Pittsburgh Golf Club pool followed by Barry festivities in the evenings.

Memorial Day weekend 2004 through 2007 brought escapism in Sin City. In May of 2004 I said goodbye to collegiate lacrosse. I stepped off the field at Northwestern University in tears - crying because the mannish girls in gray unitards had just eliminated us from the NCAA tournament and with that our national championship dreams; because an amazing part of my life was over; and because I had no clue what my next move was going to be. The same fateful weekend that we lost, I also graduated with my best friends from college. A week later, with no intention of figuring out 'next steps' I flew to Las Vegas to have a very exclusive Memorial Day weekend graduation party with some of my best friends.

For five days we tore up the town - danced with ancient Asians (Kristen, I won't show the picture) and celebrities like Jerry O'Connell. And swore that every year, Memorial Day weekend, we would come to Vegas together to party. The tradition lasted three years, until the first of us (the one that met her husband on a flight home from Vegas) got married. For me, each of these Vegas vacations was just what I needed, when I needed it - a reminder that despite doubts and downers, I had amazing friends that always brought the best and the party out of me.

A couple years later, the Memorial Day of 2008, I was in a place drastically different and removed from where I had been in the past. I had been through my first year of business school, which didn't just bring the opportunity to reignite and redirect my career aspirations, but it brought my boyfriend. During Memorial Day weekend, I was moving closer to my boyfriend's hometown and a successful career. I was moving my stuff into a small bedroom in the Lincoln Square neighborhood of Chicago. My roommate for the summer wasn't there, so I opened my computer and set my move to the pop tunes of 2009 - dancing my way into the Renaissance room that I would call home for three months. My boyfriend's mom added the finishing touch when she stopped by to bring me flowers as an apartment-warming gift. It was a great start to a great summer. 

Last year, Memorial Day weekend 2009, brought another chapter in my life's uncertainty. I was waiting to hear whether or not I would get my dream job, but I didn't let this stressor interfere with the weekend's celebration - the wedding of two of my favorite people. My boyfriend's sister and her husband got married at St. Michael's in Old Town and celebrated at the Art Institute of Chicago in sheer class. From start to finish it was an elegant affair that marked the beginning of a beautiful marriage. (As a side note, I wore an amazing blue Theory dress with black five inch Cole Hahns.) I boogied down with the whole family, which was of course an exposition, as most had never seen my puppet dancing in full-form before. While on the dance floor, in the arms of my boyfriend, and in the presence of some of the most fun-loving, generous, and kind people that I know - my stress didn't exist. Everything was okay.

This year I was in Los Angeles visiting two of my good high school friends, Tricia and Gretchen, who had recently moved to the West Coast. It was a 48 hour whirlwind of intense activity, broken up by sumptuous feasting and rip-roaring laughter. 

I ended my rigorous Saturday of running, hiking, tanning, and walking in L.A in sheer celebration - over champagne cocktails, Cher and shimmy-shakes in a nightclub in West Hollywood. It wasn't a far cry from the dancing that I had done in years past - but it was with a new perspective on life - one that echoed emotions that I felt during the hike earlier that afternoon. 

Although it was difficult to navigate the steep grades and trying terrains after my routine morning run, I did it. I was uncertain about whether or not I could make it - I was exhausted from the morning run, I wasn't properly dressed, I didn't look that great without my make-up on - but driven by an insatiable appetite to achieve more, support from friends, and laughter along the way, I made it, to the top - but with a view of more mountains to climb in the future. I know these future mountains may be far more difficult to climb, but I'm sure I can scale them. I am pretty proud of the accomplishments that I have made so far. I also know that am equipped and conditioned to face and overcome upcoming obstacles. 

And ... when I fail, I know that every Memorial Day, I will always have great friends by my side. They will be there for me for good or for worse - to listen, encourage, and ultimately to celebrate and dance with me.  

The ribs are ready ... 

Lo 

Keeps Your Friends Close, and Your Family Closer

My small elementary school, St. Edmund's Academy, had an annual talent show. It was comprised of roughly 70 acts, lasted two hours, and was very predictable. 65% of the participants played the piano (poorly) with the exception of two sets of siblings that battled for the title of most dominantly dexterous family: The Asians who were masters of skill versus the Anglo elite who added tempered emotion to their repertoire. Another 25% of the participants attempted to put Mrs. Lutz' instrumental lessons to the test on stage. Worse than the Camptown Races-playing piano players, these kids inevitably ended up deafening the audience with piercing squeaks as they tried to pass into the upper register.

The remaining acts were the more original and memorable. Jessica Block sang "For the Beauty of the Earth" as a solo; Nathan Appel and Aaron Sokolow did different Abbott and Costello acts; A very short Jewish kid danced to and impersonated Michael Jackson - white glove, moonwalk, 'I'm Bad,' no mask; One of the eighth graders recited The Raven; And ... in second grade, after watching the annual performance two years in row, envious of the attention that the participants received, I got the courage to sign up and became one of those unique acts.

I had been ballet, jazz and tap dancing since the Pre-Kindergarten, and I loved it. (Hmm ... still do.) When it came to recital time every year, I was perhaps the most enthusiastic, confident, smiley, and showy girl on stage. Meghan Nichborowitz may have trumped me in skill and flexibility, but I had the pizazz, panache and presence that enabled me to win jazz dancer of the year circa 1989. Equipped with this love of dance and sense of confidence, I decided I was seasoned enough to dance in front of all the boys that I had crushes on at my school (and there were many!) And I entered the talent show.

I still remember putting my name on the list outside of Mrs. Lochran's music room:
My talent - Jazz dance.
The artist I danced to - Madonna. (In second grade I picked Cherish, but future routines were set to the beats of Vogue, Express Yourself and Like a Prayer.)
My costume - a gold leotard that my sister still likes to remind me looked like a gold swimsuit.

When it came time for the big show I knew my dance cold and I looked good (crimped hair with a little headband; stomach not sticking out as much as usual; little bit of stage make-up compliments of my babysitter, Debbie). But ... I was extremely nervous.

There was a trifecta of nerve-wracking factors: First, I was #67 out of 70 acts, meaning I was nearly the finale of the show, and who can compete with Abbott and Costello?! Second, my positioning in the show sandwiched my act and thus my seat in the auditorium between my two older grade-school crushes - Eric Nordby and Ryan Sansosti. Just sitting next to them was bad enough - sitting next to them while only wearing a leotard, when everybody else was fully clothed, made it ten times worse. Third, with only five minutes remaining till show-time, I still couldn't find my parents in the audience.

The monstrous portion of linguini with clam sauce that Debbie made me eat after school started to fire back as my nerves escalated and the clock inched closer to 6 PM - the start of the show. My Mom always complained about events starting too close to the end of the work day or during dinner time - and this show fit into both of these scheduling predicaments. I knew my family was going to cut it close, as they always did, but not sensing their presence as the lights started to dim, made me more and more nervous. But just as the sole kindergartner of the show took the stage for his piano piece, I was relieved to see my family enter the auditorium and take their seats. Just like that my heart stopped palpitating at a record pace, the butterflies flew away, and my carbo-loaded dinner converted into pure energy.

After an hour and forty-five minutes, it was my turn. I ran down the stairs of the auditorium and up into my spot on center stage. As "Cherish ... Cherish ..." started ringing through the auditorium, I plastered my big showy smile on my face and started bouncing across the stage in waves of jazz-squares and jazz-hands, wrap-arounds, sachets, shoulder movements, and pointed poses. As I jazz-ran my way into my final pose, and the audience broke into approving applause, I looked up to see my family beaming with pride and praise at my performance.

After the show they greeted me with a big bouquet of flowers; gave me big hugs and told me how well I had done in comparison to the rest of the acts - how special my act was. With them by my side, I didn't care if others found my talent a little odd - I was no longer embarrassed or shy - I could perform at my highest level knowing that I had their support.

My parents both had full-time jobs when I was growing up. But whenever there was something important. When we had a Greek Banquet, our art displayed in an art show, the lead or even the bit part of 'girl-laughing' in a play, the coveted lead girl medallion in Chapel, or the 24-hour flu, they were there. No matter the time of day or day of the year, they were there for all the important stuff. They believed that we - us kids and their family came first. As I try to juggle my professional and personal life, without children, I can see and finally appreciate the difficulty, exhaustion and selflessness that went into my parents' master planning to be at our every event.

This past week there were a couple occasions that made this lesson I learned during my early childhood - that family matters most and makes all the difference - relevant during this phase of my life.

This past week my Dad was honored as a distinguished alumnus from the Katz School of Business. When he told all of us that it would be really nice if we came, I was kind of like - 'okay - so I'm supposed to cross off one of my coveted vacation days, buy a plane ticket, and not stress out about not being able to answer the 56 emails that will inevitably start blowing up my phone?!'

But after thinking about it, I knew that yes - I had to fly home, sit next to my father during the ceremony, cheer him on, give him a big hug after he accepted his award and made an inspiring speech, and pose for pictures afterward. I knew my presence to my father that evening was congruent to my parents' presence for my every award, artistic endeavor, and athletic event (anybody that can sit through that many women's field hockey, softball and lacrosse games deserves massive kudos). What meant the world to me through grade school and high school, I have come to realize means the world to my parents and siblings as well.

A couple days later I made the two-hour drive south to attend my brother's graduation from Notre Dame Law School. A couple months before the pomp and circumstance, he wrote us all an email with the weekend's schedule and a disclaimer that he wasn't into all the graduation stuff, and he didn't really care if we attended. But when the whole family was there, cheering him on as he got hooded, I knew he really did care. Maybe he didn't need us there for the ceremony of it all, but he needed us there to toast him and celebrate his victory over all-nighters, the uber-competitive dorky set, and finally having an exit strategy from a seven-year stint in South Bend, Indiana.

Finally, this week I had the opportunity to study one of my professional role models in action at a charitable fundraiser. I was invited to an event in support of St. Judes Children's Hospital and Research Center by this former Chief Marketing Office and soon-to-be CEO. When I entered the ballroom with my boyfriend to take the seat at her table (front row, center) I was surprised, but pleasantly so, to find out that our party for the evening was entirely made up of her family members. I was the lucky intruder in this close-knit inner circle. An aura of warmth, friendliness, and reality set the tone for our dinner table. And while the other tables around us were talking about business deals, trophy wives, and golf games, we were talking about weddings, new additions to the family, high school sports, and college searches. It made me realize that when you achieve a certain level of success and your job becomes not just full-time, but all the time, it makes it a lot better to have your family there by your side during the parts of it that they can be.

She told me after the event that I was astute to notice that her family was always by her side. She said, "that's what matters in life."     

Whether you consider 'family' close friends, neighbors, colleagues, or immediate family; it's the unwavering support of these loved ones that enhances your spirit to achieve. When I got up on stage in the second grade in my gold leotard - I knew my act was a little different. I knew I was young and that the upperclassmen were going to think - 'what is this little girl doing on stage wearing that?!' But I confidently performed my routine, struck a pose and then made my bow - I could do this because I knew my family would give me a standing ovation no matter what.

As you sign up and sign on for the circus of corporate America - you sign up to produce and perform - to be evaluated and judged on your talents and how you employ them. But as you balance on the high wire, swing from the trapeze, play the clown, perform juggling acts, and tame lions - know that there will be some that boo you off the stage - and some that shout out, "ENCORE!" In the end your loved ones will be the consistent presence in your life cheering you on no matter what. They are what matters, they know what counts.

Congrats Dad and Lil Bro!

Lo

To Do: Make a Cake (and eat it too!)

Prior to her arrest for insider trading, I was a huge fan of Martha Stewart. From watching her branded multi-media efforts I learned the best way to wrap presents and fold napkins, tend my vegetable garden (with a sun hat and gloves of course), and prepare the most beautiful baked goods.

Martha was the first person to teach me how to make lemon curd. While my classmates were watching cartoons, I tuned in to her show to watch and learn how to prepare it the Martha way one Saturday morning circa eighth grade. I watched her choose plump lemons from a glass bowl next to her perfectly arranged yellow roses on her restored 1891 farmhouse kitchen table; zest and juice the lemons with the utmost facility and without the Rachel Ray collection of kitchen crap; whisk in the sugar; fold the egg yolks into the mixture as her soporific voice told me about the farmer down the road that raises the chickens; effortlessly blend together these ingredients with the butter that was already starting to melt on the double boiler; continue to mix at an adagio with a wooden spoon grasped by her subtly manicured hands; and when it grew thick enough remove it from the heat, place it in a glass bowl, and slide it into her SubZero refrigerator. At this intermission period of her curd making she sought to teach me how to craft a wreath from the cranberries she went bogging for at 5 AM. However, I never enrolled in this segment of the show.

After hanging cranberry wreath above her front door and waving to her equally wealthy neighbors, she went back to her refrigerator to unveil her perfectly formed lemon curd. Then, I played witness to the tart assembly and the guaranteed perfection that makes a Martha Stewart creation what it is. Inspired and in idolization, I rushed into my parent's kitchen to do my part to perfect the Sunday edition of Fischer Family Dinner.

Ultimately, my lemon curd tart wasn’t the picture perfect creation that Martha seamlessly produced. There was a section of the crust that was a little uneven; the curd wasn’t as silky smooth as Martha’s; I couldn’t slice it just the way she did and I forgot to candy the lemon rinds for a garnish. I couldn’t reach the stratosphere of perfection that Martha could, but for my family (those that ate it) it was the masterpiece that crowned an epic feast of rapidly consumed veal parmesan, rice pilaf, and sauteed spinach.

This past weekend, I decided I would revisit my love of lemon curd. A decade and a half removed from my first attempt, in service to my other family (the boyfriend’s family), and disillusioned from Martha’s jailbird days, I turned to a new recipe and a new perfectionist, Miss Smitten Kitchen, to create my Mother’s Day masterpiece.

The description written on SK's blog was much more approachable then the pristine high-life of Martha Stewart. Only certain elements of SK's life and her food preparation are revealed, so it leaves some of the interpretation of the process and drama behind that baked good up to the baker.

The recipe – Lemon Layer Cake – a tiered 1-2-3-4 vanilla cake compartmentalized by gooey lemon curd and topped and smeared all around with seven-minute frosting that adds that Alice and Wonderland magic to this heavenly delicacy.

I was set on making this my best layer cake ever. No cake mix, no store-bought icing, the real thing. The real thing took on a new meaning though when removed from the well-equipped kitchen of my youth. The real thing meant taking a trip back to the times of Martha Stewart’s 1891 farmhouse table, and creaming butter with sugar, flour and milk by hand; furiously stirring the outers and innards of lemons, melted butter and EIGHT egg yolks (yes, lemon curd is not one of those lean life recipes) over a double boiler; and whisking the hell out of eggs whites, cream of tartar, water and sugar to get the height and dimension to the lusciously photographed icing on the blog.

The real thing also meant no cake stand, so my assembly took place on the wrong, but smooth side of a glass dish, which was most likely meant to be used for a crudités with a centerpiece of Ranch dressing. With a swollen, aching right arm I assembled the cake, and as expected, it was no Martha Stewart perfection and it didn’t seem as marvelous as SK’s. My boyfriend kept the encouraging remarks flowing though – and all I kept thinking was that it didn’t look exactly like the picture. Smitten Kitchen’s icing was higher, flufflier, and more elegant. I still couldn’t make Martha Stewart’s perfect lemon curd. And there was of course a crack in one of the cake layers.

Just like my adoring family of fans who ooed and awed over my lemon curd tart, the boyfriend’s family was duly impressed and grateful for my addition to the feast. I was happy that it made them happy, but when dessert time came and I started to cut and dish out the cake, I was secretly calculating what to do to make it picture perfect. (A #1,2,3 and 4: Invest in an egg beater, Kitchen Aid mixer, spatula, and cake stand!

Everyone sat down, dug in, and started to illuminate with that sweet, satisfaction of dessert, and I have to admit that I enjoyed every bite along with the group. Despite the thin icing, textured lemon curd, and cracked top layer of the cake, it tasted damn good, and everyone else seemed to think so too.

So ... I guess the point is: Cooking and baking can be intimidating mostly because we have an image in our mind of what the process and end result are supposed to look like. Sometimes we don't want to try for fear of failure. However, like most other things in life, it's those imperfections, trials, and mess-ups that make us and our creations more original - more delectable - who we are. There is no perfect - there is no one way. Learn from Martha Stewart, the ultimate perfectionist - sometimes striving for absolute returns, leads you straight to the penitentiary.

Happy Baking (and eating!)

Lo

Attention Please

This past week I presented our summer campaign concept via Webinar to our Chapters. The goal of the campaign: to penetrate the noise of the crowded charitable landscape by aligning the many voices within our system around one message geared at our mommy demographic. Basically, it's akin to "the one ... two ... three ... everyone shout 'MOM!'" approach to getting the attention of the keeper of the cash. Our message is about how small acts of kindness, particularly donations of pennies, nickels and dimes, add up to make a big difference, and we believe our linked-in system will be able to create a surround-sound approach to capitalize on our call-to-action.

I had the floor to myself when explaining the campaign approach. Over 100 representatives from our system were muted on the other end, and I had the rare opportunity to speak to and inspire a captive audience. It felt pretty weird at times though. On and off while rambling, I got that awkward Webinar feeling of: 'Hello ...  Is anybody there? ... Can you hear me? ... That was a JOKE!' Which in turn made me think, especially towards the end when no one even raised a virtual hand, 'Are they really listening?"

The answer - probably not. At least, not listening intently. Most likely, the people I was preaching to were BBMing, texting, IMing, chatting, downloading, uploading, browsing, checking in and playing Bejeweled simultaneously, thus only digesting about 10% of what I said.

So Webinars, and work for that matter, can get a little boring at times and the opportunity to multi-task may arise. However, recently I was thrice struck by this need to have rich multi-media experiences in all that we do in our culture. We are living in an era where people don't just want to pay attention to one thing, they want it all at once, otherwise it's monotonous.

The first strike of this cultural pattern came from studying the conversational habits of collegiates when I went back to my alma mater a couple weekends ago. A year removed, I was able to be a scientist of sorts and study the behavior patterns of the over-achieving population. Universities like Notre Dame are basically Millennial Generation petri dishes. All of the over-protected/praised/confident/optimistic Millenials have been cultivated and encased in an environment that enhances their existing behaviors, presenting a bevy of opportunities for marketing and management theorists to probe and predict the next generation of corporate and consumer culture.

During a morning run on campus, I had one such opportunity to study the population. As I ran one way, I passed about three sets of girls on morning strolls walking the other. The girls were walking in tandem around the lake, engaging in Saturday morning gossip sessions. These conversations focused on searches for summer internships, campaigns for student government, final exams, try-outs for first tuba, harsh professors, harsher roommates, and stress - OVERWHELMING stress! (As a benchmark, my girlfriends and I used to have similar weekend chats, but I used to focus the discussions on foggy reminders of last night's debacles, confessions of which weight lifting exercise I skipped to avoid massive shoulders and thighs, status updates on the latest athlete crush who I had inevitably failed to gain the attention of yet again, and laughter, LOTS and LOTS of belly-hurting laughter.)

The conversations that I observed that morning though weren't only different based on the subject matter, they were odd because of the way in which they were being conducted. One set was half conversing, half listening to the whiny singer/songwriter du jour on their iPhones - meaning literally, the girls were offering one ear to their friend, and the other was capped with an ear plug. Another set was talking and texting at the same time. And the third was comprised of one girl on the phone talking to someone else while the girl next to her was reciting her weekend woes. I couldn't believe these interactions or lack thereof. No wonder they were all so stressed out. They couldn't manage the one on one relationship in front of them, let alone all the rest of the things they were trying to take on in their lives.

The second testament came at Church. During Mass last Sunday a very dynamic priest delivered an amazing homily about the difficulty of reaching a congregation through the sole means of speech in the 21st century. He lamented that in this digitally enhanced era, preachers have lost their luster because people no longer have the attention span to listen to a homily that doesn't involve applications, 3-D effects, social networking platforms, game systems, and surround sound.

The priest urged the congregation to listen though, and through the baby wails, baby talk and motherly coos of the women trying to silence their children, I did. He spoke of the importance of keeping an attentive ear toward the silences. It is then - in peace and quiet - that God reveals his presence. He made references to the myriad of revelations in the holy scriptures that came through simple words, spoken when the receiver was in contemplative prayer. The Church was built by those that listened - by those that heard the sacred call-to-action and put those words into their missions.  Whether a church-goer or not, there is something to be said for taking some time to engage in restorative, thought-provoking, inspirational moments of silence.

Third and finally, I became the testament to our culture's inability to listen. During our Monday team meeting at work I realized that although I try not to associate myself with the Millennial Generation, I am guilty at times of their focal deficiency. I took on the role of the culprit as I grew distracted by the little red blinking light on my Blackberry. As one of my teammates rattled off her status updates, I looked down at my mobile device and pondered the possibilities that could be unveiled with a simple password entry - could it be a new Twitter follower? A meeting invite? A BBM from my friend in Media Relations? A text message from my boyfriend? Oh the excitement of potential messages on my dashboard ... And ... suddenly I felt a swat on my hand by my manager who had without warning become intolerant to people checking their Blackberrys during meetings. Yuck, I was ashamed.

As I sit in my apartment at the end of this week in near silence - that is with the exception of my keyboard, the wind howling outside and the rhinoceros of a girl that lives above me stampeding her way through a hangover - I'm reflecting on the moments in my life when I take one thing at a time. They are few and far between honestly. (I just looked down at my Blackberry, Ugh!) From the moment that I turn off my ringing alarm clock, I feel like my day is a cacophony of multi-tasking. Some nights between the sizzling garlic, buzzing Blackberry, and sipping me, my boyfriend gets annoyed because I'm not paying attention, and to someone who is an exceptionally good listener, this can get tiresome.

Although, there are benefits to constant and continuous communication, there are set-backs. The most blatant of which to me is its affect on relationships. I have witnessed too many dates recently where the couple is focused more on their respective mobile devices than on each other. This is problematic enough for an existing couple, but what about those people trying to meet Mr. or Mrs. Right at the bar? First, how are you supposed to take notice of a great guy or girl through the cluttered, chaotic, mess of other individuals screaming for attention - those that aren't even present with you? And second, how are you supposed to maintain interest in the man in front of you when we live in a world where upgraded models come out every four months?

My advice, remove your personal relationships from the pace you have established at work. From 9 to 5 you will probably have to succumb to the rat race, but when you get home make the time you spend with the person or people you have relationships with about them. If you are out on a Friday evening looking for a potential relationship, mosey up to the bar, put away your Blackberry and strike up a conversation with the dreamy investment banker next to you. After a stressful day that included the market crashing 1000 points due to his firm's error, he definitely doesn't want to look at his mobile device - so take his lead. Make it about you and him.

During the same weekend I was at Notre Dame observing stressed out collegiates, I was able to spend time with some of my closest friends - The same girls that I used to have those weekend gossip sessions with. Mobile devices were put away, the board game was brought out, beer and pizza were in abundance, our significant others were present and we laughed those gut-wrenching laughs that make us the friends that we are. The best part about it was that my boyfriend got to share it with me, essentially gaining access to the real me - the me stripped of stress and contact with the office. After a month of work-induced crabbiness, it was a welcome return to us, the way we know us. It was a wake-up call to what quality living is made of - good friends, story telling, taking time to listen, food and drink, laughter.  

So this weekend and hopefully into this coming week, when you get to be one on one with someone, make it a one on one. Put down your mobile device, close your laptop, store your task list, and listen to the person next to you. I know from experience that genuine smiles and great laughs only come when you are truly present in the moment.

Now, on the other hand, if you find yourself in a very boring Webinar (that I'm not conducting of course), unleash the mighty multi-tasking powers that be. After-all you are on mute.

Lo

The Look and Feel

The communications team for my organization, my team, is charged with building, protecting and enhancing our brand. The goal is to unify a far-reaching system of Chapters and programs under one global mark, in complementary creative styling, and with a 'look and feel' that is synonymous with our mission. We encourage our system to properly consider our branding when developing creative collateral, engaging potential donors online, organizing event fundraisers, and building strategic relationships. Although, we have compiled a cache of templates, best practices, and arguments, there are still some Chapters looking to take the path less traveled - they want to experiment a little, and see if there isn't a better way to interpret the brand.

For the most part, our Chapters have embraced the unifying logo, but the whole 'look and feel' part of our branding has left room for some grass roots interpretation. Like any person, a Chapter wants a unique identity - It wants a look of its own. This is readily possible because our namesake program is a House. Each one has a different shape and size. It has different architecture, decor, landscaping, services and staffing. Each House has its own character and community-cued style, and much of the identity of the local Chapter's brand comes from this brick and mortar structure. We embrace it, and as my manager said yesterday, "it's more about the feel, anyway." Even though the House images might change throughout the World, the mission, character, and compassion of our brand remain in tact and unmistakable.

This week while building an argument for the look and feel of an organizational Facebook page, I took a detour on the popular social networking site to review some photos from last weekend. On my page, I can be seen donning a new Elie Tahari asymmetric black dress for an engagement party. This dress was the result of a recent craving to consume, and I'm not talking about the edible, rather the wearable. My craving started around Christmas when I hit the six month mark of shopping-depravation, but recently the fire was refueled due to several tax-season driven factors.

First came my very handsome tax refund, made possible by my Dad-doesn't-have-to-do-my-taxes-anymore, big-girl accountant. The craving was enhanced when the DOW hit 11,000 points and my company's stock reached $70. Though not yet an investor, it was signal enough that there was wealth to spend. Then, the Sex and the City 2 trailer hit YouTube and I proceeded to watch it about 30 times in a row. In its two minute length, there are perhaps 500 astounding costume changes, and I enviously compared the 40-something year-old characters' fresh wardrobes to my haven't gone shopping in a YEAR stale one.

So on Sunday - post Mass and Red Mango (my version of Sunday brunch) and before preparation of the dinner for two menu du jour - I gave into my craving after unsuccessfully trying to concentrate on my novel, A Reliable Wife. (I had just revealed that Catherine's rich suitor would send her to the big city of St. Louis to adjust her wardrobe for her new role in society - yep, I'm out.)

Since I didn't want to drive into the big city of Chicago, I thought the next best and more cost-efficient thing was to venture to Aurora - land of corn fields, a great Mexican restaurant and a pretty amazing outlet mall. They are not just Prime in Aurora, they are Premium. That means discount Armani, Ferragamo, Theory, Barney's, St. John, Kate Spade, Hugo Boss, and my downfall for the day, Elie Tahari.

As I approached, I realized I wasn't the only one attempting to break free from a state of consumer-withdrawal. Apparently, everyone got a tax refund this year and was trying to bring their media-driven fantasies to life. I literally had to park in said corn fields, beyond the parking lots because it was so crowded!

I meandered in and out of stores for a while - deeming some too crowded, chaotic, and cheap and others too quiet, stuffy, and expensive (yes, a $2500 suit discounted by 30% is still a $1750 suit.) Until ... I set foot in Elie Tahari - this one seemed to be just right. Great clothes, lots of 'good buys', and a moderate amount of buzz still to spark the shopping atmosphere.

"Can I help you find anything?" said the nice sales lady.

Hmmm ... I actually didn't know what I was looking for. As I shrugged her off with an "I'm just looking," I realized what I wanted. I had grown tired of my previously blogged about 'uniform' that I tend to wear to work everyday. And being told that wearing Wellies to work during the slushy season is not professional, was still fresh in a my mind. So I decided, that I was on a mission to build up my work wardrobe in order to better complement the company I work for, the role I perform, and where I want to go. In essence, this was part of my branding at this stage of my lifespan. I had to set a new tone for the look and feel of my personage.

Now, as a side note, I have been through many different looks in my twenties.

I've been both the butch and refined jock. Butch jock wore shorts in 30-degree South Bend weather, because my bulging thighs didn't fit into my pants anymore due to over-consumption of beer and Papa John's bread sticks, and one too many presses on the leg press machine. Refined jock, newly slenderized from muscle deterioration while studying abroad, wore high waisted J.Crew jeans, a rainbow of different colored cardigans, and Anne Klein loafers, while swearing off imbibing for fear of the sum of alcohol, munchies and weight lifting.

Then there was the blond party girl phase, which ended up turning into raven-haired party girl phase with a hint of stress-out, directionless, relatively miserable, over-worked restaurant manager that showed up in the dark circles under my eyes.

My transition look ensued, which combined the light and dark of previous years. It also brought bangs, which were a pretty heinous mistake. Not really sure what lay next in my life, I decided to embrace all my former looks in one.

In business school year 1 - I wore a lot of hats - enough said.

In business school year 2 - I embraced academia and was more or less a prepster - headbands, Sperry Topsiders, jumpers, button down shirts tucked into high-waisted pants.

In this business professional era of my life, I have decided that Theory and now Elie Tahari are my labels of choice. An edgy take on the tailored classics, that are muted and neutral, yet sophisticated and unique. Ahh ... just want I want to be in the working world at this stage of my career. So one friendly sales woman, led to a never-ending inventory of adorable dresses made for the day-to-night section of In Style magazine, a great time in the dressing room, and the paradox of guilty satisfaction when the same friendly sales woman swiped my Blue Cash American Express Card and wrapped my new dresses in plastic.

As I sauntered down Premium Outlet row, past others that were equally proud of their new purchases, that they believed might help enhance their persona, 2010, I was beaming. I called the boyfriend and alerted him of my great success and the fashion show that would be coming soon to a living room near him. His enthusiasm stemmed from mine - he was happy that I was happy. I have realized over the past couple years, that although he appreciates my outward appearance, it's not what makes me, Me. It's my character - that 'feel' that makes me who I am and is what my boyfriend loves. Sometimes my attempt at the well-dressed work 'look' turns to the 'feel' of a kind-of-unhappy, stress-embracing, can't-turn-it-off young business professional that my boyfriend doesn't like.

My Grandma and Grandpa used to always tell me as I was saying my goodbyes on their porch at 719 Forrest Avenue, 'Always stay as happy as you are.' I thought it was an odd comment at the time - like, why wouldn't I stay happy?! The ironic thing is though, there have been a couple times when I lost my genuine happiness, and in turn, kind of lost myself. My overly optimistic, enthusiastic, energetic and fun-loving essence is a big part of my brand. Through my many looks I should have concentrated on my 'feel' a little more - and that 'feel' is happiness. The sullen pouts, fatigue, and disinterest of the models and media is not me. As long as I have a smile on my face and laughter in my heart (and keep my look within certain parameters - i.e. don't pierce and tattoo every inch of my body, gain 100 pounds, or wear chintzy clothing) my boyfriend, family, friends, and co-workers will think I look amazing.

A smile is the best thing you can put on everyday. My organization knows this sentiment well - as long as our Chapters embrace compassion every day, they embrace the essence of our brand. The look part will come with maturity.

Little Orphan Annie said it the best ~ "You're never fully dressed without a Smile!"

Lo