Saturday, December 7, 2013

Working Girl

Last week, I exchanged a jello mold for a mirror. My mother-in-law needed a festive frame for the amorphous dessert she was preparing, so I offered my cranberry mold; unexpectedly, I got a large antique mirror in return.

She had noticed a general lack of reflective surfaces in my house and proposed that this family heirloom would go well in the guest room. While the intention was purely decorative in nature, I took it as the second hint in a week to spend a little more time in front of a mirror.

After growing in girth to accommodate Mary, pushing her out and finding a more internal glow, I was proud of kicking vanity to the curb. The understanding of mirrors that my classmate earned during her mission work in Calcutta was finally mine; Gone were the days of practicing my duck face in the mirror; instead I could focus on the most authentic reflection of myself - the one that I found in others.

So it came as a shock last week, when I was given professional feedback to polish my image at work. Apparently Mother Teresa's theory, along with no-fuss (read no effort) hair and makeup don't apply to the workplace.

Here's the thing; in the past decade, millions of Millennials graduated to valedictorian and salutatorian speeches that were similar to Keri's. They preached that we could; no we WOULD change the world, not with our images, but with the content of our characters. They were met with thunderous applause and charged ambitions. While many of us went off to save the world through our service work; the rest of us entered the work place with a style and presence that industry still doesn't know how to manage. What do I mean:
  • We are outspoken. And even if we are the most junior position in the room, we are going to share our perspective. When we share it, we expect applause.
  • We were never cut or picked last at dodgeball, so the notion of being left out of privileged information is foreign.
  • We wore flip flops to the White House. And don't understand why these versatile sandals are not work appropriate.  
  • We don't iron anything.
  • We love ponytails or some aberration of them.
  • We slouch. And are more interested in posing to make our arm look skinny than actually being skinny 
  • We are ruthlessly competitive, but we like to roll as a team.  
  • We eagerly read and share every Huffington Post article about why beauty is an illusion; why bone thin isn't healthy; and why focusing on our internal sense of well being is the best course of action.
  • We have been told that we can do it all, and we will.
  • As much as we know, we are still clueless.
Which brings me back to the feedback I received. For nearly five months now, I've been going to work with a wet head of hair, pulled up in a pony tail, a face wiped clean of makeup, and one of the more comfortable business casual selections that my closet has to offer. True to the words that I remember hearing at my graduation, I walked past work's mirrors and focused on the the products churning out of my cubicle.

With an eye on development and a desire to grow within my company, I recently solicited tips on reaching my goals. The one that stuck was to pay more attention to my image - that if I wanted to be a director, I needed to dress like one. Cute won't cut it. Ouch.

At first I was defensive. Then self conscious. Then expertly investigative. I did some side by side comparisons with other working women in the bathroom mirror. I looked around meeting rooms. I assessed my coworkers. And I realized that the majority of the time, I was loosing. (And I hate loosing.)

So this week, I ran some trials. I went back to the Theory section of my closet, reached for the Prada pumps, spent five minutes drying the top of my hair and applying a little makeup, and wore earrings. As much as I hate to say it, I performed better. I felt like I aced meetings, wrote better memos, and carried myself more confidently to and from my desk.

I told myself, it's not vanity, it's business. It's the cost of being a competitor in corporate America.

And I will tell my colleagues this. We have been groomed to make big change in this world, but at this point in time, we still need to groom our outer appearances to get there. It's not superficial, it's one of humanity's longest lasting super powers.

Lo. 

Monday, December 2, 2013

Bright Lights, Big Thanks

When you measure a couple feet tall and weigh a mere 17 pounds, life and all it has to offer must seem immense. I tell myself this as Mary wakes me up to play at 4:30 in the morning; and when she declares thirty minutes long enough for a nap. I'm presuming the new sites and sounds, tastes and touches, songs and dances that await her are far too exciting to sleep through. When you couple that inertia with a first time experience in the city that never sleeps; when you layer that enthusiasm with the speed, noise, and decadence of New York City; and when on top of that you execute the standard non-stop, whirlwind agenda that my parents are famous for; you might have an inkling of how exhausted I am this evening.

But despite my body's desire to curl up in bed right now, the bright lights of the big city are still shining, not only keeping me awake, but spotlighting just how precious my life and all the people in it are. And since I missed documenting most of November and with it, 30 chances to give thanks, I decided to use my long weekend in Manhattan as the backdrop for a little litany, outlining my seemingly countless blessings.

Here are 30 things, in no particular order, that I'm thankful for:

1. The black Lululemon hat with a special hole for my ponytail that Peter got me for Christmas a couple years ago.
2. Art museums. 
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3. Restaurants with impeccable service.
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4. Olay Night Repair Cream and the energy God gives me to get through another sleepless night. 
5. Christmas lights. 
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6. Mary's laugh. 
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7. The ability to put one foot in front of the other and run, run, RUN through Central Park. 
8. Reclamation projects. 
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9. French bistros, French bread, and French 75s. 
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10. Hugs that warm you from the inside, out. 
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11. Parades, marching bands and Peter's commentary on them.  
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12. A job that I love and people I love working with.  
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13. My health. 
14. Elevators and handicap accessible ramps. 
15. Back rubs. 
16. San Pellegrino sparkling water.
17. Park views and the people that have them. 
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18. Babysitters and day care teachers. 
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19. Thoughtfulness wrapped up in a really amazing piece of gourmet chocolate. 
20. Chubby cheeks. 
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21. God, my faith, and multiple Mass times. 
22. The 21 Club's corn bread. 
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23. Sisters. 
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24. And friends that seem like sisters. 
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25. Nap time. 
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26. Immediate family, extended family, family jokes and my brother's ability to deliver them.                     
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27.Markets and all the fresh food they have to offer. 
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28. Friendships that will get passed on to future generations.
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29. All the people who came before me - who built our cities, laid our foundations, paved our paths, and gave us ...
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30. Life, liberty, and happiness. 
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Lo. 

Monday, November 18, 2013

Cider's Story

Everyone knows that if walls could talk, they would have to a lot to say. The walls that frame our house have more than 70 years of stories to tell.

What you might not know though, is that if the mighty cider press could tell its tale - the one that spends it days and nights waiting patiently on our screened in porch for its seasonal shift - you would certainly want to cozy up for its musings. But since the old press remains on quiet ground, I'll take a stab and elaborate for it.

Like anything that my Grandpa built or bought, the cider press is as sturdy and steady as can be.

It used to live in the garage of 126 East Edgewood - my grandparents house. There it would wait. For the apple trees lining the yard to mature; for the fruit to grow and ripen; for the leaves to change; for the first fall breeze to knock a couple apples down. It would wait to hear the cars pull down the driveway, the laughter of the grandkids, and their dutiful picking, wheel barrow loading and carting of apples.

It would wait for my Grandpa to pull it out into the crisp autumn air and for all the generations to gather around. It would wait to dust itself off and claim the spotlight for one special day a year - to do one special job that only it knew how to do. That is, turn Red Delicious, Braeburn, Jonathon, Macintosh and Gala apples into liquid gold.
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It had a way of easing up its mechanism for the younger generations and holding stubborn ground for the uncles. With Grandpa leading the charge, knowing its every secret, it would press the sweet apples down, down, down, squeezing the juices until they flowed from the sides and foam and froth seeped from its pores. It's succulent waterfall wouldn't dry up until each of the family's empty milk jugs were filled with its nectar.
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Proudly, it would survey its work - the juicy fruits of its labors. Satisfied by the enthusiastic trade up from Coca-Cola to cider and the smiles on all the grandkids' faces, it would succumb to its scrub down and retreat once again to its little suburban niche where it would wait till next year.

After one cider season, the press' bath was a little more final and its wait a little longer. It patiently anticipating the sound of the cars, the grandchildren, and the apples. But life - football games, universities, school plays - got in the way. With the passing of time, it graduated from one role to another - keeping my grandpa company as he canned his vegetables, fixed things, and told him story after story about the love of his life.

A couple years ago, when my Grandpa passed and a new family moved into his house, the cider press went for a drive across the Midwest - from Pennsylvania to Illinois where it moved in with me and Peter. It didn't know its future and it missed its partner in crime.

I think it remembered me though when it arrived at our house. It remembered my chubby cheeks and my love for its foam. I think it perked up as Peter put its pieces back together and dusted a decade off. With its first press in a long time, it was rusty and tired, but with a couple practice turns, it found its rhythm once again. And I swear I saw it smile.

This year, it got to meet the next generation and show little Mary its might - all that it could do. It understood that Mary still favored milk over its masterpiece, but loved that she got a little taste of perfection.
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When it comes down to it, Cider's story is simple. It brings people together, it bridges generations, it knows just what to do with a piece of fruit and it knows how to make food play the supporting role in its annual party.
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And as long as its juices flow, it keeps my Grandpa close to me.
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Lo.

Apple Rarebit Bites 
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Ingredients:
Baguette
2 tablespoons butter, softened
1 Granny Smith apple, thinly sliced
1/2 cup blue cheese
1/4 cup sour cream
1 tablespoon Worcester sauce
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon honey
Cracked pepper

Directions:
Thinly slice baguette. In a skillet or on a baking sheet, spread butter. Place baguette slices on top, rubbing them in butter as you lay them down. Bake at 375 degrees for 10-15 minutes until lightly toasted. Set aside.

Mix together blue cheese, sour cream, Worcester, mustard, honey and pepper. Place an apple slice on each crouton and then place a dollop of cheese mixture on top of the apple. Broil for no more than 5 minutes, until cheese topping is lightly browned. Serve warm.

Creamy Watercress Dip
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Ingredients:
2 bundles of watercress, cleaned and trimmed
Handful fresh parsley
4 chives
2 scallions
1 cup cottage cheese
1/4 cup mayonnaise
Juice of half of a lemon
Salt

Directions:
In a food processor, combine all ingredients. Add salt to taste. Serve with a variety of vegetables.