The Report of My Death is Greatly Exaggerated

I love learning new technology (is that where Corey gets it, or did I get it from him?). You might remember my post about the individual who couldn’t find me and so I had to up my technology presence (if I were good with this blogging yet, I’d figure out how to link you to that post!).

I have a number of “Google alerts” set up for various internet/news/interest issues that I like to follow: Conrad Black; Integrity; Employment Law; etc. I also set up a Google alert for the name “Brenda Glover”. I can find out if anything on the net is posted with my name attached to it. So, that is how I found out this week that I died!

Actually, it was Brenda Dianne Glover who died, not Brenda Mary Maureen Glover. Good for me; tragic for Brenda D. Glover. Scary, she is really really close to my age. Rest in Good Peace, Brenda Dianne Glover.

A new acquaintance of mine googled me after they met me. She found that an award-winning paper that I wrote while I was at law school was posted on the Net and congratulated me on it. Cool! (note to file: did I copyright that paper?). People do google!

Continuing on the technology front, Kelly has taught me how to have a video call with her. It is stunningly an amazing way to connect with her. All you need is an MSN messenger account (free), a computer with a webcam (not free) and a microphone (built in or internal to the computer, but not free). Then you can see each other and talk to each other for as long as you want, for free!! So Star Trekky. Don’t beam me up yet, Scotty, I’m having too much joy talking to Kelly. Besides, you already beamed up one Brenda (Dianne) Glover and one Brenda Glover is enough for now, as many of my family and friends would tell you about the nightmare of having me up there!

During a video call I can even carry the laptop around the house and show her stuff. Jim and I were debating about how I hate the way he has set up the re-painted family room. I couldn’t do it because of the broken arm (link would be to that post here if I knew how to do it...). I told him he could keep it the way he liked it but Kelly would be the arbitrator of the dispute. Kelly, because she was always rearranging her furniture and I always liked the way she did it.

So, I carried the laptop downstairs and did a real-time, virtual tour for her. Jim won the toss on that one. But now I’m waiting for Lynn’s opinion because she is the real estate star. No, that wasn’t part of the rules going in. But when you’re losing in the game, try to change the rules!

My next challenge is to figure out how to link to previous posts and how to post all the great comments I am getting via e-mail – including some great stories and suggestions for posts from other people. You can post your comments here but you have to know how to do that.

I also have to figure out simple instructions for people to access the RSS feed for the post, since they want to keep following the new posts but don’t know how to do it. (interim workaround, save the blog to your favourites and keep checking in.) The next blog may be about you!

Stay tuned, Scotty.

Shoot for the Moon

I love this picture. The little guy in the suit, Jack, is the son of John G. Roberts, the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court. The picture was taken on September 6, 2005 when Justice Roberts was being nominated by President George W. Bush for the Chief Justice post, the biggest legal job in the United States. You can’t get any higher than that if you are an American lawyer.

Little Jack no doubt knew how important this day was to his dad. After all, he was wearing a suit, was probably briefed by his Mom about etiquette and manners, and was in the spotlight of a legion of cameras trained on him and his family. But is Jack standing by at attention, looking all awkward and wanting-to-be-anyplace-else-but-here?

No, he is “shooting the webs off”. Jack’s apparent hero is not his dad, however momentous the occasion for his family and his country. Jack’s hero de jour is Spiderman! And he’s doing his best Spiderman impersonation at that moment in this picture.

Jack is five years old and doesn’t understand, or even care, that there is a lot of complicated physics involved in shooting a web. He thinks if only he tried enough that he might be just get to be Spiderman.

So, I love the picture because Jack is playing out his Dad’s success in Superhero terms. It’s conceivable that John G. Roberts might have had a dream to become Chief Justice. It’s realistic to believe that his chances were minimal, given the fact that there are over a million lawyers in the U.S. No doubt Chief Justice Roberts believed that if you strived hard enough for something, it might come true. His aspiring Superhero Son seems to believe the same thing.

The picture depicts one of my philosophies: “Shoot for the Moon. Even if you miss, you will land among the Stars”.

Given the lesson I’ve learned from Jack, I’ll add: “And if ever you feel you might not make it, but you’re just within sight of the Moon, shoot the webs off”!

[p.s. as I researched the links for this post, I learned that the G. in John G. Roberts is “Glover” as in John Glover Roberts. Jim’s middle name is Robert. Jim’s father name was John Robert Glover. Follow my trail: there were two Roberts then in Jim’s family. But John Robert Glover was known to his family and friends as Jack. How cool is that! Jim’s dad truly was a superpower to all who knew him. We hope there is a place in heaven, Jack Glover, where you can shoot the webs off!]

Tearful Goodbyes

Those of you who have children know what it is like to say goodbye to them. The first day of day care; the first time you leave them with a babysitter; the first time they go away by themselves on vacation; the first time they go out on a date with a stranger to you; the first time they go away to begin their own life.

I had to say goodbye to Kelly when she left for California. We had a summer of goodbyes (parties, dinners, moments) but the time came to leave her on the road to her adulthood last August. I had spent a week with her in Berkeley to help her get set up (we became Pros of the Ikea Assembly Key!). I can honestly tell you that I had tears in my throat and an ache in my stomach every time I thought of the moment when I would be leaving her, all alone, without friends, almost 3,000 miles away. I thought I held it together until Kelly played a song for me that Todd downloaded for her. It is called “My Wish For You”. I stood in her beautiful kitchen overlooking the San Francisco Bay, dishcloth in hand, with tears streaming down my face. She hugged me and I know I held on a moment too long.

How very fast a week can go. Too soon she is walking me to the subway where I head on the train for the airport. We go down the stairs and I’m wondering where I will find the courage to leave my baby alone in California. At the turnstile, she tells me that there are simply no words to thank me and then hands me a letter. She asks me not to open it until I am on the plane. My eyes start to well up and she pleads “Mom, please don’t have me walk away crying”. So, I suck it up, give her a good sized Mommy hug, and leave her so she can start her adult journey.

Despite it burning a hole in my pocket, I did wait until I got on the plane before I opened the letter. The letter echoes a shortened version the “The Paradox of Our Age” but with Kelly’s additions.

She wrote about how I gave her everything that the “paradox” claims we don’t have in “our age”: sound judgment, good sense, family, health, quantity and quality, and deep relationships.

“The Paradox of Our Age” has a line: “It is a time when there is much in the show window, but nothing in the stockroom”, signifying a life of splash with no substance. Kelly’s letter ends with:

You showed me how to have much in the window,
But also taught me how to have much in the room.
“Thank you” is not even enough
I’ll always be Your Baby Girl...

At this time, I am high up over the Nevada desert in a crowded airplane sobbing and shaking with emotion. The little boy beside me whispers to his mom, “Mom, the lady beside me is crying. What should I do?” So, not wanting to upset him, I once again suck it up, put away the letter, and dry my eyes. How did Kelly know that little boy would be seated serendipitously beside me on the plane?

As I made my way home to the empty nest, I knew I was spending the first of many more lifetime minutes missing my baby girl. But even though I was leaving my treasure in the California sunshine, I was taking two precious gifts with me. The knowledge that I had helped Kelly to become the success she is. And, when the missing her becomes too poignant, a beautiful song that reminds me why we had to say goodbye.

What's in a Name?

How do you go about renaming a dog that has been bequeathed to you? Karen gave us her dog (see my previous post about the Rainbow bridge). Jim and I are laughingly thinking of renaming her. Her full name is Suzie Q. Her new name should be Suzie Shadow or Suzie Sentry because she follows Jim wherever he goes during the day. When he moves, she moves. She is never more than two inches from his side. She seems to have re-dedicated her life from Karen to Jim. I know Karen would be happy that Suze is happy.

The renaming conversation reminded me of the time that Corey wanted to change his first name. He was about eleven. He had just been at a baseball game where Storm Davis lobbed him a ball from the warm up pen. So, Corey decided he wanted to change his name to Storm. Storm Glover.

So for a few weeks, Jim and I humoured him and called him Storm. If we forget, “Corey” would remind us that he was no longer to be called “Corey”, he was now Storm.

I researched name changes and found out that it cost some $75.00 at the time to process a legal name change. And Corey wanted it to be processed legally. I said that his dad and I would pay half the cost, but Corey would have to pay the other half to become “Storm”.

As you can imagine, $37.50 is a lot of money for an eleven year old. How to choose – the name change or saving for the latest and greatest video game? I got the paperwork done but by the time it came to payment, Corey had decided that he really didn’t need to be Storm if it cost $37.50 (score to the video game).

(As an aside, my Mom said at the time that she adamantly refused to call him “Storm” even if he got his named legally changed. She said that she would re-characterize his nickname to be “Corey” because he would always be Corey to her.)

There is no charge for changing Suzie Q’s name, but there are a whole bunch of memories stored in her name. I don’t think we will change it. What do you think, almost-Storm Glover?

Looking at Life Upside Down

A few years ago, I bought Kelly a new plaque for her room. It is a ceramic of Eeyore standing on his head that says “some days look better upside down”. With all of the strife that Kelly has been through in her life, I thought it signified how we can look at our life “upside down” and maybe see things from a different perspective. The glass half full philosophy.

Something that happened to me this week really did play out the “look upside down” theory. I was at an Italian restaurant with good friends. I left to go to the “Ladies Room”. It was downstairs. When I got to the bottom there were two doors. One was marked with a “W”, one was marked with an “M”. Well, I thought, this is easier than the cutesy picture some restaurants put on their bathroom doors. In those restaurants, you spend a few minutes making sure you have translated the language or the artsy depiction so that you are going in the right door. This was easy – “W” is women and “M” is men. (Although, who ever excuses themselves to go to the “Women’s Room”!?)

I walk into the “W” room. It is a room that is really two rooms. The first room has a urinal (???!!!) and a sink. The second room, off the first room, is a toilet. I’m thinking: why a urinal in a ladies room? Is this a unisex bathroom? (I’ve been to France ;-) Or is the urinal really a bidet? I assess the urinal to see if it is a bidet (not that I’ve ever own a bidet, but I think I know the difference). No, it’s a urinal. I walk back out the door to see if I’ve picked the right room. Yes, “W” is on the door. I’m afraid to look in the other room with the “M” on the door in case there is someone doing his business in there.

Oh, well, I really need to go so I go into the bathroom where the commode (a fancier word for toilet) is, lock the door connecting the two rooms and hope that I will not be walking out to find some random dude at the urinal in all of his glory.

When I go back upstairs, I tell my two girlfriends about it. They head downstairs to check it out (there is safety in numbers!). They are positively killing themselves laughing when they come up. They have discovered that the simple iron letters of “W” and “M” are each on a loose nail. Someone has turned each of the letters around so that the “W” became “M” and the “M” became “W”. There is no urinal in the signed “M” room!

Definitely a moment where I should have looked at life upside down!

Good to Know I'm Normal...

Kelly is in California pursuing a PHD in Philosophy. Todd is her boyfriend and he makes frequent visits to see her in California. He is in California as we speak. Kelly and Todd love debating each other on issues. Okay, we’ve set the stage for the story. Camera: action.

I get a call and it is from Kelly. Just a quick question. What do you call a dish that is layered with ground beef, corn, maybe peas, and a layer of mashed potatoes on top? Shepherd’s Pie, I say. But is it still called Shepherd’s Pie if it’s not made with pie crust? Well, it can be made with pie crust, but if you don’t have a lot of money or time, you don’t use the pie crust – but you still call it Shepherd’s Pie. Usually, you make it in a pie dish, nevertheless. But if you make it not in a pie dish, say in a square dish, why do you still call it a pie? Isn’t it wrong to call it a pie?

Apparently, according to Todd, it would still be called a pie. According to the gathering of philosophy students that Kelly is surrounded by (poor Todd, outnumbered!), it is questionable whether the dish should still be called a pie. Todd thinks – and here he is right – that only philosophy people care about those type of questions. So, they all decided to call a “normal person” to get an opinion. I am delighted to say that I am officially a “normal person” in the eyes of the PHD candidates at the University of California at Berkeley. High praise indeed.

In true Academy fashion, I’d like to thank my mother for making me a normal person (and serving a mean crust-less Shepherd’s pie). I’d like to thank my kindergarten teacher who taught me what normal would look like on the playground. I’d like to thank all of my brothers and sisters who called be abnormal (or words to that effect) so often that I understood what normality was supposed to pass for in our family. I’d like to thank my husband for standing by me in all my normality. I’d like to thank all of the many people [fade to black and academy music plays...]

To paraphrase Sally Fields’ words, “I’m normal. You really, really think I’m normal”.

A Trucker in my Toolkit

I went to have a meeting with a client this week that involved a solitary 5 ½ hour car ride, each way, there and back (Jim decided not to be my chauffeur this time and stay home with Susie Q – the love of his life, having replaced me ;-). Two hours of the stretch of highway coming home was two lanes, in the darkness on winding north country roads, with trucks coming at me every ten seconds in the opposite lane like bats out of hell. My inclination was to boot it out of there, but my saner self said to take it slower and make it home alive.

The solution: stay behind a ten-wheeler (but don’t try this on the 401 where trucks seem to lose all their social skills). You may be going slower but life in a slower lane may be safer:

• The truck ahead has bigger lights than you so you can see what is ahead better than if you go it alone.
• If a moose runs out into the road, he/she is going to run out and hit the truck. not you; the truck would survive if hit. In any event, better the truck sacrificed than you.
• The truck driver, sitting higher up in a seat than you in a car, can see dangers on the road before you do. Follow his/her lead.
• Trucks coming in the opposite direction will make space for something as big as they are. They will hug the centre line if approaching a car; they won’t if they are facing something as big as they are.
• The truck will slow down when approaching a curve where you might not have. You are forced to slow down and take the curve with the truck.
• Trucks will move into the right lane when the highway opens to allow a passing lane. They respect the fact that you might want to pass. If you don’t pass, they respect that too.
  

A big shout out to the Thibodeau driver who was on highway 11 between New Liskeard and North Bay yesterday between 5 and 6 p.m. Thanks for being my guide.

As I drove yesterday, I was reminded of driving home in a blinding rain storm from my sister’s cottage. I was picking up my niece for a special visit. Mom had died recently and I missed her desperately. My mom would have been beaming with pleasure that my niece and I were connecting over a visit. The road I was travelling on (same highway as yesterday, in fact) was treacherous and I was white-knuckle terrified. Should I carry on, or should I go back? If I go back, I’ll disappoint my niece. Can I find the courage to go forward, though? I couldn’t even see out the windows and the windshield wipers were all but useless. I knew, though, that at various points on the side of the road, there was no barrier and my car – if I made a wrong move, would topple into darkness. Maybe I should go back? What price to disappoint my niece?

Not only that, the dome light in my car is on and I can’t turn it off. It is not helping and, indeed, it is making it worse – I’m having trouble making out the shadows of the road because my car inside is lit up and it’s casting weird shadows that just aren’t there. I’m pushing all kinds of buttons in the car trying to figure out how to turn off this nightmare light.

Just at my lowest point, two trucks arrive out of the driving rain. One is in front of me; one is in back of me. They deliver me safely to the point where highway 11 meets highway 400 and I can finally see again. And, weird of all weird, just then the dome light goes off all on its own.

I know as sure as I am sitting here writing this that my Mom was watching over me that day and helping me on my journey, as she always did. I believe. She heaven-delivered those trucks to me that many years ago and she dispatched Mr. Thibodeau Truck to me yesterday.

It is indeed strange how the lessons of the past help us to travel in the future. I would not have known that the best idea would be to follow the truck yesterday had I not had the awful experience a number of years ago. We just have to look for the patterns in our life and figure out that what made us successful in the past will help us weave the treacherous paths of our future.

There is an exercise that I recommend to people who are going through a stressful change. Plot your life on a line graph, showing the highs and lows of your life (marriage, child, death, losing a job, bankruptcy, your spouse having an affair, getting the job of your dreams, whatever). For each point on the graph, list what skills and strengths you possessed, or the tools you used, to get you through the event. Use those very same strengths and skills to get through the change you are currently going through. You will find that each time you go through a stressful event, you add one more tool to your kit to help you face the next one.

My toolkit involves truckers! What does yours include?

Today is the Day to Use Your Wings

I love meeting new people. And, I especially love meeting new people who have a story to tell that is inspirational. Like how to get yourself out of a rut. I too often hear people complain about their jobs or their lives and how they wish for change. But, almost before the next breath, they are telling me why they can’t change their “awful” existence. The excuses are boundless, but still they continue in the rut. And, as they say, the only difference between a rut and a grave is its depth.

So, here’s the story. I’m asking someone about how she became the Executive Director of a very important non-profit, charitable organization that provides short-term crisis support to victims of crime, tragic circumstance and disaster. Turns out, she had a job as a parish secretary and was withering on the vine; unchallenged and in a career rut. She tried to find another job that would challenge and excite her. However, her resume was a show stopper. Most people (myself included, I confess) don’t know what a parish secretary does and whether the responsibilities involve only serving tea to the priest or organizing the annual bake sale. (They don’t, but that’s not the point.)

So, brave soul that she is, she decides to quit, rather than die on that vine, and go on EI. But not to be feeding at the public trough, she signs up for a program called Job Connect. She works for a local municipality doing special events and community building functions. She builds her skills and her network and displays her abilities and strengths. Along comes the opportunity at the charitable organization and she has now demonstrated to the world that – job titles aside - she is capable of far more than the previously perceived “would you like a scone with that tea” job. Point is, she employed those skills all along as parish secretary, but nobody knew because the title of the job defined her as something lesser.

She moved sideways in order to move up in her career. She took risks. She stepped off the cliff and was prepared to fall and fail. She didn’t just stay in the job and complain to anyone who cared to listen that it wasn’t for her any longer. And now she is playing an important role on her new stage. Even though she was the same person throughout her journey to today, she now has a title in an organization that shouts: Wow! An inspirational story.

When I left a big-title, big-responsibility job at the City of Toronto, I had nothing to fall back on but my skills and my determination. A friend of mine gave me a card that said:

When you come to the edge of all the light you have,
and must take a step into the darkness of the unknown,
either there will be something solid for you to stand on,
or you will fly

Time now for you to take that step. Use those invisible wings that we all have. And, safe flight!

Stay Gold

Some days I wonder why I have been chosen to be so blessed in my life. Was it something that I did growing up? Was I born under a lucky star? Was my life destined to be filled with the most wonderful people on earth? How did I earn the treasures that grace my life? Was there a recipe that combined "me" with a blend of all the most special ingredients that would bring joy to my days?

I got a package deal when I found the love of my life, Jim. With him came the most beautiful six month old baby that was the loving product of his union with Sharon Glover. The little girl grew up calling me "Mom" well before I earned the title. Lynn allowed me to cut my teeth on that daunting role of being a mother and she always accepted the fact that I was still in a learning mode. And, I often believe, she taught me more than I taught her.

It's funny that people always said that I would love my own children more than I love Lynn, solely because the children-to-be were mine and mine alone (of course, their Dad would play some part in that!). And, I say to those people, after thirty some years of being favoured with the pleasure of being Lynn's mom, that they are so very, very wrong. Lynn will always have the special place in my heart that whispers back to me: "You are my mom; and I love you; and I know that you will always love me." Because, you are my mom.

Lynn was the first to share with me this poem:

After a while you learn the subtle difference

Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

And presents aren't promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats

With your head up and your eyes open,

With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads

On today because tomorrow's ground

Is too uncertain.

And futures have

A way of falling down in mid-flight,

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting

For someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure...

That you really are strong,

And you really do have worth

And you learn and learn.

With every goodbye you learn.

Every time I reread the beautiful words of this verse, I think about how Lynn has decorated my Soul. And how she has taught me to embrace every new challenge with love and courage.

My sister recently said that if she were as young as Lynn, or Lynn if were my sister's age, that Lynn would be the type of friend that she would want to have to share her world. Although she didn't quite put it that way, I know she was feeling the same way as I do: Lynn decorates your Soul. I am so profoundly grateful to be her Friend and her Mom. Stay Gold, Lynn.

Let Me Introduce You; Let Me Make You Smile

A friend of mine is always saying that I should write a book because the most interesting things happen, or have happened, in my family. He marvels at the stories and thinks others would too. So, here's an interesting story.

It is somewhere around October 15, 2007. My almost-twenty-seven year old son calls (an unusual occurrence) and asks if his Dad and I would be home that afternoon. "Nope", I said, "Dad is working but he'll be home about 7:00 p.m."
"Okay, can I come over then? I have something to talk to you both about." "Okay", I said, "come about 7:30 p.m."

You can imagine: between that phone call and 7:30 I conjured up all manner of things that he needed to talk to us about. Corey simply is not a talkative person so it must be something important. Is he going to jail? Has he lost his job? Has he found out that he has a terminal illness? Does he need to borrow money because his rent is months behind? I am making up all sorts of possibilities in my mind and figuring out the appropriate response to each, well before he even crosses the threshold. (Is it a 'momism' that all of the things I was conjuring up were tragedies?)

7:30 p.m. arrives. Jim and I are in a state of worried anticipation. Corey arrives and is "chatting" (if you know Corey, "chatting" is a foreign language) for a minute or two, but it is obvious there is something pressing on his mind that he needs to share.

Here we go, I'm thinking. "So, what's up, honey?" "Well", says Corey, "do you know how you have been wanting to be a grandmother for a few years now?" "Yes", I say. "Well, how would you like it if it happened sooner rather than later?" "Corey, is there something you need to tell us?" "Why don't I just show you?", he says.

He gets up out of the living room chair and goes out to his car. Seconds later, he walks in through the door with a two-week old baby, my grandson Ayden James Garib Glover. He presents him to me like he is bestowing gold. And, he is. I am beyond delighted! Jim is beyond delighted! We are speechless, and question-less over why we didn't know this blessed event was even on the horizon. He tells us that Natasha – Ayden's Mom – insisted Corey make an appointment with us ('cause we are so rarely at home) to finally tell us about Ayden, lest Ayden would be in Kindergarten before we found out!

Ayden turned one year old at the end of September. And he is gold.

Although, I do have to laugh at his antics. In this picture, he is going after the wires for Corey's precious X-Box. Turn it off, Daddy, I want your full attention!

There is a saying that Grandchildren are God's gift for growing older. How true – once you are beyond bringing your own children into the world, there is no gift more special than a grandchild. Love you, Ayden! May you be as precious to your parents as Your Daddy is to me.

The Rainbow Bridge

I was talking to my cousin today about life since his beloved Karen passed away. He was telling me the story about the rainbow bridge and how the story was comforting to Karen as she passed from this life to the next. A link to the rainbow bridge story can be found by clicking here.

Before Karen left to travel over the Rainbow Bridge, she gave Jim and I a wonderful gift. Through a journey of generosity, she bequeathed us Suzie Q.

Suzie is a ten-year-old Australian Cattle Dog who has graced our lives with her affection and her protection. She and Jim have a special love affair going on. In fact, today I was chastising Jim over something (actually, over allowing Suzie to follow him into our all-white bathroom where she invariably leaves a trail of black dog hair!). Suzie left Jim's side – a rare occurrence when he is anywhere within sniffing distance of her – and gave me a gentle bump with her nose on my leg. It was almost as if she were now chiding me for chastising her beloved. As usual, with all events Suzie Q, Jim and I shared a moment of laughter.

Not only is she a source of affection and laughter for us, she is also a great protector. Woe beholds the person who comes to the door unannounced and opens it. Although Jim and I still have an "open door" policy, it is now postscripted with a caution to let us know when you are coming so we can introduce you to Suzie as a friend and not someone she has to protect us from. Suzie makes our ADT security system pale in comparison! Although I'm told by my good friend, Janine, that "the first bite is free", I'd be rather choosy about who was the object of Suzie's only free morsel.

I am so grateful that Suzie is on this side of the Rainbow Bridge. Rest assured, Karen, we will return to her the same love, affection, and protection as she is giving us – until she is ready to cross the Bridge to be with you once more.

Living Life Forward

Life must be understood backward. But it must be lived forward.

Finally, a Kelly Story. Lots of people told me that one of the reasons they looked forward to reading my blog is because I might revive the "Kelly Stories" that took shape during my law school years. So, here's the first one about the Berkeley Babe.

To tell the story, I have to go backwards. It is about a year ago. The phone rings and I pick it up. It's Kelly. I'm surprised to hear from her because she is supposed to be writing her GRE and according to the schedule, she probably has an hour left in the exam, so she shouldn't be calling at that moment.

"Mom, can you pick me up at the Kipling Station?" "Yes", I said – and that's all, because I can hear the stress in her voice that brooks no further questions. "Okay, but you pick me up – not Dad". Uh, oh, not good, I am thinking but not saying; after all, Dad is her chauffeur not Mom. "Okay". "And, can you bring my cigarettes?" Ditto uh, oh. Kelly doesn't smoke during the day. "Right, I'm on my way".

A few minutes later, she is sitting in the car and she is beyond devastated. She absolutely knows that she didn't do well on the GRE and she's thinking that the future couldn't be more grimmer (bad grammar that phrase, but apt). Nevertheless, as we talk it through, she makes a plan to canvass her professors about the weight of the GRE on admission to graduate school. Her professors assure her that, while the GRE scores do carry some weight depending on the particular university, a low score is not a complete bar to admission.

So, she carries on toward her dream and carefully selects universities to apply to. She avoids those that, although she might like to go to, her research (or her gut) tells her a GRE score carries too much weight at that school to even bother trying.

Fast forward, many crazy months later and she has finally selected the University of California at Berkeley. Wow! (Many more stories about Berkeley to tell on this blog, all of which to follow.)

A few weeks after beginning her PHD program, she goes to a conference in Santa Clara, California. There she meets up with a pre-eminent philosopher professor from Princeton University. She tells him that his learned paper was the subject of a criticism that she wrote (about his position on the particular philosophy!) and used in order to gain admission into her graduate program. Gutsy move, I'm thinking at the time she is telling me this.

The professor is intrigued and asks her to recount her criticism for her. She goes off on a ten minute rant (her words, not mine). At some point, he stops her and asks her why in the world she didn't apply to Princeton. Obviously, he is beyond impressed with her.

She tells him that she didn't apply because she thought it would be hopeless given her low GRE scores.

No doubt you can guess how the conversation ends: He tells her that Princeton doesn't give much weight to the GRE scores!!

A lesson that Kelly learned backward. As Wayne Gretzky said, "You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take".

However, in typical Kelly fashion, she loves Berkeley and fits right in there. I'm not sure how much she would enjoy the elitist attitude that Princeton conjures up for me. So, like the beginning quote on this blog attributed to Kierkegaard, Kelly is learning all the right lessons in life but choosing to live forward.

[A mother note: I'm happy that she didn't choose Princeton. Although it is miles and many minutes closer to home than Berkeley, New Jersey doesn't sound nearly as exciting a place to visit as California...if she's going to be gone from my life, I'd rather it be to somewhere as fascinating as minutes-from-San-Francisco.]

The Berkeley Babe, living life forward.

You are known by the Company You Keep and the Shirts You Wear

Those of you who are closest to me know how I loathe those supposed-to-be-sayings on T-shirts. So, it came back to me today as I read an article of a father who tragically left his children to die in -50 degree weather in Saskatchewan. It is a heartbreaking story and the father is said to be ``a doting father`` who feels ``tremendous guilt``. He made a mistake, clouded by alcohol and frostbite and hypothermia.

Okay, so why is he wearing this shirt when he is living through the biggest tragedy of his life? There is a reason why attorneys pick out the clothes of the defendants. I mean, what is this shirt saying to you? How in the world can we take his pain seriously if he throws on the first thing that is handy in his closet -- which is the only way I can explain wearing this shirt!

My mother always said -- we are known by the company we keep and the clothes we wear. How very true.