Tag Archives: Linda Thornton

Moving Mania: It All Depends What State You’re In

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Where is everyone going? Whether it’s housing or job related, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, one in every 8.5 people are relocating.

I’m not sure how it all started for me. Somewhere between a curiosity about a peripatetic lifestyle, longing to eat dinner with my extended family every Sunday and meeting Mr. Wiz* (who was a “retail brat,” moving with his family each time his father was transferred), it just happened. Once it did, I took pleasure in the fact that, with each move, the slate was wiped clean and I had the opportunity to start over and reinvent myself.

When I look back, each experience had its unique qualities. I tried to find the best of every city, made it my own while I lived there, then happily moved on, tucking those memories away into the layers that formed who I am today:

  • Mr. Wiz moves from Cleveland, Ohio to a Park Avenue studio in New York City. We start our sales representative business together. Business cards look great, but no one is invited to his cramped quarters.
  • Little by little, Mr. Wiz is moving his belongings to my place in Mohegan Lake, New York. He presents a spreadsheet at dinner one evening, showing me that we could afford a New York City showroom for our business if we move in together: deal done!
  • Our Mohegan Lake rental goes co-op. We spearhead our fellow renters to unite for better purchase terms and are relieved to find out that the young couple with a new business who are turned down for a loan is not us.
  • Executives from an English company fly over for the day to meet us and offer us both a position. It’s too good to pass up and we’re off to Lake Bluff, Illinois.
  • A Chicago company with a subsidiary in Arkansas sweetens the pot just enough and our next stop is Heber Springs, Arkansas.
  • Mr. Wiz excitedly surprises me with his idea to buy a historic building in nearby Mountain View, Arkansas. Once a car dealership, it’s now utilized as a warehouse by the company he is running. We scrape the black paint off the windows and experiment with selling their products at the upcoming Bean Festival. Fifty thousand tourists crowd the little town, we sell out, renovate the building, move upstairs and our store Mountain View Mercantile is born.
  • Once Big A* is born, we are starting to wonder where he will go to school (Arkansas is not high in its educational rankings) and missing family and friends. We head back to Merrick, New York, a suburb of N.Y.C. and home of my parents.
  • As hard as we try, we just don’t seem to fit into the suburban lifestyle. This time, rather than have the job dictate our new city, Mr. Wiz decides that we should first choose the city and the job will follow. We choose Chicago and after a few phone calls, he is offered a position there.
  • From our city rental, we move to a city condo.
  • We move two more times within the same condo building. It’s a win-win; Mr. Wiz gets to gut and renovate and Big A and I are happy not to have to leave the area.
  • We (J.C.*, Mr. Wiz and I) decide to put our Chicago condos up for sale. They both sell quicker than expected and before we know it, we are in Austin, Texas, signing leases for rental apartments.
  • Our heads have almost stopped spinning. Once we get our bearings, I’m not sure what will be next.

The word moving is defined as “to change one’s place, position or residence; to make progress; to advance.” In one way or another, I hope that I never stop moving.

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page.

I Danced with a Man with No Legs (and Other Inexplicable Moments)

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Photo Inexplicable 2Coincidences? I like to think that things happen for a reason and if you take the time to analyze each situation, you will come up with its rationale. What I first thought were rather strange occurrences were really just wonderful experiences in disguise:

When I read about the dance in the church bulletin, something told me to get out of my comfort zone and go alone. My first husband and I had just separated and I was feeling sad and lonely. A young man with a great smile asked me to dance a couple of times and then we sat and chatted. I complimented him on his dancing skills and he said “…Not bad for a man with no legs….” He then went on to tell me that he had lost both legs in a motorcycle accident and had been fitted for prostheses. He opened up about how he was determined to not let that accident change his life. I listened in awe, embarrassed by the drama I had created in my mind over what now seemed like minor issues that I was facing. I never saw him again, but after that evening I resolved to get back to positive thinking and get on with my life.

Before I deleted my Facebook profile, I decided to look up one of Big A’s* pre-school classmates that had suddenly popped into my mind; I’m not sure why. I just wanted to glance at her home page, which is visible to all, without having to “friend” her. I was so happy to see that she had recently gotten engaged. The next morning, the hair on my arms stood straight up when I saw an email from her asking for our new address so she could send us a wedding invitation.

My dad had just died and I had put his business card in a frame at my bedside. A great marketer, he had created the persona of the “Gentleman Roofer.” I loved seeing the picture of him in a bowler hat, smiling back at me from the card each day. I awoke one morning and was amazed to see the metal frame of the picture sparkling! Though the technical reason was the combination of the sun hitting the frame just right and the movement of the ceiling fan, I like to think that it was my dad letting me know that he was OK.

It was my dad’s birthday. I kissed the little frame at my bedside and asked him to give me a sign that he was all right. As I walked to work, I was startled to see a can lying in the street near the curb, across from the convenience store. I rolled it over with my foot and gasped. It was a can of Progresso Wedding Soup, my dad’s favorite. I picked up the can, carried it lovingly to work and enjoyed it slowly for lunch, thinking of the times we would cook together, even making our version of that same soup.

Be open, be attentive and look for signs all-around you. Slow down enough to let the little surprises in life astonish you and enjoy the inexplicable moments.

 

 

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page.

 

 

Unfriend Me, Please; Unsure About Social Media

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I am still harboring some old tech fears that I am dealing with. Once, when Big A* was a little boy and I was home alone on a dark, rainy afternoon, I heard mumbling sounds coming from his bedroom. Seems his “hungry” Tamagotchi (his handheld, digital pet) had awakened his Furby (his electronic robotic toy). My motherly instincts were at odds with the fact that these were not the most attractive of pets and I panicked.

Now that I am a Blogger, I felt that I had to get up to speed. Everything I read said that Facebook was my road to success. Armed with every idiot’s guide printed, and attending all the classes available (I am now on a first name basis with the entire staff at my local library), my Type A personality, which insists I know everything about a topic before I proceed, was not helping the situation.

But, then I thought of that old Nike slogan “Just do it!” and decided to proceed. I did get waylaid when I felt it necessary to check my phone and accidentally hit the FaceTime button, seeing my face, as I guess it looks first thing in the morning. I’m not sure how long it will take me to get that image out of my head.

I was not intending to get too chummy with Facebook; just create a business page for my blog and be on my way. But, it seems that in order to have a business page, you must first create a personal profile. With no way out of it, I put together a cryptic assemblage of non information and still felt uneasy, hoping not to hear from the lunch ladies at my grade school or all the insurance salesmen I went to high school with. I thought it would be fun to look up a few people, but I felt as if I were peeking through their blinds and watching them without them knowing it.

Now all I had to do was convince my Facebook friends to like my business page and I was all set. My finger hovered over the friend finder, realizing that this one click would start an avalanche of friend requests, newsfeed posts, photos, videos, status updates, algorithms, etc. and I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I deleted my business page and my personal profile.

I’ve read that many celebrities have decided to sign off all social media (George Clooney said he’d rather have a colonoscopy). Some very successful bloggers have stated that they focus on what matters to their readers, forgoing social media, stats and follower updates.

I thought about a trend that’s caught my attention lately; the plus-size model who’s challenged the fashion world, the rap artist who gives away his music away on the internet free of charge. There’s an underlying inclination out there to not follow the rules. It’s not as much a movement, as an individual gut feeling of independence, of knowing yourself and what works best for you

Would you jump off a bridge if the 1 billion Facebook users did? Or, would you happily float, unguided and unfriended, seeing where the current takes you?

Pictured: Seen on a wall in Panama City, Panama- “I don’t have Facebook. My life is real”.

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the home page

Think Tiny and Live Large: Inspired by the Tiny House Movement

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Live in a 500 square-foot home (or maybe even smaller)? While I don’t think that I’ll be joining the tiny house movement anytime soon, I have been inspired by their take on simplicity and downsizing. If they can reduce the size of their homes, why can’t I use their principals to scale down my mind’s overload?

As the size of the average single family home in the United States increased, so have our stress levels. And, as our to-do lists swell, our anxiety escalates. How do we keep all the aspects of our lives in check? Maybe scaling down is the answer. Here’s what I’m doing to get myself to think tiny:

Cleaning the cobwebs out of the attic. 
Just like a cobweb, my worrisome thoughts were entangling my mind and creating a constant uneasiness. After reading How to Stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie, I realized that I was wasting precious time and energy agonizing over what I had no control over. Utilizing his simple techniques, I soon was able to reduce my anxiety.

Practicing the Container Store theory.
Enter the mecca of organization and its friendly staff will assure you that there is a place for everything and everything has its place. This reminds me that when I have too much on my mind, I need to try to compartmentalize my thoughts. Just like separating kitchen gadgets into little plastic baskets for easy access, I’m learning to focus on one thing at a time.

Remembering that the design is in the details.
Each tiny house is constructed with the utmost focus on space and creativity. Likewise, concentrating on whatever I am doing at the moment and paying attention to every aspect of it allows for a Zen state of mind. Try this simple exercise: next time you wash a dish, tune out the world and relish every part of the process. Just as I did, you’ll realize the benefits of practicing this in other aspects of your life.

Reminding myself that you take yourself with you wherever you go.
Add wheels to a tiny house and you have the advantages of a traditional, well-built home and an RV all in one. Once you have worked to develop a more compact and efficient thought process, you can be a bit creative and see where it takes you. I like to play “negotiation,” planning a day that includes a little treat that I promise myself and can look forward to once my to-do list is completed.

Tiny house dwellers seem to share a sense of well-being, believing that exchanging quantity for quality allows them a certain freedom. Wouldn’t it be great if we could reside in that same liberated state of mind?

 

 

 

 

Write to Make It Right

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Which pen should I write with today? It always takes me a while to decide. I review my collection of pens carefully, rolling each in my hand and deciding which has the best fit. Thin or thick point? Blue or black ink? I’m finally happy with my choices, so I dive right in, opening my notebook and feverishly writing. My thoughts are spilling forth so quickly that I can just about keep up. Once finished, I proof read it over and over, agonizing over the proper grammar and just the right words to use. And, when it’s perfect, I read it out loud twice. Then, I rip it up into tiny little pieces and throw it away.

In ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, the need to maintain history and culture, disseminate knowledge, form legal systems and correspond were all motivations for writing. My motivation is much simpler; I use it as an emotional outlet. Pouring my heart out onto those pages is the healthiest way I have found to release me from feelings that might haunt me if I let them.

As a teenager, I thought of myself as quite cunning. I had devised a way to keep a diary that was 100 percent secure from ever being read. I would use this practice as an extension of positive thinking by writing a letter to a friend and telling them of my good fortune, detailing what it was that I wanted to happen. My anger, jealousy or sadness would be directed to its source with every element itemized and accounted for. Every decision I contemplated was documented on a folded sheet of paper noting pros and cons at its top.

As time went on, the subjects became more complex, but the ritual remained the same. The pen preferences make the process something special. The actual writing forces me to gather my thoughts and disciplines me to be precise and thorough. The ceremonial feel of reading the words out loud and then physically ripping up the paper always gives me a sense of power, of being in control over the situation (whether I really am or not).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Meeting Mr. Right Goes Wrong

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That’s him! I stopped short at the newspaper stand that I passed each day on my walk to work down New York City’s Fifth Avenue. There, with a sultry smile on the cover of GQ (Gentlemen’s Quarterly, the men’s magazine) was a photo of a young man. He had a short business haircut, wore tortoise shell rimmed glasses, a pinstripe suit and had that debonair look about him.

Many years ago, my marriage to my high school sweetheart was sadly coming to an end and once it did, only one of the many friends we had ever spoke to me again. Since I had to kick-start my life all over again, I decided to also interview for a new job and I was now the New York salesperson for a housewares company. As I would always do, I put my energy into positive thinking, closing my eyes at night just before bed and viewing the details of my life as if I were watching myself in a movie. I imagined myself successful in this challenging, new position. I saw myself meeting someone who looked just like that GQ cover.

I was excited to be attending my first trade show in Chicago, but disappointed that my boss would soon be leaving the company. When he had put his replacement on the phone to say hello a few days prior, I was startled. His voice was deep and he sounded as if he were at least 30 years old! The fun was over and I could already tell that he had no sense of humor. When I had written “…Does anyone really read this? …” in the middle of the long, detailed sales report that I had to turn in weekly, I had received a phone message from him stating only that ..”Yes, someone is reading it…” Uh oh, I was not off to a good start.

I arrived early at the show, making sure that the displays I had set up the day prior were perfectly in place before the company executives arrived. As I was finishing up, a deep voice behind me said “…Hello, Linda…” It was the voice on the phone and as I turned around the GQ photo came to life, complete with the same eye glasses and suit! Not one to usually stammer, I started to stumble over my words and quickly decided it was best to just stop talking and shake hands.

He left the next morning, but not before letting me know that he would be flying into NYC in two weeks and asking me to make appointments with the top department stores so he could meet them. By this time, I was feeling confident in my position and looking forward to him getting to know my customers and for me to get to know him a bit better.

The two weeks arrived quickly and I was excited to see him again. I planned to impress him with my professionalism, which took a turn for the worst when, as we strolled down Fifth Avenue, I fell on the sidewalk and lay there on my stomach in my new suit and matching heels. A crowd formed around us as he helped me up. I tried to brush it all off as I brushed myself off, quickly cleaning the blood off my knees with my spit and trying to turn the rips in my hose off to the side. Fortunately, the day continued without another hitch.

The next day, the rain did not deter us and I was feeling great in my new matching raincoat and hat. I was impressed that he wanted to stop in at one of those ritzy Madison Avenue jewelry stores where ringing the bell lets you in and I felt so elegant as we entered. Then, as I looked down, the water that had gathered on the brim of my hat hit the jewelry case and all the security alarms in the store started to screech. As we were quickly escorted back out to the street by the security guards, all I could think to say was “…Lunch?..” Needless to say, it was better for both of us that his trip was coming to an end, since I could not have imagined what calamity Day Three might have had in store for me.

My sales increased and our relationship blossomed. We were a great team; I kept track of all the details and he would “wing it,” creatively putting deals together. A few years later, we would decide to open our own sales representative agency and our first product line would be the housewares company that we had met at.

Through all these years together, life with Mr. Wiz* has never been dull. The adventures just seem to continue. My heart still skips a beat when I see him dressed in a suit and he’s always been there to pick me up (literally and figuratively).

 

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Late Bloomer Benefits

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When I think back, JC* may have been a bit concerned when I dragged out my Patti Playpal doll and all her accessories every Saturday afternoon. She’d suggest that my friend come over or would drive me to her home, maybe sensing that a 13-year old girl should not be seen dragging a three-foot tall doll down the street, for fear that she would receive taunts from fellow schoolmates. By the time, I had moved on and Patti had moved from my bedroom to the basement closet, my girlfriends were well into the dramatic boy stage. And so it continued…

 

A late bloomer is defined as a person whose talents and capabilities develop later than others, but eventually catch up and in some cases, may even overtake their peers. At a young age, I realized that, in order to be comfortable in my own skin, I had to accept that I was just a tad behind the curve and make it work for me. I began to think of it as the gift that kept on giving. I decided that watching and learning from others takes patience and it was that patience that would ultimately help me to forge success. And, when I combined that with positive thinking, it would create a powerful force.

 

It’s not easy telling yourself that it just wasn’t meant to be. Though this is the last thing you want to hear at that moment, when you look back, you can usually trace the pattern of how one event led to another and ultimately worked out for the best, even when the ending may have been far different from you had originally imagined.

 

There have been many instances when I had to remind myself that, eventually, my time would come. No surprise that most of them occurred during high school. I didn’t make the kick line squad until the second time around and then became the captain. I was too shy to utter a word at the sorority teas and was the only one of my friends that did not receive an invitation to join. I begged JC to accompany me to the mall and hide in the shadows as I walked in and out of every store, looking for my first job. I always felt clumsy and awkward, constantly falling over my own feet.

 

I cannot believe that this is the same person who later spoke at bridal fairs on behalf of Wedgwood China, was interviewed on a TV morning show about her book and successfully walked 500 miles through Spain on The Camino.

 

Is brown the new black? Is 60 the new 40? I don’t have to worry about that right now. By the time it’s resolved, I’ll probably just be catching up with the trend. I’ll wait to see what blooms next and take it from there.

 

 

 

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page

Like Mother Like Daughter: The Art of the Zeal

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New year’s eve, 2010: It was when she put his hat on to start her song that his jaw dropped. That was the night her old family friend professed his undying love for her and proposed marriage (she politely declined). That was the night that I knew *JC could still “knock ‘em dead.”

Nothing could squelch her spunk. When her parents divorced, the independent little girl would cheerfully bloom wherever she was planted; whether it was with her eccentric aunt or her doting grandmother. Her childhood stories always entertain: riding on the running board of her dad’s car, collecting eggs from the chickens, playing cowboys and Indians with the three dogs, trying every one of the 24 ice cream flavors at Thompkins.

The night she met the handsome Latin from Manhattan (my dad), they had both decided to go out alone for a change, bored with the same old places their friends would usually dance. They both headed to Roseland, a top club of the day. She had inherited her moxie from her mom, whose advice she would remember when heading home back to New Jersey late at night: always walk near the street, not the buildings.

Their dance lasted 53 years, unfortunately interrupted by his cancer. In between, she rode the ups and downs of all his dreams and schemes as if on a bucking bronco, holding on and never willing to let go. At 5 feet 6 inches tall, my dad made up for his stature by living life large, always cognizant of his humble beginnings. Four children later and with a construction company of his own, our lives were still filled with the spontaneity of their youth; food and music always seemed to evolve into a party.

She remembered everything he had told her. His business acumen had rubbed off on JC and she was much more savvy than she was given credit for. This would come in handy as she maneuvered through life without him.

I can’t remember when she wasn’t the yin to my yang. Even though we were both born under the sign of Cancer, our personalities differ. It’s a symbiotic bond: I keep her organized and on track and she helps me loosen up and go with the flow. She always sees the glass as half full. I do too, but… Is it the proper glass to serve in? Is it clean? Do we have enough for company?

JC has put up with a lot from me through the years, softening the hard edges of my Type A personality, as only a mother can do. I can honestly say that if it weren’t for her, I would not be the person I am today. My style (If you’ve got it, flaunt it), my sense of humor (when you are feeling down, sing “Who Put the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder”) and my medical knowledge (drink water backward to get rid of the hiccups) are all thanks to JC.

How does she do it? I still am learning from her every day. There is something about living with a curiosity for life, with a spirit that renders you ageless, with that “…Fiddle Dee Dee, I’ll think about it tomorrow…” attitude that Scarlet O’Hara had in “Gone with the Wind,” with a continual excitement over even the smallest aspects in life that are contagious.

Helping each other steer through any obstacles, “JC and Me” is a force to reckon with. We have been known to outwit an unsuspecting opponent in zany situations (a la “I Love Lucy”). What would Lucy have been without Ethel? What would I be without JC?

 

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page.

 

 

 

 

Retired and Rewired: The 5 Stages of Retirement

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Adventure beckoned. After living in Chicago for 23 years, we made the decision to retire early and move to a new city. Plans were set in motion and rapidly took on a life of their own. Many Excel spreadsheets later, we realized that devising a strategy in preparation for this undertaking made all the difference.

From our experiences, here are the five stages of the retirement process:

1. The Analytical Stage- aka the dream and scheme stage: Could we? Should we? Where? When? How?

Start at the beginning
List all the attributes that you are looking for in a new city. Any city that did not meet our criteria was removed from our list:

  • No harsh winter weather
  • A city with an active downtown and a great vibe
  • Ease of airport travel
  • Lower cost of living

Check out the weather
Research the weather, then plan a trip to visit your chosen cities in summer and winter. We traveled in July and checked out the summer weather of our finalists. If the city passed muster, we planned a second trip in the winter months.

2. The Physical and Emotional Stage- aka the cry, why and say goodbye stage

Downsize!
It was time for a serious de-cluttering. This was a huge project, but we tackled it in stages. Once we experienced the benefits of being “lean and mean,” we knew we would never regress.

Rent first
Be smart, slow down and decide what will work for you in the long run. Renting allows you the freedom to leisurely get your bearings and explore different neighborhood options before settling down.

Plan your exit strategy
Our to-do list included putting our condo up for sale, job resignations, contacting friends, family and business associates, planning goodbye dinners, change of address notifications, planning for the move, initiating services in our new home, etc.

3. The spring break Stage- aka the Yahoo! stage

We found ourselves in a new, exciting city and we were free: no alarm clock, no responsibilities! We don’t know what came over us; we ate too much, drank too much, stayed up too late and smiled when we’d pass the Tylenol to each other in the mornings.

4. The Settling in Stage- aka the where are we? Stage

Fitting in
Recreating our daily lives took time and research. In the end, we were pleased with our choices of new doctors, dentist, hair salon, grocery store, church, etc. Next: volunteering, joining a group and taking classes will help us to meet people and connect to the pulse of our new city.

Two peas in a pod?
We were not used to seeing each other every second of the day. We soon settled into a rhythm; we would spend mornings on our own, then at lunch, we would plan the rest of the day.

5. The Search for Adventure Stage- aka the sustainable version of the spring break Stage

Now that we’re here, what should we do? We chronicled all the restaurants and events that we do not want to miss out on and noted near-by destinations that would make for great road trips.

It’s been eight months since we moved to Austin, Texas. We enrolled in Spanish classes at the University of Texas. I found free yoga classes and a free neighborhood pool. We volunteered at the “Keep Austin Weird” Festival. We now know how to do the Texas Two-Step. We played Chicken S*** Bingo and won! After walking the Camino, we joined the Austin chapter of the American Pilgrims. I started this blog. Oh, and Tylenol intake has decreased considerably.

 

 

 

 

Success is the Best Revenge

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Jealousy, anger, resentment; these are all feelings that are sometimes hard to suppress. If we let them, they will take over our lives and darken our spirit. Rather than succumbing to these negative powers, why not use them to your advantage and retaliate in a positive way?

Get angry and get going! Harness all those undesirable emotions. Sit quietly and review the reasons behind these pent-up feelings; writing them down helps to clarify them. Now, close your eyes and see yourself packaging them all up into a new burst of energy.

Let this force guide you and motivate you with a new vitality you never knew you had. See yourself smiling as you envision the person or thing that annoyed you into action and thank them. Without that irritating nudge, you may not have changed the course of your life or made a decision that has benefited you, long after the resentment has faded.