A couple of days ago while wasting time on Facebook (yeah, I do that sometimes), I came across a video of a hilarious British comedian named Peter Kay who was doing a skit on misheard song lyrics. This guy cracked me up as I’ve recently learned that I’m not really the self-proclaimed Queen of the "˜70s lyrics lady as I once believed. You see, I’ve been going to the gym (sorry – should have posted a warning before that statement in case someone has a coronary over moi actually working out) and I’ve created a YouTube playlist of old rock "˜n roll faves to keep me motivated while secretly mind bashing the treadmill. So I mouth along with the tunes I’m listening to and have discovered I really haven’t been singing the right words for decades.
This revelation got me thinking about a line in a book I’d read a couple of months back about how we either hear to listen or hear to understand. And it’s clear I’m guilty of simply not paying close attention.
For years we women have accused men of having ‘selective hearing’ and only retaining what they want to remember, while easily forgetting the rest of the request or story we’ve been telling them. Yet it’s not just the guys who have this problem. Almost all of us at times go on autopilot and automatically tune out the words that someone is throwing our way in a conversation. Sometimes it’s because we’re really not that interested in what the other person is saying, or it could be that we’ve got a bajillion other things on our mind and we just can’t concentrate on the conversation at hand.
While hopefully nothing of great importance gets overlooked when we take those mini "˜hearing’ vacations, there are probably times when being slightly oblivious to the words coming our way have a cost or repercussion in our lives. When our spouse, child, friend, or even clients are trying to impart the importance of something that happened to them, or want to share a significant thought they’ve had with us and we’re in hearing to listen mode, that’s when we suffer a great loss. We can totally miss the reason or reasons behind the other person speaking to us. They could be hurting or in pain and we might miss the subtle clues offered by their words. We could also not comprehend that someone is so overcome with joy that they simply want to share it with us. And there we stand, nodding our head as if we’re totally getting what they’re saying… but we’re not.
Sure, we all have people in our lives that drone on and on and — (you get the drift and I’m certain I’ve been one of those people a time or three), but we put up with them because we like them. And yes, they can be as annoying as a mosquito buzzing around in your bedroom at night and you can’t see it to smack it and end the tale of misery. But the next time someone you care for starts a conversation with you, perhaps you could REALLY try to understand what it is that they’re saying to you. Give them ten minutes of your undivided attention before you slip into the "˜drone zone.’
And business peeps, that’s also something you may want to practice at your next networking event as well. You might actually impress a potential new client by comprehending what their business is all about and what they’re looking from you IF you’re listening to understand.
PS: Here’s the link to the Peter Kay’s skit on misheard lyrics for your’ ‘listening’ enjoyment. Man, I love British humour.
Because today I received my very first Canada Pension Plan (CPP) deposit/cheque.
No, it’s not much in dollars and cents as I never held very high-paying jobs in my lifetime, even though I’ve been working steadily since 1975.
No, it’s not enough money for me to retire and live a luxurious lifestyle. And no, I didn’t cry because of the fact I’ve now officially moved into the “old age” generation.
I cried for one reason only.
Back in 1984 there was a lady I knew very well who was starting her plans to retire. She worked as a hotel maid, cleaning motel/hotel and cabins in the community I was born and raised in during the tourist season. Hard work because I did it for one week and decided that it wasn’t something I wanted to do for the rest of my life. (Hence my unwavering gratitude for maids and later on waitresses because those are really hard jobs!). Plus after she’d put in a full eight-hour day at that job, she’d come home and make a full home-cooked meal that had to be on the table at exactly 5:00 pm. Some nights she’d nod off sitting in a chair at the same kitchen table because the bread she"™d made that evening hadn’t finished baking and it was almost midnight.
She was tired. This was to be her last year of working so hard as she would be eligible to receive the spouse’s CPP allowance the following year when her husband turned 65. Requirements for eligibility have changed since then, but back in ’84, that was the rule.
By the end of August, she went into the hospital as she was sick. By the first of September, she was formally diagnosed with incurable lung cancer. No chemo, no radiation, no reprieve. She couldn’t complete the necessary work weeks to even draw Unemployment Insurance (EIC as it’s known today) during her illness.
She died on February 13th, 1985, and never got to see even one CPP cheque come into the house with her name on it. All her lovely retirement dreams were never realized.
And now to today, August 29th, 2017, 32 years later.
All the health problems I’ve gone through in the past few years made me wonder if I’d ever get to see an actual CPP deposit come into my account. But there it was, showing up as clear as day, in my bank account when I checked online this morning. How wonderful!
Dear Mum, my first cheque will be spent in memory of you.
I’ve been vowing to write this blog post for over two months…and today is the day.
I belong to a great entrepreneurs group founded by the multi-talented Maureen Craig McIntosh (http://monctonrealitytherapy.com/join-eric) and on one of our ERIC calls the subject came up about beliefs that we carry throughout our life that somehow continue to define how we live our lives. I listened to a couple of other people on the call who spoke on the subject and then I blurted out in my usual interruptive way and said, “We are NOT our story!”
After a couple of minutes of silence, I proceeded to back up that statement by sharing the following point of view on the subject.
Frankly, at some point in all our lives, we have to let go of our past hurts, disappointments, and so-called failures. We can only blame our parents and others for the way we turned out for so long. I believe the expiration date on blame placement should end around age 40 because frankly, if we haven’t “grown up” by then chances are we aren’t going to. We’ll be forever finger pointing and beating our chest crying out in anger “If you hadn’t told me I was (insert appropriate limiting belief statement here) then I would have NEVER turned out this way!”
Another great often used excuse for not potentially reaching a goal is “Well, if my (mother, father, sister, brother, uncle, cousin…you name it) had encouraged me to study harder and go to (college, university, trade school etc.) than I would be wealthy by now!”
People, pull a “Frozen” and let that story go!
Yes, it’s true that some people never receive the encouragement a young child needs to build healthy levels of self-esteem. And it’s also true that life seems to bestow great and wonderful things on some while heaping crud on others. Yet by the time we approach mid-life, WE are creating our own stories and beliefs. WE are making choices on how we wish to live our lives. I truly believe that if we keep rekindling hurtful memories and fanning the anger fire within ourselves, we will never, ever, achieve a state of happiness or be comfortable in our own skin.
What happened thirty, twenty, ten, or even a single year or day ago is in the past. Why are you still carrying around that incident or grudge? Aren’t you tired of living in sadness or rage? Plus think of the valuable “real estate”in your brain that you’re letting these people and thoughts rent for free! Why? And how are those thoughts serving you today?
Not very well, are they?!
Alexander Pope was spot on when he said, “To err is human, to forgive divine.”
Acknowledge that so and so was mistaken when they made a negative judgement call on any aspect of your character way back when–and then forgive them. Besides, you are NOT the person today that you were years ago.
You are NOT your story, or at least not anymore.
Maybe it’s time you wiped the slate clean and started writing a new book called "œMy Life NOW!"
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marlene Oulton, AKA "œThe Words Lady" and resident wordsmith of www.MarleneOulton.comÂ derives great satisfaction from assisting authors, writers, coaches and SOHO entrepreneurs produce clean, crisp and concisely written articles, newsletters, website copy and other literary works. To find out more on how she can make your words sing and dance… without adding music visit www.MarleneOulton.com today!
Warning: rant ahead. Read at the risk of getting pissed off.
People, you have to stop “vaguebooking” For those of you who might not know what this term means, it is “An intentionally vague Facebook status update that prompts friends to ask what’s going on, or is possibly a cry for help” (Courtesy of www.UrbanDictionary.com.)
Before some of you get your knickers in a knot, I get where “vaguebooking” when used as advance marketing tool builder of excitement for a product launch or an advertising campaign for a company is semi-acceptable (although some of them can be downright annoying due to repetitiveness). It’s the “I don’t know what I’m going to do!” type of posts that leave the reader hanging, not knowing what the person who posted that sentence is going through. When I see comments like that it creates within me a sense of urgency and anxiety "“ as if the poster is going through something horrible or may need real help. Then three posts and fifteen minutes later they write, “Phew! Turns out it was just a bad spark plug that made the car not start this morning” I mean, wtf people? I thought you were going through some life or death situation, not having crappy car problems! Meanwhile, myself and 132+ others have been worrying ourselves needlessly over you.
The other “vaguebooking” posts that totally suck are ones like “Something awesome just happened! So excited!” or “This is huge! Can’t wait to share!” Really? You should have waited to share your big news WHEN you knew for sure it was REAL news. (Don’t get me started on "˜fake news’ or I’ll be here all day.)
I’m happy that your company is releasing a new and improved (although they can’t be both of those items at once) type of adult diaper, or that you’ve reinvented a better mosquito trap that humanely captures and releases the little buggers outside via a reverse vacuum system. I get that you want to sell us these items by creating a big hoopla about their eventual release into the unsuspecting psyche of the buying public by creating a buzz (pun intended) before launch day. But those of you who deliberately and habitually practice “vaguebooking” need to get over your love of creating drama at the expense of having the rest of us worry for nothing.
Because if you don’t, one of these days you might just cry “wolf” – and no one will come to your rescue.
Let me tell you, there’s something soothing about sitting at a table surrounded by old friends that you once knew forty plus years ago.
And there we were. All gathered again because one of our high school friends had decided to she wanted to celebrate turning the big "˜60′ by having a few of her 180+ fellow grads from 1975 show up at a local restaurant/tavern to help her celebrate the momentous occasion. Most of the members of that class will be turning that auspicious number at some point in 2017 so what better time to get together with people we hadn’t seen in over forty years.
Twelve people ending up at the table once you included friends and spouses. Three of us had been friends since meeting in grade five while the other three had joined the rank of ‘Elgineer’s’ when we met at the beginning of grade seven. We each played a part in the molding of each other’s character from grades five on through to high school, although we didn’t know it at the time.
These people had been a part of my life from those carefree grade school days when the worst that happened to me was when someone stole my lunch and I had to bum a half-sandwich from one of them, to those terrible teen-aged, hormonal angst fueled days of high school where everything minute thing was a major occurrence (or seemed so at the time).
I looked at all those familiar yet slightly altered faces and let my mind wander back in time to specific roles that each of them had played in my life. In most cases, the sound of their voice and laughter was exactly as I remembered it from way back when. For a moment time seemed to slip away and I could picture them as they looked at twelve/fifteen/eighteen.
I knew that when I’d hugged the friends who meant so much to me on graduation night that I’d probably never see them again, and that’s why this gathering was a touch more special than an ordinary evening out. I made sure that my sweetie went around snapping pictures of me with my trusty camera phone so that I’d have a hard copy remembrance of this evening, although I doubt my memory will need to see the evidence to be reminded of the joy and happiness being with these lovable and memorable people has brought into my life.
This morning as I was looking at the photos from last night’s reunion, a very old country and western song played through my mind. I think Tom T. Hall said it best when he sang “Ain’t but three things in this world that’s worth a solitary dime, But old dogs and children and watermelon wine” from the song of the same name.
We were mere children when we met, my friends, and the bonds forged back then are still strong, even if it has been forty plus years since we all sat a table in the cafeteria of our high school bemoaning the fact that our grades sucked, Mr. X was a shitty teacher, and who had an extra cigarette that so and so could bum.
Hey, guys and gals, look around. Somehow we’ve made it this far. Isn’t that a hoot?
Let’s do this again before another forty years has passed, okay?
Let me be perfectly clear: I love my dogs more than I like some people. While there are some humans who might take offense to that statement, there are other pet loving people just like me who adore their furry or feathered friends just as much, if not more.
The reason why I love dogs so much is because the ones I’ve picked over the years seemed to have had a heightened sense of knowing "“ brainpower, if you will. While some of them might not have won awards for being best dog in show, they all had two things in common: 1) they loved me unconditionally, no leashes (pardon the pun) attached, and 2) none of them ever took the washer and dryer (or any appliances for that matter) when the relationship between us ended.
Take this little beauty pictured here. After bidding a sad adieu to my previous canine companion, Chuck, a totally too big and fur-shedding Sheltie that resembled a Border Collie, five years prior, I decided it was time to get another dog. My partner, Allan, and I discussed it and batted the idea back and forth for some time and agreed that a dog might be a great addition to our household. Said partner and I had only been together for a year at that point, but we both loved dogs so the idea was set in motion.
One morning after Allan had set out on a road trip for work, I happened to pick up the Times-Transcript and saw a teeny ad that read: “West Highland Terrier puppies for sale. Purebred but no papers, located in the Miramichi. Wormed, first shots, ready to go. Call X." I couldn’t believe my eyes! I ran to the phone, called Allan on his cell phone and said, “You wouldn’t happen to have some time after your business calls at lunch today to go look at some puppies, would you?"
He called me about three hours later. “They’re awfully tiny”, he said. “And the breeder only has one female left, so if we want her we’re going to have to act fast.”
“Do you have any cash on you”, I asked.
“I think I have $60.00" he said.
“Then drive back to that ladies house and give it to her, okay?"
And so the deal was sealed.
We picked her up on the coldest day of the year, Feb. 15th, 2003. It was a balmy -28C with windchill factored in and this poor little furball had never set foot outside of her birthing cage. And then I wondered why she didn’t want to go pee in the snow on the side of the road half-way on the drive home. Duh!
It took us the better part of four months to housetrain her, and there were times I was certain she’d never catch on to the fact that the hardwood floor was not a good place to do her business.
However, she only chewed the laces off one pair of sneakers and the heel of a friend’s shoe. Not bad for a new pup.
In the blink of an eye, she was five years old. An unknown allergy suddenly caused her to start scratching uncontrollably and she lost most of her beautiful white fur. The next nine years were spent ferrying her back and forth to the vet for monthly Depo shots and almost bi-monthly ones of antibiotics in an effort to try and combat the nasty skin infections. Weekly baths became a normal way of life for her and me with both of us ending up soaking wet. Countless new food trials and different shampoos were tested but nothing else besides the medication worked for her.
Then in January of 2014, diabetes became her next affliction. Both Allan and I had to learn how to give her twice daily shots of insulin which we took in stride, even if needles give us both the heebie jeebies. Next came a profusion of skin growths for which she had two surgeries to remove them, only to see them grow back with a vengeance.
2015 brought about increasing deafness, the development of cataracts, arthritis in her back legs, and cognitive disorder where she would awaken with a start in the middle of the night and cry out because she didn’t know where she was anymore.
To see her constant daily struggle to move from room to room finally became too much for us to bear and we said a tearful goodbye to our beloved Angel this afternoon at 3:30 pm.
Last night, while saying my prayers, I asked my Dad who passed back in 2001, to be on the lookout for her today, and to introduce her to Chuck so she’d have someone nice to play with at her final destination.
I hope you’re running full out, Angel girl, just like you did when you’d escape your leash and revel in your sudden freedom.