Tag Archive for: Maggie Barbieri

Of Spring and Things…

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I’ve been mulling over what I was going to write about today and I came to one conclusion: not Charlie Sheen.

Haven’t we all seen enough of this most public of implosions? I, for one, continue to wonder where his parents, siblings, friends, and yes, even exes, are in this mix. Can’t someone forcibly commit this man if not for his own well being then for the sake of his five children? The whole thing is really sickening.

Rant over.

Let’s focus on the positive. For one thing, spring is on the way to the East Coast. Yes, the weather people say that we may get a big dump of snow on Thursday, but the best thing about March storms is that if they come, they are over quickly and the snow melts within days, if not hours. After having a snow drift on our front lawn that was close to five feet high, we can now see our grass. It’s a little worse for wear, but it can be saved with a little grass seed and a little love. The next thing we’ll look forward to is seeing buds on the trees which will signal that the winter of 2010-2011 is a thing of the past.

With spring comes one of my favorite traditions in the village in which I live: the outdoor farmer’s market. Of course, we do have indoor markets but they just don’t feel the way an outdoor market feels. In a few short weeks, within walking distance of my house, I will have fresh vegetables, pies, breads, cakes, and quiches available to me, all made by local growers and producers, all within a fifty-mile radius of my house. Sometimes, a local vineyard will come and sell wine which makes the farmer’s market a one-stop shopping expedition for this vegetable lover and oenophile.

Another wonderful spring tradition is Little League. Child #2 is still of an age where he can play on the “Majors,” which is essentially a group of boys (and some girls) between the ages of 9 and 12. The “Majors” have their games on the field smack dab in the middle of town, complete with bleachers and lights—when they’re working—to illuminate the field when the sun has set on an early spring night. We can walk through town and get pizza on the way home and if we’re feeling virtuous about our exercise for that day, ice cream. Sitting in the outfield for our last year of Majors is bittersweet and I’m going to savor every yawn-inducing game just so I never forget the sight of my son in permanently stained, formerly white baseball pants, his hat cocked to the side, trying to catch mosquitoes in the outfield.

We also have a new season of Mets’ baseball to look forward to, but if history has shown us anything, it’s that we should gird our loins for disappointment.

As a writer who works from home—but not in her pajamas as some often assume—I spend a lot of time indoors. Seasonal affective disorder is always around the corner on a dreary day and I think most of us who work from home have a nodding acquaintance with it. So, to see the sun at hours it hasn’t been seen in the past few months is a mood elevator better than any drug and to think of fresh peaches, wine from the Hudson Valley, and Little League baseball at just days away, I, for one, have quite a spring in my step. Pun intended.

What do you look forward to come spring, Stiletto faithful?

Maggie Barbieri

The Power of Positive Thinking

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There is new research out that suggests that a) positive thinking really does have an effect on your life in general and b) being nicer to yourself—showing “self-compassion”—is really integral to a happy life.

Great. Something else to feel bad/guilty/unworthy about.

I found out about the New York Times article on self-compassion from the northern half of Evelyn David right after I had seen the report on “Good Morning, America,” about positive thinking. Apparently, by being self-compassionate, your diet and weight loss program will be more successful, and more importantly, you may have less stress, depression, anxiety and gain “more happiness and life satisfaction.”

I guess all of this news should make me happy as I consider myself a “glass is half full” kind of person but it just makes me worry. What if I’m not positive enough, not compassionate enough to myself, to keep things like stress, depression, and anxiety at bay? Does that make me a failure as a positive thinker? Do I need to work harder? Will I make myself sick because sometimes I let negativity get the best of me?

See where I’m going here? It’s kind of like when someone tells me to “relax!” Instead of calming down, it’s like some kind of caged animal has been released into the world. It’s the antithesis of relaxing.

Some of the research on positive thinking points to someone being “wired” a specific way, a way in which no matter how hard they try, their outlook will always veer toward the negative. To me, then, all of this new research begs the question: are we trying too hard to be what we’re not? How much stress are we adding to our lives by thinking about our personal mindsets and that we may be failing at the one thing we are born doing—thinking?

Curiously, there is no research on that, but I think some lip service needs to be paid to feeling what you feel when you’re feeling it. I come to this conclusion from having spent five years of my life pretending everything was just FINE! even though I was undergoing a very debilitating cancer treatment while working full time, writing, and being a mom and wife. I found that while pretending that everything was FINE! was great for everyone around me, it was not so great for me, because it masked the fear and sometimes hopelessness I had in my own heart while everyone around me felt great. The downward spiral would come when I beat myself up for not being more positive or for not being kind to myself or that thinking negatively was having an adverse reaction on my health—one that I couldn’t control. However, by just allowing myself to say “Wow, this stinks” and dealing with the fear or anxiety, the fear and anxiety would pass. Talking to a friend would also help. But trying to talk myself into a more positive mindset would have the opposite reaction. It would just make me feel more negative because I couldn’t feel more positive. It was an enigma wrapped inside a conundrum, or something like that.

I think these kinds of studies are important but I’m not sure where they lead or what, really, they tell us.

In reality, I’m all for positive thinking, but I’m interested to know if there is anyone else out there in the Stiletto world who feels that when they read these articles or learn of these studies they feel as if they are deficient in certain areas or that they need to work harder to change their particular mindset. Do you let your “wiring” dictate how you feel or do you make a conscious effort to work against feelings of negativity? And just how exhausting is that?

Maggie Barbieri

When a Sandwich Board is All You Have Left

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I read a story in the paper this morning about a mother in Florida who, fed up with her 15-year-old son’s disinterest in school, took a drastic measure to get his attention. She placed the kid on a busy street corner with a sandwich board over his head that said: “I have a 1.22 GPA…honk if you think I need an education.”

While some people applauded her last-ditch effort to set the kid on the straight and narrow, others called Child Protective Services to report her abuse of the young man.

I have to tell you, when I read the article, I had to chuckle, because as the mother of two kids, I, too, have looked for creative ways to get their attention.

Don’t get me wrong, my kids do great in school, particularly child #1, who is now looking at colleges and knows that she has to keep her grades up if she has any chance of going to some of the more competitive colleges in the country. But, as many of the moms on this blog will attest, when your kids get older, your issues with them get more complicated and it takes every last ounce of energy you have to stick to your guns and to keep them moving in the right direction. It is very easy to just give up and let them do what they want, but we all know what happens when we let the inmates run the asylum.

It’s anarchy, I tell you.

It is true what they say: “little children, little problems; big children, big problems.” I think all of us, at some point when our children are small, look at someone else’s parenting style and think “I would never do it that way.” Really? Wait until you get there. I remember when child #1 was a baby and I thought I would never lose my temper with her, raise my voice to her, or punish her. Then came the terrible twos, followed by the temper-tantrum threes, and the feisty fours. Let’s not get started on five through seven. You find yourself doing things you never imagined. For instance, child lays down on floor of the bank and refuses to move; there are eight people behind you on line. What do you do? Leave her there or laugh in embarrassment as you pick her up by the scruff of the neck like a mother cat, dragging her out kicking and screaming? Either way, she’s going into therapy first chance she gets (and her health insurance allows for free visits) so you’re doomed. My plan of attack was always to pretend I didn’t notice what was happening or that I didn’t know her, because you know that there is someone behind you tut-tutting about your parenting skills. Usually, they don’t have kids, or their kids are older than you and they have forgotten what it is like to confront a hungry toddler who acts like they are a protester during the Vietnam era. (You know what I mean…you go to pick them up and they go slack. It’s an effective protest technique whether you weigh thirty-two pounds or a hundred and thirty-two pounds.)

The problems, discussions, and issues only get more complicated as the kids get older. Apparently, as well, “EVERYONE else’s parents are letting them do it.” Like I believe that one. Yes, many parents in our small village are more permissive than we are…ok, every set of parents in our small village is more permissive than we are…but that doesn’t mean that in our middle-age we are going to succumb to peer pressure. We make decisions based on what is right for a particular child at a particular time. And sometimes that means that a particular child is not doing what other children are doing. Them’s the breaks, as they say.

But back to the lady in Florida. Judge lest you yourself be judged. She’s got a 15-year-old who won’t do his homework, won’t go to school, and probably has a one-way ticket to a life of heartache and trouble if this behavior continues. I have to say, not being in her shoes, I’m not sure what I would do, but if the sandwich board of embarrassment were my last resort, I might resort to it.

What do you think, Stiletto faithful?

Maggie Barbieri

What? Me Worry?

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I was reading a magazine yesterday morning and worrying about how much I had to face once I got to my office when I was confronted with an article on living longer. The article listed several key things one could do to live a longer life but one point in particular struck me. It said—get this—that people who live longer fret occasionally. Apparently, too much optimism can leave you unequipped to deal with the worst possible scenarios that you might encounter in your life. “A little worry,” the article says, “keeps you warmed up for the curveballs life throws.”

See? I knew I was on the right track.

I wouldn’t say that I’m a constant worrier but I do have moments when worrying consumes so much of my brain power that I need to use specific coping mechanisms to stop. There are a few things I remind myself when I get to worrying:

1. Worrying won’t change the outcome. There have been times when I’ve been so consumed with worry, e.g. a test will reveal more disease, a deadline will be blown, someone I love may have an accident in icy weather, that I can’t get out of my own way mentally. Worry just consumes me, eats me up, so to speak. When that happens, I tell myself that whatever is going to happen will happen whether or not I worry; I have no control over the situation. This takes some mental energy, and sometimes it works, other times…not so much.

2. I should set aside a few minutes each day to worry. Someone once told me that if I was consumed by worry, I should set aside a time—say eight o’clock in the morning—and set a timer for fifteen minutes during which time I should worry about the things that concern me. After the timer goes off, the worrying stops. There are a few problems with that plan. First, I don’t own a timer. And second, I don’t have the mental fortitude to put my problems or concerns out of my head after a set period of time. I learned that while doing the ostensibly mind-clearing exercise of yoga. Not going to happen.

3. Worrying is a giant waste of time. Now this is a coping strategy I can get behind. Why? Well, I’m what is called in scientific circles a “Type-A personality.” (In regular circles, I’m just a hyper lunatic.) When I thought about all of the times I worried about a particular situation, only to have my feared outcome never come to fruition, I calculated that I had wasted approximately a year of my life worrying about things that turned out just fine. Or didn’t turn out at all. Or had become completely irrelevant by the time there was an outcome to note. Wasting time is a concept I can get behind and when I think of wasting precious time when I could be doing something constructive or positive, I seem to stop worrying immediately.

Right now, I’m worried that a book I’m working on for my day job won’t get to the printer in time. Or that my daughter won’t do as well as she wants to. Or that my son will get hurt playing lacrosse. But then I remind myself that if the book doesn’t make it to the printer on the day it’s supposed to, it will probably go the week after. And that my daughter has been working day and night to make sure she’s prepared for the “big test.” And that my son wears so many pads while playing lacrosse that it’s amazing he can move at all. See? Worrying is a giant waste of time.

Any other champion worriers out there in Stiletto land? If so, what do you do to stop yourself from biting your nails to the quick, chewing the inside of your mouth raw, or grinding your teeth?

Maggie Barbieri

Our New Baby

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We are proud to announce the newest member of our family: Diego.

Diego is a twenty-five pound Maine Coon cat who is six years old and needed a new home due to his former owners and their children developing serious allergies and asthma symptoms (not all related to Diego). Through the magic of Facebook, I found this adorable animal. A few weeks ago, I had put out some feelers hoping to find a Maine Coon for adoption. After having read about these wonderful animals, I realized that this large breed of cat–who is said to act more like a dog than a cat–would be perfect for us. Since we already had a dog who acted like a cat, I figured we’d break even.

All of us—child #2 in particular—have always wanted a cat but have always resisted wondering how our precious Bonnie, the neediest Westie in the world, would respond. But after seeing the beautiful Diego’s pictures on Facebook, courtesy of his former owner, we were sold. His owner described him as ‘mush,’ and we can’t agree more.

Jim and I grew up with cats and are lovers of the feline; we’re both Leos and think that might have something to do with it. I do suffer from allergies, but as I am also allergic to the beautiful Bonnie, I figure that I’ll adopt the same behavior with Diego as I do with her—we will peacefully coexist but there will be no petting from me. This has worked for the last seven years with Bonnie and hopefully it will be the same for my relationship with our new feline friend. The other members of this household are not allergic and shouldn’t have any problem showing Diego the love that he deserves and needs.

I brought him home on Monday after driving over an hour out to Long Island to pick him up from his heartbroken owner. I can only imagine how she felt as we loaded his frame into the giant pet carrier and I set off for the other side of the metropolitan NY area. I assured his owner, R., that I would give him the best home possible and drove away, my own heart breaking as I watch her wave goodbye, tears streaming down her face.

Our first night with Diego was uneventful. We went to bed with him in self-imposed exile under child #2’s bed, where I suspected he would stay for the night. Wrong. Jim was awoken at 11:30 to the feeling of a giant cat on his face and nearly had a heart attack. Seems Diego just needed some late-night loving, which Jim was more than happy to provide. After some stroking from his new owner, and to the sound of hysterical laughter, Diego plopped down on the floor and went to sleep.

Bonnie hasn’t met Diego yet, but we have high hopes for the relationship. They seem like the same animal in different bodies—kind, loving, docile, and compliant.

Photos forthcoming! Welcoming any and all advice from the Stiletto faithful on how to make Diego’s transition to his new home go as smoothly as possible.

Maggie Barbieri

On Social Networking

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Social networking comes under fire a lot in the media and is responsible for the downfall of Western civilization, from what I can gather. I’m going to take another tack here and make a confession: I love Facebook. Now granted, I don’t love it so much that I’ve allowed my 11-year-old to create his own page, nor do I allow my 17-year-old to have her own page to which I don’t have access. Her membership into the FB community came with a price: a “friending” by her mother which, if violated or revoked, would come with punishments that only Amy Chua—you know her as the Tiger Mother—could dole out.

This isn’t a love song to Facebook, but rather just some observations I’ve made since creating a Facebook page back in 2008. I started on Facebook just to see what it was like and because my publisher and many other writers recommended it as a great marketing and promotion tool, something at which I am woefully inept. You can do only so much marketing and promotion from the comfort of your desk chair in your attic, I came to find out. Obviously, it has reconnected me with a lot of old friends. Curiously, almost my entire high school graduating class is on there and getting to know many of them has been a blast. Many of them are excited that I am a writer and have bought all of my books, even suggesting them to their extensive friend lists.

My husband has remarked that I am perfectly suited to the world of Facebook because I am a social person by nature. If I were a dog, I would be a Golden Retriever. If he were a dog…well, we’re not sure what he’d be. He’s social, but not as social as I am. He likes the computer, but only for work. He is mildly curious about social networking, but not enough for him to explore this new world. “But still,” I protest when we discuss, “you’d find people you went to high school with!” to which he replies, “I wasn’t looking for them.”

True enough.

I still don’t know what kind of dog that makes him.

I wouldn’t say I post a lot of status updates, but I do post my fair share. For the most part, they are well thought-out; I try to avoid the “making pork chops now” posts which tell people just a little too much about the sorry state of my cooking and inventiveness on a given night. I try to stay away from politics, but there do come times when I just can’t keep my fat mouth shut, try as I may. Those instances are rare and hopefully, strike a chord among the majority of disgruntled Americans or those of us who aren’t writing manifestos in our cabins in the woods. Maybe not. I have been accused of leaning a little to the left, so who knows?

There are certain things about Facebook I don’t like. For one, I don’t like oversharing. Letting me know that your spouse is more-than-skilled in the boudoir makes my skin crawl, for some reason, as do posts about your viewing of people doing disgusting things in public places. If you found their behavior revolting, why would you want to share that? More to the point, why would I want to read about it? Better to try to wipe their actions clean from your mind. I don’t enjoy the hijacking of the comments section—you know what I mean, when one person comments on your status only to incur the wrath of someone else who read the status and the comments and who then feels compelled to take issue? Hate that. Your entire day is spent deleting comments from two angry commenters who really need to take their fight outside.

I also don’t like when a post that I actually spent some time thinking about and that meant something to me is then appropriated by one of my friends who says “Great post! I’m reposting!” without giving me credit. It’s called plagiarism and it applies to Facebook, people. There’s nothing more frustrating than seeing that person’s comments section populated by “Brilliant!” “Wish I could have said it like that!” “Well said” and know that only two people know the truth about where the post came from and it wasn’t from the brain of your now-unfriended former Facebook friend. I’m a writer and writers are very proprietary of their words.

Maybe I could start a trend: Facebook status copyrighting?

Too much?

All in all, the same basic codes of etiquette and civility that apply in daily life should apply to social networking. In other words, if you wouldn’t want your mother to read it, don’t post it.

Tell me, Stiletto friends, some of whom may also be in my Facebook cohort, what do you think of social networking? How do you use it? And what are your pet peeves?

Maggie Barbieri

The Voices in My Head

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I recently attended Crime Bake, a convention in Massachusetts for mystery writers and fans. I was fortunate enough to see Dennis Lehane, one of my favorite authors, speak about writing. Recently, after publishing several stand-alone novels, which unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past decade, you’ve heard of: Shutter Island, Mystic River, The Given Day. But it’s his series featuring Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennaro that I’ve been eagerly awaiting another installment of, and this past year, my wish was granted when he published Moonlight Mile, the sixth book in the series. One of the attendees at Crime Bake asked him why he a) stopped writing the series and b) why he returned to it. He answered that after he published the fifth book in the series, around ten years ago, Patrick stopped talking to him. And he decided to write a new book in the series a year or so ago because Patrick had started talking to him again.

I understood exactly what he was talking about, because Alison Bergeron talks to me constantly. If she’s not complaining about her pot belly, she’s itching for a new mystery to solve. So it has been easy working up a new story because Alison has a lot of stories to tell me and they are easy for me to transcribe. But lately I’ve noticed that I have a trio of new characters talking to me and what they have to say is very interesting. One is partially deaf, the other makes jam for a living, and another is an obstetrician. Yet another, whose role is yet to be determined, is a very handsome detective with his own secrets. All very disparate, all very much alive to me. And all involved in a murder.

With all of this going on, my head is a very crowded place right now. No wonder I keep forgetting to buy toilet paper at the grocery store.

I never anticipated that this would happen. I just assumed that Alison would keep talking to me and Crawford would whisper sweet nothings in my ear every now and again that he would, in turn, then whisper to Alison. Max would continue to screech about her issues, and Fred would grunt. Other people would cycle in and out of the stories I was told and they would provide new life for the next book. The nuns would make me feel guilty for thinking impure thoughts. So it’s very exciting to think that there are a bunch of other characters floating around in there, just waiting for me to tell their stories.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Writers write and there is so much potential in the world and the people around us to come up with new ideas and new characters. It reminds me of when people talk about having extrasensory perception: you just have to be open to the energy around you. It’s the same with writers. We just have to be open to what’s around us—and listen to the voices in our heads—in order to make a new story come to life.

I’m interested, most of all, from our Stiletto faithful if your characters talk to you or if there is some other way that your stories begin. What makes you want to sit down and write?

Maggie Barbieri

You Can Dance if You Want to

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Is the rhetoric responsible for what happened in Tucson over the weekend? Probably not; we’ll never know. Should everyone stop flinging blame? Yes; it serves no purpose than diluting the argument. Should we reevaluate what we say and how we say it? Absolutely.

End of subject for me.

This is a tragedy that I cannot even comprehend and my blog sisters, Rhonda and Marilyn, have already done the topic justice with their impassioned posts from Monday and Tuesday. Rather than try to chime in with a plaintive cry for more civility, which I’m not sure we’re going to get despite the loss of six lives, I would rather take a stab at another topic entirely and one that might make us smile: dancing.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love to dance and will do it anywhere. That means you may find me dancing in the toiletry aisle at the local grocery store, where they play particularly danceable music, or at Target, or even waiting on line at the DMV. I can’t help myself. And believe me, my kids wish I could.

In Sunday’s NY Times Magazine section, Deborah Solomon interviewed the Surgeon General, Regina Benjamin. The questions centered around her role as Surgeon General and today’s focus on solving the problem of our increasingly obese population here in the United States. Surgeon General Benjamin is no skinny minny herself, and readily admits that (after it was pointed out by Ms. Solomon), but says that everyone should find an activity or exercise that makes them happy and gets them moving. For Benjamin, it’s disco dancing. She doesn’t go to the clubs to get her exercise on, so to speak, but finds that after several hours of dancing she feels invigorated and knows that she has gotten some good aerobic exercise. She recommended that if you could do nothing else, you should dance. I couldn’t agree more. My kids are now running and hiding.

While I was reading this article, I was listening to my Ipod, set to “shuffle.” I’ve got a ton of disco music on there, but the song that began playing as I turned the page was “Dance Away” by Roxy Music, which implores the listener to “dance away the heartache…dance away the tears.” That got me thinking: What are the benefits, if any, to dancing?

I did a little research and this is what I found.

1. Dancing increases flexibility. As we get older, we get less flexible; that’s a fact. But by dancing when you can, you increase the flexibility of your joints, the elasticity of your muscles, and your ability to move overall.

2. Dancing increases strength. According to About.com, “Dancing builds strength by forcing the muscles to resist against a dancer’s own body weight.” I think this applies to amateur, recreational dancers, like me, or professional dancers.

3. Dancing increases endurance. Because dance is a physical exercise, and exercise increases endurance, dance increase endurance. Any kind of dancing will do, but rest assured that as a result of your busting a move, you will increase your endurance.

4. Dancing gives you a sense of well being. Dancing is a social activity that usually—unless you’re me—takes place in the company of others. You may even dance with somebody, something I haven’t been able to achieve because I like to lead (but that’s a blog for another time). Being in the company of people who are having fun while exercising can help you build self esteem and give you a positive outlook. What can be better than that, really?

As I write this, I am seeing parallels between dancing and writing. Writers need to be flexible, something I’ve learned from years of revision of first drafts. You may be entirely committed to an idea, only to find that it doesn’t work, or so says your editor or writer’s group. The more you write, the stronger you become; just ask Stephen King who talks about developing “writing muscles” by writing every day. Writers need endurance; you’ve all felt this as you’ve approached a particularly tight and perhaps onerous deadline. But ultimately, writing gives you a sense of well being. Why? Because you’re able to express yourself creatively, just like a dancer, or a painter, or a singer.

The world is a scary place sometimes and this past week only serves to highlight that. Dance more; nobody is watching and nobody cares about seeing expressions of pure joy. Write like you’re the only one who’ll read your work. You can only control what you do and how well you do it, so as the old Mark Twain saying goes, “Dance like nobody’s watching; love like you’ve never been hurt. Sing like nobody’s listening; live like it’s heaven on earth.”

Maggie Barbieri

The Book Is Done!

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This is going to be a very short post today because at 3:43 pm yesterday, after working day and night for weeks, I finally finished Physical Education, the sixth installment in the Murder 101/Alison Bergeron series.

I think my fingers are bleeding.

Yes, I have a year to write each book.

And yes, I have a full-time job.

So, that makes for some very long nights at the end of the year, when most people just want to take some time to smell the flowers, or the needles from their Christmas tree. I was only five days late turning it in, but Kelley, my most wonderful editor, assured me that she wouldn’t be staying up on New Year’s Eve to read this latest–and presumably brilliant!–tome. (I jest, of course.)

Today, I will resume aforementioned full-time job and think about book 7.

Until next week, let me now wish all of you a happy, healthy, and prosperous 2011, a year in which all of your wishes do come true.

Maggie Barbieri

Of Blizzards and Resolutions

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Back in August, my mother, daughter, and I visited my sister in Savannah for the weekend. When it was time to leave, our first flight home was cancelled. Our second flight home—the next day—was also cancelled. And so on and so forth until we got a three-connection itinerary that took us to some of the most delightful airports south of the Mason-Dixon line before we were desposited, twelve hours later, in New York City.

We were lucky. It was summer and we didn’t have anywhere to be, and I work for myself. We stayed calm. Others among us—namely the other passengers on our first flight—all must have been heart surgeons with actual hearts in their carry-on luggage because everyone needed to get home ON THAT DAY. No ifs, ands, or buts. We watched in amusement as people plugged numbers into their cell phones with such force that we were surprised that the phones didn’t break on contact. We watched as every single passenger berated the ticket agents for this inconvenience, as if the ticket agents were responsible for the fifty mile an hour winds in New York. We watched as husbands yelled at wives, and wives yelled at children, and children played in the aisles, blissfully unaware that their trip to Hilton Head had been extended by one, or maybe two, days.

It all came back to me as I watched the news coverage of the “Blizzard of the Century” these past days. Oh, and since the century is only a decade old, should we have trotted out that moniker too quickly? So willy-nilly? Surely there will be other blizzards in the next ninety years; what will we call them? Anyway, many reporters worked through the night to bring us this news: “It’s snowing. A lot.” But pity the poor reporter who was stranded in LaGuardia Airport—a hell hole on regular days—to talk with travelers who had just a slim hope of getting home before New Year’s Eve or in this calendar year. Amazingly, they were all extremely calm. One woman, carrying her Port Authority-issue mat with her in case she needed to sleep on the floor again, spoke of washing up in the rest room, eating lots of healthy airport food instead of junk, drinking water, and waiting it out patiently. She knew that there was nothing to do but be positive, and as a result, was incredibly calm and poised. She even had on makeup! I don’t know about you all, but the first thing to go in the face of life’s inconvenience is makeup. But this woman was all made up, dressed fashionably and appropriately for the weather, and had every hair in place. She talked about the beauty of the snow and the kindness of airport employees. Jim and I looked at each other in awe, wondering where this Zen-filled woman had come from. And if she would ever make it back there.

How we react to life’s inconveniences really shows our true colors, don’t you think? I know it’s easy to go with our first instinct, which for me is to rail at the injustice of it all. But by taking the high road along with a deep breath, accepting that things sometimes are out of our control, is not to relinquish the upper hand. It’s called ‘going with the flow’ and one of my New Year’s resolutions is to do that whenever I can. (I can hear my family members laughing heartily at this proclamation but I’m going to give it my best shot; I’m proven myself to be spectacularly pig-headed and not flow-going.) This resolution will prove to be challenging and will definitely take me out of my Type-A comfort zone but hey, it’s worth a try. And it will be far less challenging than sleeping on a Port Authority-issue mat in the middle of LaGuardia airport. That, my friends, takes a force of will I just don’t have.

How did you weather the storm, Stiletto friends? And what are your resolutions for the new year?

Maggie Barbieri