Musings on Prince Chalres

I am part of the Prince Charles Generation.  Do you know what I mean? 

The Queen has been reigning FOREVER, and shows no sign of giving up her job.  And at the same time, there is worldwide excitement about William and Catherine; if their recent North American trip is any indicator – and I think it is – the young couple have become hugely popular on the international stage. 

And then there is Charles.  With his son well positioned to become King and his mother doing just fine as Queen, thank you very much,  Charles has, in the hearts of many, been passed over.

Many of us have been passed over.  Our bosses won’t quit and the youngsters coming on board with their high-tech skills and their multi-cultural comfort are becoming the go-to people. 

As a card-holding member of Generation Charles I am perfectly happy to let the young folks do their thing (as if anyone could stop them anyway).   Let the under 40s  black-tie dinner attend, red carpet romp and fund raiser support. 

Looking at my own life, I know I need to step into a new type of leadership: a leadership defined by influence rather than position.  Influence, which is ours for the taking,  flows from relationships, character and attitude.  This summer I have been thinking about cultivating a leadership of influence this way:

• Appearance still matters.  Beauty queen looks are not required, but a healthy, groomed appearance and stylish, well fitting clothes go a long way toward enhancing influence.  (Hence, I am overdoing the exercise and can hardly move.)
• Zest plus wisdom is the winning combination:  Maybe its karaoke, perhaps skydiving, or even trying a new recipe based on a vegetable we’ve never heard of.  Influence is sustained by daring to be adventurous and young at heart,  while at the same time trusting the lessons inherent in our own life experience.   (I can report that I tried league Badminton for the first time this week!).
• Young people are cool.  From travelling with undergraduates in Paris to keeping up with my daughter’s friends, I can attest to the fact that the current generation of young people is fun to be around and doesn’t really see age.  They have been raised with so much diversity that age alone does not really phase them.   Stoginess phases them; age, not so much.   (To stay current with my nephew I wrote him a note today.  With a stamp and everything.  The young matter.)

Looking ahead, the face of leadership is going to be younger than we are, but the power behind the leader is likely to be from the Charles Generation.  We won’t be mentoring the younger folks as much as we’ll be working with them and offering guidance and support when it is requested.   We’ll have huge influence and we will know it.    (See Charles, Prince of Wales)

Paris Revisited

Ah, Paris.

How amazing to spend 10 days studying there.  There was enough of a “school” experience to keep loneliness at bay and enough of an “individual” experience to test my ability to stand on my own two feet.   Perfect.  Here are some of my take-aways: probably not what the professors had in mind, but true none the less.

1) Iceland is a fascinating place, but Iceland Air is tricky.  Iceland seems like a great country, and if Al Gore is right and global warming is upon us, Iceland may be one of the first casualties.  I’d visit soon if it is on your list. 

I guess I don’t blame Iceland for second guessing  TSA screening and requiring us all to be rescreened before we changed planes in Reykjavik (though I noted that Iceland does accept French screening; we were not rescreened on the return).  And I was okay – sort of – with being taken in to a private room for “random security screening”   in Iceland despite the fact that my plane was delayed and waiting for me.  It was not okay when there were no Iceland Air ground personnel in Paris and 250 people had to be rebooked due to a broken aircraft.   I would think twice before flying them again.

2)  The headsets in art museums are worth it.   They seem like just one more way to get tourist money, but the commentaries really make paintings come alive.  The Louvre and the Orsay are overwhelming enough – cough up the extra euros for some professional assistance.

3)  The current college aged students are really good people.  Most of the students on my trip were undergraduates.  Yes, there were some episodes with drinking too much (them, not me).  And yes, they tired quickly of museums.  But, they welcomed me and they embraced me and they invited me to lunch. 

 

4)  Americans are big and loud.   It was embarrassing but true.  We got “shushed” a lot and probably deserved it.  And on balance, we were much bigger than the Europeans.  All of the food and drink portions were smaller than I am used to, and no one was coming around in an apron with free refills of anything. There is a lesson there, no doubt. 

Overall, I loved having a room of my own, navigating the subways by myself and having the time to really sink in to such a vibrant city. 

The trip was exhausting in that everything everyday was new: the people, the experiences, the places, the expectations.   I was happy to come home.  I would happily go again.  And I am so glad that I stepped out of my comfort zone – just the smallest bit – and went.

Summer Vacation

I am really and truly unemployed for the summer.  No substitute teaching calls, no consulting gig and no school either. 

No excuses.

This week, I have felt unduly compelled to clean out kitchen cabinets, run a 5K, lift weights, shop at a farmers market (eat local!), hang out at the pool (vitamin D!) and read the Oprah Magazine (twice!).

This time off is hard-won and much appreciated.  I don’t want to squander it.

And more importantly,  I want to prove to myself that I can do this.  I have always used the excuse of my work/parenting schedule to explain why I haven’t eaten thoughtfully, exercised regularly, or made the most of myself. 

Excuses gone. 

It’s either live this summer to the max, or come to terms with the fact that I am a lazy slob!

Mourning with tears… and laughter

I may lose my readers over this one, but I am just going to spit it out and invite you to comment if you disagree.  We can disagree, can’t we?

I have attended two funerals this week and over the last two years I have done a lot of thinking about how I want to respond to the challenge that death brings to those left behind.  I know that I can't cry endlessly and continually relive these death experiences and call that living.

To be harshly realistic,  the death of a loved one is a commonplace event.  It happens every day in any number of ways to an endless variety of people.  Death does not seek us out uniquely; rather, death seeks us out universally.  No matter what PR firms may say in pharmaceutical ads, the human death rate is 100%. 

Whatever else the experience is, the loss of someone through death is  a call to live more fully and more boldly than we have ever lived before.   The experience essentially demands transformation.

Don’t get me wrong.   Death is sad and tragic and life-altering for those left behind.  We need to mourn.  But mourning is best described, I think, as the work it takes to build a new life.  Some of that work is tears.  Some of that work – a good deal of it, in fact – is laughter.

Upon Return

“I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for death”

Edna St. Vincent Milay

I am back from Paris, and I will share a bit about that soon, but I returned to two deaths and I need to explore those experiences first.

Frances’s uncle died while I was on the plane home from France.  John’s death, at 55, has been anticipated for at least a year and the fact that he never actually died made it seem like he would live forever.  Less than a month ago he was on an Alaskan cruise with his wife.  10 days ago he took his son fishing. 

Every death envelops me in Molly’s death, and her death taught me that the only way to mourn is to live.  John died in California and it was not even a question that Frances and I would be part of the gathering: his life was remembered by a large family telling stories, hanging out in the pool, eating plenty of Mexican food and drinking plenty of wine.  Even as we mourned John, we instinctively celebrated life – his and our own. 

An hour after our return from California, there was a knock on the door that a neighbor had just died at home. 11 PM.  Dark.  She had been recently diagnosed with an aggressive cancer and I don’t think death took her by surprise.  It was a small and intimate gathering around Cathy’s body as her husband prayed for her and waited for the funeral home to come.  Someone put a flower in Cathy’s hand.  Her husband lit a candle.

I suppose God was in the room with us.  Cathy was not.  She was still warm, but gone and not lingering.  Naked but for a towel over her body. Peaceful but not sleeping.  Dead.

I tend to experience death as spiritual transition; Cathy taught me that before it can be a spiritual reality, death is a physical experience.  But that physical experience is relatively short: the body was removed; the pictures came out; the stories were told.  Life was, and continues to be, celebrated.

So my entire being is full of death and its challenge to live boldly and with passion.   Since death will ultimately take us all, there is not much point in giving it more than its brief moment of physical victory.  I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for death.

What Lies Over the Hill?

Today is one of those “turning point” days for me. 

I finished up substituting for the year and head to Paris tomorrow (for two weeks) with my own Master’s program. 

The Paris trip is a big marker for me.  It’s an opportunity to stretch my middle aged wings, test my personal strength,  and discover new things about myself.    And of course I will look for Molly; I expect that I will sense her presence in and around a good deal of this experience.  She KNOWS that  this trip is a tad bit out of character for her mother. 

And then what?   I have not had a summer off in at least 30 years.  My guess is that I will enjoy the leisurely pace for about 4 days.  And then, by the 4th of July , I will likely be doggone sick of myself.  

We’ll see.   I cannot imagine beyond these next two weeks in Paris.    The trip is one of those hills that is just too big to see over until you get to the top.

I look forward to sharing the view when I get back!

Dad and I spent Molly's last gift card last weekend.   I don't know if Dad saw me cry.  But Molly was so present, and the day was so right.   The tears were streaming. God knows what the barrista was thinking...

I was at my parents' home last weekend, for a hometown festival.   Years ago, my Dad established himslef by winning his division in the festival 10K. so I do not honor the family name by stumbling along in the middle of my age group n the 5K.  But I try.  This year, Dad moved into camera-and-chair mode, so he took pictures, and I ran.

And then we went to Caribou Coffee to spend Molly's gift card. It was a VERY intentional trip on my part.  Dad had never had a smoothie - or so he says.  So it was fun to introduce him to the tastiness of frozen fruit and yogurt sipped through a straw. 

Remember that West Nile Virus almost killed my father last fall.   It was touch and go for weeks.  So there is something miraculous about how well he is doing.  And I was feeling good too after the race - much better than I looked, by the way! 

The whole morning was captured, for me, by a board that you could write on whle you waited for your drink order...  WHAT ARE YOU MOST THANKFUL FOR? the board queried.      Folks wrote the typical things...... they were thankful for their mates..   their children....  their faith.

I was thankful for "Today".   Molly was there.  Dad was there.  I was there.  It was enough.