Showing posts with label Millennials. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Millennials. Show all posts

Friday, November 10, 2017

Nagging moms raise more successful girls!



I love going to Google to look for an image, usually mid-way through, while writing a blog.  Ironically, the more productive I feel in real life, the better the writing seems to become.  If looking at the stats on meanderingABOUT and YUPPYdom are a strong indication.

Finding the perfect image to compliment the point I want to emphasis, often buried in all the other stuff I write.  I might start out with a strong title and then start writing.  However, once the image has been chosen, there is a strong likelihood that the title will change along with it.

I could spend hours looking at Pinterest art and photographic splendor:  there is a LOT of talent out there in the universe.  

Thankfulness
I may be slightly off the mark in my thankfulness blog to commemorate our Canadian Thanksgiving this year earlier in October [ usually, it fall around the third week of October, or so I thought ].

I'm sure my brother is thankful every October.  That is when he married his love of his life, his wife.  He was kinda private about relationships from what I remember growing up.  He is affectionately stereotyped as the Baby Boomer Older Sibling or BBOS (yes, somewhat bossy, but typically laid back unless you touched one of his record albums and left a speck of dust, he'd punch you in the arm).

Not anywhere else.  Just the arm.  Thankfully, it never happened very often.  In fact, once was quite enough.  



Ironically, growing up in the 1960s was not all about being groovy and surrounded by peace and love.  From what I recall, corporal punishment was outlawed just before me.  Happy to note, such an adventure to the principal's office for the strap is not among the repertoire of experiences I have had.

Yes, the innocent aura of my tribe of 1961 friends and classmates.  Yes, the worst year in history according to demographic specialists who authored "Boom Bust or Echo".  Light reading for a 25 year old to be sure.  That would have been in 1986.  A self-confessed YUPPY of a bygone era, overshadowed by Millennial entitlement, a product of our generous and forgiving parenting style where we tried to reason, take away "privileges"  the worst punishment these hipsters had to endure.  That, and our endless nagging or demanding Mom.

That REMINDS ME!!  One of my daughters texted me with a link to the following:

"Study:  Girls with nagging moms grow up to be more successful"

http://nbc4i.com/2017/10/31/study-girls-with-nagging-moms-grow-up-to-be-more-successful/
READ:  Nagging moms .... LINK


YES, this is the same one who gave me the PINK SLIP a couple of weeks ago.  One minute I'm driving her crazy and the next, I'm her hero.

The best story of nagging happened when she was at the enlightened age of 13.  As a January baby, beginning school at 3 because I recognized that she had a very inquisitive mind and knowledge student.  

I was trying to think of a gift for my son, who would have been 16 at Christmas.  That's when you start to realize that gifts are not masses of stuff but one perfectly thought out gift that connects with the age appropriateness of a boy starting the difficult journey of becoming a man.  Not something too boyish, it was getting to be a real bore buying a video game or a video console every year.  It was also expensive and not quite memorable.

In steps my daughter, where we're about to embark in the biggest mother-daughter battle of our respective generations.  Setting the tone for the next 15 to 20 years.  She suggests that I get him two tickets to this concert in February just in and around his birthday.  

Brilliant!  Now I had not even thought of that!  Probably because it was not uncommon for me to take them and pals to the Glenbow Museum in Calgary [when I did have to pay for entrance, having years ago been their advertising representative, attending free openings, general meetings, shareholder meetings, artist presentations, launching shows].  They all had been to live performances with me from The Nutcracker to Phantom of the Opera to The Wiz on Broadway in New York, NY.

So I did buy those two tickets as my lovely offspring suggested.  Son was just "meh" over the present.  He didn't even appear interested with his sister's first pay-as-you-go cell phone [ one of the reasons she turned into a math whiz I'm sure, from learning to subtract backwards on declining minutes of coolness ].

Well, as it happens.  The daughter had actually wanted to go to said concert.  She was 9/10 convinced that her brother would reward her thoughtfulness for coming up with the idea, that he would ask her to go with him.

As the date of the concert started to draw closer, her hints were replaced by out-and-out-demands that he take her to the concert.

As the most perfect brother would, he just didn't respond.  The more she squawked, the less he noticed.  




It was time to go to war.  It was time to get everyone on her side of the army to help convince her brother that she was the most logical and OBVIOUS partner.

He didn't agree.  I respected his decision, reinforcing that choice every time she peeped up.

The day of the concert also happened to be when I was going to compete in a Toastmasters' International Contest by giving a speech.  I was nervous already, about to step off the cliff of my comfort zone and compete.  

Dressed to the nines to work I went that day.  Thinking back as one of the most disastrous days as a mother.  

Like any army general, I had the battalion organized with the support and help of the Master Sgt, my mother, and her side kick, my father.  I would pick up the one daughter at home with my son, then drop her off at my parents, who would pick up the youngest daughter from her soccer game, which I had arranged carpooling with another soccer mom.  My parents would feed the girls and my son would eat garbage at the concert and be content after I drove him there with his buddy.

Like any well-intentioned-mother, I had clearance from work to leave at four o'clock to "prepare for my contest" that evening.  I was already trying to think of ways I could bow out gracefully without showing the stage fright I was hit with!

Happily practicing and rehearsing out loud as I joined the commute home:  not appearing as though I were singing like all the other gals in the various lanes, nope.  I was looking like I was talking to myself!

SOURCE:  Getty Images


Being a single mother of three, perfection was my decree:  the better a job I do at being a parent than their dad, the happier they would be.  No, no yelling.  While a locked jaw clenching my teeth was usually the best sign for the troops to run for cover:  it never looked good and appeared more foreboding than any disciplinary measures handed out.

When I arrived home, not one girl was missing but both!  Huh?  Oh, look a note from the articulate writer who confessed to having swiped her brother's concert tickets and gone to it with her best friend, Stephanie.  {Ironic how both girls best friends when they were 13 were both named Stephanie - I ignored any red flags with the 2nd daughter that I shouldn't have!}

Now that I think of it, I wonder if I ever did save that note.  With butterflies, sunshine and flowers surrounding the words, she begged for forgiveness and understanding on how much SHE wanted to go to the concert.  How mean her brother WAS for not agreeing to take her, she couldn't stop herself and her best friend from going.  Fear not, she knows what she is doing and will text when she is safely settled into the seats so I won't worry about her!

I aptly stepped into the role of psycho [which a daughter has accused her mother of on more than one occasion].  

OMGosh, the competition.  Everything was choreographed and timed to perfection like carefully laid out dominoes [which I never mastered for real].  Now I had to call my mom to tell her that I wouldn't be dropping off the one daughter, but that didn't mean that all other plans were in play:  they still needed to pick up the younger daughter at her soccer game at precisely 7:30 p.m.  Of course, I had to wait for her to come to the entrance of her seniors building after riding the elevator down.  

SOURCE:  Allan Sanders


That was fine because like any fierce general faced with combat, I was barking on the phone to the Stephanie mother, who was proudly informing me that she had done her part of the carpooling to the concert since her daughter was so graciously invited to share with mine, apparently, picking them up when it was over after my competition!

My competition!  Less than an hour and a half.  Fat chance for rehearsal before the stage.  Hey, I couldn't make it!  I had to retrieve my daughter from the concert.  I was going to teach her a lesson.



Don't mess with the mom
Everyone knows this.  Wisdom about staying away from Grizzly bear mothers with her cubs is common knowledge!

Unfortunately for daughter, she wasn't aware of doing anything wrong.  She had left me a note, made carpooling arrangements, all without interfering with the original plan.

She had a phone!
Imagine me texting from the pulled over spot I was at [setting the appropriate example, important at all times, as though children and grandparents have CCTV capabilities that weren't even installed, or not yet, or were they?  Ensuring mannerly conduct complimenting the polished, professional suit I was in that said:  

"I mean business!"

Back in that early dawn of the new Millennium of the early 2000s, it likely was a Blackberry, the clear badge of honor most YUPPIES grasped and carried, or hooked on our waists with the blazer casually tucked aside, like a police firearm, the Blackberry.  No professional parent of an honorable upbringing child would NOT have a Blackberry!  

Also, we didn't have SMART PHONES where we could thumb or swipe maps and itineraries with merely a flick!  We were thumb champions, children of the 60s, Yuppies of the 80s!

I did my best to appear "calm" in my text to said daughter to ask her where she was, trying to appear casual, avoiding betraying at all costs, the combination of rage and panic:  my baby is at a concert without parental attendance!

Surely, they would ask for ID or notice that the name on the ticket was in her brother's name?  You ask?  Well, back then, they were not email confirmations with all the pertinent information like NAME of purchaser, concert seat, which could have easily have been printed out again under any circumstances!

Imagine the parking at the Calgary Saddle Dome.  Darn, I couldn't just pull up as a drop off, I had to pay for parking, look for parking, park, then hoof it to the entrance.

Heaven and mercy.  At least the son has a remarkable memory!  He recalled an approximate location of the seats, which he observed where pretty amazing, now that he thought of not having them anymore.

The rebellious daughter had not responded to my text.  The nerve!  




I likely gained attention while driving and parking waving my arms and raising eyes to the heavens when telling my buddy, Maddy, what I was in the midst of:  a crisis of massive proportions!  

She graciously offered to let the folks know that I would not be able to compete due to an unforeseen family emergency!  [ How many hear that and think:  "she chickened out"? ]  Well I was thinking about it, but now I had no choice!

I marched up to the security guard at the entrance attracting some attention for wearing a beautiful navy pant suit, perfectly coiffed hair, aesthetically polished nails and tasteful complimenting accessories and matching shoes with purse!

After explaining my situation:  that my daughter had taken her brother's present and come to the concert without my permission or knowledge and I needed to lock in parenting strategy 101:  grab daughter and eject from the concert.

A motley crew we must have appeared:  my five feet zero executive pace, clicking pumps with a purpose in mind.  Accompanied by the security guard who was a big foot Chibawka with less hair, appearing more like a bodyguard.  By then, I was pretty accustomed to flipping eyeballs and raised brows.  



Let's call him George.
While escorting me to the office at the opposite of the building, he asked me for a description of said daughter in case we miraculously crossed paths with the offender.  

Only kids born in the 90s remember "EMO"
which was the opposite of whatever their parents may have happened to look like:  lots of very dark circles around eyes, fashionable hardly ever!  Black clothes:  black jean jacket, black jeans, black t-shirt, with died pitch black hair.  Maybe carrying her pay-as-you-go flip phone for peers to notice, they were more than happening by being at said concert.

George didn't slow his pace after ingesting the description any decent mother would recall what her child looked like for Pete's sake [ nobody says:  "Pete's sake" anymore, you notice?].

He empathetically observed and commented that she would fit right in since she looked like every other concert goer we were speeding past.  



Just as we were approaching the will-call booth to begin closing in on the culprit, I did get a text back [she probably remembered the number one rule she was nagged about when she got her pay-as-you-go-phone:  "always answer the mother, no matter what you are doing, even if on the toilet and asking her to hang on so she could wash her hands").

My daughter's text calmly advised that I should not worry as she is in her seats, safe.  The concert was about to begin.  She'll let me know when it is close to ending so I can swing by and pick them up out front.

They were so advanced technologically at the time:  all I had to do was provide the attendants with my DEBIT CARD [note:  single mother as stated previously.  CREDIT CARDs go better being part of a couple].  My ID was used to verify that I should be a very irate parent.  They were able to verify that the seats were claimed with the tickets.  The speed in response was amazing!

The other security guards were starting to form a circle around me as I waited for the seat details and escort to pick up my daughter.  Trying not to be rude [texting while conversing was unheard of "back then"], I texted to inform daughter that I was in the building, she was going to be surrounded by security guards and her name was going to be said out loud by the act's lead singer, telling her that she should meet her mother at the concourse!  

Never humiliate a child unless you want revenge
She gasped and said that she was on the floor, no longer in her seats, so I wouldn't be able to find her.  By now, I was furiously texting to demand that she give herself up and come out, it wasn't going to end well for her if she didn't.

Smarty pants response was that the concert was just starting and she'd be coming out when it was done.  My response was less composed when I told her to watch for all the guards' flashlights going up and down the aisle.  We knew where the seats were.  She could meet me or we could come and get her.

When caught in an argument with an adolescent child, name calling, threats don't work.  

The show down was set at the replacement for the Corral in Calgary, the Saddle Dome.

The stadium was blacked out with the exception of George and I carefully avoiding taking a tumble, with a flashlight guiding him and his hulk blinding me.

She wasn't there!  

We went back to the concourse as my thumbs were warmed up and I reminded her she should be hearing her name any second before the band started.

Embarrassment is revenge
a parent should enforce.  At 13, being singled out among peers at such a big coolness event with the mention of having a mother, was a disaster worth considering.

She gave herself up.
There was only so much she was prepared to do.  She walked up to me with Stephanie so casually, as if it was a well thought out planned meeting.

"You're coming with me"
George boomed as he grabbed their arms as he started to firmly walk them to someplace he had in mind.  There was no rehearsal on what we would do when they finally gave themselves up.  I was curious somewhat on where we were going, but too puffed up with pride for accosting the culprits:  I was victorious.  I had won.  I had found the stubborn so and so.

Every stadium has a jail
for wayward tweens and teens, originally intended for drunks and obnoxious folks waiting for a trip to downtown.

George took them into the jail
I caught a glimpse of a grey room, more like an arena dressing room without any bars.

George politely asked me to wait outside
I'm sure my look of astonishment wasn't lost on the girls, who may have decided at that precise moment that the fun was done.  They were catching heat of the shocking kind!

After what seemed like a very long time, remembering that everything had been a blur since sailing out of work to glide into my wonderfully planned organizational masterpiece of pulling off being in three places at once.

George came out and whispered to me:  " I really think 'we' got them.  What would you like me to do?  Scare them?"

Masterfully calm parenting
was out the window.  I exclaimed:  "YES!  Make her pay.  She deserves to do the time!"

After promising to come out in a few moments, George hailed another enforcer, motioning another Big Foot Chibawka to join me and wait for a few, he needed help escorting a couple of young girls out of the building.

True to character, the young darling was miffed and annoyed by the time she reappeared.  Declaring to all within hearing (a wide area) directed to George and complaining to me that a big deal was being made out of nothing.

"Nothing?" boomed George, supported by a scowl from his associate.  "Were you not in possession of stolen tickets?" he asked.

"Stolen!?!" she responded.  They were her brother's tickets and they were NOT stolen she declared, indignantly.

"Young lady, did you pay for those tickets?" She immediately glared at me to provide support.  I was quite intimidated by the turn of events and remained quiet.  [Not my strongest suit.]

George then turned, all 6 or 7 foot of over 200 lbs, quite easily two of me or my daughter and I combined and asked me:  "Ma'am would you like me to take this young lady down to the police station for them to do an inquiry on stolen property?"

I gulped and blushed as concert stragglers were being entertained by this scene, suggesting that perhaps that wasn't necessary if she was prepared to come home with me then and at the same time drop her friend off home on the way.

The longest mile
You've seen in the movies where the police escort or bailiff escorts the criminal to jail or to court.  In our case, it was two imposing figures flanking all three of us as they walked with us to the nearest exit.  George asked if we needed assistance to our vehicle and I assured him it wasn't far and we were good to go.  As I turned to lead the girls to the car, George winked at me.

Oh the shame, embarrassment
was the rant the whole drive home, while her friend was frozen in fear to what she may expect when she got home where her mother was waiting.  She had ignored her mother's frantic calls and text messages as well.

After allowing my wayward daughter to exhaust herself from crying and bemoaning how she was going to be the laughing stock when "everyone" heard that her mother had come down to the stadium and hauled her out, narrowly avoiding jail time.

Things were pretty quiet by the time we got home.  Her younger sister perched and ready with her grandmother waiting to hear how her heroine, older sister, rebelled and got caught.

Per normal, the brother had escaped to his corner of the house, where he often went to when he wanted to avoid "the drama" of the girls.

The daughter dutifully brushed her teeth and went to bed without a peep.  Fresh the next day, off to school she went to face the music from her peers.  Respectful, polite and chipper as though what had unfolded the night before was a dream or conjured imagination of events.

Of course, by the time I got home that evening, I had no steam left.  Yet my daughter wasn't apologetic or acting like anything had happened.

After dinner, wash up and after less fuss than usual for what time it was to go to bed [not having the "wait till your father hears this" refrain available as a single mother].

When all was quiet, kids settled and snug in their beds, my daughter crept downstairs to check in and see whether I was gritting my teeth still.

She approached me quietly and then said that she understood what had happened and how things happened the way they did.

She said that I became a hero to all parents who had heard that I hadn't done what they would have done:  wait at home until they got home before going on the offensive.  I was a hero because I went out of my way to prove that she was wrong.  She then chipper-like confessed that she hadn't been embarrassed at all.  In fact, she was a hero for being so rebellious by going to the concert alone.

Sigh.  That was one of the first struggle over power between my daughter and me.  The never ending saga of being the nagging mother, trying to teach right from wrong, good manners and bad.

Like the happy moral of the story that she optimistically revealed of two champions:  a mother and a daughter, each forging their way toward circumstances that required a stand off.  Apparently, both equally glorious.  

After a pink slip and the silent treatment, I did reach out and we had a Facetime conversation last weekend.  Lovingly mother and daughter as though it was all par for the course.  She then texted me a note about an artist that I had unveiled a recognized woman who became famous in the 80s when she passed away, sending her pieces to appreciate in value.  Validating that such was the case.

Then the text and article about how nagging moms raise more successful girls:  from a daughter skyrocketing in her own right as an emerging artist, scholarships, grants and the Dean's list earned solely on her own.







Friday, October 13, 2017

Want to know what it means to get the PINK slip?

Original content by:*
Jeannette Marshall
@optioneerJM
optioneerJM+
aboutME.com


If you're around my age [ 50 on a good day or 56 on a bad one ] and you have a daughter or niece or granddaughter around the millennial set (is this the Y? Generation? ] fact check [ ) --> i first called it the Y Generation on one of my first INbeTWEENers blog [ via #WordPress ] aka now as YUPPYdom > target audience & readers born 1960 or later, but before the Millennial (otherwise known separately as The Baby Boomers :: those born of the Elvis and 50s era and vibe, became adults of GENX which is sandwiched [aka squeezed] between the Baby Boomers, inBETWEENers (1960-1969) & what I like to  I call the war babies (those babies born after either World War I ] fact check [date when WWI ended?].

Phew, what a mouthful, eh?  Sometimes I get multiple thoughts that run like a freight train, full speed ahead.  It drives a lot of people crazy [the Hunkster Hubster in particular] ::.... sometimes I am telling him something and 2/3 of the way through, I go "um ah" multiple times until he barks at me:  "Um uh!  You didn't finish!  

Luckily for me, and the loyal few, I sometimes take the time to capture some cool moments.  Or, not so cool moments.



The PINK SLIP?

It is when you mess up with your Millennial daughter and she goes ape shit all over you.  If that isn't suffice, she goes into IGNORE mode, and often BLOCK mode.  Thus is the PINK SLIP.

It doesn't seem fair that father's rarely, if ever, get the PINK SLIP.  It seems a
blessing in disguise when the ticked off goes into overdrive.  It is a process.
It is quite inevitable, particularly if you're the "Mother".    Sometimes it can actually be funny, payback for when 2 PINK GIRLS change the Alpha Pink Girl's status under family that "she is adopted".  

That is the distinction between the battle hardy inBETWEENers:  we've been pushing water up hill all our lives [ saying credit to Wade Sparks, former boss and President of a SMB:  Small Medium Business; selling to very BIG companies and running a branch ].

What obstacles don't 1960 to 1965 in particular share with Millennials?  A-LOT!  Remember we were the original hipsters, aka Yuppies, adulting in the 80s [ exact same age as they are in my case - 27(Kyle) etc.  My girls are wise beyond their years and really have some great attributes that I envy if I could only have known back at the same age, how magnificent everything would be.  



YUPPIES:  Eternal optimists
What would this world really be like, if Yuppies weren't born [ other than cult culture of the 1980s skippy high bangs and big hoops and slouch socks with tights, ankle runners, big oversized sweaters, perms galore, fresh eyed trusters after being abolished and quietened by our very loud Baby Boomer siblings [ brother or sister ].   Being the object of teasing at the edge of tormenting their younger, devoted sibling who iconized their every move [ except thinking he is Jimmy Page from Led Zeppelin with his electric guitar and amp turned up to the max, "WAHW.... wahwm .... WAHW" be still my pounding ears:  no wonder I don't like waking up and jumping out of beg:  clear bad memory of when having to do so ].

Yuppies had to prop each other up and really boost each other's morale.  We were either in college or at our first REAL job(s) in the 1980s.  Amidst recessions, world war threats between the US and Russia, joblessness skyrocketed with the increasing temperature of world affairs.  Just graduating from high school, we were surrounded about hostages, capture, and hijacks and we only had the radio or television where we were likely to get our news.  [ Others would say newspapers, but some of us gal Yuppies didn't like how the ink came off on our fingers so we weren't a fan of newspapers but we were the dawn of capitalism in the 1980s, with greed on most corporate executive's manifesto.  Today, layoffs, downsizing, let go, fired, laid off, work force reduction, reorganization, restructuring are more the norm.  

Loyalty has left the atmosphere.  Neither company nor employee get what they want out of the deal and their is a parting of ways.  The Pink Slip was probably coined in the 1980s ] FACT CHECK [.  Another tie in to the nifty headline I was particularly impressed with ( pat on back to Jeannette ).

Another characteristic of those arriving at adulthood, parenthood in that decade is that Yuppies really like recognition.  More sore than any other generation, simply because being sounded out by our louder siblings, who took credit for a clean car [ trick:  ask younger sibling to help wash car and he would drive them around town for "a while"; so you help them and they take you for a drive to main street and back [ in my life, never really that far:: walkable ]. 

So having a Millennial child is about setting and understanding boundaries.  A familiar song we sang as parents coming back full circle upon our ears.  From that really smart child who snaps it up and snaps it out, except louder.  Probably because we likely seethed but didn't shout in anger, or clenched our teeth akin to biting our tongue.  We were born of the parents who believed that how you dressed {stylish and polished} and how you behaved [ impeccable manners ] were a direct mirror into their inner soul.  

Ask a War Baby what it means to go without (ahem, attention Yuppies and Millennials, take note here)?  You better sit down and grab that cup of coffee anyhow because their answer is going to take a while.  What is amazing is when you actually recognize the sacrifice that War Babies had both as children, growing up and as adults, parents:  having to make do with very little.  Appreciating value over squandering money, which Yuppies and Millennials are apt to do.

Wanting to climb the ladder?  
There's a big leap between The Baby Boomers who are retiring to the tipping point beginning of the Millennial leaders, pioneers.  Yuppies and GEN-X likely skipped over.  Why not?  More educated, Millennials can bring fresh ideas, latest technological improvements [ which is a HOAX by GenXers letting others think that Yuppies aren't technologically inclined ].

Ask yourself, when was the birth of the computer?  Technically, it began a long long time ago, before Yuppies were even born.  What I mean is the birth of the personal computer?  Some of us went to school in 1979 to have hands on computer in our post secondary, either by instinct or natural survival mode.  If you want to have someone project manage something to perfection, you would be wise to consider a Yuppy:  they've been coming up with solutions and fixing problems by the time The Beatles broke up (a long long time ago).

Since I'm already in trouble and she doesn't read my blog * giggles *


So I apologized to my daughter.  Fingers crossed the PINK slip won't last long.  I will try to continue to be optimistic that she'll reconsider her reaction (ah-hem scale 1-10 ticked off:  9.5 degrees out of 10.)   

Maybe the next Millennial will read this, think about their mom mostly, or their dad if it happens, tone down the reaction and embrace the differences between you, with the added value of life experience that COULD spare them a lot of grief.  Knowing that rarely is advice heeded.  Swash-buckling their way to their future in their own brave style.



You have to remember, that your Yuppy mom or Yuppy dad, are prone to recognize how well you are doing.  Driving you crazy for posting about an accomplishment or re-sharing a picture, simply because you thought it was beautiful, unconsciously unaware that so many would agree.  They see the inner beauty paired with the outer strikingness as a formidable force, into the stratosphere when it is blended with intelligence and street smarts, common sense.  With a twist of humor, knowing that laughing at one's self is the biggest show of humility.


Even more if they are a Millennial 


Thursday, August 31, 2017

A lifetime love affair






Publishing indeed!  
I just adore magazines the same as the way I loved figure skating ... a quick bond and a lifetime love affair.  



August 2017 biggest accomplishment
As August 2017 comes crashing to an abrupt and disastrous halt.   I've taken in some quality movies and series, primarily from HBO. 





 Not surprising that HBO leads the pack (with Netflix nipping at their heels).  Not only was HBO an early disruption to network television, they also proved that there was a sophisticated, educated, and most likely upper income situated, who would flock to quality programs.

No, they didn't just become a reseller, they created content.  It is befitting that their great Game of Thrones is leading the buzz both online and in conversations, dinners, viewing events.




I had taken a sabbatical in life.  Withdrawing unto myself, with a deep reflection on the past.  Ironically, the highest KLOUT ranking than I'd had since KLOUT reinvented itself, causing a free fall of early adopter scores by at least 15 points.

Lucky for many, online marketers don't look at authenticity reinforcement like KLOUT or KRED scores.  That has something that has always puzzled me.  Particularly in Canada:  because these scores establish true influence, define audiences and decipher appeal of a profile.  Just log in with ideally your Twitter handle, then add your Facebook page, your PINTEREST boards and instaGRAMs etc. to connect everything together in one full swoop.

I received a personal email from one of my first real online connections, Mike Lehr, a couple of days ago and struggled with a response.



My greatest accomplishment
in August was achieving the highest mark on Solitaire from my computer.  Talk about mental shut down or just turning off my "give a damn meter" completely.

Granted, the highest mark in Klout Score for about 8 years is remarkable.  What is more amazing is I probably have spent a lot less time online.  

The beacon was there but my cloudy mood wasn't seeing it.  Sunglasses towards life.  Muted, darkened and cloaked in disguise.  Dwelling on the has beens, the should haves in the twilight of life.




Mike made mention of the tag leading him to the conclusion that I write a lot about those of us in our 50s and plus.  It is a fairly closed society I would admit, but not an exclusive one by any means.

Leading the helm being born in 1961:  when, according to either Boom, Bust & Echo or The Popcorn Report, it was the worst year thus far to have lived in.

I started reading about demographics in the early 80s .... I know, that time of YuppyDOM and YuppyHOOD - the stamp of coolness presented in the being you represented.




I admit to being a Yuppy of that era.  I admit to having puffed up bangs and during the week wearing a ladies suit attempting to clamber up the chain of career, not unlike the baby turtles climbing over each other to attempt to escape the pail in which they hatched from their shell.

I do write to so many of us that were born in the middle of bomb shelters and a United States invasion.  Nuclear war seemed eminent between the US and Russia.  The authors of those events, the greatest politicians the world had ever seen:  a storybook tale, among a loving family, loyal brotherhood, beautiful wife and charisma telling stories of hope, pride, and human-kindness to all people of all colors.

One of the few things that Mike said that made me think again:  whether my 50s have been a disappointment?  Uncanny, that love, friendship, life & family have been some of the best I've been lucky enough to have.   It has been the worst in my career in equal proportions.  That is a very frustrating circumstance to be in.  



You have the war stories, can regale heroic accomplishments, awards and rewards but somehow sucked into this hole that, like the turtles is hard to climb out of.

Depression and mental health issues must be alarming for anyone 50 or older.  Unlike your elder Baby Boomer siblings who have glided to the opposite spectrum of life:  Semi retired by 55, kids all university educated (without the debt load) because you were parented by those from the great depression era and had faced huge obstacles to get to the other side:  optimism, reward, recognition, service, loyalty, dedication, beliefs.

In similar fashion, and dipping into my fascination with numbers, I wonder how much financial foresight they had to have by when in order to fulfill many of us others wildest dreams.




Some of us got on a treadmill and forgot what gave us joy.  Too caught up on just making it through another day.  The pressures to not just keep up in the Yuppy attitude:  comparison and competition drive our segment.  Where our children have become entitled and tenacious.  Like Yuppies, Millennials know what is going on in their world:  the threats, the competition, the need for education, striving to get ahead in a very large age group.  

I'm lingering around the 1960s and older who are nipped at the edge of Baby Boomers who had all the best opportunities.  Waiting and learning, we had to observe, ask a lot of question, and act as a sponge, embracing lessons from others' failures, rapt with attention to their climb into iconic status:  Steve Jobs, Michael Jackson (watch it on HBO right now), who are admired and respected, after many years of disappointment, disillusion, accusations, failure.



Steve Jobs and Michael Jackson, the ones before us:  Baby Boomers, taught us valuable lessons and a common understanding:  the higher the achievement, the more likelihood of opposition, targeting, slander, dishonesty, suffering, monetary loss.  

Survival is key
Surviving is a critical characteristic we in our 50s share.  We've faced so many obstacles and had to start over more than once.  Or, had to rethink our own perspective and outlook.  Maybe change how we view the world, banishing bitterness to deep hole of the past.



Rebound, rejoice, rejuvinate
we have the energy to realize we still have a lot of youth in us along with knowledge accumulated by failure or lack of luck.  We've exercised our energy to levels that our technology dependent youngsters have become so reliant on, the likelihood of them being able to read a traditional clock, nondigital form, is rare.  We grew up with the basics, started with the basics, and able to conjure up some pretty cool answers to solving a lot of problems.



Once again, we're faced with much greater of forces of life:  no longer just war, struggle for power, and financial supremacy, today you have to worry about safety, violence, terror, corruption, like never before.

Conditioned as survivors
YUP! We Yuppies can set the tone, raise the bar, lead by example on life's greatest lessons.  In style, polished, educated, ethical and poised as our parents and grandparents instilled in us, not simply taught us.





Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Make new friends, love the old




one is silver and the other GOLD
as I grow each older, the more appreciative I've become of so many wonderful experiences to be blessed with, never for a moment taking any of it for granted.

working one's self to the core 
doesn't do anyone favors (p.s. in Canadianese the American favors is favored by spell check, but we Canadians taught articulation in the late 60s and the early 70s were blessed with the very big gift of expression. ..... :: anywayyyyyyyyyyyyyys [an 80s term for those yuppies still out there, and the Millennial wannabes ::.... how things have evolved eh?

In the folds of being born of the 60s
like wallflowers to the Baby Boomers, we observed, we absorbed the best parts, we have held our composure, and now we are parents of the gift to our generation:  the gift of the Millennial Bloom.  

We're pretty lucky
even though if you paid attention to statistics and stereotypical behavior, those born in the 60s were pre-packaged to lean towards failure.  If you think stereo-typing is dangerous, especially to mental health, think of the resilience and tenacity of anyone you know, been lucky enough to have met, or heaven help you if you're an offspring.

A beacon of light
to the Millennials is their embrace of the 80s culture.  Is it because there is a soul connection of what those of us in our 20s in the 80s aligned with what our own Millennials are facing.

Where optimism can be restored
when you think of what great things, events, game-changers occurred in the 80s, introduced back then, every day now.  

Boxers who come out of the corner
jumping into the obstacle ahead, head of, crouched in readiness to take the offensive with hardly a sniffle and long before a drop of sweat.  That would define those who lived their 20s in the 80s.  

I graduated from college in the 80s
and it was a great platform to launch a career.  Not limited by the restrictive curriculum, more persevering to land beyond the world of conformity, censorship, polite manners, poise and abloom with everything is impossible, we may as well make the impossible possible.


I notice some really talented folks out there.  Some that mere names crossed paths with me.  What a crazy, crazy CRAZY time, when I think back to it.  With gurgling reflection caught and captured from my conversation with my mother this afternoon.

Being the parent of a Millennial
is a worrisome, full board, attentive preoccupation.  You revel is the brilliance shining from your child born, first in 1989, with the others to follow in the 90s.  

We're lucky so they are lucky
as well.  Like skipping stones across a glass-like lake or quietly lapping ocean shore.  We may have been born in inopportune times, faced some pretty insur-mountable odds.  What we share is that grasp of not expecting anything for free, without commitment, not always sacrifice [ often by choice ] understanding the basic rightful work ethic:  

* work hard
* work honestly
* work with integrity
* be known for your word without all the numerous
* be committed to quality
* whatever you do, do it with pride
* love who you do it with, who you're surrounded by
* do your best always, it always pays off in spades

A dog eat dog world 
began with the Baby Boomers with entitlement mastered by GenX.  Where those born of the 60s, grew in the 80s, parents of the Millennials >> skipped >> over the hay days and landed in the middle of the first recession since the 1929 stock market crash [ if you do not know anything about this historical event, pause this article and go find out about it .... as my commitment to you as a blogger, you read ] we had to survive.  Really not much opportunity to learn as funds dried up and kids had to go leave post-secondary because their was some sort of crisis in their lives, with their family, that took more important measure instead.

Learn from your elders
as much as you can.  No time will be wasted.  I can guarantee that!  Talking to my mother, with so many wise words shared.  I even said to her:  "I hope I remember all of this for when I write later".  The gift of her wisdom was shone brightly upon me, like a face of a flower blooming forward towards the sun.  

I was a sponge in the 80s
that was my greatest gift.  I only had a college diploma, not even a university degree.  It was enough to teach me discipline and that anything worthwhile doesn't come free, without commitment and stick-to-it-ness that is just emerging within the Millennial generation.  

Millennials have faced fear
reflected in their parents eyes.  A strong, tough upper lip, and a straight spine.  We weren't even considering weakness, with goals clearly defined in our line of vision.  

Dedication, optimism ~
contagiously positive attitudes were bestowed upon our offspring.  Whether they grasped those sprinkles of enlightenment and hung on to the best qualities we shared.

Nobody is perfect
and neither is anyone who defines themselves as a Yuppie.  [ Or admits in select company and trusted members ] Who wear it as an emblem of pride, saying "who cares?" if they still have enough hair left to grow a mullet, why not?

As the Millennials groan
and tsk tsk with embarrassment to their very influential peers.  What their peers think of them is more important than their parents, their boyfriend, or their employer slash / boss could ever dream.  A peer sets the benchmark and the height of the peddle stool they are awarded, acclaimed, worshiped or refrained.

Be still thine parental heart
it is just a mutation of your chromosomes, evolved and collided with nature and environment to form an independent being, an individual.  I know it is very hard.  Like a moth does to a butterfly without the loss of the moth, is the butterfly allowed to form.

Be glad, be proud and be boastful
toward anyone who'll listen.  Those are the ones you want to be around.  They can relate, or your words resonate with them.

Unlike my mom's words
this afternoon.  They were so wise, so enlightening ... almost as though I was leaving a cocoon.    While I'd been living these 55 years, I was enclosed in a small outlook, not looking far beyond to where flowers bloom and the sun's flower is warm with a gentle wind, with an iced tea at my elbow.  I'm careful I don't give it a nudge to topple it over as I tap, tap, tap with the rhythm of my 1979 typing class on an electric typewriter.  Graduating exceeding 120 clicks minutes  ::.... now WHAT was it called back in those days when we took our speed tests on a manual typewriter?  Hmmmm I think it was ... nope not characters per second, or any variation of the Times New Roman font that was the only letters to be had, to write a letter, draw up an agreement or a contract.  

Some of us grew up with carbon copy
yet how many know what that material is?  What it is like to try to avoid staining your fingers on the sticky substance on its back with a wrapping-paper thin or thinner-than-onion paper thin [ I'm sure Google can show you what either of those things are .... if not, Wikipedia for sure ].

This is a story for those 
who remember the glory of being a yuppie.  Bringing in the 80s as we all turned 20.  That is a pretty unique identifiable experience, a uniqueness we can own.  A significant contribution to our society came from our decade.  [ you may have to dig back to my other INBETWEENERs blog (before we evolved to be called "YUPPYDOM" ) mere weeks ago I wrote about those who graduated from the 1960s and became icons of our time.  Across borders, beliefs, colors, race or country, the class of the 1960s born are unique with much to boast about.

Keep steady on the present.
Slam the door or gently close the past.  Forget about the future because it isn't anything you can touch right now.  So you may as well be aware of the present and make every moment count!






where everything is impossible, 
we may as well make the 
impossible possible

~Jeannette Marshall