My Swan Song Sounds More Like Gurgling

The phrase "swan song" is a reference to an ancient belief that the swan is completely mute during its lifetime until the moment just before it dies, when it sings one beautiful song. It's not true of course, but it makes for a good expression. Today, I was supposed to be that fabled mythical creature; yet instead of a swan song, I looked and acted more like a swan diving beak first into a pool with no water. The swan would not sing a beautiful song because she was flapping her wings at the bottom of that pool with a badly damaged ego and a wretched bloody beak.

I have served in a leadership position on a particular board of directors for the past ten years. This was all volunteer work, done with my company's blessing but certainly not required. Today was my last board meeting followed my a luncheon to install the new board. It is tradition to recognize those going off the board, to say nice things about all their efforts, even when they've held their seats for years without doing much of anything important.

During my ten years on this board, I challenged the status quo, asked the board to break apart the current structure, created new committees, restructured initiatives, pulled from reserves to build and invest back into the organization, and personally recruited most of the leaders who went on to follow me, each year making us better, each year building on what I started.  I served for five years as an officer, including two terms as president.  This had not happened since 1973. It was important for me to have two years.  I needed to spend more time overseeing the implementation of the new committees and strategic plans.  I wanted to make sure the roots were firmly planted before I walked away.  It was my baby. My passion for this organization was further demonstrated by my choice to remain on the board for the next five years, until today, when I arrived ready for my swan song, ready for tears and accolades to flow.

I invited my closest friend to be my significant other.  Someone who could revel with me.  I even asked my son to attend but his work schedule prevented it.  Thank the Lord for those small blessings, I would have been mortified to have him witness my gloriously embarrassing swan dive.  As the entire 2010 board was called up to be recognized, I was expecting my moment.  They had to say something about me before they installed the 2011 board.  If they didn't, it would be too late.  So I stood there with my head in the clouds, waiting to act surprised and humbled by the good words that were surely coming my way.

I had been too busy rehearsing my speech to realize they had already transitioned to the 2011 board installation.  People in the crowd had to motion for me to sit my ass down. And just like that, it was over.

Now everybody knows I've never once been mute.  Perhaps that's why I was not given my swan song moment. I had tendencies to hog the microphone and passionately disperse my particular brand of what one of my friends referred to as "diarrhea of the mouth" at more than one event. Everybody knew it, I knew it but I was all about generating excitement.  And being a writer, excitement presents itself in me through words. Every leader that has followed me seems to be making a conscientious effort to limit their speeches, as if they are making up for all the time I babbled on and on.

I don't think it was intentional, I know and love these people and believe they would never purposefully slight me or hurt my feelings.  There is a lot to do when you're planning these big events and some things just get missed.  During my years as president, my passionate writing and love of the cause drew national attention to our little Milwaukee chapter.  We were named best of the best for those two years, competing with mammoth chapters like Chicago, Dallas and Houston.  The annual reports were written by my hand but encapsulated the excitement I felt from a passionate hard working board who had created something truly wonderful. I wasn't doing that for the recognition. I did it because I needed them as much as they needed me. I was going through my divorce. It replaced my marriage, giving me something to love, something to quell the post divorce trauma while I healed. All my talent, time, energy and passion went into this chapter because a new chapter was being written in my life. And yes, it is true what they say, in the end you get more than you give.

I received bountiful blessings in terms of personal development, confidence building, leadership training and making life long friends around the world.  I was meant to be there at that time with too much time on my hands and an ability to write and inspire those around me.  It was one of my many personal beginnings as well as the beginning of what has become a Milwaukee legacy.  We remain the brightest, shiniest star in the entire international organization.  It is my legacy, along with all those that served with me.

As soon as my bruises heal and my beak stops bleeding, I will remember that and I will sing my own personal swan song to myself.  Not just before I die, but just before I begin, yet again.

Wally and the Watermelon

I had the pleasure while in Hawaii to meet Wally Amos. He was substituted in as one of our keynote speakers when a hot shot former COO of Wal Mart canceled one week prior to the event. I shouldn't sound so so smarmy - the Wally World guy did claim to have a family medical emergency. I hope it wasn't anything serious, really I do. Because his emergency turned into our blessing.

Instead of being regaled with all the insidious particulars of a mom-and-pop retail killing machine, we were inspired by a 73 year old man with a love of watermelon and a thirst for life. He walked into the room looking exactly like the photo, watermelon hat, big smile, cool shirt and baring baskets of cookies. Perfect!

He is a man with a mission, having had a difficult childhood, he rose to fame by creating the Famous Amos cookie brand, then due to mismanagement and financial difficulties, he lost it. When I say he lost it, I mean he lost the cookie brand along with the right to use his name. When you buy Famous Amos cookies now, you are purchasing a Kellogg product.

Undaunted, he marched on. He tried several new products using "Uncle Wally" as a brand name. Later, he created an "Uncle Noname" (pronounced no-nam-ee) line of products with some success. You have got to love the guy. He saunters up to the convention center stage carrying a plastic container full of watermelon, interspersing his pleasure to be there while munching down on the melon. Dude loves him some watermelon.

He proceeded to enlighten us with his Watermelon Credo, explaining each line with a story from his life or illustrating a point by reading a children's book. We were captivated. I share it with you here.


The highlights that really stuck with me had to do with his belief system. Most all of us seem to get the whole Law of Attraction, The Secret philosophy but sometimes it slips away from us when we're busy wallowing in the day to day doldrums. What we believe, we achieve - or as Wally says, "Whatever you believe creates your reality".

Go on now, get busy believing up a life for yourself.

I was also particularly moved by his take on enthusiasm, love, respect and attitude. It's all very basic stuff but when you hear it from him you sorta sit there thinking, "oh, I get it now", figuratively slapping yourself on the head with a great big duh!

Without these traits, you will wrinkle your soul. Fierce, huh? They don't make any anti-wrinkle cream for the soul.

It is fitting that he closes his credo with the thought of never giving up. This from a man who could have thrown in the towel when he lost the right to use his own name. He has a new retail venture called Chip & Cookie. He has two locations in Hawaii, has been in business for just over four years and hasn't made a profit yet. But you won't see him giving up anytime soon.

Never give up on your dreams.

I think I'd like to write my own credo. I'll have to think of something I love as much as Wally Amos loves watermelon. All I can think of right now is wine and chocolate. I don't think either of those would make for a good credo. Though they do definitely improve my attitude.

Thanks Wally, I'm very happy to have met you.


Please visit Wally Amos at his website. You can order your very own free Watermelon Credo poster, sign up for his inspirational e-newsletter, order from his Chip & Cookie product line, find out about his involvement with literacy and so much more.

This post is dedicated to a friend who seemed to need a little Watermelon inspiration.

Blue Hawaii

I named my blog Stalking Sunsets. I write about the chaos of my life and intersperse moments of clarity when the truer, deeper meaning unfolds itself. I nicknamed myself Zen Mama, thinking I have a remarkable ability to transcend the minutia, to live in the moment, to feel the subdued yet firm grasp of the universe and to find the peace and tranquility of a simple, eloquently silent sunset.

From this one could surmise, a ten day part business/part pleasure, trip to a beautiful resort on the beaches of Waikiki to be just what the universal shaman ordered for me to further my journey. Correct? Yes? Do I hear an "Amen Sista"?

Then perhaps one could explain why I snapped the above photo, a view from my window, the same view I had rejoiced upon when first beholding; only this time, I am photographing the awesome splendor of it all while crying like a starving baby, feeling sick and lonely and wanting nothing more than to be home. Back to that place, my life, known for all it's frantic chaos.

Is this some sorta fucked up paradigm shift? Am I really seeking chaos among the calm?

Am I a metaphysical masochist, a spiritual glutton for punishment, unable to sink my feet into the warm sands of serenity without secretly yearning to hear screaming kids and demanding clients or could it be, I had just had enough of me? I mean, one can only take so much of what goes on inside this head. Had it come to a point where I needed a break from myself?

No doubt, I was missing my boyfriend. How can you be in a place that invites visions of succulent shell fish, dripping with butter and not want to be with the one you love. Throw in a touch of red wine and I wrap myself around a very good girlfriend, looking half in the bag and half way prepared to play for the other team. Interpretation - Me: horny - Friend: slightly apprehensive.

I am happy to report, with the help of a $15.99 in-room purchase, I was able to get through the trip without exploring any latent lesbian tendencies or throwing myself at one of those hard-bodied, fire spinning, loin cloth wearing, Gods of the luau. There is nothing quite like a moving documentary to put things in perspective for me.

In all, I had wonderful moments where I shined, carrying out my duties as chair of the conference, teaching a course I had developed, accepting the accolades of a job well done. My year long efforts were well rewarded and I was proud.

But when it was all over and it was just me and a few friends left to enjoy ourselves, I withdrew from any and all offers of social interaction. I was beginning to hurt inside, like the mother of the bride just moments after she realizes the wedding is over and her precious baby girl is gone. Not only was my ceremony officially concluded, but my time with this organization had also come to an end.

I had immersed myself, in typical fashion, into the role of a leader within my industry at a time when I needed a diversion. I was leaving "Mr. Sunshine with a Chance of Pain", whom you haven't heard about yet (but will very soon, I promise). It had been a six year pilgrimage into the world of corporate volunteerism. Many people wondered why I was that devoted or perhaps that crazy, to spend so much of my personal time on "work stuff". It is true what they say, for everything you give, you get much more than you can imagine in return. I am a skilled, confident public speaker, lecturer, board member, committee planner and industry insider.

It is hard to walk away from something that supported me so steadily when I needed it. What woman going through a painful divorce wouldn't want a presidential suite with men at her feet? Yet, much like that mother of the bride, I know what I'm leaving is better off for having had my influence. My convictions, concepts and dare I say, my spirit will continue to take root in that which I have given so much. And it will thrive, prosper and become more than I could have ever envisioned without me.


Meanwhile, here I am back at the beach, longing for home - processing the pain of letting go of yet another one of those chapters, or sunsets, of my life. I took this photo during a fireworks show. I don't know what that clouded image is, which appears in the upper right corner. My photographer friends can no doubt explain it, but I hope they won't. I choose to believe I know exactly what it is.

It is that which follows me always, full of my favorite colors yet blurred around the edges. It lives on the inside and outside of me. It is my soul - colorful and slightly indistinct, like an eloquently silent sunset. Or, it could just be the glare from that annoying light pole.

Mad about Mad Men

I am interrupting my series on the Mr. Dependable years to bring you a lighter fare; though, as is my custom, be prepared for me to go deep. That's me, always taking it deep. Why yes it was, double entendre you say? Thank you very much.

All the hype, all the awards, Gayle gettin' Oprah all excited about it, I finally had to see what this Mad Men thing was about so I DRV'd myself a Mad Man marathon and have now viewed all seven episodes of Season 3. This prompted me to get on ye old AMC website and find out what the hell happened in Seasons 1 and 2.

While there, I created an avatar of yours truly as I would appear in the early 60's Mad Men genre. Cute, huh? Man, this girdle is killing me!

The show is good, full of symbolism, not in your face - you have to dig for it. I could keep it light here and go on and on about the writing, the sets, the wardrobe, the careful attention to every last subtle detail of that era but I won't. You can watch it and appreciate those things for yourself. I prefer to focus on that which has been burned into my brain after seeing 7 episodes. Holy shit, that doleful, haunted, little Sally Draper is me, or was me. No wonder I spent most of my time scared, confused and sad. The early 60's were hard on a girl.

Parents were not the least bit interested in how a child might be feeling when they lose say, their grandpa, who was perhaps the only positive male influence said child had in her life. Sally was told to stop crying and go watch TV, wherein she witnessed a Buddhist monk, Thich Quang Duc, in an act of self immolation during a protest in Saigon. There was no one available to explain what was happening during those turbulent times.

In another scene, Sally runs into the kitchen with a plastic dry cleaning bag over her head and is sharply reprimanded for potentially wrinkling the clothes that were in it. I know this seems a bit over the top but in all honesty, I think our parents were living in a fucked up time and they didn't have the desire, strength or concern for our social or emotional development. They did the best they could.

I am mad (crazy about) Mad Men but it also makes me mad (crazy angry). Not only am I forced to delve into my own misguided childhood but I am also compelled to analyze the social commentary of the time. The historically accurate account of the life of women and the treatment of minorities is appallingly painful. I've seen the newsreels, I understood people of color were not allowed on buses or in restaurants, couldn't drink out of water fountains and were beaten and hosed down by the authorities. I have cried while witnessing the brutality and rejoiced at the triumphs of the brave leaders who stepped up to pave the way. I thought I had it. I thought I understood why it was so important for us to have an African American president.

Now I realize, I really didn't get it. Isn't it remarkable that a TV show gave me a slap in the face by showing me what I didn't see, what is not talked about? Mad Men has exposed me to the ignorant, infectious subtlety behind racism. It wasn't just the uneducated, good ol' boys from the deep south, it wasn't just the KKK or the police who were to blame. It was rich white people gathered at a party, watching the partner of their Madison Avenue advertising firm singing to his new fiance in black face. This was 1963, the year of my birth. Forty-five years later, we elected an African American president. I get it now.

Then there is the plight of women, making their way in a man's world. I can't begin to imagine what it must have been like to be one of the first women to break those barriers. I am fighting for Peggy, she's smart - a writer, raised to be a lady but not afraid to bend the rules, question authority, even smoke pot if it will get her a guest pass to visit that exclusive club for people with penises. When I watch Peggy, I feel like one of those Sunday afternoon armchair quarterbacks yelling at the referee to call that penalty, "it was holding ref, call it"! I cheer for her, she is my hero.

Racism is still with us and women are still fighting for equality in the work force. I have had my own personal encounters with both. My dad would not let me bring my black friend from our neighborhood (the only black family there) into our house to play. I had to play with her outside because he thought she was dirty. He frequently used the N word and sometimes worse when he would see a black person sitting on their front porch. I used to argue with him about it. When I really wanted to make him angry, I would tell him I was going to marry a black man. I can still picture the fury in his face as he ranted, "like hell you will, over my dead body, etc."

Likewise in my career, I have had more than my fair share of exclusions from the frat club, derivative nicknames, sexual harassment and of course, earning much less than my male counterparts. But hey, after watching Mad Men I know the old Virginia Slims advertisement is true. We've come a long way baby. (Hmmm, I wonder if Peggy wrote that slogan?)

I Am Woman Hear Me Bore

I was paid perhaps the greatest compliment of my life recently. I had just finished an exasperating two-day planning session. It was the kind of thing where you place yourself in a creative "think tank". My normal day to day life consists of using the logical side of my brain (mostly). I relish these opportunities to use my creative side, i.e., this blog. Yet, I don't think I fully realized the toll it takes on you to focus entirely on that lesser used portion of your brain.

This planning group consisted of a wide ranging demographic selected for either their location, their specialty or their tenure within my industry. They wanted opinions from the "seasoned", the experienced, the novices - east coast, west coast, middle America. No comment as to which specific sector I was selected....

It was equal parts exhilarating and exhausting. BUT...

In group dynamics, there is often the phenomenon of the person who doesn't know when to be silent and when to speak. Our group was dominated by a woman who insisted on speaking her mind, her life, her son, her husband, her work, her team members, her past employers, her current initiatives, her fingernail polish her perfect life.....

Not only was she asserting herself into every possible opening but she was doing it with her perfect little life. Antithesis of mine perhaps?

I was surrounded by allies. There were people in the room who knew me REALLY well and people who knew me through reputation. There were people I had never met but nevertheless we immediately attached to each other like kids ganging up in numbers to fight the bully on the playground.

By the end of the first day, people were kicking me under the table for not standing up to this bully. They had been watching me take notes and they were anxiously awaiting my moment to shut her down - to take control or at a minimum, to just get a word in. I could sense the expectation of others was like a beacon shining squarely upon my shoulders so I began to test the waters. Sticking just my big toe in - I immediately realized I would have to break one of my mother's quantum rules of "being a lady" when I spoke up and talked over her. In order to successfully accomplish this task, you have to speak louder and longer than your opponent. God, my poor mother. What would she think? This isn't just a toe - I'm in this up to my neck! Heaven help us mom, if you were alive, you would have clearly dove in to pull me out just like you did that time when I was seven and you thought I was drowning in the shallow water.

Yet...... I did it. I dove in and I spoke and the water was just as shallow as it was when I was 7 years old. I swam in that water and I had no fear. I was as comfortable in that water as a baby in her mothers womb.

When it came time to leave the next day, the CEO of the organization, walked me to the elevator. I didn't fuss about anything, no big deal, I was elated to have been there. He had no idea (or so I thought) about what I had perceived. He quietly pulled me aside and simply said, "Angela, some people talk a lot - and some people say a lot. You are someone who says a lot." Nuf said.

May you always choose your moments to speak. (Unless it's with your good girlfriends - then you can say anything!)