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That whole seasonal affective thing ...

For whatever reason, I've never been a big fan of February.

It actually goes back to my early teaching days in Milwaukee, when something about the shortest month of the year with its 4:30PM cover of darkness, classrooms filled with vitamin-D deficient students, and overall interminable gloom just settled in a took up a warm cozy residence in my psyche. It's just always a hard one for me.

Sure, there's plenty to appreciate about February, I suppose. Valentines Day.

Um.

President's Day.

My sister's birthday! (That's a good one, actually!) And my Dad's birthday! But those celebrations are within a week of the end of this wintry month, so they really don't count.

It's weird that February brings me such a bummer-vibe. You'd think it'd be March. Now there's a month that was gloomy in Milwaukee. But having grown up in Missouri, March - for me at least - really has always just "felt" like a harbringer of spring. I was Confirmed in March. Granted, it was overcast and extremely wet and cold, but hey - it was also Palm Sunday so it "felt" spring-y. Nope, March is all good.

Right now I am in the holding pattern - almost halfway through February and really ready for some sign of winter's demise.

So, here's my pondering today - how do all of my dear friends out there battle SAD (isn't that ironic, eh?) Seasonal Affective Disorder, I'm not saying I have it - but let's be honest the symptoms seem to be popping up all over! And this isn't a slight to folks who battle depression - we can talk about that in a future post. But the reality is - gloomy cold, hibernating communities breed a sense of "ugh." So how are you beating it? 

Extra workouts? Cooking your favorite recipes? A new devotional/prayer ritual? Extra emphasis on time with friends? Maybe our January new year resolutions are better saved for February as opposed to being introduced in the hectic mayhem of the first month of the year.

I'm curious. And eager to learn because this year seems more difficult than others. I think with the new house, big stresses at the office, an on-the-go toddler, new directions for Leon's career and other "big" ticket issues on the brain, I just feel more inclined to be melancholy this February. So I am looking for some reasonably logical strategies, perhaps a good kick in the gloomy-butt, and maybe a chance to meet for tea with some good friends to help us all pull through.

January Saturdays and UnCommon Sights

Eagles don't flock, you have to find them one at a time. ~ H. Ross Perot

After four days with Leon on the road; and after having (I suppose successfully) battled Syd's ear infection/chest cold/teething/lack of napping/restless sleeping, the Jameson girls had cabin fever. We needed a Saturday activity that would get us out of the house, but not expose us too much of the general public as we are just recouping from Syd's mess of germs (and I, frankly, didn't feel like doing more with my self than a pony tail and tennies). What to do?

Inspiration came early this morning (Syd was up at 5:30 ... instead of her normal 7), "Why - it's January! And we live along the Missouri River. Let's visit the bald eagles in Alton!" I figured, this might be a bust for a 2 year-old, or quite cool and so we got ourselves bundled up, grabbed a camera, and headed for Alton, IL and the Great River Road to see what we could see.

We started at the Alton Visitor's Center, where a quick online search had revealed we could get up close to one of the great birds as part of the Center's January Eagle Meet and Greet program. The tiny brick house in central Alton was absolutely packed with grandmas and papas, little ones and bored looking adolescent ones. And just hanging out in bold incongruity in the front office was a petite trainer with an absolutely huge bald eagle on her arm. I've certainly never seen anything like it, and obviously neither had Syd, who became immediately slacked jawed and just whispered "big bird." We angled through the crowd to get as close as we could, and watched. (And yes, the bird (that seems too undignified a word, actually) turned and looked right at Miss Syd.)

We picked out a small stuffy for Syd's "treasure box" and - tiny eagle in hand - headed out to the Riverlands Migratory Bird Sanctuary for a drive. We oohed and ahhed our way past dozens and dozens of migratory white swans, and turned a corner to see perhaps 2 dozens bald eagles fishing in the river to our left. It was amazing. Syd thought they looked like "big dogs" standing out in the water like they were - and they soared and were simply doing their majestic thing while we gaped at them from the cozy comfort of the car.

Following this excitement, we headed back into Alton to eat at a place called My Just Desserts (guess what the best part of lunch was? And the Tollhouse Brownie is worth the applause it receives on their Web site). Then it was time for a slower drive through Orchard Farm and home for naps.

Sydney hasn't stopped enjoying her bald eagle stuffy - and I couldn't be happier that she loved our adventure today. The idea of introducing her to "America's pet", which was the only way I could think to explain all of the wow-factor and such an early age will lead to a deeper appreciation for the power of independence, the beauty of freedom, the beauty of the view when you're soaring ... eh, too poetic? At any rate, today's lesson, toddlers and eagles are a super fit.

Onward and Upward!

A Dora Birthday Extravaganza!

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Swan Song: A Gen X Perspective on Retirement

Tonight, those of us at CPH celebrated the retirement of a venerable member of our team. In his early 70s, this gentleman is happily moving into a new chapter of life; retiring without apology to sunny Southern California (near his grandchildren).

Watching him perform the final act of a long and successful career has been an interesting experience these past few weeks. And it's been pretty impossible (if you are a person prone to any degree of reflection and introspection) not to consider what the end of a career must mean, should mean, will mean someday.

I've found myself appreciating the incredible good humor, relaxed attitude, and startling clarity and insight that this co-worker has provided since he announced that his time was – at long last – almost up. And while I (like many at the office) have speculated that it shouldn't take a person until the very end to behave with such freedom – in the end I think that perhaps that's precisely how it must be. After all, when else in your career can you perform so totally unfettered from the worries, politics, and expectations of the workplace? There should be something really unique about the last chapter of a person's professional life.

Long time employees and leaders who are preparing to retire are an
incredible asset to an organization.

The last parting shots they choose to lob your way are replete with wisdom and perspective – because the 40-year veteran of an organization is a dying breed in and of themselves. So listen up. I did, and here’s what I discovered:

Primarily, the lesson I discovered in Larry’s enthusiastic exit wasn't that we should all conduct ourselves like we are on the way out throughout all of our job-focused days. The lesson is that we should conduct ourselves with such passion, integrity, and no-regrets-ethic that when our last chapter comes, people are drawn to the energy we are still giving, the insight we are still sharing, the unique perspective we are still lending - right up until we walk out the door on that last 5 o'clock afternoon.

You don’t ever, ever check out. And you always exit with grace and passion. After all, it’s the final chorus of what you’ve spent the majority of your waking hours doing for 40plus years of your life. Make the conclusion a fulfilling end to the story, eh?

Here’s what I’ve learned from Larry:

1. Old-fashioned business sense matters, and provides a necessary balance to our new approaches for solving time-worn marketplace struggles masked in contemporary skin.

2. A solid handshake and a direct look in the eye cannot be undervalued, and means a tremendous amount in a world of fast paced, touchless communication.

3. If you want to impress a person, you better work at it. Contrary to what I hear a lot these days, you do have to earn the respect of the older crowd – not because you “have to”, but because you should want to.

4. If you are impressed by every somewhat talented person who stumbles across your path, you aren’t really too bright. Be on the watch for the real gems, and push them to excel.

5. Sometimes business is hard. Actually, often time business is hard – and you don’t do anyone (or any organization) any favors by curbing demands for performance.

6. Good leaders aren’t there to blow sunshine at you – and if you don’t like that, well … that’s sort of the point. Go work harder.

Taken alone these lessons don’t equal organizational success, and in fact in a new order marketplace they definitely don’t equal success. But they are necessary, and bring balance to the “new” mode of relating in business, and applying them (or at least acknowledging them) is useful.

When I met Larry, I was prepared to really not like him too much. He was gruff. Abrupt. His emails never more than about 10 words. And he absolutely didn’t fall all over himself in love with all (or any) of my ideas just because I presented them professionally and with energy. He actually made me cry (not at work, but on the long commute home) on more than one occasion. Frustration was there.

I had to work – really, really hard – to impress Larry. At the end of the day, it paid off. And he gave me some of the best, most valuable, and most meaningful praise I’ve ever received. He also left me with some pretty straightforward marching orders about my future in business. And that’s given me plenty to mull over.

So here’s to you, Larry. Thanks for being hard, old-school, and infinitely difficult. I’ve learned an incredible lot from your example.

Go enjoy that sunshine. And please leave us a number where we can track you down once in awhile.