Bowling Alley Wisdom 101

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Have you ever been to a little kid’s birthday party at a bowling alley? The lanes are adorned with the insert of bumpers in the gutters. These barriers are incorporated to aid in keeping the players’ balls in line. Creating an actual boundary to guarantee that the game doesn’t break into another’s space. Wouldn’t it be grand if we could install giant, blow-up boundaries to protect ourselves from allowing our experiences to go off course?

History has a sneaky way of showing a pattern in need of a directional change. Completing Kayla’s birthday project reminded me of a similar project attempted many moons ago. Circa 2003, I discovered scrapbooking and the fact that I could print photos in my home office. After an inspirational moment shopping at the neighborhood craft store, walking out with not just one book, but the notion to complete four identical masterpieces. My subject matter was my grandmother Roberta. The queen to the kingdom, at least in the eyes of me, my brother Johnny and my cousins Kelly and Stacy. Visions of a poetic memento, complete with vintage photos, the plan was to complete as a Christmas surprise.

Guess what, I have yet to finish these little, gem filled keepsakes. Revisiting now and then over the years, efforts were attempted to complete, but with zero luck. As I wrote last time about my instant fear of completion, that feeling was grounded in this experience. Having the weight of all the people I dragged into Kayla’s surprise, gave witness to holding me accountable to getting the job done. Yet when I was left to my own self-governance, falling short was easy, project boxed up and stored away without anyone the wiser.

Inspired by my latest writing, the search was on to unearth this treasure from the past. There they were, four partly completed books (in various stages) tucked away with all the supplies in a clear container. Staying on course to my commitment to express gratitude, there is no denying my love of heritage, vintage keepsakes, and how I obtained the DNA that runs through my body. In a world that our roots struggle to get the opportunity to run deep in the soil we land upon, I am beyond blessed to say my family tree is firmly planted with generational ties that rival the forming of the local township. It is a special feeling to say, “My grandparents, parents, myself and all three of my children are Templeton High School graduates.” These is not a single thing that I would ever replace from the family my grandmother created.

The story is titled The Queen of Roblar and it is written in a simple four-line stanza, with each quatrain of the poem featured on a page. Sitting here, scanning my unfinished work, two thoughts run through my mind. One, more of this endeavor is finished than recalled. And the second is utter disappointment that 12 years later the task is not complete. In a period where accountability is a key component to success, be it performance reviews, schoolwork, or every customer survey that lands in our inbox daily, how do we evaluate ourselves?

Reading an article the other day that highlighted personal boundaries, a connection between governing oneself and setting up your own personal gutter “bumpers” for protection seem to make sense. Looking in the mirror and deciding what we will accept in ourselves, and others is not an easy task. And when that “bowling ball” crosses the lanes, how do we correct course?

The article noted two subjects I had never considered: time and intellectual boundaries. The concept of time fascinated me in ways that I could easily grasp and realize how much it defined my shortcomings. From how I have spent my moments over the years to allowing other’s demand of this limited good, examining the value of a healthy time boundaries seemed like a good place to start.

Teetering on placing too many tasks on my “plate” and allocating the importance of each item, the view began to become clearer on where the habit of boxing up valued ventures to return to later developed. You see, I spent a great deal of my life putting my professional life first (most of the time), ironically not because I was trying to climb some illusive achievement ladder. The habit was born from an inner need to do my very best at every duty embarked upon. Being an economist, the obvious lesson is that time is a limited resource. Yet I never treated it as a treasured commodity. Give me a good calendar and ability to plan and the belief was lets cram as much as possible into a single day. Check marking my way down the list. Was their joy from the accomplishments or was there pure exhaustion? The glory of the past 18 months of rediscovery is that when you have abundance of time, the pace teaches you the importance of how you spend every day.

Time for me today is about one thing in a moment, with three check marks on the “to dos” as a success. More is never better; pace is the constant. As I began to set boundaries unconsciously, accomplishments increased. No longer do I need to complete something all at once. If it takes a couple of day, or even weeks to have the plan come together, it is still a win. For once in my life, I recognize the value of every single minute, and I am starting to be stingy with how I spend this valuable asset and who gets the investment.

Intellectual boundaries have been a struggle I have battled internally for years. Not with regards to recognizing what are appropriate conversations, but in the sharing of my mind. Bordering on personal boundaries and the overly transparent philosophy I have adapted; I tend to give my knowledge freely. I watch others capitalize and develop successful businesses based on their skills. Yet here I am connecting people, helping them solve business issues, and sharing my thoughts and skills openly. Putting a value on what my intellectual knowledge is worth, is another huge quandary that I can’t even begin to tackle.

Has a solution been found? Not yet, but I can tell you that the first step is awareness. Allowing the little voice in your head the freedom to talk and keep the reminding alive. Being true to yourself is just as important as being honest with yourself. Neither is easy and both need to be practiced. Now that I have time that I can freely devote to my long-lost project, will I complete in the intention of what I imagined? The future holds that answer. The conscious act of self-protection is a new muscle I am learning to flex. Finding gratitude with the completion of even the smallest tasks adds value to my day and my brain power. Pretty soon I will be “bowling” bumper free.

A short insert of a few pages of The Queen of Roblar

Once upon a time
In a quiet country town
Lived a princess of a girl
With love of life profound

A farm was her castle
Amongst fields of hay
This land was her home
Working hard was part of the day

As time went by
The kingdom did grow
The princess blossomed too
Learning to bake and sew

Born the oldest
In a family of four
There were two princes
And one princess more

Reading and writing at
Oakdale school
The princess thought learning
Was so very cool

As the years went by
More lads in the land
All wanting to take
The princess by the hand

The princess found her prince
In a frog named Miller
She knew in her heart
That the king would kill her

The note on the wall
A love story it told
As they ran to Nevada
To say “to have and to hold”

March 25, 2025 0

Lessons Learn from a Simple Note

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” – William Wordsworth

For the past six weeks, I have been keeping a secret. Better yet let’s call it a major surprise, that tied perfectly into my last blog post. The challenge was not to “spill the beans” while I wrote and fingers crossed the many I tied into the task, kept their lips sealed as time ticked closer to “D Day”. Or should we say “B Day”?

My daughter Kayla turned thirty last week. Early one January morning I got an idea. Those that have worked with me know that me walking in on a daily basis with the phrase, “I have an idea” is not earth shattering news. This one began with a simple thought and grew into mountain to climb with a tight deadline ticking down daily. The brainchild was a gift to my daughter that would showcase the first thirty years of her life. A creation of memories and messages from her first 10,950 days, featuring her family, friends and special loved ones from near and far.
My natural tendency is to have an idea, allowing zero time to percolate before putting the plan into action. My thoughts that early morning, while waiting to board a plane to Reno, moved like the speed of light. Before a second idea could enter my mind, the wheels were in motion as I sent out a group text to dozens of family and friends. My request while rehashing my vision, was simple please send me a handwritten note wishing Kayla a Happy Birthday. I was open to them also sharing special photos they may have of the celebration girl, but what I longed for was that piece of paper with pen marks that makes each of them special to her life.

As I woke up the next morning, instant panic hit me of the enormous task laying ahead. What was I thinking, thirty years of memorabilia to rediscover, organize and neatly sum up in a book? Over the past three decades we have moved from old fashion film, digital cameras and today’s photo capturing device of choice, our cell phone. Inputting the pictures alone would require scans, downloads, uploads and never ending edits. As I sat in my hotel room, I figured I needed a plan and fast. On my side were a few things, I have organized items for each child in a single clear container, Shutterfly had been my photo creation device of choice for at least two decades, therefore housed numerous uploaded photos and the simple fact that I opened this Pandora’s Box with a large number of my contacts, there was no turning back. Laptop in hand, I typed Shutterfly into the search bar, and the first step was taken in a very long journey.

Over the next four weeks there was the gentle balance between feelings of great accomplishment to overwhelming piles of photos, page counts and hunting down letters. The final statistics include one book, 78 pages, filled with 332 photos and 21 letters. I included her birth announcement, a few of her first birthday cards from special relatives no longer with us (complete with their signature), a poem written by her 5^th grade teacher, a newspaper article/photo and her ultrasound image.

I am grateful for the challenge and the reminder of the value of the written word. Large projects can be a doubled edge sword for me to complete. I get caught between constant inspiration to falling down a rabbit hole of chasing ideas, thus turning minutes into extended hours. Funny thing was that while I waited for the letters to come in, I would be setting up the page of the person writing to Kayla. And every single time, the photos I had inserted fell write into step with words in the letter. The words became the irreplaceable star in the production. And I began to notice this continued theme in recent days.

Assigning my students the chore of writing “thank you” notes to speakers, there was the bright light again taking center stage. Their kind words reflected the appreciation of the time the guest spent sharing their story while inspiring ideas of future career possibilities. And just this week while applying to teach yet another class, I had the opportunity to read letters of recommendation for yours truly. The written word is a wonderful reminder of where we thrive, find enjoyment and touch others. Maybe we do need to read how others feel about us, now and then, as a gentle reminder of our importance in this solar system.

In a world where we hear the words AI daily or communicate through emojis and acronyms, let me just express one more time how important connecting to each other makes life worth living. AI cannot compose a handwritten note that expresses your emotions, experiences and genuine caring of another person. Another lesson I embraced during these exercises, the net you cast over the amount of people you touch is much larger and stronger than you may ever realize. From hearing a story from a special aunt, to thanking a guest speaker or even having a former student recount the impact you had on their career path, there are countless individuals that you have touched over the course of your years.

So here is my challenge to all that may read this message. Choose three people that have touched your life; 1) that is near to you on a day-to-day basis, 2) someone who you truly value but don’t connect with near enough and 3) someone that impacts/ impacted your life. Next write them a note from your heart, length isn’t important, it’s the thought that counts. Of course, I would prefer you to use paper and pen but will settle with any formal form of communication. I freely admit, we aren’t all great writers like Wordsworth, but if I can squeeze 21 notes out of the cast of characters for Kayla’s gift, you all can take the time to connect with three humans over the next few weeks.

We have heard the question, what is your love language? I am beginning to believe that mine may be the written word. After my last blog a couple of my friends and I even joked about forming a note writing club, similar to a book club. Where we could meet once a month, drink wine and write to others. Honestly the more I think of the concept, the greater the possibility becomes reality. Even across distances this feat could be achieved. Holding each other accountable to developing our new correspondence habit.

In the words of Emily Post, “Never think because you cannot write a letter easily, that it is better not to write at all. The most awkward note imaginable is better than none.” Take my challenge, share your gratitude and compose away. Maybe, just maybe, we are one card away from starting a writing revolution?

March 12, 2025 1

It’s Kinda a Funny Story

Sometimes you’ll forget precisely what happened, but if a story touches you it will stay with you, haunting the places in your mind that you rarely ever visit. ~ Neil Gaiman

This week we celebrate a very special person’s birthday.

Actually, we celebrate two of the most important people in my life that just so happen to share the same March 7th birthday. My grandma Roberta was everything to me growing up. She taught me so many skills, how to read music, to sew, crochet, even bait a hook. Her talents were endless. On her 80th birthday, I missed her party as I had a more pressing engagement, the birth of my beautiful, red headed, baby girl Miss Kayla Jo.

Sometime in her teens, Kayla started the infamous birthday week. During her college days, birthday week took on a life of its own. Not being able to celebrate her in-person, I would post a “Kayla Jo Fact” on social media and she would get a small gift that day. Those of you that have experienced may have been wondering why you haven’t seen any KJ posts the past week. Well this year I get to be with my girl in person as she rings in her final year of her twenties. This celebration will a multi-day live event, far better than any birthday week.

This girl has accomplished more in 29 years than most people do in a lifetime. If we were to play the game what two things are true out of three about Kayla, my three things would be.

She was the first student to skip getting her masters at Oklahoma State University in Ag Econ department and go straight to her doctorate.
Kayla had a severe speech issue for the first six years of her life, yet went onto have highly competitive livestock judging career scoring high in oral reasons.
She currently owns two homes in two different states. Kayla has taken her love of Sims as a kid and transformed the passion into remodeling each with the help of her dad.

Which one is false, well I actually tricked you, all our true. Kayla is my silent child, yet if she calls you better be ready for an hour-long chat. This girl has her own sense of style and radiates beauty inside and out. She reminds me of grandma Roberta with her no fear attitude, creative energy and adventurous spirit. Can you tell I am a pretty proud mom?

However this birthday week is taking the celebration to the next level. Beyond having me in her midst on her special day Kayla will have two of my most special friends. One was even in the delivery room when Kayla decided to join our clan. Kayla dreamed up this request Christmas week and her wishes are coming true to have Brandy and Tisha out on the town. The only lacking character is her Aunt Stacy, which in all honesty I am not sure the Land of Lincoln is ready for the four of us “grown-ups” on holiday.

As we have been planning our Chicago escapade it got me thinking about my writing journey.

Brandy and Tisha have been two of my biggest cheerleaders since day one. Knowing my initial dream was a fictional book, Tisha was the one that said what don’t you start writing about what you are good at… like collecting points for our travel. Yes, I am the United Miles, Hilton Honors, Starbucks etc and so person. Over time my blogs seem to reflect more of one of my college lesson plans than a John Grisham novel. Some thought or concept followed by a take away or a strategic approach to how to accomplish. But no real story telling.

Why haven’t I made the jump to writing stories? I even have a blog about trying my hand at short stories but nothing has followed. Well the truth of the matter is that my life adventures (especially with Tisha, Brandy and my cousin Stacy) are way better than fiction. Maybe my writers block stems from reality hindering the make believe? So as our “band” (as Brandy so pointedly coined us) goes on tour through the Windy City making blog worthy memories, I thought I would share a small snippet of life on the road with the greatest non singing group ever.

Circa the early 2010s somewhere at a Hilton property

It was a warm, sunny day in Sonoma County. Tisha and I had spent the day making our way north for our annual olive oil judging event. When we started the Central Coast Olive Oil Competition, we soon realized to keep the costs down, economically sound choice was for us to take the entries to the experts than try and bring all the judges to Paso Robles. The residual effect we discovered after the first year was we got to spend a few days in a pretty fabulous area. Exploring the region and learning about their commodities helped us create a better competition and attract new entries.

We had unloaded the oils and sat the room up for judging that would begin the following morning. We returned to our room and decided that why we waited for Brandy (I know shocking twist) we would open our favorite bottle of rose and take our glasses to relax by the pool. Grabbing a couple of room towels to sit on, two go vinos and our liquid entertainment and away we went. The area was pretty empty with a father and son in the pool and the whirl pool empty. We decided the empty spa was calling us and sat up camp. Placing our feet in the warm water for a well needed rest, the quiet of the early evening just before sunset brought a peace to the space.

Now the smartest thing we did was take our cell phones with us, at the time it was the source to keep in touch with our travel buddy but proved to be our life line latter. Sitting in the serene space, enjoying our wine and exchanging a few words the world felt pretty good. But in an instant the still was gone. The father son duo from the pool decided to interrupt our private gathering. I don’t recall their names or the details of their faces but the man’s presence is ingrained in my mind forever.

He was large man both in personality and physical statue. Had an air of Jersey shore meets a dude that drove a muscle car in high school and now dresses in finest velour sweat suits. His hair was slicked back from the pool water and his hand held one of those Club Vodka drinks one could purchase at your neighborhood 7/11. As he and his son slide in the other side of the sauna he began to strike up a conversation. I knew instantly that this was going to be a meeting we wouldn’t soon forget.

Why you might ask everything word turn into a another adventure in wonderland down a rabbit hole. He immediatley asked us our names. My response was quickly ignored as he spun around to catch Tisha’s words. She barely got out “Tisha”, when he blurted out I can’t call you that without making my wife mad. You see my ex-girlfriend’s name is Tisha he said in a hushed tone as to not allow anyone to hear his dilemma. “What is your last name?” And at the moment Tucker was now the name of the person sitting next to me sipping on a glass of Domaine Tempier Bandol Rose. He then graciously reached over with his beverage to see if we would like some added to our glass. The small can had an odor of rubbing alcohol and we motion to our bottle of wine to indicate we were fine.

The question and answer period of the episode began. This is when we began periodically scanning our cells as if a pressing emergency was about to unfold. “What do you do for a living?” he asked. Figuring to not open the dialogue of why we were actually there, I replied “I am a college professor.” My response to his occupation question teaching at Cal Poly sent him down the path of praising his son’s keen math skills. You could tell the young man began to nervously plan his escape when his dad blurted out “give him a math problem.” I have to admit this stumped me for a moment as to how to navigate my response. I could see the poor boy wasn’t about to solve a production function so I just asked “How do you solve math equations, do you see in your head or have any special tricks?” The facts of his answer are irrelevant as his actions were more important to the story. He jumped out of the water, grabbed his towel and looked over his shoulder stated I am “heading to find mom”. And the boy was gone, and then there were three.

Silence had returned to our world but the peace was totally gone. Tucker and I sat there alone with our new pal. The next action took every ounce of our being to not react or burst out laughing. He made his way across the body of water, reached under where I was sitting, took the towel I was sitting on, wiped his face and returned the material. Stunned we both took to our cells and began texting each other. Trying to change the subject and praying for Brandy’s arrival, we began on a quest of information gathering of pure nonsense.

We soon discovered any topic he did it better and bigger than anyone. His life was built on having the best and he was true in his pursuit. Throwing out subjects like shooters at a dart board, we soon learn there was a style to his responses. Any topic would start with “Well it’s kinda a funny story”, a middle, and wrap up with how it was the best ever. His wife wanted a cat “ Well it’s kinda funny story, if we were going to get a cat it had to be the best. I did my research and I bought her a $1,000 cat, it is the best cat ever.” “How did you meet your wife?” “Well it’s kinda a funny story, I owned a car dealership it was the best in the Oxnard area, she was a model, yada yada yada and I was the best so she went with me”, he continued this for what felt like hours. Looking back the one saving grace to the story, we never really told him anything about us other than our names. We didn’t need to, he was the best talker we had ever met. He even told us how is wife was a fair queen in Paso Robles and got to pinch Clint Black’s butt. I gave Tucker the death glare to not reveal my little pageant secret and we escaped the sharing of information portion of the encounter unscathed.

How did this all end, where is the cliff hanger, honestly, I can’t recall. I do know Brandy arrived, we went back to our room and never traveled by the pool again. But what I can say with all certainty, there aren’t many conversations that ole Tucker and I don’t use “Well it’s kinda a funny story”. Over the next few days I can confidently declare a few things will happen, Kayla Jo will have an epic 29^th birthday, there will be lots of champagne consumed, and more than one moment will be remembered in the future with the start “Well it’s kinda a funny story.”

Happy Birthday Kayla Jo – Love You to the Moon and Back

March 5, 2024 1

The Lost Year of 2023

“If you’re “too much” for them….. they’re not enough for you.” – Coffee Cup Mantra

The other day I received an email from WordPress with statistics of my year in review. Although I had visitors and many views, there was no new content. Much to my surprise I never wrote in 2023. Wow can that be true? Yes, I know I have been hit and miss over the past decade, but not one entry? Combine this fact with the recently discovered 2023 planner that was completely blank. The opening page stated “How will you bloom?” and solicited the planner to create a mission statement for their ideal year. Why was my last year void and what the heck happened to 2023?

The list is long, not much fun, very cumbersome and at times full of negative energy, but the answer was simple; I got lost in 2023. Not fully a surprise. I recall a morning drive in July and having the realization that I didn’t have the same relationship to music. The joy I found in little things, a song on the radio, a great bite of food, finding the groove in a project, these were all nonexistent in my daily ritual. Instead I was caught in a hamster wheel of trying to keep all the balls in the air while pleasing the masses.

Now I am not placing blame or not taking responsibility for my current state of affairs, this is more getting down to the foundation and assessing the situation. Letting my economic background take a hold of my brain, I started looking at the variables and limiting restraints in my life. Pretty much my entire landscape has changed. My X’s and Y’s were foreign. Living more miles than I care to think about from family and friends, no familiar surroundings, and lets just add it to the mix.. life with a dog (I do love Louie but he is a major change) nothing in my world has been the same. Allowing my environment to hold constant I need to improve my X to get the greatest return of joy out of Y.

What were the successful pieces in the past? Accepting that my function didn’t change overnight, let’s examine the timeline. In January of 2019 there was the phone call from the mammogram department at Sharp requesting I come in for additional testing. From that day forward life seemed to keep handing out new variables of constant change (including the fun filled adventure we all experienced called “Covid”). Now 1,825 days later, the variables have altered so many times that I feel more like a finished 2,000-piece puzzle that looks nothing like the box cover.

Then it dawned on me, I have been here before. Many, many moons ago I experienced much of the same feelings of life kicking over my apple cart and jumping all over my fruit. When my surroundings were different, the people weren’t my friends (at first) and the subject matter was very new and extremely scary.

When I was 11 years old, my parents divorced. My brother and I found ourselves outside our normal, small town of Templeton (800 people at the time) world and thrust into the hip, beach community of Carpinteria. Living in a condo and not on our farm with all our livestock was culture shock. Most frightening was walking into a 6^th grade classroom with 20 plus strange faces looking back at me.

You see I started kindergarten with the same group of kids that I had shared a school room with for the past half dozen years. There were no surprises, I knew where we all stood in the world of grammar school politics. I can tell you that Jack Greer and Marty Gonzales would get chosen first for teams, that Eddy McGill was the fastest boy in class and most importantly that my desk would always be next to my very best friend Shawna Moore.

Yet on this October day just shy of Halloween, my mother marched my brother and I into Main Elementary School. I can picture that first day like it was yesterday. I had to sit in the office while my mother finished our paperwork. Talk about being in a fish bowl. Kids’ faces would cruise by the window all looking at the new girl. Soon I was whisk off to meet my new class mates. Mr. Carrillo was my teacher and he was a big guy. He ran his room in a loose but structured style. I soon learned that many of my classmates lived in the same neighborhood. But I also was quick to discover that some of the students did not welcome strangers. I was threatened and even ran away from school one afternoon. Lucky for me I had a great teacher and librarian that saw the need in a lost little girl and decided to choose my first friend for me.

Lisa Gray was the daughter of the local dentist, had a very similar appearance to me and loved to read. The school adults saw something in both of us and very silently placed us together. Reading groups, going to help the librarian, working on projects she was always by my side. And the magicalness of adolescents turn us two brown haired girls into the best of friends. She made my new life bearable and soon helped me find my groove in a new place.

Lisa and I both made other friends and shared mutual groups of interest, but I can’t even begin to count the numerous adventures, secrets and memories we created. Lisa was enough for me and I was never too much for her. And the funny thing is that I know if Lisa, Julie, Candy and others were to sit down with me at dinner tonight we would pick up right back where we left off. (cue the end of The Way We Were).

I moved back to Templeton my junior year and graduated with many of the faces that I begin my academic journey with 18 years earlier. But Lisa and a handful of other friends never left my thoughts. I use to note that at the time, I down right hated having to move, but looking back I gained so much from being in a new environment. From learning experiences to different styles in clothing (who knew there were jeans outside of Wrangler?) and being exposed to a larger community helped shape my life and inner growth. And if it wasn’t for Mr. Johnson my high school agriculture teacher I wouldn’t know Parli Pro or how to play cribbage.

Discovering the lessons as our life changes and why god has placed us on a path isn’t always easy. It can be downright challenging. Using all the tools in your chest of “self help” can take time to repair the road our journey travels. My fall back in any situation is to use the simplest form and go back to square one. Cleaning a mess of closet, empty it completely and start over. Challenge at work, what is the first step in the right direction? So that is what I have done. And writing this blog is the first step to a new tomorrow. I am not going to promise that this will be the year that I actually write more and more, but who knows maybe the door opening is a sign for that adventure to unfold. My other big news is that I am teaching again. I am officially the instructor of Equine Marketing at the University of Louisville for spring of 2024. It has been great making my mind use channels of thoughts that have sat dormant for a few years.

Here is to 2024. A planner full of notes and lists. A blog review that surpasses any other year. Life is a journey and as history has shown all trips have their ups and downs. Look for the foundation or that one solid variable. Be it a person, place or thing, find your Lisa Gray and the equation will solve itself.

January 18, 2024 1