In addition to being the enforcer of beating shore traffic, my dad is also my personal weatherman. He informed me today that high winds are coming and I should secure my garbage cans.
He’s dead serious. The booming authority, commitment and passion with which he needs me to secure my garbage cans (or stay off the road in bad conditions or change my windshield wipers) can’t be ignored.
When my dad calls me about the weather, I listen.
And when I tell you this, I want you to listen…
Humans want to work with humans. Not robots. Not aliens.
I know this because the more human the relationship between me and my clients and creative partners, the better the work we do together. And the more fun we have.
As the year winds down, I have to tell you—from one human to another:
I’m so grateful I can be myself with you in doing what I love.
If you need help putting more of yourself into your business—I’d love to help.
And thank you, sincerely, for being so amazing.
No, my husband isn’t a goat. Let me clarify.
Back when I was 7, I fell in love with a goat at the Catskill game farm. We stared into each other’s eyes and I knew we were best friends. My parents had to pry me away. I clung to the fence and cried as they lovingly explained that our brick ranch in suburbia was not agriculturally-zoned. Fine, I huffed! But we need to move to a farm immediately.
At 17, Simon the Shetland Pony had my heart.
On New Year’s Eve 2002, while everyone else was finding cute boys to kiss, I was outside under the bar’s dumpster trying to lure a stray kitten into my purse.
You get it. From donkeys to hummingbirds, animals fill me with joy. (Except for spiders; they fill me with terror.) So, you won’t be surprised that when hubby and I stopped renting and bought
an animal shelter a house of our own, it didn’t take long to find some furry friends to come live with us.
I’m pleased to introduce you to Cannoli. Though she lived in the shelter for 4 years with her siblings, she is turning into a total love-bug with tons of personality. She is currently snoring on the couch in my office. I’m also fostering her sweet sister, Tootsie (the red one), who is available for adoption.
Here’s to infusing more joy into your life this year—in whatever way that means! If doing less writing yourself will increase your joy, I’d love to help.
Why can’t I be blonde?
Covered in stickers and stars, my diary from seventh grade fell to the floor. Inside I discovered pages of nonsense I’d written about my crush, Frankie. I was dismayed because Frankie only liked girls with blonde hair. With my full head of jet-black hair (that happened to be cut like Elvis), our love was obviously not meant to be. But I pined anyway. The anguish!
I laughed so hard while reading. Poor seventh grade me. I didn’t understand the importance of authentic branding! It’s plain as day—Frankie was not an ideal suitor. (Why was I trying to impress a cigarette-smoking, fight-starting 12-year-old anyway?)
Marketing is about impressing the people who will appreciate our extremely hot Elvis haircuts.
Here’s to the wonder of you,