What Matters Most

I do not feel my age. Saying the number is a little daunting. But overall, I'm very grateful. I've lost my parents, a sister, and several very close friends. Losing Cece, who was born the same year I was, five years ago has made me check myself if I start grumbling about my age. Cece would like to have stayed around longer to see her daughter graduate from high school, and now from college. I have no reason to grumble. There are two ages -- alive and not -- and I am alive. To waste my aliveness bogged down in negativity would be the height of stupidity. Yet I know I overlook blessings every day. God has dealt me some good cards and I want to play them well.

The most prominent blessing in my life is the love of friends and family. Not just their love for me, but my love for them. Finding ways to show my love gives me great joy. I love finding out that one person has a need that another person I know can fill. "Needs-based" matchmaking I guess. Some of my happiest moments have only been possible by their corresponding embarrassment. I so wanted to be a songleader in high school. (that is a more "dancy" form of cheerleader) I am not a natural, and I had no training. My friends Janet and Venus went out of their way to "step" me through each move. I am a "learned" dancer now, and I even spent a year teaching aerobics. My gratitude is enhanced by the fact that I was so slow and frustrated, and they loved me through it.

Then there was the "Singing in the Rain" audition. My daughter Erin, who was then 13, watched me read lines and sing for the director. Then the director asked if I would attend the dance audition, where I failed miserably. (Those cues went by so quickly, and what language was that choreographer speaking anyway? So much for French class.) However, I "thought on my feet" and used the experience as a teachable moment, telling Erin that "it's amazing what you can do if you are not afraid to feel stupid."

The most extreme fear I have ever experienced was singing in public for the first time. My knees and my voice shook, and I had to have a friend hold me up. I became determined to conquer that fear. Now one of my favorite things is singing. If I could do that, I think I could do most anything. (even dancing, if you teach me slowly!)

Reflecting on my 50+ years of life, it is those moments of overcoming fear that stand out the most. I had to do a lot of that to pursue the adventure of a life with Bob. I made mistakes, and I still do. But my heart knew "we just had to be together," and I'm glad that we are.

This video highlights some of my favorite moments. Here's to making more memories.

Putting on a Good Facebook

I was musing out loud last night and said "Facebook is fascinating." Bob asked if I cared to elaborate. Even though he had that "I don't want to hear more words right now" look on his face. Truthfully I was processing and had no more to say in the moment.

Now I do. :-) Facebook has changed the number of relationships I can have at a time, the flow of information, the frequency of contact, and created new levels of relationship that did not exist for me before. It's also a new venue for expressing myself. If I reveal too much, I may get unwelcome comments from people I have not truly let into my "inner circle" of trusted friends. I don't like being commented on in general, so why invite what I don't like?

This is a quandary. I really like not having to wait for the "yearly Christmas letter" to hear what's going on in people's lives. I like sharing parts of my life and having a forum where I can be completely myself from day to day. I like being able to share my piano lesson business in a heartfelt way. I like staying in touch with people who would be difficult to stay connected to without this forum. Like my sister's friend who has known me since birth, or many of my high school friends.

Facebook is useful for recommendations and referrals. It's a place to vent. I vented about Juan Pablo -- the Bachelor. Then I felt remorseful. I don't really like the show and I just got kind of hooked in toward the end. I like looking at the beautiful St. Lucia scenery and all the pretty people and clothes. I'm a girl, after all. But they are just cartoon characters to me. Then the relationship part hit the fan and I felt like a voyeur. I felt kind of dirty. A lesson learned in public.

Most of our lives are much more public than they would have been pre-Internet. As a wannabe actress I had head shots printed and sent them to agents. I had to go places to build relationships that would further my career. Now I can do all of that from "behind the screen." And with this blog I feel like I have my own newspaper column. The drastic nature of this change strikes me sometimes -- and I want to think it through. Do I really want all of these relationships? What do I want to reveal? What's my goal? How do I manage my Internet time so that it's valuable and not a time-robber?

I see many more positives than negatives. It brings some things to light inside me that are worth a look. Online life is a unique dimension. It won't hurt me to get a little more time outside and away from the computer -- just to maintain the balance. But you just can't beat all the beauty the Internet can bring to your door on a rainy day! Here's to online sunshine!

Do you REALLY want to?

Two years ago I was laid off from a job I valued and hoped to have for a long time. I did not see it coming. It had never happened to me. I had the job for two years, and during that time I had six different managers. The lady who hired me left after two months. The subsequent managers decided to keep me, until manager number six decided not to.

She seemed like a shark to me. But I was not concerned. I knew that no one else was suited to do my job. I had always been the one to stay while others were laid off, and I would get their work. I guess she decided it was more economical to send out my work to freelance writers. Or maybe she wanted someone else in my job. I'll never know. Because she did not talk to me. Ever. Not a word. She had someone else call me shortly before my layoff and ask me about my processes, since "I was so good at my job." That should have been a clue, I guess. I was always happy to share. I did not feel possessive of my information. I'll never know what really went on in the minds of those who decided my fate. It was clear that I had no say -- none at all. "They" had the power to take away my salary and benefits and put me in financial peril. And I was not the only one who was let go that day. I was not able to get my things. I had to come back another day to do that. That felt demeaning.

So...I did not want to cry. I told them I knew it must have been hard for them and wished them well. I wanted to believe this was part of God's plan for me and I would be okay. I stuffed the pain. To feel pain felt like giving away my power. But it delayed my healing.

I've always had an easy time finding work. Not this time. The employers who did want me clearly mistreated their employees. It's true. I lasted a week in a job where I indirectly answered to a lady who was clearly passive-aggressive, elitist, and micro-managing. And just bat-$hit crazy. I had no say. In most other employment situations, I felt like I had a voice. What had changed? Was I missing something?

Then I had a powerful conversation with a life coach. He listened to my life story and concluded that I was a "powerful mother f#$%%er." I'll edit that to "Pow Mo Fo." The use of that language was truly what I needed. Why was I giving my power away? What did I need to do? Work for myself, that's what!

So I decided to "do my own thing" in advertising and marketing. I had business cards made. I went to leads clubs and Chamber of Commerce events. Something was off. It was like rubbing sticks together and not getting any fire. I concluded that I wanted to want to. That's different from really wanting to. My heart was no longer in advertising. I knew it was in music. But I could not see myself "competing" with Carrie Underwood, Pink, or Lady Gaga. At my age? Hmmmm. What to do?

While sitting in my hair stylist's chair, she told me about a client of hers who teaches piano with a program called Simply Music. And voila! The answer came! I checked it out and I am on fire. I love it. I'm happy, fulfilled, and redeemed. I am immensely grateful.

I still write and record my own songs, and I perform here and there. And I'm helping others discover their musicality, which fuels my soul.

Was being laid off the best thing that ever happened to me? No, I think not. But if it had not happened, this new life might not have happened. I had to let go of the good to receive the great. You can't make room for something new without getting rid of something old. And I could never feel strong by giving away my power to a person who did not care about me. God cares about me. And he made me musical and powerful. He had a plan. I just needed faith to find it. It's not enough to "want to want to." I had to REALLY want to. And it has made all the difference.

Missing you, Freddie Lu

It has been six years since my beautiful second mom, Frederee Louise Ray, passed away. She was 95, and I still was not ready to let her go. I feel it when the anniversary of her passing arrives. Something reminds me of her, and I feel the loss as if it just happened. Then I looked at the date. Oh. No wonder. My soul feels it.

I called her Fe-Fe, Freddie, or Freddie Lu. When she called me, she'd say, "Hi, it's your moms." She was born in Tishimingo Oklahoma, lived in New York, and moved to Los Angeles to work for actress Patsy Ruth Miller and care for Patsy Ruth's son, Timmy. She started working for my family in 1956, before I was born. When I was born, apparently my mom said "Frederee, this one's yours." I think there may have been some baby blues going on.

Frederee came to work at 9 am Monday through Friday and left at 5:30. She took me to the park, grocery shopping, and sometimes to her house in South Central Los Angeles. She knew all of my friends by name. She told me who was really my friend and who to watch out for. She caught me kissing a boy and told my mom. She took me walking to find my friend Zogzema's house, only to come home and ask my mom where Zogzema lived. My mom replied, "Oh, didn't you know? That's her imaginary friend." She helped me earn my Girl Scouts cooking badge. I remember her coming to work in tears during the Watts riots in 1968. She talked about race a lot. She said the whites and the blacks have to learn to stand together. I did not understand why it was an issue to anyone. Love comes in every color. And so does hate, I guess.

After Frederee retired in the early 1980s, we stayed in each others' lives. We talked at least once a week and visited each other often. When she was ill in the hospital and could only receive family visitors, I told the nurse I was her daughter. Frederee confirmed that her child was there to visit. The nurse watched our interaction and said, "This is unusual." She was charmed by Frederee. Most everyone was.

When I went through a very distressing divorce, I spent time with Freddie Lu and she gave me a Barry Manilow CD. She knew just how to make me feel better. She could sing. She could dance. And she was smart. She could have been a CEO.

I wrote a song for her, and the chorus is "Love many, but only trust a few. Learn to paddle your own canoe. Take care of yourself girl, that's your job to do. No man's gonna save you from the blues." Those were her words.

Mere words can't fully paint the picture. She was my rock, my mainstay, and my biggest fan. And she loved Bob. She called him "Bobio." She knew he would take good care of me. And he has.

I miss you Freddie Lu. I remember everything you taught me. I remember your smile, your laugh, and your voice. Her granddaughter said "When she loves you, she loves you hard." Thank you for teaching me about loving that way. Your soul shines in my life.

Another candle...

People seem to be quite curious about my age, especially lately. Example: "Sue, do you have kids?" "My kids are grown and I have grandkids." "What? Were you married when you were 12? You must be younger than I am!" Me: "Surprise is the right reaction!"

I like telling people I remember when Kennedy was shot. I like reciting other cultural references such as watching "Dark Shadows" after school or playing Bobby Sherman records. (yes, records) I still play some cassette tapes.

I guess it would be disheartening to feel like I look "old." But I truly believe age is a state of mind. And being happy with your age is a well-kept beauty secret. I've made friends with it.

I've known people who were old in their 20s, and I've known people who were young in their 90s. One in particular -- Frederee, my second mom. She is my "how to age" role model. She smiled a lot. She took an interest in people. She liked going places and doing things. She was open-minded and always learning. And she rarely complained. We were 50 years apart in age, yet I always loved being with her. I never thought of her as out of touch or unable to understand me.

I've always appreciated people with experience. In my 20s and 30s I hired vendors whose experience covered my behind. They knew their stuff, and I learned from them.

I like people with aliveness in their eyes. I want to be one of those people. I guess it helps that I've done a lot of things I wanted to do in my life. I've spent more time on the field than in the bleachers. I've lived, and I believe that there is more for me to do.

For anyone who believes that aging is painful because being young is better -- I say don't buy into that twisted thinking. Make the most of each day and year of your life. Auntie Mame said it best -- "Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death." I say there are two ages -- alive and not. And I'm glad to be alive at almost 55.

The Power of Music

I was talking to a man yesterday about learning the piano and we got to discussing the passing of our parents. He said, "I'm an orphan." I said, "So am I. But we'll always have music." It sounded a little trite, hollow, incomplete. I had to think about it. I realized that embracing music is embracing God. God works through music, creativity, and art. And, no matter how many loved ones we say good-bye to, we will always have God.

I'm not going to preach. The power of music in my life is not limited to the church or any specific religion or belief system. I'll preach some other time. Music as the hand of God crosses all boundaries and human opinions. Just like love does. Two specific examples come to mind.

The first is the musical part of my relationship with my dear friend, Cece. We met in college and music was a huge part of our lives. In those days we listened to Donna Summer, James Taylor, Billy Joel, and Paul Anka. (yes, Paul Anka!) We put on the albums when we went to sleep (we shared a dorm room) and listened to them all night. Yes, albums. Yes, we had an actual record player. But I digress. I had no religious faith to speak of, and Cece was raised Jewish. We wrote poems. I became a songwriter. I found my faith. Cece became ill with cancer in 2005. So did her husband. Her husband passed away within a few months, and Cece was concerned about their teenage daughter. Cece fought lung cancer for four years before she passed away in 2009. Her daughter was 17, and an orphan. One of Cece's dreams was to write a song with me. Two months before she passed, she visited me (she lived in Flagstaff, and I'm in Cali) and I composed some music for her to put words to. I didn't know what she wanted to write. She wrote a song for her daughter. Bob and I recorded it for her. I don't know how I ever sang it. I can't sing it now without sobbing. That's how powerful the emotion of that song is. The song will live forever, and expresses love in a way nothing else could. If that's not the hand of God, I don't know what is. Listen to the video and see how it affects you.

The second example is my musical friendship with the late Alan O'Day. He used music to express all kinds of emotions -- love, lust, shyness, frustration, concern for humanity, etc. He wrote "Rock 'n Roll Heaven" about rockers who have passed away forming a big rock band in heaven. He wrote about a mentally unstable girl named Angie who kept a boy locked in her room. "It's so nice to be insane, no one asks you to explain." He expressed his desire for a soul mate in "Undercover Angel" with the words "...answer to my prayer. You made me know that there's a love for me out there somewhere." He had a strong spirit, but did not proclaim a specific faith. After watching a friend nearly die due to addiction, he wrote these words, "Guide me, give me eyes to see that it's not about me anymore. I just want to be yours. Guide me Lord."

Alan was commercially and financially successful. But he was so much more than that. He helped those in need, shared his talent to brighten others' lives, and took his light into dark places. Every year he participated in a holiday caroling event in convalescent homes. This year Alan is being honored by the field representative for California State Senator Fran Pavley in recognition of his outstanding love, care, and dedication extended on behalf of making the world a better place through music. In the words of the press release, "Alan celebrated love and life through the gift of music and entertained, ministered to, and performed for audiences for many decades all over the world. This includes the senior residents, care-givers, and participants for 15 years at the annual Los Angeles Caroling Festivities."

Through music, God uses us to make the world a better place. Thank you for blessing me, and so many others, with this invaluable gift.

Subconscious Humor

Have you ever tried to be funny and failed? My typical back-pedaling line is "that was funnier in my head." But sometimes I'm successfully funny. I was talking to a fellow female singer who was uncomfortable when people whisper to each other while she's singing. You're pouring your heart out in song and people whisper, glaze, look unaffected, or whatever. It can be distracting. I told her I've been there -- and you never know what they are thinking. I've watched people just stare with a bored expression while I'm singing. Then they come up after the event and say, deadpan, "that was great." And I want to say "tell your face!" When I told her that story, she spit coffee. Truly. I love those moments. Any day that I make someone spit coffee is a good day. Unless I do it without trying. I have a gift for subconscious, unfiltered, unintended humor. So here is my most notorious story.

On a nice sunny weekend back in the late '80s I stepped on a bee in a friend's yard. Lo and behold, I am allergic to bee stings and my foot swelled up and big red streaks traveled up my entire leg. I went to the doctor and it took a long time to heal. It was so bad that I had to use crutches to go to work. So I was in the elevator with an employee who just happened to be in a wheelchair. He had no use of his legs and limited use of his hands. He was a kind-spirited soul with a good sense of humor. His name was Craig. He asked what happened to my leg. Sheepishly, I said "I got stung by a bee." We had a bit of a chuckle before exiting the elevator.

A few weeks later, I was again in the elevator with Craig, and I was no longer on crutches. Settling in for a ride to the 16th floor, he asked how my bee sting was healing. I said, "at least I'm walking." Yep, that's what I said. In the elevator with no way to escape. It was a very quiet ride. And slow. Seemed to last years.

It's kind of like saying to a blind person "you should have seen that!" You don't realize what you are saying. You don't mean to be insensitive or hurtful. It just pops out from some brain cells that put it together and hope the wiser brain cells will catch it and reformat. But the inappropriate words bypass the filter and just come right out the mouth into someone's ears. Why can't that be the moment when you're graced with ambient noise that causes them to say "huh?" and give you a chance to regroup and rephrase? It NEVER works that way.

I've had many of those moments, but have gracefully forgotten most of them. I had one last night. There's too much context needed to share it. I just filed it under the category of "when on the spot, I tell the truth." Then, quickly change the subject. Or walk away (unless you're on crutches, then limp away) I guess the lesson is that it's okay to take a beat before you speak. Give the "higher self" brain cells a chance to come to the party. Then the unintentional sick humor can be enjoyed in the privacy of your own mind. That is a much better place than in an elevator!