Lessons in NYC: Day 5 Homeward Bound

(This entry is part V and the last in a series of my NYC blogs. Initial blog post is http://bit.ly/ODK6SE)

Me + the Utesch clan (partial representation)

Life is such a funny trip, isn’t it? How is it that it takes a trip 1,255 miles from home for friends who live a mere 155 miles apart to reunite?  A similar circumstance happened each year that my family vacationed at Lake Okoboji. A couple that lived in my Omaha neighborhood vacationed the same week as us. Each year we talked about getting together when back in Omaha. It never happened and instead we would grill out and golf together each year 200 miles from our homes that were separated by four city blocks.

Missy and Steve Utesch live in Marcus, Iowa; which is a relatively quick drive straight north of Omaha. But although intentions are good, we let years lapse in between our visits. This is where I can tell you that FaceBook is awesome. It was an easy connection that we didn’t have in the years following our college graduation up until the recent rise of social media in mid-lifers like us. And it was through FB postings that Missy saw that I would be in NYC for this class. After a quick interchange that her family would be visiting son, Nick, at the same time; a “date” was had.

I have always wanted to write a book that would be a compilation of essays on ordinary people who have achieved extraordinary feats. Keep in mind that extraordinary feats don’t necessitate winning the Noble Peace Prize or making a kazillion dollars running a Fortune 500 company. Extraordinary feats come in many shapes and sizes.  Topping my list include overcoming life adversity, making the most of a 2^nd chance, going to bed each night knowing one fought off their addiction. As humans we face mountains of adversity and challenges each day. Those who handle these challenges brilliantly and with heart, compassion, and resilience are those whom I idolize and want to emulate. Where others have bucket lists that include jumping off planes and climbing mountains in foreign lands, being a ghost writer of sorts by writing the stories of these extraordinary people tops my list.

Missy and Steve Utesch and their son, Nick, fall into this category. One day I hope to write their entire story, but today I will give you the abridged version. My friendship began with Missy and Steve enrolling at Westmar College. With three young children and a faltering farm economy, they walked away from their farm and started college in the late 80’s. With an age gap of ten years over the typical college student, the term “non-traditional students” was a complete understatement of their situation.

Not only did Missy and Steve go back to college when times were tough for them, but they completely embraced our school and the young population of students. Steve joined the college wrestling program, became an All-American wrestler, and stood on many podiums. Missy sat by my side as a wrestling cheerleader as we traveled the Midwest following and cheering on our favorite wrestlers. Their tiny daughter, Sarah, was our junior cheerleader. Older sons, Nick and Bryan, tagged along to all meets as well. Wrestling and college was a Utesch family affair. And Westmar College embraced the Utesch family as much as they embraced us. Missy was crowned homecoming queen at age 30 which made the Sunday Des Moines Register. A 30 year old college homecoming queen?  Of course!  We students at Westmar never batted an eye.

As education majors with the goal of teaching elementary school, their life plan was a normal extension of their caring and nurturing personalities. Being a business major, I knew from my first meal with the Utesch family that their oldest son, Nick, was wired differently. Missy would share with me that 10 year old Nick asked to balance their checkbook and later inquired about their family home mortgage. Missy and Steve were at a loss on how to even answer his pointed financial questions (in the minds of educators, this language was Greek to them). Knowing this little boy who enjoyed keeping up on the news and asked many questions on my profession of choice, none of this actually surprised me. I would best describe young Nick as a mirror of Michael J Fox’s Alex Keaton from the old family sitcom, Family Ties. So here was this pint-sized business phenom living in small town Iowa being raised by a family of farmers and school teachers.  Just as his parents performed the extraordinary feat of gaining their college education and making a positive impact while raising their young family (the ultimate story of rising above adversity), Nick made his own way in the world. He found a way to capitalize on his strengths and desires through intense determination and hard work.

In his early teens, Nick learned everything about the mortgage industry through an Infomercial and subsequent video purchase. Not only did the 14 year old learn this business inside and out, he also started “making connections” with those in the real estate industry and ran his business in small town Iowa through licensed adults in big city Nebraska. By the time he had his driver’s license and was able to make the drive to Omaha, he would stay with us as he met with the top real estate professionals in town. Dressed in a suit and with briefcase in hand, Nick set appointments and these professionals, in turn, embraced him. While still a minor, Nick was asked to speak at the national real estate conference. The featured speaker, President Bill Clinton, was not only a surprise of a lifetime, but he also shared the head table with them. Nick had brought mom, Missy, on that trip. I will never forget the phone call I received from them after Nick’s speech and surprise meeting with the President. I was up late caring for a sick Baby Zach. I couldn't make out what they were telling me on the phone as they were both giggling in delight. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought they were both drunk. The reality was that they were intoxicated in the moment.  It couldn’t have happened to a better person and it was frosting on the cake that Missy was with Nick to experience this wonderful moment.

After trying college for a week on a full ride scholarship, Nick simply said it just wasn’t for him. He set up his own business in Oklahoma City; now being old enough to have his own license.  There was no doubt that Nick had more national connections in the industry then most successful professionals twenty years his senior. His ultimate dream was to live in New York and have an office there. Nick is now in his early thirties and has had his office on the Jersey side for over ten years. He loves dividing his time between offices in OKC and NYC. A friend recently made the comment to me “remember that everyone from New York is really from somewhere else”. Nick is the ultimate example of this. To the naked eye, one would think Nick to be a “lifer” in the city, but you now know the rest of the story J

So last night I met my friends at Junior’s restaurant after they finished a bus tour of the city. We sat at the table and chatted like no time had elapsed from our time together. It felt no different than it would have 25 years ago at the kitchen table in their trailer in Iowa. Missy and Steve are still enjoying elementary school teaching and will graduate their youngest (born post-college when Nick was 16) next year. Nick is happy. Listening to him talk with enthusiasm and watch his facial expressions in describing the success of his business reminded me of the importance of loving what you do and chasing your dream.  Well played, Nick.

Nick, Steve and Tanner

You will be happy to know that Missy and I have another “date” on the calendar and this time it is within the next month. The place will be Omaha as this is now Sarah’s home, so no need to fly to New York. I can’t wait. And, Barbara Walters, you have clearly missed your mark in choosing to interview Tom Cruise and J-Lo as two of your chosen ten most fascinating people. Barbara obviously has never met Missy, Steve or Nick.

After my delightful dinner at Junior’s, I blended in with the post-play crowd walking through the rainy Times Square. Plays are certainly a part of NYC that I would want to add to my routine as well. But they didn’t make my short list on this trip. As I made my wayback to the hotel, I noticed another trainee from my day class passing me in the street. Roger is 60+ and from California. By all appearances, Roger seems to be the typical “CPA type”. But tonight he had an addition to his wardrobe that was not a part of his daily training attire. On his head was a knit cap similar to one worn to cover dread locks. Roger pulled on the cap nervously when he saw me. I smiled back hoping he could read my face as saying “You are in New York, Roger. Go for it!!”

It's now Friday morning and I am in my final day of classes in the city. The instructor doesn't appear to be avoiding me, so I must have not offended him last night at happy hour <whew>.  Just for that, I will give him a glowing class review. My bags are safely stored at The Muse waiting for my 3:30 Town Car pick up for the airport. It has been a good run, NYC. Thanks for allowing me to feel twenty-something again and embracing me for these five days.  I would tell you that I am excited to go home, but failed to share that my boys and I take an 8:25 a.m. flight out of Omaha to San Jose tomorrow morning. True story J

California….here we come!!!!

Lessons in NYC: Day 4

(This entry is part IV of a series of blogs on my NYC adventures. Initial blog post is http://bit.ly/ODK6SE)

My taxi to dinner at Wong

Since Day 3 ended a bit late for me, I need to first tell the "end of the story". After choosing a bike cab vs. the traditional yellow model, I met an old friend, Tom, and a new friend, Kopin, at the wonderful Wong restaurant in the West Village. The ride was awesome and the dinner company, spectacular. It had been a few years since I had seen my running buddy of past, so it was great to catch up. I loved hearing about his preparation and now coaching others for the New York Marathon and his runs through Central Park. Yes, running and living in NYC was quite different than the life Tom led in Omaha. It was nothing short of fascinating to hear about daily NYC living from his and Kopin's perspective.

Dinner with Dr. Hansen

I often experience those "small world" events that are very common in Omaha. We all know them; running into your neighbor's friend at a concert or a client's son at a ballgame. I didn't expect this to happen in New York City, population 8,244,910. But as we enjoyed our dinner conversation, we quickly stumbled on a funny coincidence. As Kopin asked about my hotel and training headquarters in hopes of giving me some good restaurant recommendations, he started getting more pointed in his questions. As I described the building I walked to each morning, the security and the 19th floor dwellings; we quickly figured out that Kopin worked in the same building, but on the 6th floor. Of all of the buildings in NYC, what are the chances??? So after great food, wine, and local recommendations; it was time for this girl to get back to The Muse. This time I went for the enclosed yellow taxi. I did this based on three new rules given to me by my NYC friends: 1) only take "yellow" taxi cabs...no more unmarked vans, 2) no buying food that include "meat" from street vendors, but egg and bread were fine, and 3) Central Park was safe as long as it was light and it would be a shame if I didn't get a run in while in the big city. Perfect...got it, guys.

Lobster egg foo young...delicious!

Central Park? Great plan and officially now on my list. Day 4 began just like Days 1-3. Coffee in the lobby, out the hotel doors, and right turn to the street vendor on the corner of 46th and 6th. I followed my new simple rules that included an egg sandwich from my favorite street vendor. Today he definitely recognized me as both a "regular" and an out-of-towner. After asking me why I was in town, he went on to tell me that he was an accountant and had worked for a big company in his prior life. It was way too stressful, so he set up his own food stand instead. Nice! Note to self; ask him his name tomorrow.

 Today's training was very intense and deep, but well presented. I can't remember the last time I have devoted my laser focus for such an expansive period of time. I am honestly worrying a bit about the onset of adult ADHD. I have also come to the conclusion that holding me up in a training session for 40+ hours within a one week period has the resulting sensation similar to a cat released from a cage. As I will explain later, to the misfortune of my instructor and another trainee; they got to experience this first-hand tonight at the close of The Muse Happy Hour.

I walked two miles to Central Park amidst tens of thousands of my closest New Yorker friends until I reached the lower loop of Central Park. And although I have been there before, this afternoon it exceeded expectations. I was a runner among locals. The scenery was beautiful and there was a heart and soul that could be felt in this park. Ball fields and play grounds were full of activity. Parents were enjoying the afternoon with their tots and lovers were walking hand-in-hand. I could definitely feel the pulse of this Central Park community while enjoying my own exercise and people-watching. Thanks for the recommendation, Tom and Kopin. I will put it high on my NYC experience list.

View on my run <3

After a brisk walk back to the hotel (5:56...four minutes to spare before the end of happy hour!), I was thrilled to find that some local beer made the happy hour list...perfect after a run on a summer day. With my refreshing beer in hand, I recognized one of my instructors and a fellow trainee enjoying their own cocktails and conversation. I quickly joined in and reintroduced myself (in case they didn't recognize me in messed up hair and sweaty running attire). I am unsure whether it was the heat or lack of social interaction during the day that overtook me, but I am quite sure I never stopped talking. And I can talk fast. There is no doubt about that. The look on their faces resembled a tad of shock, sprinkling of intrigue, and a bit of fear. In the valuation world, we would scientifically weigh the three; but in my professional judgment I would say they mostly looked scared. While enjoying the beer, I shared no less than three stories in fifteen minutes that would take a normal human being an hour to tell. But the beer and air conditioning did finally cool me off and I then heard about their families and accounting journeys before bidding them farewell and proceeding to the elevator.

So now I sit back at The Muse, enjoying a beer at the hotel bar while pounding on the keys of my laptop.  It is 11:00 and time for bed. My last night in the Big Apple was glorious. I met up with some old friends, Steve and Missy Utesch. We have a long friendship and history. Their son, Nick, is a long-time friend as well. He epitomizes all of what is the heart of NYC. Although young in years, Nick came seeking what New York offered him 20+ years ago and has enjoyed great success and happiness. I love the Utesch's and can't wait to write about my friends. They are deserving of a special entry. Good night, New York... 

Central Park at 5:00 p.m.

Lessons in NYC: Day 3

(This entry is part III of a series of blogs on my NYC adventures. Initial blog post is http://bit.ly/ODK6SE)

Enjoying a sangria while my room is being cleaned

I first need to come clean by letting you know that I went back to the noted "amazing" deli last night before calling it a night. I was intrigued that it was open 24 hours and a mere steps away from the front door of my hotel. As I sat in bed responding to e-mails, I kept visualizing the fresh fruit that lay delicately in the deli cooler bins. The urge to purchase and consume the noted fruit felt a bit like a late night visit to my home refrigerator and a step above visiting a college basement vending machine. So after a short walk to the elevator and down six floors, I found myself in the quiet hotel lobby dressed in my jammies and flip flops. And anyone who knows me also knows this to be a cardinal sin. I have strict clothing rules that follow the premise of always taking dress a notch above expectations. This rule does not include jammie shorts and a NU Tee outside the privacy of my home/hotel room. No doubt that I have lost my forty-something self into the belief that I am temporarily twenty again.

Instagram pix showing my NU alliances intermingling with NYC

The deli was hopping at 11:00 p.m. as was the busy NYC street. I have to sadly admit that a rough looking man running across the street towards me hastened my pace a bit. As I nervously heard Garrett's words "be careful!" ringing through my head and seeing the man's shadow out of the corner of my eye, I quickened my pace even more. Realizing that the shadow was now in the deli as well, I was soon relieved to find that his intended victim was only a Mountain Dew. He had no interest in a jammied Midwestern gal.  With a purchase of some grapes and water, I fulfilled my late night craving and made the short walk "home". Success.

Day 3 began just like Days 1 and 2. A cup of coffee from the lobby and then a right turn out the hotel doors towards the News Corporation building a mere block away. Being a creature of habit (who owns the fact of enjoying small routines), I stopped by my same vendor stand for an egg sandwich. The man with the heavy New York accent was nice. I noted right away that the price of the breakfast sandwich went up from a $1.50 the day previous to $2.00 today. With uncertainty on the economic shift, but with respect for his entrepreneurial nature, I ordered the same sandwich. "Salt and pepper, today?" he asked with a hint of recollection. "Sure. Thanks." I now denote myself as an official patron.

Class was again intense with much detail into the workings of our economic structure and the resulting effects on business values and sales prices. I have befriended Josh, a CPA from New York. Josh is no more than 33 years old and a cross between Adam Sandler and one of Tony Soprano's "guys". We had taken the elevator up together on Day 1 and he has been sitting two to my left (the Puerto Rican gentleman sits between us). Josh is a straight shooter leaving no doubt to the other class participants that he is from New York. On Day 2, he asked Mr. Puerto Rico if he was bothered with the number of questions he asked. Mr. Puerto Rico just smiled and shook his head (I don't think he understood the question). Josh didn't miss a beat in responding "Well, as much as I paid for this damn class, I'll ask as many questions as I want!" And, yes, he does ask a lot of questions, but ends each question with a "thanks". I like Josh. Despite the roughness that goes with his East Coast accent, he is very polite and enthusiastic to learn (see how I quickly flip back the the forty-something mom???).

Josh and I took the same elevator down together after class today as we discuss options for exam review in the fall; self-study or an on-site course similar to the one we are attending? Based on my research, I encouraged Josh to attend one of the on-site sessions. He responded with no hesitation, "You must have a lot of money. I can't afford all these classes!" Taken a bit aback, I explain that we have an education budget at my firm and I don't typically take this much continuing education that requires travel. Josh ignores my comment and goes on to tell me that he parked a mile away to save $10 in parking and that he was on his way to have dinner in Brooklyn with his mother for her birthday (awwww......), but had a dilemma as he needed to go bearing a gift and he had none at the moment. "A fake Coach purse?" I offer as I look at a street vendor begging for our business. Josh frowns at me as I am keenly aware now that I am truly a tourist. After a smile and exchanges on good wishes for the night, I head to my temporary home at The Muse.

The lobby of The Muse at Happy Hour

I don't think I stated this fact in my prior blogs; The Muse has Happy Hour each night from 5-6 with complimentary wine and sangria. Today I needed to get my workout in (that routine thing...), so I had to bid farewell to Josh in order to hit the elliptical for 30 minutes and still make Happy Hour (whew!). That I did, but unfortunately there was a minor roadblock as my room was missed for cleaning and half of my "New Yorker" from the night before was sweltering in my trash can. So....of course, I didn't miss Happy Hour and  instead choose to pick up my complimentary sangria sweaty and stinky while my room was cleaned (thus the picture above). Stink obviously doesn't bother New Yorker's as they brushed by me on the busy street as though I was still dressed in my "corporate uniform" of the afternoon.

So now my room is clean, Day 3 of classes is complete, and Josh is somewhere in Manhattan presenting to his mother some meaningful, but inexpensive birthday gift. I, on the other hand, am meeting an old friend for dinner. He asked that we meet at 7:45 which entails a cab and no doubt, great cuisine (my handsome New Yorker friend is a food snob...a good thing by my estimation!). Dinner at 8???  Back to feeling 20-something again? Yep! Off to meet Dr. Hansen. More to come tomorrow...

Lessons in NYC: Day 2

(This blog entry is part II of a series of blogs on my NYC adventures and associated random thoughts. Initial blog post is  http://sandyalane.blogspot.com/2012/07/lessons-in-nyc-day-1_23.html)

My attempt at getting a pix of my new hoodie :)

You can't say I'm not a quick study. A New Yorker now (albeit for five days), I chose to dress in all black today...black heels, black skirt, and black polka dot top. After stopping by a street vendor for an egg sandwich (YUM and $1.50 at that!!), I took on my stomping grounds of the AICPA building with a new found confidence. The double team of security was no threat to me. With head held high and ID in hand, I breezed past security and typed "19" into the elevator pad without hesitation or need of assistance from a local. As I greeted the 19th floor receptionist, I actually got a smile back from her. I attribute this to my Starbucks that would negate consumption of her coffee and her need later to provide a refill. Yep, I got this morning gig down.

Breakfast from the street vendor

Class was good. Very deep, but very good. Fortunately the constant noise of NY traffic and whistling for cabs doesn't affect my sleep. A good night sleep is essential for a full day of training. After the close of class, I was greeted with the muggy summer New York weather and the bustle of the city. I made a quick stop at a street vendor to purchase a pink "I Love NY" hoodie and a banana (only in NYC can you find both items on the same cart) and then decided to check out Times Square while there was still daylight. Wow...a zoo and haven for people-watching at it's best. As I walked away from the noise of the Square, the smell of incense drew me into St Mary's cathedral directly across from my hotel. A nun invited me to join her and another nun for their nightly prayer service by the altar. It was lovely and filled my heart much more than my Times Square experience. After getting a quick tour of the beautiful church from the elderly nun (who is from Iowa...small world!) and an invitation back, I went on to my mission of dinner. Tonight I decided on deli...authentic NYC deli. And I am not disappointed.

St. Mary's Cathedral

Since I am now sitting here in my hotel room enjoying a spectacular deli "New Yorker" sandwich (roast beef, swiss, tomato, lettuce and horseradish) and have all the time in the world, I will share a story that filled my memory today. It's a story of professional sabotage. Looking around the room at my fellow trainees on the 19th floor today gave me a flashback to my CPA studying days. I had completely forgotten about my one and only brush with female sabotage. I have been fortunate in my many, many years at Lutz to work with women who are "balcony" women. We cheer each other on from the balcony and encourage growth in moving up. We don't pull each other down. What a blessing that has been. This was not the case in my formative professional years at Peter Kiewit Sons'. At a mere age of twenty-two, I was sabotaged and yes, women can be ruthless.  

The year was 1990 and I was gainfully employed at Peter Kiewit as a staff accountant for their newly acquired Continental Can division. I was ambitious and excited to be part of this company. AND it was downtown which was an enticing plus for me. Fresh faced and living in the city, I was enthusiastic to take on any professional opportunity placed in front of me. I had seen a sign in the HR area on a CPA review course that Kiewit was generously offering for those interested. Accepting a job in private accounting, I had put the CPA exam on the back burner, but this was an opportunity that I couldn't pass up. After signing up and picking up my many stacks of books, I showed up at the first evening class. Arriving early with highlighters in hand, I chose a seat close to the front as I didn't want to miss anything. Most students chose the back, thus an open seat next to me. As I contemplated using the open space to stack my many books, a man hurriedly sat next to me just as the instructor started opening introductions. I looked over to the man to offer a smile and I am quite sure my face showed the shock that I felt.  I recognized the handsome man as the boss, the big guy (biggest...CEO of Continental Can), Mr. Tom Gardner.

In complete shock, I turned to the instructor trying to figure out why the man that everyone (especially women) talked about and admired, our ultimate boss who had no interaction with us lowly folks, was sitting next to me at a study class no less. Although my colleagues talked about sharing an elevator with him and women giggled like school girls on their "Tom encounters", I had never actually spoken to the man. Let me give you a visual of Mr Gardner. He looked like Richard Gere, but even more striking. He was older, although I didn't have a clue as to how old (anyone over 30 at that time was viewed as "old" to me). So here I was with the beautiful and elusive boss man planted right next to me for the next three hours.  

After the initial shock wore off, I was fully engaged in hearing what I needed to do to study and pass the CPA exam. Tom seemed as focused as I and we passed pleasantries no different than two college students who had signed up for the same class. I quickly forgot that he was my boss (four steps removed) and we were soon friendly with each other and sharing notes. By the end of the class, I asked the obvious...why was he there? Tom had no problem telling me that although he had an Ivy League education, his MBA, and a resume a foot long; he didn't have his CPA and he had always wanted it. So he decided to sit for the exam and thought the study class was a must for him to accomplish this feat. Looking back, I think he was following Garrett's rule of "if you don't grow, you become stagnant".

Highlighted study materials of today were reminiscent of my books of the 90's

Each week we continued our group CPA classes and each week Tom sat right next to me. This continued through the entire course. Our conversations entailed specific study matter and what we did the ensuing week to prepare for the exam. We became study buddies of sorts and he acted like a school boy; excited for the challenge of the exam (kind of how I feel in NYC right now???). Although Tom and I got along splendidly working toward our common goal, I quickly noticed the glares I received from the women I worked with. They started asking me questions about Tom; none of which I knew the answer since other than small talk, we didn't talk about our personal lives.

Following a promotion to department head in payroll, I was feeling the chill in the air from some of my female co-workers who were hired at the same time as me, but didn't get to sit next to Tom Gardner nor enjoy a similar promotion. I just smiled and kept my distance. Based on their conversations revolving around office gossip and negativity, I was convinced that my mom's mantra of "kill them with kindness, but keep your distance" was good advice. So that I did and felt successful in my attempt to keep to myself. That all unraveled one day when I was called to my boss' boss' office (two up from me if you can follow all that). He proceeded to tell me that the staff shouldn't patronize with the executives and if given that privilege, we certainly shouldn't repeat our private conversations. Completely dumbfounded I listened to him tell me how the "girls" I worked with shared with him their discomfort in my telling of the private life of Tom Gardner. He went on to say that he had no choice but to tell Tom himself and that I should use this as a lesson. My brain quickly deciphered what had just happened to me. There wasn't a coined term at the time, but it is now known as professional sabotage. And sadly, women tend to be the clear leaders in this area. I also knew that there was nothing that I could do. Other than letting my boss' boss know that I had said nothing and he was misguided, I visualized how that conversation would sound with me knocking on Tom Gardner's door. It would have sounded like a grade school girl fight on the playground. So I never said a word.

I did run into Tom in the hallway some time later. We exchanged a quick "hello" and shared our passing exam results. It was a bit awkward and I really have no clue whether he was really told of the girl drama or not. And there wasn't a chance that I was going to ask. I have never seen him again as I started at Lutz within the month. I do have to say that I am very thankful for him choosing the seat next to me. That was the hardest I have studied for anything...peer pressure at it's max! I couldn't imagine failing and having to tell my boss' boss' boss' boss of this result. The ending result was that the sabotage actually did make me stronger (I can eyeball a sabotager a mile away and will fend them off tooth and nail from their prey!), and the CPA certification was my gateway into my fun and fruitful journey in public accounting.


So that's my story. I will tell you that the women in my class today seemed harmless and not ones to join in the ranks of the sabotage I experienced in the past. I'll take my Pollyanna attitude in concluding that the "sabotage" type women get weeded out young or eventually get called out before reaching the ranks of we older professionals working toward our next credentials. Let's just go with that. And no Tom Gardner in my class. I am going to have to rely on my own good old-fashioned self-motivation. Alright, that's all I have for tonight.


And I am going to have to try this deli again....the New Yorker was nothing short of amazing :)   

My new favorite deli

Lessons in NYC: Day 1

My early morning commute a bit different from Nebraska this morning

Per Webster's dictionary:

re·gret/riˈgret/

 

Verb:

Feel sad, repentant, or disappointed over (something that has happened or been done, esp. a loss or missed.

I don't like how that sounds. The term, regret, is a bit of a downer, so let's go with “new opportunity”. Now that sounds much better; I like opportunity.  So...although I didn't travel abroad nor did I live the big city life in my early adulthood, I have been given a late "opportunity" to enjoy a life full of travel (much better for a "cup is half full" gal, wouldn't you say?).

Let me give you a little background into my journey from college to the working world (with no “regret”…of course). I graduated from college on a Saturday and started my accounting career as a W-2 employee in Omaha, Nebraska the following Monday morning. I had always dreamed of taking on the corporate world while living in a city like Chicago or New York. My vision included a wardrobe full of the best suits (I had a worn earmarked Spiegal catalog to prove it), a spectacular leather briefcase, and a commute to work that would be a short walk from my fictional downtown apartment. But this was not meant to be. With no regrets <sigh>, I have lived the dream in Omaha for the past 23 years with a life rich in family, friends, community, and a successful career. I skipped the early years of sowing my oats in the big city to instead enjoy the good life of the Midwest for my entire professional career. But somewhere deep in me there lives a longing for this fanciful short-term existence.

This year I decided to take a big leap that afforded me a late-blooming opportunity. Although short in duration, I will be living the life of NYC for five days. And I can't lie, I feel a bit giddy as I take on this venture. I am here for ABV (Accredited in Business Valuation) training. I won't get into the details of this credential, other than to share with you that this is the first major test that I have taken and studied for since my CPA exam twenty-two years ago. Perhaps that's why I feel a bit young at heart with my stay here. It is definitely a flashback to my 22 year-old self, preparing for the big test fresh out of college.

Starting my career young has afforded me the benefit of flexibility in travel while in mid-life. I very much enjoy seeing new sights and spending time in places that I have never visited before. And there is a benefit to doing this later in life as opposed to at an early age (namely money and better appreciation for all things wondrous, simple, and beautiful). Of all my travels this summer, I was most looking forward to my week in the Big Apple. Although most my age would find this trip a colossal inconvenience, I was fascinated with the prospect of living what I missed in the past. I will own that I am "playing house" a bit as I study like a youngster and treat my hotel room like a mini-studio apartment. So this week I will document my travels in a daily log…thank-you for reading and humoring me.

Day 1

My travels began with a midnight arrival to NYC LaGuardia Airport last night.  As I waited in the long (very long) taxi line, a gentleman asked if I was going downtown. With my answer of Times Square, he offered me a $35 cab ride. I followed this purported cab driver with another taxi line occupant to an unmarked mini-van in short-term parking (Leslie, does this sound vaguely familiar to my buying fake Coach purses out of a mini-van in an alley during our NYC girls trip?). After a soft, but direct reprimand from Garrett on my cab choice; I am now in tune to my Midwest naïve nature and will be more selective in my personal alignments. Although bedtime was 1:00 a.m. for me, I was safe in bed at my temporary quarters at the Muse Hotel; a mere block from Times Square. As a side note, Times Square is a bit like the Vegas strip. It was hopping at midnight; full of all age groups including those in strollers.

Although one would think I would be a weary traveler, I was excited when my alarm went off this morning. I felt like I was starting an adventure. It also helped that I find the training and content of my classes fascinating.  If you don’t grow, you become stagnant (another Garrett line). So in my quest to not grow stagnant, I dragged my butt out of bed and made the half mile trek from the Muse Hotel to the AICPA headquarters for the first day of my intense training class (picture above). A walk in the door gave me my first clue that Dorothy was far from Kansas. After providing my ID and explanation for my visit (felt a bit like an interrogation from the CIA), I was allowed to the next security point where I provided my ID yet again and my newly acquired access card. Whew…finally to the elevators. Just when I thought I drew the “skip jail” card, I have a new dilemma. There was no up/down button for the elevators. Confused, I asked a security officer stationed to the side on my options. He either ignored me or didn’t hear me.  FYI…you type in the floor number of your destination….elevator efficiency management (never knew there was such a thing).  The lady dressed in black (does everyone in NYC wear black??) sounded exasperated as she explained this to me.

I made it to my assigned conference room along with the 49 other class participants. No coffee. The pots were dry. Okay, that’s a deal breaker for me. But there was no going back out to Starbucks for Sandy Lane. I couldn’t fathom getting through security again without missing half of my coveted first day training class. So I bucked it up until the pots were eventually refilled. As a side note, New Yorkers generally give off a feeling of being inconvenienced rather than conveying customer service.  Regardless, the pot was full for the rest of the day and I was happy.

The training was above expectations for me. I wrote down my quote “If you don’t grow, you become stagnant” at the top of my notebook and gave the instructors my full attention. My 49 comrades are an eclectic crowd. All wanted to be there as this training isn’t for the faint of heart and private, public, and international business leaders were all represented. The man sitting to my left was from Puerto Rico. He was flow charting the entire presentation on his I-Pad throughout the day. It is an interesting study in human nature on how we are all wired differently and learn in different ways. My day was full of using a variety of colored highlighters (purple, lime green and orange) and scribbling notes in my book in all capital letters.

We were told that although it was understood that phone calls were essential, they were only allowed in phone booths. Yes, you heard it right…phone booths! Now I was totally feeling a flashback moment as I stared at the land line phone in a booth, no less. But I am a rule follower and wanting to be laser focused, I followed the rules. I left my typical technology interruptions of I-Pad and laptop back at the Muse. My I-Phone was tucked away in my purse until the designated breaks. Recognition for my efforts came full circle when the Puerto Rican man next to me complimented me with “you ask good questions”. <Sandy beams>. Then the younger CPA to the right of me commented “you’ve obviously done this before”. <Sandy is now radiating>. Laser focus continues.

After a day of note taking and colored highlighters, the session closed. So now what does a solo gal in the city do next? Back to my suito-studio apartment (a.k.a. Muse Hotel)….a workout, a little book reading, and a phone call to my boyfriend (all sounding incredibly 20something stuff, doesn’t it?). Past a call and text message exchanges with my kids, I was now a free agent.

View of my hotel and restaurant of the night

Dinner choices were many, but I settled on O’Brien’s Irish Restaurant next door. A Stella and some authentic Irish shepard’s pie topped my great first day as I type this entry feeling very content. The rain lightly hits the sidewalks as I look down from my outdoor balcony perch at the Irish Pub. I will keep typing away as I enjoy the luxury of a cold tap beer and the tranquility of my city living…at least for the week.  And I am sure a week will be just enough time before I am ready to head back home J

View as I close out Day 1 (Stella and shepard's pie to right of computer ...)

My Favorite Surprise

"We do not remember days, we remember moments." ~ Cesare Pavese

There have been very few times in my life that I have been surprised. I mean, really surprised. That moment of confusion when you are unsure of what's going on around you. Time seems to stop as your brain tries to catch up to real life. I was the kid who asked to be surprised with Christmas and birthday gifts, but always seemed to figure them out before the opening festivities. I was also given a really nice surprise 30th birthday party, but had an inkling prior to walking in as to what was awaiting me. For some reason I had never gotten a good surprise through my early adulthood, but it definitely wasn't due to lack of effort.

But there was one time in my life when I was completely taken aback. The good news was that it was welcomed and heartwarming, but one that I didn't see coming in any way, shape, or form. The result was pure joy from deep in the heart and a moment in time that I will never forget.

The year was 2002 and the venue was the Pick family reunion at Lake Okoboji. The well planned event was over the Fourth of July weekend. My mom's family (nine Elmer Pick kids and their many children) had taken the lake by storm. We were enjoying all the family festivities planned by Aunt Barbara, hostess extraordinaire. Barbara had a beautiful lake house where she hosted our many meals and gatherings. Our first official reunion day kicked off on the Fourth with a one-man band, dancing, and a lot of beach attire (lei necklaces, grass skirts, and umbrella drinks). We were enjoying boat rides and great company amongst the beautiful scenery of the very clear, blue water Okoboji lake.

As we caught up as cousins, nieces...uncles, we shared that feeling that all close families know; the experience of not seeing each other for years, but feeling the connection of never being apart. As cousins, we were always tight growing up. We ran wild on the farm as children and then later shared the affection of our grandparents in their home in town. Although the span of years between us was many, there was a special connection that we have always shared. Visibly missing from the cousin crew was my brother, Mark. Living in Vegas and busy with a young family and demanding job, it was impractical and impossible for Mark's family to make the trip. Destination Okoboji included both planes and automobiles. This complication added time and money to travel plans which didn't fit well into the schedule and size of Mark's crew. Although we all understood, we missed Mark dearly.

Mark (age 5) driving the tractor with Grandpa Doc

Mark was one of the oldest Pick grandsons; working many summers side by side with his uncles and grandpa on the farm. A farm boy at heart, we all thought he would be the next generation to take over the farm operations. All of those years of hard work on the Pick farm created a special bond that Mark shared with the family. The funny life anomaly was that not only did he not end up on the farm, but his adulthood home was in Las Vegas, Nevada. No one would have expected our sweet hardworking farm boy to call the fast life of Vegas his home. Far from the Vegas strip, the Pick cousins came together; except for Mark. The hole was felt by all of us.

But life and the reunion went on.  Mom and I wore grass skirts.  My boys sported their Grandma-made red/white/blue Independence Day outfits.  After attempting the limbo with the kids, I ran into the house to refresh my blended concoction with the sounds of Jimmy buffet in the background.  I grabbed my pup, Harry, on my way in as he looked a bit lost with the crowd swarming around him.  As I enjoyed the company of my many aunts in the kitchen, I heard my name. The voice was familiar, but I was confused as to which uncle or cousin it belonged to.  I turned and to my complete dismay I was face to face with Mark. Confusion swirled in my mind while no words left my mouth.  I was speechless.  And then I cried. As we hugged, Mark cried too.  I do remember that no one in the room spoke a word. The aunts just looked on; crying and smiling at the same time. Soon my parents came in to see what was going on in the kitchen. They were as shocked as I was. The hole was filled. Mark came home. The picture below was snapped as my mom reacted (and then son reacted to mom) to this sweet unanticipated surprise. Soon all of our extended family were were sharing our joyful sentiment in welcoming Mark home.

Tears of joy

As it turned out, Mark was as sad as we were in his inability to join us.  His ever resourceful and big-hearted wife, Meg, helped orchestrate a "doable" option for their family...a quick trip that included only Mark.  So they booked his flight and our Iowa farm boy left the lights of Vegas to embrace his cornfield roots of home. As they booked and planned his trip late in the game, not a word was spoken to anyone on his impending arrival. And with pure joy and surprise, we welcomed him with opened arms. It was a weekend none of us will ever forget; full of everything water, guitar playing on the beach, and lots of laughs over bonfires on stories of cousins growing up together. The picture above was snapped of Mark and I once we were able to compose ourselves after my initial surprise. And, yes, that is the look of pure joy. 

Cousins together again

"Other things may change, but we start and end with family." ~ Anthony Brandt

Swim Trials and Trials in Swimming

Self-portrait taken as proof that I had begun my swimming regime

It is timely that the swim trials are in town. Although not part of my training plan, the feats of these swimmers in Omaha go hand in hand with my taking the competitive plunge as well. Yes, I am aware of the gap in level of competition between my goals and those of these potential Olympians; but a challenge for all of us no less. I've started my adulthood voyage into swimming and have quickly learned this to be a challenge.

As a seasoned runner and newly minted cyclist, I caught the triathlon bug and wanted to give it a try. Swimming is the only leg in the race that I lacked experience. I took lessons as a child and watched my own children endure years of swimming lessons. How hard could it be? As a child I was able to swim across the pool and back to gain access to play in the deep water (for the "real" story behind my past swimming refer to my blog, Swimming Pool Blues). After convincing myself that with some practice I could be amply ready for the Omaha Triathlon in August, I registered for this race. The next step was a trip to Scheel's to purchase the appropriate gear. Proper gear (and a cute suit) definitely boosts confidence.  I was now mentally set and ready to take on the water.

Triathlon Swim Training Step 1:  buy gear (check)

After staring at my new gear for a week, I finally rallied enough courage to take on my gym's pool. Going at 9:00 on a Saturday night was my strategy for avoiding the "real swimmers" in the lap pool. Certainly they all had lives that included more exciting things than swimming at Prairie Life on a Saturday night. With only one other adult in the second lane, I breathed a sigh of relief as I climbed in the water. Figuring out how to put on my gear, on the other hand, was not so easy. It took me a good five minutes to get the swim cap on and adjust my new goggles (a tip: wet hair = ease of cap placement, but dry hair = pulls every hair from deep at the root). Then I attempted my first lap. Not only did it feel unnatural and a struggle, I was gasping for air after two laps. Seriously? How can I run ten miles or bike fifty with ease, but can't make it across the pool and back without feeling like I need a breathing machine?

Convinced that I was doing something wrong, I got out of the water and reviewed the informational poster on the wall demonstrating the freestyle. With some new found knowledge, I decided to give it another try.  The guy in second lane looked on and was trying to figure out my story (fear of the water? out of shape? woman at the pool on Saturday night = has issues?). My second lap swim ended with the same result as my first. I was exhausted and felt like my lungs were full of a mix of water and pure chlorine. So after resigning myself to the paddle board for ten minutes to maintain my honor, I went home knowing I needed to come up with a Plan B for my training regime.

A revelation came to me on my drive home: my friend, Dan. Yes, he was exactly who I needed to connect with. Dan was a part of the Prairie Life swimming elites. I saw them consistently at the crack of dawn doing countless laps with ease. If someone could point me in the right direction it would be Dan. I needed a lesson and no doubt he would have the perfect recommendation. After some text exchanges, Dan pulled through with a great lead; a college swimmer home for the summer. Dan e-mailed her dad to facilitate our connecting, but the response wasn't as expected. "She went back to college to train, but I can sure help Sandy out," was the response. Very nice, very unexpected, and very much caused me a brief panic attack. Scott, this benevolent father, was one of the Prairie Life elites. In fact he was basically "the elite". No doubt this man who swam like an Olympian and helped train his talented daughters had no clue what he was signing up for. After responding with heartfelt thanks, but an explanation of my skill level (or lack thereof); Scott still volunteered to take a look at my stroke and help me assess next steps. With a bit of hesitation, Plan B was in the works.

Not only was our lesson a bit intimidating with Scott as my instructor, but it was also to occur at peak swim time at the gym. I prepared myself by watching countless YouTube videos on correct swim stroke and practiced in the pool a couple nights prior to our scheduled lesson. Game on...I was ready to take on Plan B (and at least not flail in front of the elites). So off I went under Scott's careful eye demonstrating my stroke and trying not to appear as out of breath as I felt. I am very thankful that a video camera was not used to record my swimming technique. By the look on Scott's face and those of the other swimmers, it was obvious that I needed some serious modifications. After Scott pointed out that I was putting on my swim cap sideways, I was beginning to wonder if this swimming gig was really for me. Then Scott said something that resonated like a breath of fresh air. "Sandy," he said, "everyone has to start somewhere."  He went on to explain that every good swimmer had their first time in the water, their first lesson, their first stroke.

I soon learned that a panic attack was unnecessary. Scott kindly and patiently gave me great pointers and worked on some skill training with me. The elites in the other lanes started chiming in their observations as well.  I was feeling like one of them and appreciative of their encouragement. The swim lesson was a blessing. I am certainly nowhere near ready for the triathlon, but I now know what to work on.  And I buy into the motto "we all have to start somewhere". There had to be a first time in the pool for Michael Phelps where someone told him to breathe, relax, and try not to flounder...right? Although I am sure this was at an earlier age for Michael as opposed to my maiden venture into competitive swimming at age 44, it doesn't matter. We all really do have to start somewhere.

I can now report that I can swim for a half a mile without being completely out of breath or showing visible signs of drowning. I am enjoying this new challenge and have been humbled by the skill and athleticism necessary for the sport. Watching the Swim Trials and the swimmers is nothing short of amazing. They fly through the water with ease and make the difficult and virtually impossible look effortless while inspiring all of us at the same time. I remind myself that they all had steps in their swimming advancement and probably employed many Plan B's in their training plans as well. With these reminders and some needed pool practice time; instead of fearing the challenge of the water, I now look forward to it. The timing of the Olympic Swim Trials and the Omaha venue was divine intervention in motivating me and pushing me to the pool. I will keep plugging away until my August race day.  Oh, and I now have a new motto since I feel that I have progressed a bit in my training..."you can teach an old dog new tricks!"

Girls among Boys

Me and my brother, Matt

My son fell through the garage attic onto the concrete floor last night.  Although simply searching for a fishing pole, he quickly found out that this structure made for storage couldn't handle the weight of his body.  As he showed me the resulting bumps and bruises, he was a bit shocked that my response wasn't one of sympathy and dismay.  Instead I answered, "Yea, I had that happen to me once".  Flashbacks of a personal experience from my distant past came back into short term memory.  My best friend, Bev Van Dam, and I had taken a similar plunge.  Our demise was also a direct result of a miscalculation of board strength (fortunately neither of us pursued careers as engineers).  The crime scene was Bev's dad's detached garage.  Living just a short walk from each other, childhood was an adventure and Bev and I were willing participants. 

My 8th birthday ~ Bev in the back and my brothers to the right

We met through the friendship of our brothers at the ripe age of three.   I met Bev through her older brother, Rich.  He and my brother, Matt, (a VERY likely pair) became instant friends in kindergarten.  One day Rich brought over his little sister to play with me.  On that day, I remember seeing a chair fly down the stairs and then Bev and I looking at each other in dismay as my mom couldn't figure out who was the culprit, Matt or Rich.  Let's just say that there are boys who think about doing naughty things and then there are those who do them.  Matt and Rich preferred to do them.  Music boxes were taken apart, doll hair shaved to the stub, and lots toys filled with water and dirt.  Life was an experiment in their eyes.  And Bev and I were guilty of watching them perform their dastardly deeds on many occasions. We were nothing short of accomplices watching Rich and Matt try different methods of derailing a train; a penny, a spoon, sun tan lotion.  Fortunately none of them worked.  On one ill-fated occasion, the boys took turns covering themselves in an empty appliance box while the other threw rocks at it.  What they didn't take into consideration was the small opening where the flaps came together.  Rich quickly learned of this err in judgment as he emerged from the box with a bloody head that required stitches.

Although the commonality of being the only girls running with a neighborhood stocked full of boys was the link that bonded Bev and I from the beginning, I do have to own the fact that we involved ourselves in typical girl drama on occasion.  For a couple of short periods during our childhood, we were not friends.  The episodes were very brief, but fiercely fought.  I rack this up as yet another influence of our brothers.  A particular instance that I have to confess to is 5th grade recess when I pushed Bev into a puddle.  We were fighting.  My recollection is that she made a derogatory comment about my brother, Matt, and I was in turn being bucky.  She got me with a good verbal jab and I retaliated by pushing her into a puddle.  This unfortunately happened just as her dad was walking by the school yard on his lunch break.  Infuriated, he grabbed Bev and marched her directly to the principal's office.  I was called in and with John Van Dam glaring at me and Bev at his side, Sr. Nila insisted that I apologize.  I refused (over, and over, and over) until Sr. Nila finally turned to John and said "I don't think she is going to apologize".  Rightfully so, John stomped off and Sr. Nila scolded both of us and sent us back to class.  Bev and I made up the minute we walked out her door.  Bev forgave me quickly, but that wasn't the case with her dad.  And I certainly didn't score more points with him with our future garage episode.

A day at the farm ~ Sandy, Mark and Matt

This adventure was simply a byproduct of how we spent our idle time being children of the 70's which did not include video games or television.  Nor did we rely on our mothers to entertain us by planning out every moment of our days.  Our daily adventures were created directly from our own imaginations.  And we didn't dare tell our mothers we were bored.  The resulting event would have been chores around the house.

While enjoying the freedom of our tenth summer, either Bev or I (don't remember which) came up an idea of creating a secret hideaway.  I am sure the idea came from a book.  We once formed our own militia and marched around town after reading the book, "The Girl Who Owned the City".  So guided by the inspiration of the moment, we cased the back yard and park and ultimately deemed the enticing space at the top of the garage as perfect.  An added variable that influenced our decision was the loss of benefit of the boys' heavy lifting and building skills as we purposely chose to exclude them.  We had enough of them by that point of the summer and were excited about a spot that we could call our own with none of the collective five Wagner and Van Dam boys in our business.  This pre-built structure fit our needs perfectly; better than any traditional tree house that would require building from scratch and help from our brothers.

A bit giddy with our secret, Bev and I carefully decorated our new found space with a little table and lounging pillows. We snuck books and select toys out of Bev's house to complete our secret space.  In our estimation, it was better than any tree house built by the boys or previous forts made out of discarded refrigerator boxes.  We really felt a bit ingenious and imaginative with our refuge.  And the best part was that no one knew about it.  We would sneak in and play imaginary games that occupy the minds of children at play.  On the particular day of our misadventure, we were pretending to be the Wonder Twins, Zan and Jayna.  In this Super-friends cartoon, the twins would be able to access their super powers by touching each other with their fingers.  Bev and I were these Superheroes; plotting to save the world in the sanctuary of our Superheroes Headquarters.  As we touched our imaginary rings together and recited "Wonder Twins powers...activate", in perfect timing, the boards supporting our headquarters gave way.  It happened so fast as we both crashed onto the concrete with table and our decorative accessories spilling on top of us.  We stared at each other disbelief.  And then we laughed.  We giggled and laughed and then laughed some more.  Yep, no Wonder Twins with this duo.  Our brothers would have busted a gut knowing the series of events that had just occurred.  Of course, we never told them.  We did have to tell Bev's dad as we couldn't fix the damaged dangling boards on our own.  He was not pleased with our brilliant idea and scolded us for a misadventure that could have led to serious injury.

What John Van Dam didn't know was all the other things we did that could have led to serious injury.  And I do blame our brothers for that too.  If I could write a literal resume reflecting the life skill that has been of most value to me, it would be growing up the only girl amongst brothers.  Bev's resume is even more impressive than mine; she had three brothers to my two.  Once someone told me that I was the most resilient person they had ever met.  I took that as a compliment.  And that is a direct correlation to having brothers.  My mom added to this with her frequent recited response of "You kids need to work it out on your own".  Even with evidence of a bruised arm from knuckle punching (for serious violations like crossing the imaginary line in the back seat of the car), crying and whining only made it worse.  So I either bucked it up or fought back (or locked myself in the bathroom as a last ditch alternative).

My brothers and I enjoying a trip to the county fair

Yet although I complain (and embellish) on my abuse as the sister, I also enjoyed the benefits as well.  I am well aware that little boys turn into big boys.  Their toys get bigger, but their sense of humor and boyish weaknesses and pleasures stay the same.  It is all just packaged a bit differently.  I have had the benefit (?) of working primarily with men through adulthood.  My brothers trained me well for all the sports talk, bantering, politically inappropriate jokes, and competitiveness.  I am proud to say that I am pretty quick on my feet and can take in about any sidebar testosterone conversation without the blink of an eye or expression of reaction.  Yes, Matt and Mark, thank-you for schooling me on this.  And thanks, Bev, for being my fearless friend.  I forgive you for telling me at age five that the blue deodorizer toilet water in your bathroom would explode (I had never seen such a thing).  At least I was wearing my swimsuit when I subsequently wet my pants outside your house in fear of your toilet.  And lastly, thank-you, Rich, for still seeing me as one the boys.  It was great hanging like old times with you and my brothers at the hotel after my grandma's recent funeral.  And although I really didn't enjoy the colorful jokes you were sharing on your phone, it warmed my heart to hear "It's just, Sandy.  You can show her.  She's just one of us."  Bev and I will hang out with you guys any time.  You are actually all a lot of fun :)

Bev and I reunited in the 80's

Mark, Rich and Matt - Reunited last year
(They are reenacting the opening song to the old TV series "My Three Sons", but are missing Oka who would have typically had the role of the cat lying on the ground.  They did this funny charade as kids and would have all of us rolling in laughter)