by Barb Abramson | Jun 9, 2015
When I was a kid, my mom and I played a game. We hid a little rubberized clown named Bendable Buddy around the house in odd places for the other to find. Whomever hid him last often heard peals of laughter and knew instantly he had been discovered.
We tried to be clever with our hiding places. I tied him to the blade of the ceiling fan. Mom squeezed him in the egg carton. It was so much fun trying to outwit each other. Sometimes we caught each other in the act and had to abandon our plan. The hilarity continued for years.
I moved out when I was 18, but still lived in town. Mom of course was a frequent visitor and so was Bendable Buddy. She would sneak him in; on the lookout for a covert spot, me pretending I didn’t know what was going on. As soon as she left, the search began and still giggling over the cleverness of wherever he was discovered, I would call her so we could share the joy of our ritual. And then I always made sure he always found his way home to her again!
Bendable Buddy was quite the traveler too. His early journeys included Canada, around the United States and a Caribbean cruise, stowed away discreetly in my suitcase. I sent him to the Bahamas with her and dad. The search for him became as much of a game as hiding him.
I hadn’t thought about Bendable Buddy in a long while. He had been packed up with all my parents belongings that were stored in my garage when they moved to an Assisted Living Facility nearly a decade ago. Mom had been ill several years before that and no longer drove. The game had not been on our radar for some time.
After my parents passed away, most of their things were brought to my home, boxes and boxes of memories stored in our garage. I still haven’t been able to go through all the boxes. There are some memories I’m not prepared to deal with yet.
Then he appeared on day. I found him inside a drawer in a rolling cabinet in my kitchen that my dad had made, tucked in next to the silverware. The tears flowed and I broke out in a huge grin at the same time.
For weeks he sat on my dresser, his happy face greeting mine every day. Bendable Buddy may be just a toy to some, but to me he is a an important memory I shared with my mom. He reminds me of silly mother-daughter times, giggling and feeling loved. He helps me remember the twinkle in my mom’s eye and her beautiful smile and, how much I miss her.
Memories are powerful. They evoke so many emotions. But most importantly, they connect us to the people in our lives and the events we experience. They tell the tale of our past and shape our future too.
Our stories are composed of our memories. They are created with family or friends, or our own private journey. They bring joy, evoke tears and fill our heart.
Silly old clown. I’m so glad I opened that drawer.
by Barb Abramson | Jun 4, 2015
Clutter. How do you define it? The drawer that needs to be cleaned out? The pile of shoes that hasn’t been put away and is blocking the doorway? The stack of old mail and junk littering the counter, or the stuff acquired over the years you can’t seem to let go of?
There can be business clutter too. Old office equipment that slows down the efficiency of your business. Ideas that don’t work any more but you stick with them because they feel comfortable.
Or relationships that have gone to the wayside for a variety of reasons. We all know people we are no longer in alignment with and whose energy brings us down.
Sometimes we have to get rid of those things that aren’t working any more in order to move forward with ones that are. Your clutter can actually be holding you back from your success.
Brain overload is clutter too. We have about 50,000 independent thoughts each day, all fighting for attention. Too much to do, to think about, to process and the sheer overwhelm can stop us in our tracks.
Cleaning out a drawer and replacing an old computer or printer are tasks that we can see and touch. They may seem more practical and easier to tackle, although there can be many layers of emotions tied to holding on to them.
But the other stuff, the non-physical, suck-your-energy-at-every-turn clutter can’t be packed into a box and stored or donated.
When I have too much on my mind, I can’t sort through what I need to be doing next. My thoughts overtake my day and I don’t sleep well because I can’t find the off switch to my brain. I end up rehashing the day’s events, thinking about tomorrow and tossing and turning all night. I’m a wreck the next day.
Can you relate?
Time to purge the jumbled mess in my head and the most effective way I’ve found is a writing process I learned from my business coach Dixie Gillaspie, called a Brain Dump.
Writing down absolutely everything that is whirling around in my head for me, is in essence, a deep cleanse. It is the chemical-free Drano that unclogs the goo that keeps me stuck. It calms me down and soothes the wild energy going on upstairs as my thoughts, words and incomplete sentences fill the page.
Here Are My 3 Essential Steps to a Successful Brain Dump.
1. Secure Your Environment
Find a place where you are not distracted. If you use a computer to do your writing, stay off social media. No TV. No conversations. No interruptions.
2. Unleash the Beast
Write. Whatever is on your mind, write it down. Free flow your thoughts. No editing. No organizing. No judging. No holding back. Just write.
3. Wash, Rinse, Repeat
As you purge and open your mind and the page begins to fill, new ideas may crop up. Write those down too.
When the pressure from the floodgate has subsided as words fill the page, you can examine, sort and massage the information into projects or categories as need be. Without a multitude of other ideas fighting for attention in your head, you should be able to work on those you committed to writing with more clarity
And hopefully, like me, you will enjoy a great night’s sleep.
Previously appeared on The Huffington Post
by Barb Abramson | May 17, 2015
On the four-year anniversary of my father’s passing, I attended a funeral. Well, I woke up that morning thinking I was going to a funeral. Instead, it was a celebration of life and a celebration of which I had never experienced before.
To put it in context, I am Jewish. In Judaism, we have special rituals, as do many other religions. We bury the dead within three days and sit Shiva in our homes for seven days. We don’t have viewings, we bury in a simple box, the body lovingly washed and then wrapped in white gauze by members of a ritual committee. There are no flowers as the origin of them was to perfume the bodies in cultures where the burial happened at a later time.
I lost both my parents four years ago within three months of each other. Attending funerals still makes me feel like I can’t breathe, my chest tightens up and I ache inside. But this day, for the most part was different and there was healing for me wrapped up in a different culture and the strong and beautiful connections I witnessed between the family, the congregation and the clergy and choir.
The service/celebration I attended was at the EBON (Everlasting Believers of the Nazarene) Temple. There was an open viewing the night before and that morning of the funeral, and lots of flowers. There were Deacons and Pastors, some visiting from out of town as well as a full choir and musicians playing the organ, electric guitar and drums. The family wore white, as did a group of women called the Mothers of the Church. The church was not elaborate, but the energy emanating from the pulpit and the congregation was moving, literally. People were on their feet, waving their hands, and singing praise.
The Pastor belted out The Lord’s Prayer, backed up by the choir. There were AMENS shouted out from those in attendance. There were testimonies from friends and memories shared from his adult children, all ending with “we know we will see you again.”
And then the Pastor gave his prayer, which felt like a sermon and testimony combined. The choir hummed and the musicians accompanied and the congregation swayed along. It was moving. It was stirring and it was riveting. It was a cultural encounter that I had not experienced and I could feel the love and compassion inside the building, but more so, throughout the community that was supporting the family.
It was a celebration of life. Three big-screen TVs, two hanging on either side of the pulpit and one over the entrance so those on the pulpit could also see, showed family photos throughout the service. When the pastor spoke, Psalms and Bible verses appeared on the screens. I have not been in a lot of churches, but knew instantly that technology was being used in this church in a way I had not seen before and was another link to connecting members with each other.
What finally brought me to tears and took me back to my losing my dad, was the military salute. I felt like I had left my body as I watched the two service men march slowly in their deliberate cadence and remove the flag over the casket, fold it and present it to his wife, and then two more to his children. I felt transported in that moment to four years ago when a flag was handed to me as the soldier looked me right in my eyes, thanking me for my father’s service.
Despite the celebration of life, there is still a family in mourning, missing a wonderful man, husband and father who impacted others in a positive way, as so many shared that day. I know their church community as well as friends and colleagues will rally around them. I felt honored to witness the connections they had with each other.
Before I left, I hugged his wife, whom I have known for several years and shared with her a piece of my culture. In Judaism we say, “May his (her) memory be a blessing.” I already know from what I witnessed, that it is.
Photo: Flickr
Originally published in The Huffington Post
by Barb Abramson | Apr 20, 2015
I had a lunch with an acquaintance recently, and by the time we finished our food and conversation, we had the beginning of a beautiful friendship. We talked, we shared and we listened to each other and really held space for what was going on in each other’s lives.
My friend used to be a wild boy. He partied quite a bit, hanging out with the crowds that also partied quite a bit and often didn’t get home until late at night from the bar-networking scene. The next day, he was back at it again. He noticed that the people he was attracting in his life all led crazy chaotic lives. The sweet irony is that he also realized he was looking in the mirror. He led a pretty crazy chaotic life.
His personal life was not satisfying. He found he was less productive at work. His health was not in a good place. He realized that the perception others had of him was not at the level he wanted to be regarded.
With that new understanding, he asked himself some very important questions that became the turning point in his life and his success.
1. Do I Like Me?
If I was introduced to me today, would I like myself? Would I think I was funny and clever, or brash and shallow? What impression do I give others? Are my values in alignment with the people I am attracting in my life?
2. Would I Date Me?
Do I want to spend time with me? Am I courteous and thoughtful and fun to be with? Am I considerate of others? Did I leave a good impression with hopes for a second date or are they running for the hills?
3. Do I Respect Me?
Time for an integrity check. Am I true to my word and authentic? Do I influence others in a positive way? Am I someone others look up to or shake their head at in dismay?
4. Would I Hire Me?
Am I interested in more than the paycheck? Have I taken the time to hone my skills and develop my potential? Am I a team player?
My friend said asking himself these questions really made him up his game and re-evaluate the lifestyle he was leading. He is now focused and has set his intentions to create a more purposeful life. While he is not judging anyone else, just merely making the changes he felt he needed for himself, he also understands that part of raising his game was to up the caliber of the people he was hanging with.
Before we can make meaningful connections with others, we have to first connect with ourselves. Once we know and like who we are, we can project that out into the world and attract those into our lives whom we are in alignment with.
Self-evaluation is not easy. Making changes is even harder. The rewards for taking an honest look inward and upping your game is a sure formula for happiness.
Photo: Flickr
Originally posted on The Huffington Post
by Barb Abramson | Apr 3, 2015
The four-year anniversary of losing my mom brought expected tears. There were also smiles and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for all she instilled in me.
She didn’t have the easiest life. Her mom was always sick and eventually went blind from Type 2 Diabetes. She dropped out of school in the 10th grade to care for her. When her three siblings all married and moved away, she continued to care for her mother until she met my dad in her mid-twenties and moved my grandmother to a nursing home. The birth of both her children were difficult; she endured 36 hours of labor with my brother, and lost nearly 30 pounds while pregnant with me due to asthma, which she suffered from for the rest of her life.
Although she was not a risk-taker and often saw the negative aspects of a situation first, I could not have had a better role model than my mom.
Here are three reasons why.
1. She Taught Me Determination
Mom was left-handed when she started school and at that time, left-handed children were judged as being wrong and different. She was forced to switch to writing with her right hand, which she says caused her to stutter for years to come. It was something that always made her self-conscious and affected her self-esteem. Yet, if someone threatened one of her children, “Mama Bear” came to life and any personal fears she had disappeared. My older brother also started school left-handed and when the school system tried to switch him over as they had done to her, Mom was in the principal’s office giving him a piece of her mind.
While communicating verbally was challenging at times, she easily expressed herself with art. I have memories of many oil paintings she created and a few hang in my home today. Although she never felt confident about her talent, she was good. But more than anything, her determination to live for eight years following a major heart attack, coupled with diabetes, kidney issues, congestive heart failure and MRSA contracted in the hospital reminds me how possible it is to fight through adversity.
There is always a path to the goal and a way to make something happen. Mom taught me that.
2. She Taught Me To Help Others
From a very young age, I remember my mom reaching out to others in need, often volunteering behind the scenes. She invited every stray to holiday celebrations — people who had nowhere else to go — and called the local colleges and Navy base to invite students and service men or women who had no family or friends to be with. She would even send my dad to pick them up. Mom didn’t know how to cook for just four, the size of our family. She excelled at cooking for 30, so we <em>always</em> had lots of leftovers!
My mom was kind to everyone. She never expressed racial or religious prejudice to me. She was a peacemaker through and through, and even when family members would not speak to each other, they always had a good relationship with her. She loved to gift friends with her crafts and cooking, showing me that it isn’t always about buying gifts, but sharing your heart.
3. She Taught Me To Love
I never doubted for one minute my mom loved me. She literally told me every day. As a child, I never left the room or went to bed without a hug and a kiss. And she always asked me, “Do you know how much I love you?” It was important to her that I knew that. On the day she died, it was one of the last things she said to me.
My parents walked through grocery stores still holding hands after 50-plus years of marriage. Although she had many medical issues that contributed to her death, I know seeing my father with Alzheimer’s broke her heart. I still have three voicemails on my phone I can’t delete because I am afraid to lose her voice, but in every one, she asks how my father is. (He had just been moved to the Alzheimer’s section of the Assisted Living Facility they lived at). The day before she died, I took her to see him. I could see how painful it was for her and for the first time, she asked to leave. She couldn’t bear it any more.
The lessons my mom instilled in me have gotten me over some tough hurdles in my life, including caring for her during her illness as well as dad’s. He passed away three months after her. I am grateful for those lessons. I have channeled my inner Mama Bear to protect my “cub” when need be. I love having big dinner parties and inviting people who have never met each other, to connect and become friends. I volunteer and try to smile at everyone I meet. I am grateful that I grew up seeing the good in people and I have a great capacity for love. I am one of those moms who is guilty of saying the same things my mom said. Happily guilty in this case. My grown son absolutely knows he is loved. I make sure to ask him often!
Originally published on The Huffington Post
