My oldest daughter Jacki and I worked the Working Women's Survival Show in St. Louis last weekend.
As I entered the Convention Center on Friday morning to check in for my speaking engagement, I encountered Russian comedian, Yakov Smirnoff. I immediately recognized him from the time I watched him perform in Las Vegas 23 years ago!
I introduced myself to him and we talked about humor; the topic that we are both experts on.
Yakov reached on the counter in the office for a show program and he circled the times that I was speaking and we said our "See you later's"; excited at the obvious feeling of synergy.
Later that afternoon I began my presentation, the door creaked open slowly as to not disturb the flow, and in walked Yakov. My newest best friend!
During the course of the speech Yakov and I bantered back and forth; the audience seemed to eat it up. There was something good happening here. This was good entertainment.
The next day Yakov invited Jacki and I to join him and his very charming 18-year-old daugher, Natasha, to join them for a Valentine's Day dinner and the theater.
What an unexpected treat. We encountered a man that the world perceives as merely a comedian, but is so much more than that.
Working with - and coaching - artists, I have found that many times (more times than not), there is so much ego involved that it blocks out any chance to get to know the person under the narcissism.
Jacki and I were blessed to enjoy an evening with one of the most considerate, well-mannered men I have ever encountered; a man who is well-known, yet does not use his bragging rights to pump up his own ego; a man that exudes love and a big heart. A man who teaches about laughter and love - and lives his talk.
What an unexpected treat this Valentine's Day turned out to be!
Ah! What a country!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Going Through the Insecurity Line at the Airport
I stood in the long line at airport security, awaiting my turn to apologize to all of the people lining up behind me for taking so long to undress, take off my coat,belt,jewelry, shoes; and deposit my cell phone in the bin. I crossed my fingers as I walked gingerly through the rigged doorway, praying that the obnoxious buzzer would not go off.
As I sauntered closer to undress, I was acutely aware for the first time in my life how much our past insecurities come into play in the short time we are standing in line, waiting to see if we pass the test.
I watched in amusement as the gentleman ahead of me grunted and started to sweat as he fumbled with his belt. Next came his shoes, watch; and then his phone came out of his pocket; and his computer was placed in a bin.
I laughed as I commented to this anxious man about how our past comes into play as we try to hurry through the process. I removed my shoes, and in my head I could almost hear one of my brother's saying, "Hurry up! You are slower than molasses!"
I tripped over the hem of my pants and got my shoes deposited in Bin #1. Whew!
"Come on, Sandy! If you don't hurry we are all going to be late for school. It will be all your fault!"
Then, as if in slow motion I remove my jacket, take my phone out of my pocket and retrieve my laptop out of my carry-on; where it has wedged itself haphazardly in the bag and fights with me for control. Bin #2.
I lay the carry-on bag on the moving belt when I hear a gruff voice tell me to put the bag on the belt lenghthwise. "Okay Mother, I am trying my best!"
My purse gets set down on the belt as I watch my personal belongings disappear into the MRI-looking machine, and I pray that all of my treasures come out at the other end intact and accounted for.
As I get through the magic door that tells the world - with a sound so loud that I am sure that the death penalty must be punishment for whatever I forgot to remove -whether I might be a terrorist or not. I start to gather all of my belongings as the person behind me makes me feel like I am the only one who has ever taken THIS long to get through Security.
I am a grown woman. I have traveled all over the world. I can teach - and talk - in front of thousands of people. And yet I get in that security line at the airport; and every time I do I feel like an adolescent that is not capable of doing anything right.
Just a Security check? Oh no! It is so much more than that! It is a check on all of the hidden insecuirites from the past - when we didn't move fast enough,forgot to do exactly as we were told or felt like we had to apologize for, well, everything.
Security? I think there should be a blinking, neon sign that beckons us to get into the 'Insecurity' line. I'd be first in line, no cuts.
As I sauntered closer to undress, I was acutely aware for the first time in my life how much our past insecurities come into play in the short time we are standing in line, waiting to see if we pass the test.
I watched in amusement as the gentleman ahead of me grunted and started to sweat as he fumbled with his belt. Next came his shoes, watch; and then his phone came out of his pocket; and his computer was placed in a bin.
I laughed as I commented to this anxious man about how our past comes into play as we try to hurry through the process. I removed my shoes, and in my head I could almost hear one of my brother's saying, "Hurry up! You are slower than molasses!"
I tripped over the hem of my pants and got my shoes deposited in Bin #1. Whew!
"Come on, Sandy! If you don't hurry we are all going to be late for school. It will be all your fault!"
Then, as if in slow motion I remove my jacket, take my phone out of my pocket and retrieve my laptop out of my carry-on; where it has wedged itself haphazardly in the bag and fights with me for control. Bin #2.
I lay the carry-on bag on the moving belt when I hear a gruff voice tell me to put the bag on the belt lenghthwise. "Okay Mother, I am trying my best!"
My purse gets set down on the belt as I watch my personal belongings disappear into the MRI-looking machine, and I pray that all of my treasures come out at the other end intact and accounted for.
As I get through the magic door that tells the world - with a sound so loud that I am sure that the death penalty must be punishment for whatever I forgot to remove -whether I might be a terrorist or not. I start to gather all of my belongings as the person behind me makes me feel like I am the only one who has ever taken THIS long to get through Security.
I am a grown woman. I have traveled all over the world. I can teach - and talk - in front of thousands of people. And yet I get in that security line at the airport; and every time I do I feel like an adolescent that is not capable of doing anything right.
Just a Security check? Oh no! It is so much more than that! It is a check on all of the hidden insecuirites from the past - when we didn't move fast enough,forgot to do exactly as we were told or felt like we had to apologize for, well, everything.
Security? I think there should be a blinking, neon sign that beckons us to get into the 'Insecurity' line. I'd be first in line, no cuts.
Monday, February 2, 2009
How Clean is my House?
cLast week I got a phone call. The 700 Club was going to be interviewing me!
Well, let me back up a little.
I met a woman who is producer for the 700 Club. She read my book and called to set up an interview. This was last May.
The interview was approved and I have been waiting for a call to set up a time for the taping, and the call came. I waited for them to give me a time and studio for the taping and then I heard the words, "We will be at your house at 9:30 a.m. next Thursday!
At MY house? EEKS!
I think that I keep my house clean. And it looks okay.
But then I started looking at my house through the eyes of a camera lens.
My videos on the shelves were not real neat; the games on the game shelf - well, we played with those and put them back quickly.
The woman on the phone said they would take pictures of me sitting at my desk...Okay, now I have to straighten up my office. It isn't too bad. That's what I thought until I looked at it as the rest of the world would see it. The books shoved on the book shelves; the dust on my desk, the work to be done in baskets on the table. Whew! I am tired already!
What about my hardwood floors in the foyer? Would the footprints show? Should it be more shiny?
My windows? I don't have time to call in a window washer...besides, it is so cold out!
As I walk around my house, the house that felt perfectly comfortable until THAT phone call has become a different place - knowing that I am inviting the whole world into it.
How clean is my house? Let's just say that I thought it was perfect until I look at it through someone else's eyes.
Imagine your house being filmed as it is...can you feel my pain?
Well, let me back up a little.
I met a woman who is producer for the 700 Club. She read my book and called to set up an interview. This was last May.
The interview was approved and I have been waiting for a call to set up a time for the taping, and the call came. I waited for them to give me a time and studio for the taping and then I heard the words, "We will be at your house at 9:30 a.m. next Thursday!
At MY house? EEKS!
I think that I keep my house clean. And it looks okay.
But then I started looking at my house through the eyes of a camera lens.
My videos on the shelves were not real neat; the games on the game shelf - well, we played with those and put them back quickly.
The woman on the phone said they would take pictures of me sitting at my desk...Okay, now I have to straighten up my office. It isn't too bad. That's what I thought until I looked at it as the rest of the world would see it. The books shoved on the book shelves; the dust on my desk, the work to be done in baskets on the table. Whew! I am tired already!
What about my hardwood floors in the foyer? Would the footprints show? Should it be more shiny?
My windows? I don't have time to call in a window washer...besides, it is so cold out!
As I walk around my house, the house that felt perfectly comfortable until THAT phone call has become a different place - knowing that I am inviting the whole world into it.
How clean is my house? Let's just say that I thought it was perfect until I look at it through someone else's eyes.
Imagine your house being filmed as it is...can you feel my pain?
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