Our lives begin again, and again, and again

It’s funny how people hear things… especially how little kids hear things. I told my baby doll that I was going to give her an ultimatum and she asked, “Why are you gonna give me an old tomato?” My hubby and I cracked up. She was clearly disgusted and didn’t know why I would say something like that, so I exaggerated my pronunciation of the word and defined it for her. After all that, I gave her the ultimatum.

When I was younger, I had a friend who made fun of the way I pronounced things. Being raised up and down the east coast with a brief stint in a foreign country, I guess I picked up a strange accent. Young children raised like I was raised learn to “warsh” their clothes in Kentucky and “paaak the caaaa” in Massachusetts. They also pick up the body language and conversation cues that vary from region to region, and without some logical way to keep it separate, jumble together what they have learned, not realizing that they will never successfully communicate to anybody, all the while understanding the communication styles of everybody they meet.

At the suggestion of my boss, I took on a corporate mentor because I am aware of the fact that I don’t communicate well in person. My mentor, who does not have a history of cultural immersion does not believe that I can possibly understand the diverse nature of communication with the people who I encounter on a daily basis and proceeds to reprimand me for thinking that I could possibly understand their communicative style. (Did I mention that, ever since being teased for my differences in school, I became fascinated with communication and studied it in college to better understand what was going on. I even took that to another level after college, when I began speaking to groups of people and took vocal lessons to help me soften my accent and improve my projection.) To make a long story short… I am done trying to communicate vocally with the outside world. I can understand all I want, but that doesn’t make my skill at translating my speech and body language to each and every person’s understanding, so I will just write.

Garden-fresh tomatoes and rosemary

I am fortunate to live in one of the most beautiful places in Southern California. Our home is minutes from the beach in a city that is one of SoCal’s best kept secrets. I work in another city right on the coast – okay, I’ll give you a hint – it’s known as the American Riviera. I see dolphins on my morning walks on the beach and have year-round access to market-fresh, local fruits and veggies.

The landscaping where I work is loaded with rosemary bushes that the landscapers buzz-cut once a month and throw in the trash. I saw the weed-whacker out today and thought about my commitment to honor seasonal celebrations (which is very important in a place that is 70 and sunny year-round.) I decided to harvest some of this rosemary myself, so I grabbed my office scissors and a few paper towels, offered my thanks to the forces of nature that made my harvest possible, and took a few sprigs from the bushes. The clippings are enjoying a drink of fresh water in a cup in my office to purge any pesticides.

Enjoying the fragrance and continuing with my work, a co-worker of mine stopped by and asked if I like tomatoes. I said, “yes,” and he handed me a bag of tomatoes fresh from his garden. I am so thrilled to begin my favorite season of the year this way!