How Quarantine Bingeing Food Network Made Me a Better Project Manager

To be fair, I watched some Food Network before Covid had us all scouring our channel guides for distractions, but the last few years provided time to take a deep dive into early seasons, spin-offs, and related programming. Here’s what I’ve learned:

Guy’s Grocery Games (GGG)/Guy’s Ranch Kitchen

You probably know Guy Fieri from the Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives (DDD) profiles of local eateries or because of his trademark spiky bleached hair, but the real gem is GGG, not DDD. I was skeptical of the concept – contestant chefs scramble (see what I did there?) around a grocery store to find ingredients and cook dishes for a panel of judges while playing ridiculous games, but this competition puts fun and comradery ahead of Top Chef-like competition. The host, the contestants, and the judges are all having a great time and they seem to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. So much so, that Guy often has some of them over to cook at Guy’s Ranch Kitchen which appears to just be a weekend continuation of the wrap party after an episode taping. This is an invitation I’d love to get – great food among friends in a gorgeous outdoor setting where everyone is having a great time. Guy has fostered the relationships made from DDD and GGG into a full-blown professional franchise based on hanging out with people he really likes who will cook him amazing food. That has to be the pinnacle of professional achievement and definitely makes me think about my own network and the possibilities that might exist should I wrangle them together to work on our own passion projects.

The Pioneer Woman

Ree Drummond built her own empire out of a blog and her recipes and tips for living out in the middle of nowhere. Her food is delicious, unfussy, and approachable for normal people (non-chefs). She has adapted and thrived while raising kids by seizing the opportunities right in front of her. In addition to the expected cookbooks, she has a cookware and houseware line (at Wal-Mart, keeping it affordable and accessible) and a “Mercantile” along with other businesses in nearby Pawhuska, Oklahoma described by Osage County’s website as “the home of Pioneer Woman, Ree Drummond.”  So look for what you can do in your own backyard. Build on what you know. And make some chicken pot pie or cinnamon rolls because they are delicious.

Beat Bobby Flay

Bobby Flay has been around forever and I’ll admit that I was not really a fan of his early shows, especially Throwdown with Bobby Flay because I felt bad for the people he surprised on that show. Imagine thinking your professional efforts were being featured on TV only to have a famous person show up at your event to do what you do, only better in front of everyone you know. Ugh. Beat Bobby Flay is infinitely more watchable because Bobby’s friends invite other chefs to his studio to beat him at whatever dishes the guest chef chooses. Bobby still wins a lot, but in place of the ambush, we get good-natured comradery from friends and colleagues amassed over decades who tease him about his tendencies to lean on chilies or pomegranate molasses, even his personal life. Bobby has become a relatable host, often tasked with creating dishes he knows very little about while facing deliberate distractions from his buddies who want the invited chefs to win even if it means a little friendly sabotage. Bobby laughs it off and relies upon solid skills earned over years of professional experience in restaurants and on Iron Chef and Iron Chef America and the ability to work under pressure. If you know good flavors and how to balance dishes (salt, fat, heat, acid as the kids say) then you can confidently tackle almost any recipe that comes your way. Just not wedding cakes. Know when to call in the pros. So, get the basics down, down be afraid to take on tasks a little outside of your comfort zone, and don’t beat yourself up over the areas that are just not in your wheelhouse.

Chopped

Perhaps more than any other Food Network show, Chopped gave us all ways to look at the random things in our pantries in a new way. Early in the pandemic, we were not going to the grocery store (too peopley!) and Instacart had not yet become our new normal, so working with what we had became a game if we approached it like a Chopped basket. With our teams adapting to working remotely, the “Chopped Challenge” became a virtual team-building event – a way to boost employee engagement and to bring a little fun competition to our work lives -  that we could participate in from our own kitchens on our own time combining whatever we had already with a set of four random ingredients determined by the organizers. Team members created dishes and took photos along the way and winners were determined by company voting. Without the restriction of a timed competition, the players thrived at the challenge, even exploring completely new skills such as pasta-making and vegan cooking. Just because you might not have what one would traditionally need to get the job done, it doesn’t mean that you can’t come up with something great with what you do have, even if it’s not immediately clear how it will come together. And Alex Guarnaschelli is my spirit animal.

Worst Cooks in America

On the face of it, this sounds like a mean show. Contestants are nominated by family or friends as the absolute kitchen disasters they are. (I mean, it’s bad. Really, really bad.) But this class takes these students from the basics to making not just edible food, but delicious, composed dishes one week at a time, making it fun by including games and other silly ways to build knowledge on ingredients, techniques, cuisines, and more. By starting with a group of completely inept wannabe cooks, this show carries along the home viewers who are also inadvertently learning about mise en place, lobster preparation, how to fillet fish, and all sorts of other skills usually beyond the reach of the average home cook. Chef Anne Burrell coaches with a bit of tough love though she and her co-hosting chef-of-the-season really do inspire greatness out of their recruits, demonstrating that with a little preparation and some effort to keep one’s workspace clean, we can all achieve more than we thought possible. 

BBQ Brawl

This show combines the coaching aspect of Worst Cooks, the comradery of GGG, and the competition aspect of Top Chef or Chopped. Pit masters, competitive grillers, and meat-smoking phenoms are organized into teams under mentors. Initially these were self-proclaimed besties Bobby Flay and Michael Symon, former Iron Chefs and formidable professionals not afraid to be goofy buddies making great food outside. Judges, and later season co-hosts, are industry leaders and build that sense that the food community is not an anonymous group of white-coated chefs, but real, human people who struggle and triumph and learn and fail just as we all do. Anytime we can learn to see our colleagues as people possessing the full range of human experience rather than just a job title or project role, we are closer to participating in the high-functioning super team we all wish we had.

Tournament of Champions

If GGG and Beat Bobby Flay have set the stage for chefs to be seen as a community of highly-skilled, but very human professionals, Tournament of Champions or TOC has managed to bring the entire concept of cooking competition shows to the next level. Guy is the perfect host, once again showcasing the talents of his colleagues and friends with all the fun of GGG, the challenges of Chopped (the “Randomizer” shows absolutely no mercy), and the star power of Iron Chef with the added legitimacy of a blind tasting like Beat Bobby Flay. These chefs are in it to win it, no mistake, but they respect and may even really like one another. Judges are A-list chefs who have no idea who is even competing, much less which dish belongs to which chef, so there’s no bias as there might have been on Iron Chef. So even in an arena where one’s work is evaluated by industry experts, there’s room for fun and creativity, even when excellence is demanded that draws upon all of one’s previous experience and abilities in front of an audience. There are no divas competing here. The Randomizer levels the playing field and even while the chefs are working hard to outshine the other, they (and we) know that in reality, they are in it together, subjected to wacky requirements for equipment or ingredients under an absurdly tight schedule. 

As a project manager, I’m familiar with unfriendly deadlines. I’m also aware that I’ve been blessed to work with some great colleagues who are in possession of amazing skills and experience. I’ve had mentors that broadened my views and approaches to problem-solving, modeled leadership and teamwork, and pushed me beyond my comfort level to be better than I imagined I could be. As an instructor for new project managers, I try to build that sense of community and encourage the sharing of knowledge, best practices, and experience that makes us all stronger professionals, more resilient, adaptable, and competent regardless of the environment or challenge we face. So keep your knives sharp, your station tidy, and your mind open for whatever might come your way. It’s almost dinner time.

A Taste for Adventure

Twenty years ago, my grandfather (or Pop Pop as we called him) sailed down the east coast with my mother and my stepfather on their sailboat, the Second Wind. They took their time, departing from the Chesapeake Bay and making their way to Florida, stopping along the way to explore picturesque coastal towns and really enjoy the journey. Mom and Terry were rescuing Pop Pop, whisking him away from his small apartment in the assisted living facility he’d moved to with my ailing grandmother. Mom Mom had battled Parkinson’s disease for some time, requiring my grandparents to relocate from the North Carolina log cabin on Lake Gaston that had been the entire families summer getaway spot for decades to a Maryland complex with on-site healthcare resources. Parkinson’s is a terrible disease, robbing the body and the mind of all independence and draining physical and emotional energy from the caretakers. When my grandmother passed, Pop Pop was trying to adjust to his new normal, back in Maryland where four of his five children lived, but far from the idyllic lake house he’d occupied for so long. I imagine that his little apartment was unbearably quiet, though his sons and their families visited when they could, and the complex provided many opportunities for residents to gather and socialize. 

My mother was the only one who was far away, living in coastal Florida and preparing to start retirement free of the confines of a home on land for a nautical nomadic life straight out of a Jimmy Buffet song. She and Terry came up the Intracoastal Waterway to Maryland and collected him. 

Now there are many stories that I could tell of this voyage down the coast, but I’ll share this one: My grandfather, in his eighties at the time, had never tried Chinese food before this trip. 

That’s right. No fried rice, no egg rolls, no lo mein, no crispy shredded beef. 

One could argue that his cabin on the lake was not in the delivery zone of any restaurant and that the closest town of consequence* – Roanoke Rapids – was unlikely to be on the cutting edge of culinary delights boasting a Bojangles, a Cracker Barrel, and the best spot for NC pork barbecue – Ralph’s. But my grandparents hadn’t always been at the lake. They had resided in the Maryland suburbs of DC where my mother, and even I, had been born while Pop Pop worked at the Navy Yard and Mom Mom had helped out at the elementary school where I attended kindergarten. There would have been a plethora of international options beyond the square pizza I remember getting when I was little. 

So mom introduced Pop Pop to house special fried rice and egg rolls. He loved it! Of course he did – it’s delicious. So why had he never tried it before? Fear is the short answer.  He didn’t know what to order and he didn’t want to look stupid, or worse – order something he didn’t like and abandon it. It was easier to stick to the familiar, which I think we can all relate to in some context. I can remember my Great Aunt Carolyn visiting me in Central Florida during my theme park years and showing absolutely no interest in visiting Epcot during the Food and Wine Festival because she didn’t like “foreign food.” Despite my protestations that eating one’s way around World Showcase was the best thing ever, she was more comfortable with what she knew. 

My grandfather passed within a year of returning from the sailing adventure with my mom, officially from complications after knee replacement surgery, but I’m convinced it was really of a broken heart facing a future without Mom Mom. He often spoke excitedly about that trip, though, and I’m so grateful that he had such joy during that time. 

I had illusions that I was more worldly, traveling with a sightseeing list alongside an eating list, but honestly, I wasn’t much better. Sure, I’d had Chinese food, French delicacies sampled on a trip to Paris for my fortieth birthday which included escargot, as well as crepes, souffles, tarte tatin, and all manner of pastry, and I never tire of Mexican and Italian food. But it turns out, I was just as comfortable in my narrow culinary zone. 

When I started my mystery novel Murder in the Mix, I centered the plot in the NYC restaurant world, making my first victim a celebrity chef who dies in her own kitchen, leaving the ghostwriter of her next cookbook/memoir to find the murderer. I watched endless hours of Food Network and talked to chefs whenever I could without freaking them out (mystery writers know what I mean – mention that you write about interesting ways of dispatching people, even fictional ones, and it’s awkward pretty quickly). It’s true that the more we learn, the more we realize that we really know nothing.  

I never had Greek food until I moved back to Maryland in 2005, where all pizza places seem to also offer Greek specialties. Like Pop Pop, I had no idea what to order at first, but it turns out that people love sharing their favorite food with others – well, not actually sharing their plate, but they will be happy to make recommendations. So, I discovered chicken souvlaki, warm pita with fresh hummus, and tzatziki. AMAZING! Other foods I tried and loved in my late thirties/early forties: 

Fresh salmon fillets (not canned) 

Fresh asparagus 

Brussel sprouts, roasted or fried crispy 

Apple cider donuts 

Spaghetti squash 

Zucchini lasagna 

Eggplant Parm 

Nashville Hot Chicken 

But I still have blind spots. I had my first bowl of Pho just a week ago, much to boyfriend Dave’s delight. He happily slurped his pho declaring that he almost wished he’d had a cold because “this would kick its ass.” I liked it okay, but I think I prefer ramen which I’d learned to make courtesy of Home Fresh meal prep lunches we had delivered during the scariest parts of the pandemic. I skip the soft boiled egg, but the broth and noodles with vegetables and sliced chicken are delicious and nothing like the instant noodles I’d had in my twenties.   

I’d seen Indian food before, but I found it intimidating, much as I imagine my Pop Pop would have. Nothing was recognizable to my insulated American eyes except naan, which resembled pita bread and was safely delicious. I asked for recommendations. My friend gave me a butter chicken recipe for the Instant Pot and that was delicious, so thus emboldened, I went with Dave to one of his favorite Indian restaurants and had Chicken Tikka Masala** and Chicken Korma. I’m now annoyed with myself for not enjoying tikka masala before.  

I’ve discovered “grilling cheese” (which is incredible), Moroccan beef bowls, and Mediterranean spiced dishes with feta and tomatoes through another meal prep service geared toward healthy eating. I don’t love everything. I could do without lemongrass, olives, kimchi, and anything with a runny egg, but finding new foods to love is just as good as finding new authors to read. Ask around your circle of family and friends and see what cultural exploration you can take on, even if it’s just through DoorDash or GrubHub this weekend. 

 

*This is not a slight to Littleton, NC, which was closer, but there was not much to that one-stoplight town beyond a hardware store and the Piggly Wiggly. 

** Indian food can be spicy, so maybe start with the mild and venture from there as you are comfortable. I do not recommend starting with a vindaloo as a first dish. Maybe work up to that. 

I’m in it for the Enchiladas

 

“What do you want, Covid-face?”

Dave is groggy and rumpled, sharing space in the narrow bed with Dolby, a circular pool of gray fur.

“A stack of pancakes and some crispy bacon at a beachside resort, but I’ll settle for some coffee.” I stroke the kitty, who stretches a sleepy paw which comes to rest on Dave’s bare arm, briefly imprinting his skin with a crescent of claws. Pet me, servant. 

Dave is sleeping in his office rather than our bedroom because after stopping by my satellite office for a required computer software upgrade a few days ago, I was flooded with emails that I had been exposed to someone who had tested positive for COVID 19. I hadn’t set foot in that building in more than a year, working quite comfortably from my basement office at home, but my role is changing and I wanted to clear my desk while the IT team did whatever tech voodoo necessary to keep us all on the rails. There were only a handful of us there on a random Wednesday morning, and none for very long, so the exposure emails and the following announcement that ALL the offices were closing for the remainder of the week and the full following week came as a shock.

I was angry. I would now have to isolate at home for five days before testing to see if I’d contracted the illness myself. If I’m honest, I’m pretty comfortable at home, but I’d hoped to venture out for Kenneth Branagh’s Death on the Nile over the long holiday weekend and now that wouldn’t be possible. 

The first of the troublesome emails came the same Wednesday I’d had my morning office visit. Had someone had time to fall ill and then test and then notify HR who the tracked us down? That seems like some Dustin Hoffman Outbreak-level speed.  Had someone carelessly exposed us or is this truly just an unfortunate circumstance of this contagious age? 

On Thursday, my anger still held, but it was competing with creeping fear. I took the Friday off, no doubt sparking some gossip as to the state of my health, but it was my mind that needed the break. My Friday schedule was light anyway, and when combined with Monday’s holiday, I’d have four whole days free of struggling to constrain my annoyance.

I spent the first free day in my comfiest pajamas with my space heater and my Hallmark Channel movies. Dave let me wallow, bringing me a Starbucks iced coffee and carryout snacks between work obligations of his own, his home office being two sound-muffling flights upstairs from mine.

By Saturday morning, I’d retrieved a home test from the stash I’d bought months before and used it, even though it was two days earlier than the five days the CDC recommends. Dave was not yet up and I was enjoying my quiet morning coffee, but knowing that I would enjoy it more if I knew that the occasional throat-clearing and paranoia-cough was just the dry winter air and my anxiety fucking with me. I felt fine and God knows, there was no loss of taste. I was essentially trapped in a house with a well-stocked refrigerator and two years of practice ordering groceries and take out food with phone apps.

The Saturday morning test was negative. I let Dave sleep in before going upstairs for his unconventional greeting shared above. He was telling me not to worry, but in a way that I would have to laugh in spite of myself. That’s just how he is. He followed up by procuring delicious breakfast (my favorite meal) from our local coffee roastery. 

On Sunday, I tried to reciprocate by ordering delicious items from a nearby favorite brunch spot, but due to brisk business or short staffing or bad luck, my order was delayed. Dave and I passed the time watching The Tinder Swindler on Netflix until hunger overtook him and he ordered a completely different meal from a Mexican restaurant. More like four meals actually – we’d been hungry before and now it was going on two hours since I’d ordered our missing breakfast and we were starving.

My phone chimes and I see that Dave has texted me from the other chair in our living room: 

There was no breakfast. There was never any breakfast. This is all about your free enchilada.

He’s giving me the side eye and I can’t help but laugh again. He will continue to sleep in the other room until I take my Day 5 test, but I know it’s to make me feel better, to remove another stressor, and to allow me space to rest and think. After all, if Omicron is as transmissible as it appears to be, there’s little chance that we could keep it from each other in the same confined household. He knows that I worry, and his support is camouflaged by outrageous zingers to make me laugh while he cooks meatballs and pasta or pops in another mystery movie, since I can’t yet go to the theater for Poirot. I feel healthy, but whatever happens, I’m grateful for this man and I know that we are in this together. For the long haul. And, of course, for the enchiladas.

PS. Negative test! We ventured out to walk in the wilderness today, or at least the park by the Loch Raven reservoir. After a half hour or so of traversing muddy trails, hopping small streams, and admiring the view, Dave announces "We Blair Witched this motherfucker!" before taking me to lunch. He's a keeper.

Tap, Tap - Is this Thing On?

 So, I did a thing. I recorded an audiobook version of Ten Dysfunctions of My Teams. Long ago, I used to say that if you worked at Disney long enough, you'd know people in all parks, resorts, and disciplines all across the world. Turns out, if you just live long enough, you can build a friend list across all sorts of industries - people who have channeled their talents and passions in directions that spread out like a creative circulatory system of the planet. 

It turns out that one of them is now a professional voice actor with his own studio.

A normal person would have stopped there, I suppose, turning the words over to the pro, but that's not how it plays out. After some encouragement, I agreed to narrated the stories myself. Who knows them better than I do? Of course, I was gripped with anxiety about this, but Paul talked me through the process, helped me to select a decent microphone, and set up our sessions so that I could record from my own office while connected to his studio over the internet.

It took a while. Turns out I can read two stories out loud before I get crackly and fuzzy-headed. I made plenty of errors. Each time, Paul stopped me, took out the bad section and told me where to pick it up again. We worked in blocks of an hour to 90 minutes or so, either recording two stories or three, until all ten were done. I learned a few things:

1. Don't drink cold (especially iced) drinks. Turns out this is bad for the vocal cords.

2. Don't drink hot liquids, like coffee, which honestly would have been my inclination. A nice hot cup o' joe feels like it clears my throat and my head. And the caffeine...well, yeah. Also bad. 

3. Carbonated drinks are not good either - burping. Back in my Disney days, when the energy flagged and I needed to push through gangster or bandit shifts at The Great Movie Ride (#onceamovierider) I went for an icy cold Vanilla Coke - full sugar. The combination got me through many a ten hour day of theatrical tour vehicle hijacking and forbidden jewel stealing.

4. Room temperature water. Boring, but it's what's for dinner.

I also learned that I am not a good talker/breather when those two things have to happen together. I was out of breath a lot. It seems that I was taking in a big breath and talking for as longs as I had air. Like a freediver, only for no good reason. I still don't really get how to balance my breath with a "natural speaking voice" when I'm the only one talking. 

So, obviously, I decided to try podcasting.

What do I know about this? Not a thing, but I did get myself a new book, Audio for Authors, by Joanna Penn. It arrived today, so I'm hopeful that I will pick up a few things.

Stay tuned! I think my first podcast will be about the journey of recording my first audiobook. You'll be able to hear what I mean, and I hope to ask some people who know all about this to provide some guidance in case any of you decide to dabble with recording your stories.

Because of the whole living a long time thing, I have many in my network who have plenty of performance experience, theater, music, public speaking, and so on. If you have advice, please share!

New year, same four walls - but a cool, new breeze blows through

 I, like much of America, watched the Inauguration with part of my psyche clenched in anticipation of something terrible that might happen in spite of the precautions, the extra security, the relentless press coverage. In spite of this ball of anxiety, I enjoyed Lady Gaga, JLo, even the fashionable outfits - all the beautiful trappings of ceremony conducted with grace. I teared up at Kamala Harris's oath and Senator Klobuchar's words, and I chuckled at Bernie's now infamous mittens. I started to breathe easier when President Biden made his first address as #46. But is was when a small woman, shining in yellow and red stepped up and began to speak, accentuating her words with flowing hands like a dancer, that the clouds parted and the sun shone brightly to burn away the last four years.

Her name - Amanda Gorman. Her words - magic. 

You can see her read The Hills We Climb here.

From the New York Times:

22-year-old National Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman recites poem at President Biden's inauguration, "the new dawn blooms as we free it for there is always light if only we're brave enough to see it, if only we're brave enough to be it."Jan. 20, 2021

 

Not since Maya Angelou have I been so moved by poetry, spoken so eloquently after such a long and parched year defined by its isolation, division, fear, and defiance of reason and civility. I begin to hope that we will be all right after all.

2021 seems a cautiously optimistic time. A few updates:

I have a new website: https://www.carolyneichhorn.com/  

Here you can find latest publications and other news. I'm taking a short pause with my fiction to work on a nonfiction project with talented colleagues - stay tuned for more soon on that project.

I'm taking a three day virtual course with Alison Gaylin on thriller writing soon with the Center for Fiction- I'll be sure to share about that, too.

Stay safe, all - until the vaccine comes and we can gather again. Until then, I virtually toast in the new year with you.

Making Room for Gratitude - Pandemic Edition

 

I love Thanksgiving. I especially love Thanksgiving at home because I have full control over the family recipes I grew up enjoying - even the weird ones. But this year is complicated. I'm not comfortable gathering with others while we have no protection from the coronavirus aside from masks one can't wear while eating or drinking and social distancing which is difficult if not impossible inside.

Part of me wants to embrace the desire to burrow in blankets on the sofa, drawing the curtains closed against the world and nap-watching Netflix and Hallmark. But for most, Thanksgiving is an occasion to gather friends and family, especially when those loved ones are not usually close by. My heart goes out to those who are craving that companionship though my body will not follow this year. It hurts.

My BF had to travel last week to check on his father and while I know that it was necessary, I worry about the safety of moving through airports, especially on the way to older relatives. So now that he has returned, we are in isolation here until we can be sure that we cannot share any unintended consequences with others. I have learned to appreciate the silver linings of quarantine living:

Grocery Delivery 

I used to really enjoy grocery shopping, winding my way through the aisles, finding exactly what I need while saving as much as I can with savvy choices. Now, 90% of my shopping is done online via Instacart or Whole Foods by way of Amazon. My items are bagged and left at my door - no contact style, usually within two hours or so. The plusses here are obvious, but I also like that I have the opportunity to tip my delivery driver - a real person who is out in the dangerous world, making it possible for me to stay mostly home. Occasionally, item scarcity or particularity will required me to mask up and venture out, such as my hunt for a smaller turkey. I dug through the freezer bin for my prize 12 pounder hidden among the 25 pound giant Butterballs myself, suppressing the desire to hold it above my head and crow of my success and instead just hustling to the self checkout. But all of the bird's accompaniments were brought to my door.

Meal Delivery/Curbside

Of course, I've always enjoyed a pizza delivery, but now our choices are much wider. And delivery and curbside pick up allow opportunities to support favorite small establishments that I love but can't visit in person in the usual way.  I'll drive a little out of the way once a week to get coffee from the local roaster/cafe who struggles now that the dining room is not available to local writers, students, or families accustomed to lingering over an iced coffee and an indulgent weekend breakfast. Another chance to tip generously so these craftspeople who don't have the option of working from home as I do can stay afloat until normal activities resume, hopefully in the new year.

Nesting

Followers of this blog will know that I spent years fixing up my 1927 bungalow home only to sell it and move in with my boyfriend. Though I definitely appreciate having modern conveniences like central air and heat, it didn't take long for me to start tinkering with my new space. My BF is a good sport, stifling any objections as I chipped away at each room, repainting, replacing furniture and flooring, adding plants, paintings, and a fantastic coffee bar. It's a slow process, but it allows for mini-reveals that make us really appreciate our home together. It started with a powder room overhaul and progressed to a suite of new kitchen appliances which make me sing with joy.  We still have plenty to go, but we are grateful to have a comfortable home that increasingly reflects an inviting warmth that our post-pandemic guests/visitors should feel.  For now, the cats like it and Bella has claimed the new sofa.

Triage

I decorated for Christmas ridiculously early this year, like right after Halloween. I was stressed out about work, about Dave's upcoming trip, about not accepting Thanksgiving invitations, rising COVID deaths, etc. I had already started with some online Christmas shopping here and there and packages started to arrive. I could hide them or wrap them. Once wrapped, it seemed foolish to stack them downstairs in my office, so I put up the tree. Then the stockings. Then the outside lights. Four weeks later, another neighbor on our cul de sac also installed exterior lights and I expect that Thanksgiving weekend will usher in more festive displays. Even so, I felt better when I needed it. Our cats definitely enjoy it too.

Here's the thing - I can only focus on what I can control. Aside from trying not to contribute to it, I can't do much about the pandemic, BUT I can busy myself with removing clutter, thinking about how to improve our living space, how I can help a neighbor, and taking good care of the pets.

I try not to beat myself up too much about all the reading I'm not doing or all of the writing which isn't happening. I'm getting by and for now, that's enough. The priorities are different and that's okay for now. Also, I know how lucky I am to be able to continue working even though I don't go into an office. Many of my friends and former colleagues are dealing with lay offs, scaled back hours, and furloughs. Let's use this holiday time to support any side hustles they may have. Make sure to reach out and check on them. Help out where you can. Even if you can't help, give them an ear (over the phone of course) and make sure they feel seen and heard. Having been through a reduction myself, I can't imagine how much harder it must be during a pandemic.

In fact, try cutting everyone a break this year. Even the surly ones. They may be worried about sick loved ones, or they may have conditions which make getting the virus particularly dangerous. They may be feeling guilt about declining invitations or turning away guests who normally visit over the holidays. They may be worried about what Christmas is going to look like. Or Hanukkah. Or they may have lost someone this year without being able to mourn or support or any of the otherwise normal parts of living in this world. There's plenty of time to be an asshole later. Maybe put it off until next year. And don't be too hard on those of us who have discovered the quarantine fifteen (or more). We are eating and watching television and trying to stay safe in our stretchiest pants. Chubby happens.

Take care of you! And if you want to help take care of others, look around your neighborhood. Here are a few places I like:

Zeke's Coffee - I've written plenty of stories here, and all while drinking some of the best iced coffee around. They'll do curbside pick up or you can get cofee beans shipped to your home.

Jamie's Color Street page - How are those pandemic nails looking? Want something you can do at home? Check it out. 

Browseabout Books - You can pick up a copy of Beach Mysteries here (I have a story inside) or any other book you might like. They make great gifts! They will ship if you aren't close by. If you have a favorite local independent bookstore, make sure you think of them when shopping for the holidays or yourself.

Any of your favorite local restaurants - I'm not really ready for "going out" especially when that means "eating inside" but I'm all about take out. Get the ravioli, you deserve it.

Towson Hot Bagel - Yum. They have the "order through the app" thing down. Pickup is easy and contact free. I'm pretty serious about my breakfast, especially my coffee and breakfast. So there's one more:

Miss Shirley's - get the shrimp and grits, or the pancakes or anything that comes with the cheesy bacon grits. They are magical.

As we prepare for Thanksgiving, I am grateful for the quiet time with my BF and the pets. I try not to let my impatience for all the activities that just aren't safe now get too much in the way of being a good human. I wish you all a happy and safe holiday season! Keep yourselves and your families healthy and we will gather again in the new year.

Bias

2020 has certainly been an awful year. We aren't even halfway through yet, and I already want to return it like that impulse jacket bought from a late night pop up ad. The pandemic rages on, though it now competes with other awful things for our attention, some by-products of the quarantine like job loss, small businesses struggling, tensions building from continued close confinement with others, and the shit show that is an American election year. And then there is the seemingly endless stream of race-based murders arrogantly captured on video and somehow, still a subject for debate.

I understand that as a middle-aged (that hurt a bit), white woman, I am no expert here, but I have been thinking a lot about bias lately and how I came by my own.

Of course I have bias - we all do, though perhaps not about the same things. I have no idea how people get to the headspace that empowers them to call police on others for "birding while black" or exercising/barbecuing/birthday partying/driving/jogging, etc. with melanin. I don't understand it. I don't.

When I was young, my mom, sister, and I were poor and "country" AF. Meaning, we lived in the middle of rural Florida, surrounded by sandy orange groves, cattle pastures, and uneducated people. (see, my bias is peeking out already) My Florida, as a child, included people of different races, but nearly all acts of aggression toward me or my family came from other people who looked like us. The people who stole from us following my stepfather's death were related (by marriage) or neighbors. The mean girls at school were white girls from Windermere, an affluent enclave in West Orange County, who exploited my self-consciousness regarding my horrific lack of personal style. (I'd love to say that I had Molly Ringwald's "poor, but fabulous" fashion sense, but no. I was awkward, badly dressed, and without the benefit/curse of being raised in town. I was not blessed with natural social skills or the good looks of a John Hughes film.

The summer between my junior and senior year in high school, my mom moved our little family to Gainesville in north Florida, which was all kinds of a learning experience. We lived in a middle class house in a middle class neighborhood. I went away to college, choosing an art school in Brooklyn, NY. Eventually, I settled back in central Florida, working at Disney and taking college classes here and there on the ten-year plan.

Say what you want about growing up here or there, but few places are going to expose one to more diversity than the vacation capital of the world. And while I probably wouldn't hold Disney up as any kind of example for inclusion really, one thing that shaped my twenty-something self was that from day one, they indoctrinate their cast to treat all guests with the cheery, welcoming "get lost in this experience" way.  It's funny now, that I don't think of this so much as prep for us to avoid discriminating against people from other cultures, but not going ape shit when celebrities came through. And they did - all the time. Disney cast members come from all over, but are largely college-aged kids (many who stay through their adulthood, even to retirement) who may have less developed impulse control, so training/indoctrination is laid on pretty thick so when one has to give a show at the Great Movie Ride to Michael J. Fox whom one might have crushed on as a kid, one does not completely come to pieces. Part of Disney's secret sauce is being able to replicate the experience consistently over and over and over so that the guests can lose themselves in the moment - leaving the rest of the world and whatever that might entail, outside the gates.

As young cast members, we hardly made much money, so picking up extra hours for special events (conventions that buy out a park, the Disney Marathon, holidays like the 4th of July and New Year's Eve), productions (films, television game show tapings, wrestling, pilots), and the wide variation of "other" (Super Soap Weekends, Star Wars Weekends, visits by presidents, major park anniversaries, and so on) meant that I could be assigned to drive a Disney Channel exec around for a week or provide a tour for Alex Trebek, or transport Susan Lucci by golf cart without embarrassing myself or the company.

But this training spills over, as I imagine all learned behavior does. I was giving a backstage tour to a celebrity chef from California before he gave a presentation to the Florida Imagineers on food as entertainment in the late 90s or so when he asked me about Disney's newish policy providing benefits for same-sex life partners. (This was before he invited me to visit his house in LA where he promised the best margarita of my life. Thanks, but no. ) I remember telling him with some surprise at his question, that I had essentially grown up with the training to provide the same excellent experience to everyone without regard to the details that might only matter to people outside of the parks. I'd not honestly given the announcement much thought. It certainly didn't strike me as controversial.

Decades later, I frame this approach differently in my head. I haven't been in the theme park business for a long time, but I've taught college students from of a wide range of geographies, socio-economic status, professional experience, education, ages, and so on how to not fear writing. As an instructor coaxing out the creative freedom allowing students to share thoughts they know that others will read, I have to lead with kindness. I have to recognize the individual. I have to see the person in order to support them.

So this is where I usually land. Seeing the individual and leading with kindness as much as I can. It's hard sometimes. Bias is real, and while mine may not look the same as yours or your wildly politically incorrect uncle, it's there and I try to be conscious of it. And my approach isn't rosy altruism entirely - this is what works for me. It's a learned behavior like any other. I've had a few jobs in more traditionally male areas and many of the dudes I worked with were assholes at first. Come to think of it - even at Disney tensions existed by "class" all over the place. Attractions vs maintenance. Creatives vs operations. Entertainment vs everybody. Success meant finding ways to interact with people as people, not job titles, not departments, not the mythologies surrounding their group. So defaulting to any kind of approach that assigns characteristics as a whole to a group is not effective.

But, like I said before, it's hard sometimes.

All men are not assholes who will publicly mock a young woman, new to the job in order to shame her into verifying a bias that she can't possibly be a valuable resource to the team. Even if they initially are, sometimes they eventually come around and become allies and good working partners.

All guys don't grope, assault, attempt to shame, frighten or hurt women because they are stronger or older or have an advantage that gives them power. Not all men are rapists.

Criminals might not look like they do in the movies or books of our childhoods.

Church attendance does not guarantee kindness toward one's fellow being.

College education is not the same as intelligence. Having worked in higher education, with plenty of PhDs, I know that a degree doesn't make anyone immune to the same human frailties we all share. I hope though, that the effort in learning how to learn, can make us more aware of how much there is that we could do better. The process of learning is uncomfortable in the best way, as we risk mistakes in order to build understanding.

All bosses aren't going to make you perform your job in an environment of fear . Some are lovely people, genuinely interested in helping staff grow and succeed.

Not all people of means are entitled pricks. Not all people without have hearts of gold.

Compassion and political correctness are not the same thing. Nearly all the cringey moments I've had interacting with others who decry "being PC" are because of a casual mean-spiritedness and absurd blanket attributions that show a laziness of thought.

So here we are, quarantined with family who may hold different opinions, world views, or political affiliations watching the daily shit show that is the news in an election year, during a pandemic with a side of economic crisis and mourning for the thousands of fatalities trying to get through.

Try to lead with kindness. Try to listen as much as you speak. Try to see the individual. Try to do the right thing by others, and by doing that - by your self. Let some of your biases float away a bit before you respond to the cringey uncle or the political neighbor or the person who needs your support right now. Take a breath. Check yourself if you find that you are labeling, just in case. When in doubt, be a nice human.