Nancy Knows Best

Yesterday I was interviewed by a journalism student at my alma mater. She was writing a paper and talking to various alumni in the journalism field. There's nothing quite like reviewing your entire professional career in half an hour to give you some perspective.

In short, I went from sports writer at a newspaper to public relations director at a national youth sports league to sports writer/columnist at another newspaper by the time I was 30. After 10 years at the latter, I moved into web producing (read: editing) for a major network sports site in New York, then to a professional sports league in the same capacity, then to television producing at an exciting startup network. Whew.

So here's what struck me while I was answering her questions. I have not always made popular decisions. In fact, people (some of whom I respect and love) thought I was crazy several times along the way. For example, as the P.R. director of a youth baseball league, I had a corporate American Express card, plenty of travel and a nice office. I left that to become an agate clerk at a newspaper. For those not familiar with sports journalism jargon, that means I did monkey work -- coding statistics like horse racing results and boxscores. It also meant working nights in a non-glamorous atmosphere.

But the pay was a bit better, I had made up my mind to earn a beat of my own within a year (it was nine months, actually) and public relations involved writing fluff that didn't come naturally to me. In the long run, I wound up thriving as a sports writer/columnist, loving the challenges of writing on deadline and meeting fascinating people from all walks of life. I think I can safely say that decision kicked butt.

When I made the jump to web producing, there were more jeers. It wasn't a sure thing and some people are very into the sure, safe thing. I can't live like that, at least not happily. So I made the move and loved working with tight deadlines in a different medium. What a rush. The hours were a little nutty, but that was part of the appeal for me.

When that operation moved to Los Angeles, I opted to stay in New York and landed a job at a professional sports league. It was a step up in pay and title and I had a gorgeous office complete with chrome and glass in Rockefeller Center. I loved the people but hated the staid corporate atmosphere. I lasted six months. The naysayers had a blast with that one.

But I persisted in my philosophy of "Nancy Knows Best" and took to the startup network immediately. I was given an opportunity to learn television producing and it was a priceless experience despite a layoff that decimated my 30-person department two and a half years ago.

The reason this speaks to me so much right now is that I have made some recent decisions that have others thinking I've lost my mind (and admittedly I've questioned my sanity at times as well). Mine is a freelance life, writing and life coaching. Some months it's lucrative, others it's very slow. And, to be fair, I'm a stubborn soul. I feel my life is being guided by the universe and my challenge is to be open to all of it and stay focused on the journey. When I try something repeatedly and doors keep slamming shut, I take that as a sign that I'm forcing a direction that isn't supposed to be.

So thank you, journalism student. This has been a welcome reminder in a time of extreme ebb and flow. I am on the right path. I can feel it in my gut.

New Thought

I attend a New Thought church. There. I've said it.

For some reason I had a notion in my head that this was something I shouldn't reveal to the world at large. It's no one's business, I reasoned. And on some level I still feel that way. But on another level, I think it's important not to hide it either. If you are aligned with something that lifts you up, enriches your spiritual life and inspires you every day, why not share it? It seems a pity not to.

The message at this week's service was about giving. Not the kind where you elbow people in Bloomingdale's for just the right sweater for someone on your list, but the kind where you give to yourself. What that includes is giving to organizations and causes that speak to you, be it a church, a community center, a shelter or a charity. It means giving of yourself through your personal gifts and time. Yes, that kind of giving.

I found this subject particularly synchronous this week. I had been thinking about a recent conversation with a dear friend who is a born again Christian. While I strongly disagree with her religious beliefs, I love that at her core she lives her life passionately in them. And part of the minister's message this week was about how much we can learn from Evangelicals -- how they walk their talk by practicing their religion every day, how they give to causes aligned with their beliefs and mobilize to effect change. What an insightful observation.

I feel emotionally and spiritually at peace in church and in the world. There. I've said that, too.

Paradise in a pen

I don't know how I got on a mailing list for a Paradise Pen catalog, but I received one in my mailbox today. It's actually called a "giving manual" and it has these sweet little writing stories woven through the pages of merchandise. And the pens! One for every personality, it seems. "Pens can inspire grace," one page touts.

This is a writer thing with me, just like feathers and journals and stationery. I find it synchronous that this lovely tribute to writing tools came to me now, another sign from the universe saying, "Yes, keep writing!" Just like the feather in my path a few weeks ago. Funny how the universe conspires to help us when we make our intentions known.

On top of the two-page spread for the Cartier Trinity Black Fountain Pen is this heading: "Writing is the mirror of the soul." Yes. Writing virtually strips you naked. That's the challenge, at least if it's going to be good.

Go figure. I suddenly have a hankering for my favorite sleek racy red pen ...

Warts and all

Today a friend shared over lunch what it was like to lose her father earlier this year. I listened with rapt attention. I have another good friend who recently lost his father. It's disconcerting.

I have committed myself to trying extra hard to accept my father, warts and all. I will communicate with him to the best of my ability and reconcile myself to the fact that he doesn't need to understand me or my choices. We can just be.

That's all.

Black Friday

I'm going to be in a shopping mall at 7:30 a.m. tomorrow. Many people I know think I've lost my mind. After all, I do very little holiday shopping and, being self-employed, don't need to do it at the height of retail madness.

However, I'm going with my sister and she is over-the-top excited about it and it's become something of a ritual on Black Friday. We'll get some coffee en route, hit the stores, unload some packages, get more coffee, hit more stores and then plop down for some lunch at Ruby Tuesday's. I'll also be equipped with some dorky coupons that allow me free lotion at Bath and Body Works if I purchase something and for some reason that rocks my world. Last year I bought an ornament for my Christmas tree and got the vanilla lotion to boot. Yee-ha.

In the process, the whole experience puts me in the holiday mood and allows me to check out all the latest ornaments and decorations. I can already hear the jingle bells ...

Simple thanks

So here I sit in Leisure Village watching The Golden Girls. No, I'm not looking into a crystal ball. I'm visiting my parents for Thanksgiving. Tomorrow we will travel to my aunt's house, over 20 of us. In the morning, I'll be assembling three very plentiful antipastos because, heaven forbid, we can't have an All-American Thanksgiving. There must be at least one Italian course. Pilgrims be damned.

There is something comforting about all of this. Families can be tricky, let's face it. And mine is no different. But seeing some of my cousins, catching up, laughing, planning some Christmas visits, it's all very traditional and somehow soothing. The turkey and stuffing add to the appeal, I must say.

So this is where I talk about being thankful. I have a friend who says we should be thankful all year, not just this week and he's right. However, I'm still going to use this holiday to pause and reflect for a moment. I am so, so thankful to have found a spiritual path that has become a way of life for me more and more every day. Every other thing for which I am thankful comes back to that -- health, creative gifts, abundance, love.

It's that simple.

The writing rush

The computer is coming with me to my parents' house for Thanksgiving. This is how I know I've become attached to my book idea. I'm thinking in terms like this: two hours on the train each way means four hours of writing. Even if I don't write a word in between, that alone is a good chunk of time.

So I'm really off and running. Committed like never before. Excited to be feeling so passionate about a writing project. I have a phenomenal support system -- a testament to my good taste in friends.

And my ego ... well, that's kicking in, too. For me that's always been a part of the process. When I was a sports writer and columnist for a newspaper, every so often I'd write a piece I felt so keyed up about that I had to get the paper first thing in the morning and see it in print. Even after hundreds of bylines, sometimes there was nothing like that one article I was proud of from start to finish and seeing it in print made it real. There is no other rush quite like it.

Isn't this how we know we're gifted in a particular area? The rush? The juice?

Oh yeah.

My story

The assignment I had given my writing class for tonight was to create a collage. I asked that they spend 20 minutes going through magazines and collecting images or words that appealed to them, then another 20 affixing those images to cardboard or construction paper. The exercise is straight from The Artist's Way and it always goes over well with students. It's a wonderful way to get in touch with what matters to you and it helps to get the creative juices flowing.

Rather than create a new one this time around, I took my teacher's prerogative and brought in the collage I had created for my class last spring. When we started looking at it, I noticed a tiny block near the top with the following words: My story belongs to everyone, but only I can tell it. Part of me says I was taking the easy way out by not making a new collage. But then the other part kicks in, the one that says I was supposed to reconnect with those words right now, this day, this week.

The success of my book hinges on me being forthcoming about my own triumphs and hardships, attributes and foibles. It means telling my story completely and frankly as only I can tell it.

Powerful words. Empowering words. My story. My way.

On the brink

There comes a point when we don't need another book, another workshop, another living soul to tell us what we need to do. We already know. We're just busting through the last layer of fear and resistance.

I can tell I am there. I know what I have to do. One foot in front of the other. Baby steps, just like I teach my clients. Just like Gina, my 15-month-old niece. She stands and feels brave and accomplished. But then what? She looks at the floor. She's learned how to safely land on her butt. Now it's just a matter of looking straight ahead and moving one foot out in front. Then the next. It's that basic. That's why the baby steps metaphor is so good.

My nephew, Stephen, is almost three. When he started talking it was like the language had just been sitting there waiting to burst through the surface. Now he's not only speaking, but shouting with glee. He can't express enough. He's exuberant in his speech. It's a beautiful thing to watch.

That's how our breakthroughs happen. At some point we have to be on the brink. And let's just say it, sometimes the brink is a hard place to be. It's that last, point-of-no-return, I'm-about-to-leap place. From there, it's jump or turn back. Is that really a choice?

Not when your destiny is waiting.

Insight and in-sight

Last night I had a two-hour telephone conversation with a friend I hadn't talked to in a long time. It was wonderful to connect and I was thrilled to hear she is finding lessons in a stream of losses she has experienced. That is what I strive to do, to be. It reminded me of the importance of right association in our lives, the feeling of sharing with like-minded others.

It was this friend who introduced me to The Artist's Way; last night we picked up where we left off without skipping a beat. I don't think those two facts are unrelated. When I told her of my triumphs and my hardships of late, she was insightful about both. When I mentioned the annoying and ugly sty on my eye, she marveled at how literal the universe can be -- what are you not seeing, Nancy? Knock me over with a feather, why don't you.

That brings me to this morning. The cold is lingering. The sty is still there. I just finished meditating about everything. When all else was quiet, one persistent voice kept saying the same thing -- Write your damn book. Not in your leisurely, la-la pace. Like you mean it. Like it means something to you. Like you have something to say. Like you can't wait to spit it all out. What are you waiting for???????

Duh.

In with the new

I cleared away a lot of clutter today. I recently saw an Oprah episode where she described having her closet in perfect order; she was radiant and, as she put it, "standing up straighter." It's amazing how clearing space brings in renewed energy and a sense of freedom like nothing else.

I first caught on to this concept when I began taking a course in The Artist's Way about four years ago. Author Julia Cameron says, "By tossing out the old and unworkable, we make way for the new and suitable." She adds, "When the search-and-discard impulse seizes you, two crosscurrents are at work: the old you is leaving and grieving, while the new you celebrates and grows strong."

Don't you love that? When I began teaching The Artist's Way, I noticed some students resisted that at first but then found themselves purging closets and drawers and files. So cathartic!

Today it was old receipts, my entire work area, part of my closet, part of my bedroom, emails. What a day. And to boot, a friend dropped by on his way to donate some items to charity, so he left with some of my clothes to take as well. More space!

There's still much to do, especially with the holidays coming and I want a squeaky clean house to decorate after Thanksgiving. But I'm off to a good start.

Creative juices

Tonight I went to Manhattan to see an art exhibit and film trailer with the title "burnt." A Hoboken artist, Doug Auld, is working on a series of paintings of burn victims with the cooperation of St. Barnabas Hospital and three of his works were on display.

One young woman in the film was particularly striking because she spoke of feeling fortunate to have had the experience and to have gained the understanding that at some point we'll all return to dust. It was poignant and really gave me pause.

I was also excited to see the exhibit because back in December of 2002 I had had a coaching consultation with Doug. One of the goals we set together was to begin working on his idea for a burn series. I love seeing goals come to fruition and get particularly jazzed when those are in the creative category.

Books, screenplays, photo exhibits, concerts -- these are the goals that light people up and make them respond passionately to coaching. It's such a rush to be a part of that with them.

Getting unclogged

I have a cold. The watery eyes, the stuffy nose, the dull headache, the sore throat. It's annoying. No matter how much I try not to let it take me out of my game, it inevitably slows me down.

And therein lies the problem when you're a control freak. I believe we manifest things in our lives. I believe a clogged head means a clogged head. Yuck. But the good news is, when the fog lifts, there's clarity all the way around.

So today I reflected on some insightful things a friend had to say last night with regard to moving my career forward. I also had a wonderfully stimulating conversation with a like-minded woman who is living a creative life and weathering its challenges. And my client sessions today were so satisfying because they were with people who I inherently understand and believe in.

Certainly the fog is moving upward. So I'll keep popping the echinacea and vitamin C.

Confident that clarity is just around the corner.

Desperate women

I facilitated a discussion titled "Desperate Women" at a cafe in The Village tonight. About a dozen people came, some regulars of the weekly Salon and others simply intrigued by the topic. I have a lot of experience leading these community talks and this one proved to be very challenging.

I felt like we never really sunk our teeth into the subject. I was trying to use the ABC hit show Desperate Housewives to launch us into a discussion of what drives women to desperation. But some people were dismayed that we weren't including desperate men in the discussion and that line of thinking consumed much of the evening. We also had people who were uncomfortable with labeling people "desperate." While I had expected polarization and some circling around the boundaries of political correctness, I hadn't anticipated such resistance to the topic itself.

As a feminist, I must confess some discomfort with the term "desperate women." However, I've also witnessed them in action and must say there is something to the stereotype. Is it socialization? Is it the media? Hasn't this behavior been around forever? Why are so many women desperate for marriage, babies, spacious homes, thin bodies?

The life coach in me wants to take these women one-by-one and help them shift their thinking. It can be done. I know. I've done it for myself. That's not to say I don't still have my desperate moments; certainly we all do. The first step, though, is recognizing the problem exists.

Judging from what I heard tonight, that won't be easy.

Sad but true

A few days ago I wrote a post saying I had begun reading He's Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo of Sex and the City. Here's my update.

I finished the book and found it enlightening. I love common sense wisdom and this page-turner is filled with those kinds of tidbits. So often we sit around dissecting a man's behavior when all along it's pretty clear -- he's just not that into us. Case closed.

That said, there is a paragraph at the end that I found highly disturbing. It is part of the banter between the authors, something that happens throughout the book. Greg is very black and white in advocating that women have high expectations from the men they date. Liz intimates in some parts and then flat out says it's not realistic to do that. This is what she writes:

"... it seems logical, reasonable, and down right savvy for all the fantastic, smart, healthy, funny, kind women out there to start thinking about lowering their expectations. Because I don't know about you, but I hate being single. I hate going to parties alone. I hate sleeping alone. I hate waking up alone. I hate knowing that every single boring errand I have to do, I'm going to do alone. I hate not having sex. I hate cooking for one and shopping for one. I hate going to weddings. I hate people asking me why I'm still single. I hate people not asking me why I'm still single. I hate my birthday because I'm still single. I hate having to think about possibly becoming a single mother because I'm single. Have I made myself clear?"

Oh, yes. Very clear. That's SAD!!!!! Is that really how you feel? Everything you do is meaningless because you're single? Your life will begin when and if you get married? How warped are we as a society for perpetuating this mindset? Because make no mistake about it, we do perpetuate it.

Liz, please, give me a call for some life coaching. Let's see if we can't shift your thinking. A man will not fix what's ailing you. Only you can.

Have I made myself clear?

Arrows to flowers

This morning a wise woman told a story of Buddha. It was about how arrows coming at him turned into flowers. I found the imagery compelling.

So then I was with friends crossing Sixth Avenue in Manhattan and spotted a white flower lying in the street. I picked it up. It was a carnation made of cloth, a wee bit tattered and worn.

"If you clean it up, it will be beautiful," my friend said.

"It already is," I replied. He understood my meaning.

We were approaching Times Square. I looked up and saw a towering billboard of a woman in her 90s. It was bracing, this frank photo of aging in all its glory. I glanced at the copy under the image and saw that it touted a website -- www.campaignforrealbeauty.com -- and was sponsored by Dove. What a gorgeous message.

I cupped my flower in my hand and looked at it again, wondering from which arrow it had saved me.

Not rocket science

I just started reading He's Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo, a consultant and writer, respectively, from Sex and the City. Now when I say just started, I mean just started. A friend gave it to me last night and I began reading it on the subway ride home. I could probably stop at page 14 because I've got the lesson loud and clear.

For those not familiar with the show and this book, the idea came about over one of the show's pitch meetings. A room full of women were talking about dating experiences as part of the material for Sex and the City and there happened to be a guy in the room that day -- Behrendt. While the women tried to solve each other's dating issues -- as women are prone to do -- Behrendt piped in with "He's just not that into you." The women were appalled at first, but then it seems a sense of liberation took over. They mirrored that in the script when it made its way onto the show.

No more wondering if he's scared, still bruised after a bad breakup, afraid to ruin the friendship, taking it slow, very busy, coy, etc. If he's interested, he's calling and making another date. If he's interested, he making his move. Bottom line. Simple.

Wow. Is this common sense wisdom or what?

Control issues

A friend and I were talking about controlling behavior today. We both have our controlling moments, so I was excited about sharing an insight I've had recently. He is, on occasion, late. Now we all know the deal about late people; often it's their passive aggressive way to exercise control.

Each week this friend and I meet for a weekly ritual. We agree to meet in the same spot at 9:15 a.m. More often than not, he is about 10 minutes late. This used to send me over the edge with annoyance. Then one day I went inward and thought of my options. This is what I came up with: a.) Stay in my house until 9:30 in a "screw you" mentality, b.) Be on time and lash out at him and set the tone for our time together, or, c.) Ask myself what really bugs me about it and flip it around so I don't feel controlled. I chose option C.

Here's how it plays out. What I resented was feeling I could do a lot with the extra 10 minutes if I knew I had it. But realistically, I do know I have it because it plays out that way every week. So now I bring my journal or a book and I spend the time MY way. I actually enjoy that time now.

Go figure.

All one thing

I was having a conversation with a friend this evening and we started talking about trying to focus on more than one major thing in our lives at a time. Of course it brought to mind for me the two major ways I make a living -- writing and life coaching -- and how sometimes it's difficult to decide which one should get most of my time in any given week. So it hits me: really everything is about the coaching.

I'm coaching clients. I'm facilitating discussion groups, which taps into my coaching skills, i.e. listening, giving feedback, clarifying. I'm teaching a writing class called "Discovering Writing" which is essentially coaching my students in their artistic expression. I'm writing this blog and its content is certainly derived from my coaching mindset and experiences. I'm writing a book which heavily draws on my coaching skill set. I'm developing a community project that is coaching-based.

The bottom line? It's really all one thing. Call it a mind game, but somehow that makes it feel more doable, less segmented. No need to pick between door #1 or door #2. All the goodies are in one accessible compartment.

I can just open it up and dive in.

Self-directed learning

Do you ever think about what you deserve in life? Or that the concept of deserving could be a help or hindrance in your quest to achieve or have what you want?

I've been mulling this today because for the second time in two weeks when I lamented that a goal has been eluding me, someone wise suggested I look within and ask myself if I think I deserve it. It gave me such pause. "Is that really a possibility?" I wondered aloud to a friend. It's a disturbing thought. My friend was kind enough to help me brainstorm and dig a bit and I concluded I need to go a little deeper with it.

If this was happening to a life coaching client, I'd suggest she start by making a list of all the positive things she feels she deserves. Then I'd have her list all of the positive things from her past that she thought she deserved and made happen; from there I'd have her outline the blueprint and subsequent action steps of how she got them. Certainly there is something to the idea of tapping into past successes to remind ourselves how the right mindset and/or level of emotional maturity brought us to a place of achievement and satisfaction.

So it seems I have a plan. To practice what I preach. To go within and figure out what lies at the heart of this issue. To be relentless in my pursuit of an answer. To understand and acknowledge it as the first step towards change. To embody that change.

I deserve it.

Market this

Sometimes people ask me who my target audience is for life coaching. That's a pretty basic marketing question, I understand, but it's tough for me to answer. The truth is I can coach anyone who is open to being coached. It's not just about creatives or executives or people with problems. It's not just women or people in transition or a certain age group.

This was brought home to me last night when I had a coaching session with a 25-year-old guy. He's bright and together. He's ambitious. He has a significant relationship in his life. He's well-adjusted. He knows what his dream job is and has already taken steps to make it happen. He just has some things to sort out, the kinds of issues that require an objective ear and an insightful mind. Enter the life coach.

It was yet another one of those times where I walked away from a session marveling at this profession and how good it feels to do it. "I didn't know what to expect, but I'm really glad I came to see you," he said with a smile. I sent him away with some assignments for next week and hopefully they'll crystallize some things for him.

It capped a day where I had coached a 30-something guy and a 50-something guy, both of whom are working on bold creative ventures. All three of these men inspired me in different ways yesterday. They have very little in common aside from their gender.

So who's my target audience?

I daresay, who isn't?

Fabulous can of worms

I had a life coaching session yesterday with a smart, vibrant woman who has great things inside of her trying their darnedest to break through. She wants to do healing work. She wants to write a book based on a wonderful story premise she's been carrying around in her head for years. She wants to tackle body, mind and spirit issues in a different way than she has been. I knew when I left her that she alone had the potential to make all this happen, but I felt strongly that I had helped her open a can of worms, so to speak.

And boy was I right. I already received an email from her thanking me for a "helpful and inspiring" session. She has shaken the dust off a book on her shelf that will give her some guidance about writing fiction. She has committed to an important step that will reinvigorate her passion for healing work. And she has expressed interest in getting more information about an inspirational speaker I told her she might enjoy.

This is how change begins. I know I say it ad nauseum, but a fact is a fact. One step at a time. Then it becomes contagious and you want to do more. There are worse things than getting caught up in your goals to the point of distraction. That's how they become reality.

Much to my delight, I think the smart, vibrant woman has gotten the message.

Found time

OK, let's talk about the computer, or lack thereof, and what has come of not having the Internet at my disposal 24 hours a day for nearly a week. In an earlier entry I mentioned that my computer crashed. As we speak, the experts are "rescuing" data.

Which brings me to what I've learned or had reinforced or makes me feel particularly grateful or all of the above. My brother. Let's start with him. His unwavering support makes so many of my life challenges easier to bear. His computer knowledge and near constant accessibility are a godsend.

This also reminds me in a profound way of my overall support system. So many people have stepped up, whether it's paving the way with the computer service center, lending me an interim computer or offering financial assistance. I am truly lucky to know good people.

In the meantime, I've had this amazing epiphany in the form of a book idea. Again, conversations with the key people in my life helped bring this to life. I have spent much of the time this week that I would have normally been on the Internet or on IM instead writing an introduction to my book. I can't begin to express how excited and engaged I am in this project. (This should explain earlier entries like the feather and The New School advertisement -- I'm over the top!)

Overall, it is eye-opening to see what can be accomplished when we cut just one thing out of our lives for a week -- computer, television, cell phone. Ha Ha. I hear you all gasping. Honestly, you can do it. It's worth it.

As for me, I can't say I won't be right back on the computer once I'm set up in my home again. But I can assure you I won't be obsessing over the Internet nearly as often as I used to. I do have a book to write, after all.

The wellspring

I just found this in my wallet and I'm tickled by its timing since it's been in there over a year:

You are here. Where John imagined. Here where Ruth built his house and Rand her fountainhead. Where 'Trane unleashed his Tenor, Pollock his paint. Here, in New York City. The very wellspring of creative and intellectual discovery. Ready to claim your seat at the table of giants and be greeted by a collective "Boo-ya!" It's why you are here. It's why we are here, too.

-- The New School
Choose your course.

I loved that enough to copy it down while I was riding on the subway. What a compelling advertising campaign. It's scrawled in blue ink on a tattered piece of memo paper, but it seems it should be emblazoned over the Manhattan skyline to me right now. I'm feeling it soooooooo much.

Hmmmmm. Does that sound grandiose?

I can only hope so.

Light as a feather

So I'm walking down the street today and it's very breezy and the fallen leaves are swirling all around. It's quite lovely. Suddenly a feather blows onto the sidewalk right in front of me. I pick it up and marvel that it's a brilliant shade of burgundy. Or is it purple? It depends on the light. But suffice to say, it's a beautiful feather.

I have always been drawn to feathers. It's the whole quill concept, being a writer and all. And now I'm laughing as I hold it and keep walking because I know it's a sign from the universe. Keep writing. That's what it's saying. You're in your element now. It's coming to you so naturally and fluidly. The words and ideas are everywhere. That's when you KNOW. You see almost everything as inspiration. What a rush.

This is how I know things are clicking. Last night I wrote an article for a newsletter. I had promised someone the piece and then had my aforementioned computer issues. So I went to one of those places that lets you rent the computer time for $12 an hour. I looked at the clock. Desperate Housewives was on in an hour. I wanted to get the piece done, check my email and write a blog entry in that timeframe. My old journalist attitude kicked in. I was a sports writer for 10 years, I thought, and wrote basketball game stories in 25 minutes on deadline. This was a piece of cake.

I wrote the article and liked it (an important point). I checked and responded to email. I blogged. I paid the clerk. I walked home. I put the key in the door. The church bell across the street started ringing to signal it was 9 p.m. I grabbed the remote and watched the suburban ladies manipulate their way through another episode. It was perfect.

Then there was the feather this morning.

I hear you. Loud and clear.