We Could All Stand to Be a Little More Like Elf

December 9, 2013 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 4 Comments

Son of a nutcracker, do I love the movie Elf. Watching it with my family last night for the umpteenth time, I realized why this has become my second favorite Christmas movie (after It’s a Wonderful Life, of course):

Buddy the Elf has a passion for life that I want. He is full throttle in a world that is used to idling, and it’s contagious.

[Side note: if you have yet to see this movie, you need to. Not only will it make you smile, but this post might make more sense!]

Buddy is excited and curious and wonderfully open in a very jaded, guarded world. Every day is an adventure that he just can’t wait to begin.

Nothing like a cup of coffee between friends

His over-the-top enthusiasm is on full display in the mailroom scene, where he is talking to the ex-con who is adding “syrup” to his coffee. Before long, he is having a tickle fight with the guy and Russian dancing on the tabletop. Even former inmates melt with the zest that Buddy brings to life. (Yes, I’m sure the coffee-spiking helped smooth the rough edges, too, but I doubt there would be table dancing in the absence of our exuberant elf).

Elf’s childlike qualities don’t mean he is one-dimensional, though. His life hasn’t been one big success after another. He has been an oddball since he was a child—and then he gets sprung from one world where he doesn’t quite fit right into another. And without getting too ridiculously analytical about a lighthearted Christmas movie, he also has to face the fact that the world and father he thought he knew aren’t really his—and leave to face rejection from his “real” dad. Not exactly a walk in the park—in fact, walks in the park with Buddy can result in getting mauled by an angry raccoon who is simply not interested in hugging it out.

Maybe a little intense, but...so what? — Maybe a little intense, but…so what?

He could have let the world beat him down and lose his joy, but Buddy’s spirit is indomitable. Whether he’s having a blast discovering a revolving door or trying to put the angel on top of the Christmas tree, Buddy is all in.

And couldn’t we all stand to be a bit more like that? I know I could. What’s wrong with singing loud for all to hear or putting “snuggle” on your ToDo list? Not one darn thing.

Buddy’s enthusiasm and openness offers hope in a cynical world of disbelief. And, thankfully, that goodness has a ripple effect on those around him. The good guys win this round. Santa’s sleigh gets the lift it needs, and everyone is a little better off for taking a few notes from a big green and yellow tights-wearing elf who likes to put maple syrup on his spaghetti.

Yes, I know it is not as simple as that. After all, it IS a movie. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t remind ourselves that there is beauty in the unaffected approach to life. That looking at the world with fresh eyes helps us to see things that we otherwise would have missed with our world-weary blinders on.

And what better time to remember this than the Christmas season, where there is so much magic to enjoy and embrace?

So go find an escalator to explore or a snowball fight to engage in or someone to hug…The clock is ticking, and there’s a wide world out there with plenty of cotton balls for you to eat.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Fake the Flute

December 2, 2013September 1, 2017 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 9 Comments

Did you know I played the flute? Well, I don’t. Yet for one magical year, I was a flutist for our high school marching band, and I never played an incorrect note. How can this be you ask? Read on.

My high school’s band was (and is) pretty badass—always at least state finalists and occasionally state champions. Being in the band was cool, and I had many friends who were members, including some of my best friends. It was an amazingly talented group of kids, but I wasn’t one of them.

With the band season of my senior year a couple weeks from starting, my friends were throwing a band party and invited me to come as “an honorary member.” It was at that very moment that it dawned on me: I didn’t want to be an honorary member—I wanted to be the real thing.

The next day I walked into the somewhat unapproachable band director’s office and boldly told him that I wanted to join the band. I really don’t know what I was expecting, since I didn’t play an instrument. To this day, I wonder what ran through his head. Two weeks away from his first competition of the year, and a senior waltzes in and announces she wants in.

He sized me up a bit and replied, “We have two openings. The first one is bass drum.” I love drums! I can bang a drum! Let me be a drummer! But once he told me how much they weighed and the physical toll it took, I knew my already bad back had knocked that option out of the running. No bass drum.

“Our second opening is in the flute line,” he offered. I was crestfallen. “Oh. Sorry. I don’t play the flute.” I started my turn to leave when he said, “Well…you wouldn’t play it…you would merely fill the interval…” he emphasized, as though he was speaking to an idiot. I guess I qualified.

He went on to explain that the program had been written and rehearsed when suddenly a flute player had to move away…leaving a hole in the presentation. I would simply learn the steps and pretend to play, filling the hole she left.

Shoot, I could fill a hole, I told him. And over the next two weeks, I learned the steps and had a ridiculous amount of fun doing so. By the time we had our first competition, I was ready to march.

I didn’t miss a step. Here I was…amidst this wonderfully talented group of musicians on a huge field, being cheered on…it was an awesome experience. I could do this!

And I did. For the whole season, I filled that interval—I stepped where I was supposed to, danced, boogied, and jammed when I should, and never played a wrong note—because I played none at all. Judges would walk right past me and never know because the great music surrounding me filled any void my little ol’ flute might have left.

I traveled to all of the competitions—including playing on Soldier Field. We performed in the rain, the cold, the wind—nothing stopped us. I always admired the real musicians whose frozen fingers actually had to move with precision, while mine only needed to look the part. They were a great bunch of kids—so talented.

Once when we performed for a pep rally in our own gym, I had non-band friends come up to me afterward and say, “Hey—I never knew you played the flute! You were great!” to which I replied, “Well, I’m not playing—I’m just faking it to fill the interval…” and they would pat me on the back and tell me what a great kidder I was. They wouldn’t believe such nonsense as faking the flute. Who does that?

I did. And it was an experience I wouldn’t trade for the world. All because in one moment’s realization I decided I wanted to be a part of something. Something I had no business being a part of, yet because I stepped out of my comfort zone, I found that there was indeed a place for me.

A wacky, crazy place—but a place for me—a one-of-a-kind place for me.

Sometimes you just have to take the chance in life that results in your version of “faking the flute.” If I would have bothered to think through my impulse to truly be in the band—if I would have considered things like the fact that I didn’t play an instrument…that the season was about to start…that I had never expressed an interest to the band director before—I would have missed out.

I wonder now, with all of life’s responsibilities weighing in on every choice I make, how many times does a chance to “fake the flute” pass me by? Sometimes logic is the enemy of adventure. I need to keep a lookout for the next hole that just might need my filling.

And you, too, friends: please be open to the crazy opportunities that come your way. You just may go on a journey you never knew existed—and make memories for which one day you will be very grateful.

I Keep Forgetting I Don’t Pay Attention

November 11, 2013 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 8 Comments

I can rarely hold a thought these days, and I blame Al Gore. (Okay, not really, because he never really said he invented the Internet, people.) But between the pervasiveness of easily attainable information and the ability to communicate a million different ways, I have lost my mind.

The title of this post comes out of the mouth of my son. We were traveling down a street we drive on nearly every day, and he looked up from the book he was reading and wondered where we were. When I answered him with a little bit of frustrated disbelief in my tone, he answered, “Ohh…that’s right. I keep forgetting I don’t pay attention.” And it dawned on me how perfect a statement this was not only for him, but for me, too.

Not only am I pulled and tugged in numerous ways in my world, but I let technology grab on, too, and I find myself distracted throughout the day.

I know my brain has taken a hit in the retention category because when I attempt to read, research, and learn, there is a subconscious knowledge that I will be able to find it again. This is both terrific and horrible. Apparently, my little mind knows that so much is stored “off-site” that she doesn’t really have to rise to the occasion and commit to storing the info. My mind can be a little bitch sometimes. She’s smart enough to know she can be dense.

I remember how when I was a kid, if I wanted to learn about the Roman Empire, for instance, I would start with the World Book Encyclopedia we had in our house, and if I needed to know more, I would go to the library. I would read…focus…and repeat, if needed. Today, I would Google the Roman Empire, my eyes would dart and scan over several different sites, and…and. And little would stick for long.

But the old me is battling. I’m currently reading a book that is thick with great things to ponder and remember. Sitting next to me one day, my son asked me, “What are you doing? Why are you writing in that book?” and I had the pleasure—but also challenge—of helping him to understand why a person would mark up a book and make notes in it. “It helps me digest it and refer back to it more easily, Honey. It helps me to learn it.”

Sadly, though, it’s taking me a long time to get through the book because my little mind knows I mean business when I open it up, so I often find myself too tired (or whatever) to sit down and focus. That little mind of mine is sneaky.

I find that this way of thinking (or not thinking) has gone beyond affecting how I read or research, though. It affects how I listen, too. And that is unforgivable.

I need to pay better attention. The distractions that surround me are exactly that: distractions. They are diversions from something else, and too often that something else should have my full attention. And it’s hard enough to give full attention in a world where one thought leads to another and before I know it, my remembering that I need to buy milk has resulted in my thinking about how I need to get the oil changed and sign up to chaperone my son’s field trip and send three work emails and is that a squirrel in the tree?…

And here’s the final kicker to this line of thinking…I wanted to include a quote that I’ve loved for years: We are drowning in information, but starved for knowledge (John Naisbitt), and I vaguely remembered that I might have used the quote before. Turns out I wrote an entire other post at the beginning of the year on this same struggle of mine. I can’t even remember my own writing! (Sorry for the rerun topic, but since I didn’t remember my own writing, I’m going to trust that this doesn’t feel like a repeat to you, either…but still. Yeesh.)

Paying better attention is indeed an uphill battle, but I’m not raising the white flag quite yet. Are you with me? Oh, wait…someone just texted me. Can you hold that thought for a sec? I’ll be right back with you in a blink…

PS–This post was written while I had two 10yo boys playing/fighting/laughing/swordfighting/wrestling in the next room. Can you tell?

It’s More Than Okay to Be Silly

November 4, 2013 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 6 Comments

The Stache Stands Alone. — The Stache stands alone.

Sometimes teachable moments come with wigs and fake mustaches.

For those of you who know me personally, it may come as a surprise when I say that up until this weekend, I’m pretty sure my husband and I hadn’t yet mortally embarrassed our son, Tony. Sure, there’s been lots of “Mom, would you please stop (dancing, singing, being generally goofy, etc.)??” After all, I am me. But this weekend brought a little more significant mortification potential.

A dear friend’s birthday party was also a costume party, and Mike and I knew it was our calling to attend as the 80s pop duo Hall and Oates. The look came together pretty nicely and included a mullet wig for Mike/Hall and a black, curly wig for me/Oates.

Mike grew some sideburn chops for his look, and with a little coloring help, they blended right into his mullet that was fanned out into a coif of 80s glory. Daryl would be proud.

My Oates wig could also serve as the wig Jan Brady wore in her attempt to get noticed over Marcia in the Brady Bunch movie parody, as well as Groucho Marx or Mr. Kotter (at least that was the word on the street). To complete the rockin’ look, I sported a groovy ‘stache (see above) that just may have looked like a newly born puppy snuggling on my upper lip.

We looked authentic, as some people might say. Others…might say other things.

Since the party was a surprise (and kids were included), we kept our son out of the loop so he wouldn’t spill the beans, and when we did finally explain, he was apprehensively excited. “You’re going to wear those?” While he thought it was very funny, he also had the nervous laugh of someone who didn’t know if he should run away from home now or later.

When we donned the full look and got into the car to go to the party, Tony’s mortification settled in. He was wearing his Halloween costume which, though it was a biker skeleton dude, was still much subtler than his parents. We all enjoyed pulling up to stoplights and seeing people notice us, but the idea that people we knew and loved were going to see us making fools of ourselves was unsettling to him.

We reassured him that it was going to be better than all right—it was going to be downright fun. Over the course of the ride, he accepted that he was going to live through whatever the night might bring.

He is our kid, after all, and he does have a very big silly bone. But he is also at that stage of weighing what other people think and deciding how much all that matters—and sometimes that doesn’t make it easy to embrace your inner silly.

At the party, there were people in varying degrees of costume—some full blown participants and others who had a little something on in the spirit of things. I think I’m safe in saying most people were amused at our look. From the bad hair to the increasingly moist ‘stache (how do you mustache-wearers eat and drink with that thing?!?!), there were lots of giggles to be had. Let’s just say Hall and Oates kissed a few times. Let’s just say it was weird.

Over the course of the night, Tony went from being embarrassed to wanting to wear my mustache and wig. He realized that it was more than okay to be silly—it was a whole lot of fun. Fun for us and fun for others. Sometimes you just gotta let your hair down. Or your fro out, so to speak.

I hope the lesson sticks for him, but I know it will be a lifelong journey of knowing that it’s okay to let the silly out. Luckily, he’s got a mom and dad who can be pretty serious about being silly.

The wigs are put away for now, but they can be ready at a moment’s notice…

This Too Shall Pass

October 28, 2013 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 3 Comments

I’ve been blessed to have some important “a-ha” moments in my life. Often they open the door to some sort of personal growth that is usually a good thing. But I’ve also had some “a-ha” moments followed by “whammo” moments that have taken my breath away—both literally and figuratively.

Like the night, many years ago, when my mom and I went out for the first time after my dad’s death a couple months prior. We actually had some laughs, and as we were driving home, I realized that he would want us to have fun and that it didn’t diminish his memory. I said to my mom how it felt good to laugh, even though it felt bad to not have Dad there with us. Within minutes of those words coming out of my mouth, our car was broadsided and we went flying through an intersection. I smashed my head into the window, the car had extensive damage, and my mom realized that my dad had changed the insurance to collision only. It was a costly night in more ways than one. A-ha…whammo.

A sort of personal mantra that often plays in my head like a looping tape during life’s rough seasons is “this too shall pass.” Because it does. We got past the concussion and car repairs from that night. And though I didn’t know it at the time, it was helping to prepare me for more rough seasons to come.

This year has been yet another one of those rough seasons. Included within is another classic a-ha/whammo. While dealing with some rough logistical and emotional challenges in helping to take care of my mother through a major health crisis, it dawned on me that I needed to strive to find joy within the challenges…not wait to get through them. Joy in the moment—not once the obstacle has been overcome. A-ha. The following morning I said aloud to my husband Mike that I felt we were so blessed for him to have his job. And then the next day his boss called him into his office and he was let go. We were completely blindsided. Whammo. The timing would have been laughable if it wasn’t so painful.

We are still in the process of figuring out what God has in store for us next, as Mike is still unemployed, but I do know that this too shall pass. I believe it because I’ve been there before. And while the process may totally suck, I know God is there to take care of the sparrows…and us, too.

But it’s not only the tough stuff that passes. As we all know, the good stuff is temporary, too. It’s all part of the crazy life cycle that keeps us on our toes. Just grab a photo album of days before digital and see if the time flying doesn’t make your head spin—and all the wonderful moments that seemed so big then are now so small—contained in a 3×5 photo and a little piece of your heart.

And that is why remembering “this too shall pass” is so important. Not only does it help me get through life’s blindsidings and heartache, but it reminds me to pull myself out just for a moment and take note that I may not have forever to appreciate my kid’s singing in the shower or the beautiful fall colors or the laughter of a night with friends. It encourages me to savor those moments because I am so very well aware that they do not last.

It helps me remember the fleeting nature of life’s struggles and joys…How the joy fills us and sustains us while the trials make us stronger and wiser (and hopefully more compassionate and understanding). All of it makes us who we are.

So…wherever you may be in life…whatever challenges you may be facing or loving memories you may be making—take heart, take note—this too shall pass.

Get to Know Your Girls

October 21, 2013September 30, 2017 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 6 Comments

This post is about boobs. I think that’s my only shot at humor here.

I’ve had friends live through and die from breast cancer. Continue reading “Get to Know Your Girls” →

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