Open

Every now and then I get the feeling that the universe is trying to tell me something. And in the cases when I’m not paying attention or choosing to ignore, beat me over the head with something. I haven’t believed in resolutions since I was a kid. I got to the gym on a regular basis and can affirm that New Year’s resolutioners really do quit going by the end of January. Abstract resolutions aren’t sustainable. Concrete goals are. So I’ve always been more of a goal person. This year however, the universe is definitely trying to tell me something.

It started with an article in Runner’s World. Kristin Armstrong had written an article about choosing a word for the year to be the theme, motto, bottom line of 2011. Not one to be held back by mere rules, Kristin picked three words: joy, connection and balls. I immediately began thinking of what my word for 2011 would be. I really wanted to copy balls, but since I probably need to tone that part of me down, I decided it wasn’t the right choice this year. I liked the idea of this so much that I shared it with one of my cousins. She in turn pointed me in the direction of another person who wrote about choosing a word for the year and informed me she had done so herself the previous year. At this point, I was still just appreciating the idea of a word, but wasn’t fully committed to the idea. While still pondering the idea of finding the perfect word for me, I watched Eat, Love, Pray. Not my typical choice in movie, but this is where the universe started to beat me over the head. One of the themes of that movie is the main character trying to find her word. Okay universe, I’m listening.

I decided I didn’t want my word to be something that had to do with the outside me. I didn’t want to be “slim” or “diet” for a year. If I was going to do this, then I may as well challenge myself. Because nobody is a better competitor against myself than me. I pondered the word cake for a while, and then ice cream. And then realized I’d gotten off track and I should probably eat some real food. I decided to stop thinking about it and let the word come to me. It was already the end of January, and clearly I hadn’t been punished for not having chosen a word at midnight on the 31st. However long it took for me to settle on a word was how long it would take and that would be okay. Gee, this exercise has already taught me patience!

After days of mulling words over in my mind, I believe I’ve settled on “open.” This year I’m going to be open to getting out of my comfort zone, trying new things and meeting new people. Open to trying weird foods or going someplace new. Open to seeing what the universe is going to bring me in this new decade of life. I thought about adding austerity to the list, but that sounded about as much fun diet. So I’m sticking with open for the time being, with an option to supplement the list as the year progresses.

Open. It’ll be interesting to see what the year, and my word, brings.

Long-Term Investing

I have this theory that the shows Friends and Sex and the City cover almost every topic that can possibly come up in life. Add How I Met Your Mother into the mix and all the holes are plugged. There is an answer for and an episode of TV that covers any situation we may encounter as adults. In working in the finance industry for the past eight-ish years, I’ve come to discover that finance can also be translated to real world scenarios. And perhaps best of all, we think we’re hilarious when coming up with these finance/life analogies. (I’ve yet to determine if anyone outside of finance finds these analogies amusing or useful).

Years ago, we came up with the theory that people can be categorized into the same asset buckets that we use for finance. I’m sure I’ve written about this phenomenon, and the corresponding explanation, in a previous blog so I won’t bore you with the details here. Suffice to say that it was unanimously determined that if I were an asset class, I’d be fixed income. After some additional discussion, I argued my way up to being deemed Core Plus (fixed income that is allowed to invest in up to 10% high yield, which is riskier fixed income). Long story short, I’m stable and not terribly exciting. No one in our office lines up to listen to the visiting bond manager speak. It’s not super sexy like hedge funds or emerging markets, but it’s something that most people feel is important enough to be included in their portfolios.

Years ago, I had some friends that were introducing me to another friend of theirs. Little did I know that apparently the most used adjective to describe me was “stable.” It wasn’t until I’d been hanging out with this person for a while that he said, “They were right, you really are stable!” I’m pretty sure he thought he was giving me a compliment. Boys, I have to tell you; stable should not be the lead off batter when giving compliments. It is not a homerun. Girls would prefer to be told they’re beautiful or cute or even funny, but stable implies boring.

He wasn’t wrong though, I am stable and consistent and even keeled. I don’t have huge mood swings and make very conscious decisions about all aspects of my life. So yes, all this adds up to stable. Although I’d argue that I keep the boring side to myself, my friends get the fun part of stable. The part that organized the majority of our fun outings.

It wasn’t until I stumbled upon a study that my company had completed recently that I realized how good being stable was. In our industry, clients want to invest with money managers who are the best. So we did a study to see over time, who was the best? It turns out, that while being ranked number one is sexy any given year, a manager who performed consistently in the middle of the pack is the better performer over a longer track record.

So applying that logic to real life, an investment in me isn’t going to make you rich instantly. Even my friends would tell you that I’m a long term investment since I warm up slowly. I’m not a flashy or sexy investment, but over the long term, I’m a pretty solid investment. Now I just have to find the right long-term investor.

Childhood Vacations

One of the things I always appreciated about my parents, well appreciate now, is that they dragged my brother and I all over the western States and Canada to make sure we saw things. I’ve been to Mount Rushmore and the Black Hills in South Dakota, Banff and Lake Louise in Alberta, seen the red dirt in Southern Utah and been to many a battlefield and National Park.

As an adult, I’m impressed with the fact that my mom forced us to take a family vacation every year to experience something together. Now I realize that it was likely a financial stress to do this each year, but it was something that my mom believed was really important. Because of that, I’m one of the few people who live in Oregon who have actually been to Crater Lake. And now that I am an adult, I wish I had a do-over at a lot of those places they took us to see. For at least half of the trips I was a very surly teenager, sulking in the back seat of our mini van and the other half I was too young to remember clearly.

Over the past few years, I’ve started to re-see some of these places. I took a trip home one summer and did Glacier and Yellowstone for the first time in at least 15 years. We also squeezed in a side trip to Big Hole National Battlefield, which I studied as a kid in Montana History. I had an opportunity to go back up Vancouver Island this past summer. And I always try and make a stop at Disneyland when in Southern California. My dad and I were just talking about how we’d like to go see Custer’s Last Stand again. I have a very distinct memory of visiting that particular battlefield, but would like to see it again as an adult who better understands the history and significance of that event.

As we kids got older, we’d often travel with another family. Our dads are best friends and enjoy the same things so I wish I were kidding when I say that I’m sure we’ve stopped at 90% of the historical markers in the Pacific Northwest. We frequently took trips out to the coast in the summers together. I have a picture from one summer around 6th grade with us four kids standing in front of Multnomah Falls. Amazingly through the years, I’ve stayed good friends with their son, Nate, and since he only lives a few short hours from me, we try and make a habit of meeting up every few months. I’ll either stop by on my way home from Seattle or we make plans to go explore someplace.

When we opt for the exploring option, we often end up going back to places we went as kids. Over Memorial Day, we met at Mt. St. Helens, as neither of us had been there in close to 20 years. It was so foggy that day you couldn’t even see the mountain, but it was fun to go back someplace that we’d been as kids. Next weekend we’re meeting up on the Oregon Coast to go to the Lewis and Clark National Park. If you’re from Montana, you’ve studied Lewis and Clark. I’ve gone so far, thanks to my dad, to having floated down a section of the Missouri River that they did hundreds of years before me. And as a kid, no trip to the Oregon Coast was complete without a stop at Fort Clatsop.

I’ve tried for years to get my Portland friends to go with me to Fort Clatsop again, and even when we’re already out at the coast for a long weekend, I’ve had no luck. So I was thrilled when Nate suggested we head there to meet up next weekend. After talking to him though, the Goertzens must have done Fort Clatsop more than his family, because I distinctly remember walking around there and buying a souvenir to hopefully get extra credit in 7th grade Montana History. Nate however, remembers our dads going to see the Fort and accidently taking his glasses with them, while we played on the beach.

I’m so thankful that my mom made us go to all kinds of places we thought were boring as kids. It’s nice to be able to say I’ve been to and seen well known places. And some lesser known places. And for taking me while I was a surly teenager. The woman should get a medal for that alone. Even more importantly, I’m thankful that she installed a desire to travel and see things in me, even if it’s something in my backyard. And it’s fun to have those childhood friends to re-discover your past trips with. Watch out Fort Clatsop, we’re coming back.

The Taj III

For Christmas, Santa brought me a new tent. The Taj III. A Taj Mahal made for 3 people. Or two people and some gear. Or a tent palace for just me. One that (hopefully) doesn’t leak at all, much less through every single part of the tent. Before leaving to return to my small Portland apartment, my dad suggested we practice setting it up in the basement.

Tent makers have gotten smarter and now print the directions right on the bag. No more excuses that you used the directions to start a fire last time and now you can’t remember how to set up your tent (I’m not even making that story up). However step one was to stake down the tent if it was windy out. I licked my finger, stuck it up in the air and just as I suspected, no wind in the basement. So I quit reading step one and moved to step two. Do you remember those tests that said “read all questions before beginning,” and of course the last question/direction was to sign your name, and don’t answer any of the questions? Yeah, I always sucked at that one too. And the directions didn’t make sense to me (of course I’d missed half of step one). So like I do with most of my life, I figured I’d do it my own way.

It wasn’t until my dad stopped even attempting to help me that I realized maybe we should look at the directions again. Since he is clearly smarter than I am, I made him read them. They made more sense coming from him than from the bag for some reason. Eventually we successfully set up the tent in the basement, rain fly and all.

Having successfully set up my tent once, I am ready to go camping! Unfortunately the high temperature is about 40 (F) and it’s been raining an awful lot. While my tent may not leak, I rarely choose to camp in the rain. So I did the next best thing and emailed all my friends to set up a weekend to go camping this summer.

Since I am the only person in my crew of friends to have grown up in the country, it’s my responsibility to get these city folks in the outdoors every now and then. We’ve gone at least three times now and every year I try and introduce new people. This year I think I’ve talked one of my favorite friends into going camping for the first time. Her stipulations were a shower and a Starbucks nearby. The shower isn’t a problem. The chai tea latte she prefers may be trickier. I’ve told her it’s a done deal, even though it’s a bit of a trek to the Starbucks. No worries though, my friend Jake usually brings his latte machine and generator to run it.

I told you, these are city folks. Latte machines are a necessity of camping for them. And to be completely honest, I’ve never turned down the freshly made Americano over cowboy coffee when I go with them. Or the shower. The first year I pulled out my hatchet and no one could figure out why I’d brought an axe camping. Last year, someone brought dura-flame logs to start the fire. And then proceeded to up-wrap them and be stumped about how to get them lit.

While my friends may not be Montana camping trained, the best thing about them is they always try. They continue to humor me year after year with a camping trip. They always sign on to come along, have fun and make a memorable experience. We’ve camped in the rain and sunshine together. Played line tag in the sand dunes, sat on the beach looking at the stars, gone swimming in the rain, and laughed around the campfire. They may not be experienced lifelong campers, but we always manage to have a heck of a good time.

Going Home

I like to read the advice columns from “Dear Prudie.” Not only does she offer interesting advice, it reminds me of how crazy and dramatic free my life is. Around the holidays is an especially interesting time to read the advice columns, because people’s families are insane. People having knock out fights over who cooks dinner and who’s invited. Lucky for me, my family gets along just fine.

In what appears to be the complete opposite of many people’s family gatherings, going home for Christmas is the most relaxing time I have all year. I have nothing I have to do and my cell phone doesn’t even work out there. Heck, even showering is optional. The most strenuous part of my day tends to be me duking it out with my piano. Since I only get to play once a year for a week, the first half of the week is a little rough while I try and force my fingers to move as fast as they did in high school.

I thought it would be weird to go home as an adult, but it’s not. It’s nice to be able to enjoy a bottle of wine with the family while we hang out in the kitchen getting dinner ready. My parents no longer yell at me to get my butt out of bed in the morning. Although since I no longer sleep until noon, that could be part of the reason. They don’t ask me to do much, especially since I willingly clean the kitchen all day long. And this year I even got a covered parking spot in the barn!

Best of all, I no longer have to fight with my brother over what to have for breakfast. This year, out of delight to have both children home (I’m assuming), my mom made both French toast and pancakes! I’m the French toast person, my brother is the pancakes. She did grumble a bit about the fact that we both still snitch bacon while she was cooking it though.

It’s amazing to go for a walk and not see a single other person or car. Just the occasional horse, cow, turkey, or deer. With the mountains rising majestically around our little valley and the sun shining, that stroll down LBC is one of my favorites in the world. So much a favorite, that I even did it when it was below zero this year (F).

Every time I have to leave it makes me sad. I didn’t even like saying goodbye to the dog this time. When I was in college and it was time to leave, my dad would start my car for me and leave money on the dash. This time he packed me an amazing lunch so I didn’t have to eat gas station food.

It’s nice to have a home that is a refuge instead of a battlefield like all those people that write in to Dear Prudie. I wish it were closer so I could relax more often in the comforts of my parents’ home. But knowing that come the end of December I’ll be admiring the mountains and trees with the wildlife meandering their way through the backyard while sitting next to a roaring fire makes the rest of the year a little easier.

Auntie Gayle Cookbook

When my parents got married, some 33 ½ years ago, my aunt gave my mom an amazing gift. It was a cookbook, filled with my dad’s favorite recipes. To this day it is the most used cookbook in the kitchen. It’s falling apart, pages are ripped and dirty and possibly missing, but I use it every time I go home to make my dad shortbread cookies for Christmas.

Having used this cookbook all my life, and knowing what an amazing cook and baker my aunt is, I wanted my own Auntie Gayle cookbook. I told her this a few years ago and she told me that when I got married, I could have a cookbook too. I responded laughingly with, “That’s great, but I still have to eat until then.” I knew she’d been working on putting something together, setting aside recipes since we’d had the discussion, but I had no idea when this cookbook would make its way to my kitchen.

Much to my surprise, when I arrived at my aunt’s house for Thanksgiving, a cookbook was sitting on my bed! Instead of a wedding gift, it turned into a 30th birthday present. What an amazing present! It has all my favorite recipes and some new ones and I can’t wait to use it. I’m so excited to have my very own Auntie Gayle cookbook!

Thanksgiving Memories

With the scent of turkey and fresh baked buns in the air, I decided to reminisce about my favorite Thanksgiving memories. And then I realized I didn't have any. I have memories of doing things on Thanksgiving weekends, like my dad inviting me to go hunting for the first time or going shopping with my mom or playing games at my aunt and uncles house. Nothing about the day stands out except general memories of being well fed and loved.

What I realized is that while I don’t have a favorite memory, I do vividly remember the worst ones. So I’m counting down my top three worst thanksgiving memories.

#3) I was in college and instead of going home to Montana for turkey, I was spending it with my aunt and uncle who live south of Seattle. This was the first time I've ever tried to drive anywhere the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Not being one to skip classes (yeah, I was one of those), I got a late start.out of McMinnville. Previously my experience with traffic was getting stuck behind the school bus or our grandma-like driver neighbor, Ben. This kind of “traffic” does not prepare a person for Portland and Seattle holiday traffic. Traffic turned what should have been no more than a 4 hour drive into almost an 8 hour drive. Nothing quite like driving up I-5 at walking speed to start off the holiday!

#2) The year my mom decided I needed to learn how to cook a turkey. She thought that I needed to learn how so someday I could cook a turkey for my own family. Here is what I learned: raw poultry (chicken, etc.) is gross. Raw turkeys are disgusting because they still have their innards. Who on earth decided it was a good idea to take the turkey apart and get it ready to cook, then stuff some innards back in? Gross, gross, gross. She hasn't made me help cook the turkey since.

#1) My worst Thanksgiving ever. I was young, maybe fourth grade. My mother decided that this was the year we were going to eat all the most disgusting vegetables available in one sitting. Admittedly, I was a picky eater then (and now), but there are a lot of things that I didn't eat as a kid that I eat now. But I still do not eat any of those repulsive vegetables to this day. Squash and brussel sprouts and yams, oh ewwww. I thought I was going to be sick. Apparently so did the 'rents because I was sent to sit in the bathroom while everyone else finished dinner. Nary a squash or brussel sprout has touched these lips since.

May your turkey be moist, your potatoes un-lumpy, and dessert plentiful. Happy Thanksgiving!

Being Thankful

Each year around (American) Thanksgiving time, I like to join in the tradition of pausing to actually think about what I am thankful for. The short list follows:

While it seems obvious to be thankful that I have a warm place to sleep and don’t need to worry about where my next meal comes from, I am thankful for these things. On my walk to and from work, I have to go through the section of town that houses the majority of the homeless. There are lines of people coming out of the soup kitchens and missions. There are times I literally have to walk in the street because so many homeless are crowding under a single canopy of a building to avoid the rain that the sidewalk is full. And yet the people never cease to be friendly. I am constantly met with a smile and “Good morning!” And even the occasional, “You look beautiful.” (I’m pretty sure its because I have all my teeth.) So not only am I thankful that I do not have to live on the street, I’m grateful that somehow the people who do are friendly and kind and remind me that where you sleep doesn’t define you as a person.

I’m thankful that my mom forced me to learn how to cook as a kid. My parents suffered through many meals of hamburger helper while trying to teach me to follow a recipe. It’s because of them that when a guy asks if I can cook, I can answer in the affirmative. And if they inquire further as to if my definition of cooking means more than boiling water, I can deck them.

I am thankful for my friends. It never ceases to amaze me how I ended up with such great friends. Friends to spend Saturday’s tailgating with, to go camping with, to complain and gossip with and to do craft nights with. Friends who love it when you invite yourself to visit just because. And friends who will answer the phone with, “Where are you? I’m grabbing my keys and am on my way to get you,” because you don’t normally talk on the phone so it must be an emergency. Friends that love you for who you are. Even if you’re cynical and stubborn.

I’m thankful that my parents never told me there was an option not to go to college. And that my parents strongly encouraged education. I’m also thankful that with a MBA behind me, I never have to go back to school if I don’t want to.

I am thankful for my family. I have the most incredible immediate and extended family. We are a family that supports each other with out question. We like to spend time together and do it as often as possible. We are a family that will travel hundreds of miles to be there for a special occasion. A family that is always happy to see or hear from each other. Enough amazing things cannot be said about my family. It was something I took for granted as a kid. It’s something I treasure and am proud of as an adult.

In addition to all that serious stuff, I’m truly thankful for two days off from work. November is brutal in my office and I am looking forward to some rest, relaxation, delicious food and football. And that all I have to do is bring the wine.

Hmmm . . .perhaps I’m most thankful that my dear friends and family actually read my blog! Happy Thanksgiving!

Dads & Daughters

I wonder what other girls talk about with their dads. This question has been nagging at me since I got off the phone with my dad last night. I know one dad who talks to his grown daughters every single day. My dad and I are more on the once a month schedule. And it usually happens because my mom isn’t home.

A couple years ago my parents finally got caller ID, so at least now my dad will answer the phone when he hears the computer generated voice echoing through the house with “Heidi’s cell.” He’ll pick up, ask me how I’m doing and what’s the weather like in Portland? After discussing the weather, the next thing he says is usually “Well, good talking to you. I’ll go find your mom so you can talk to her.” For some reason, the two minute conversation never ceases to amuse me. Mostly because it always seems like the phone is a hot potato and he’s got to get rid of it. To be fair, most of the time I call home, I am calling to talk to my mom.

While my dad and I get along and like each other, we are very different people with different interests. One thing we have in common is being absurdly stubborn. Ask any of my friends, they’ll confirm this. I’m stubborn, and don’t really care to do something I’m not interested in. It turns out that I come by this honestly, as my dad is the exact same way. When you have two people who are stubborn, someone has to bend if you hope to have any sort of relationship. Having decided that I wanted a relationship with both my parents, in the past it’s usually been me that has bent. I’ve watched countless hours of James Bond movies with my dad and brother, just to be part of the camaraderie. After ten or so, you start to enjoy them and now I look forward to the Christmas Day James Bond marathon. I also kept shooting guns. Not because it was of particular interest to me at the time, although I do enjoy it now, but because it was a way to spend time with my dad. To my dads utter disappointment, I was not a hunter. This was one thing I refused to bend on. Hiking through the dark and snow only to have to drag hundreds of pounds of meat out of the woods if you’re successful is not my idea of fun.

All of this to lead back to the phone conversation I had with my dad last night. After exchanging the usual pleasantries and weather talk, my dad and I had a very long conversation about college football. I know he finds it amusing/bewildering that his kids enjoy being sports spectators, but it’s nice that he asks about the team I follow. I’m not sure if he doesn’t enjoy sports or just doesn’t follow them, but I appreciate that he’s made an effort to talk about something that I really enjoy. And that he pays enough attention to college football to be able to have a conversation with me.

So after at least a 10-minute conversation about college football with my dad, I found myself sitting there wondering what on earth do other girls talk about their dads with? I talked to a friend at work about it and wondered out loud if it was weird that college football was our conversation topic. My guy friend informed me, “That’s not weird, that’s awesome.” And so it is.

Playing Dress Up

Today for work, I’m wearing a cardigan that I picked up off the floor. This is not the first time I’ve done this. It is however the first time I’ve realized just how lazy I’ve gotten about dressing for work.

In college, I used to dress up about once a week and wear business casual type clothes. Nothing fancy, just fancier than the jeans and a hoodie that I wore every other day. I remember telling my mom that I wanted to work in an office where you had to dress nice every day. Due to this thought, I wasn’t too disappointed to not get a job in an office where the person interviewing me had holes in his decades old sweatshirt and cargo shorts.

Seven plus years into this working full time gig, I’m over the dressing up every day thing. Although not quite to the point of wanting to wear clothes with holes in them to work. I’ve gotten increasingly lazy as time goes by. It started with the shoe drawer. I have a drawer of a filing cabinet dedicated to shoes simply so I don’t have to drag them back and forth with me every day. Next came the realization that you can wear just about anything under a cardigan or suit jacket. Not too long ago one of the guys I work with asked me “are you wearing a north face shirt to work?” In fact I was. But worn under a cardigan, it was almost unnoticeable.

But picking clothes up off the floor is relatively new for work wear. In my defense, I work with mostly guys and they never notice that type of thing. In fact, one day I wore my Chaco’s all day instead of changing into work shoes just to see if anyone would notice. No one did.

Now it’s become almost a game of seeing what I can get away and still be presentable for work. Today I had to figure out what I could wear to a client meeting in the morning and happy hour after work. Again, this is where the realization that you can wear anything under a cardigan or suit jacket is key. Throw on a jacket for the meeting. Take it off for the bar.

While wearing something off the floor may not be the classiest thing in the world, it sure does make it easier to get dressed in the morning.