The amount of support, aid, and outreach that has taken place in Haiti has been phenomenal and truly a sign of human compassion at its best. A silver lining in an absolutely tragic story. So, in no way do I want to take away from that, but the reality is that I don’t think it should take a natural disaster and the loss of hundreds of thousands of lives to bring our nations together. Chronic conditions and sudden tragedies are not the only things that should unite our world, and, for this reason, I find the Olympics to be extraordinary. Just what the doctor ordered.

Along with The World Cup (which I also find to be one of the greatest events in the world, and not just because I like sports), the Olympics create a bond between the countries of the world that is so rare and so needed. For two weeks, the world comes together to focus on the best athletes in the world in the spirit of international greatness. Yes, there is competition and medals are given out to the top three athletes in each event, but it is so much more than that.

To the individual athletes, the competition may be the driving force that allows them to sacrifice so much in preparation; but, the Olympics have far more to do with than just sport. They have to do with celebrating our world. The unique cultures, people, religions, traditions all come together to celebrate. Fans and athletes from all over the world are hugging and celebrating. Truly an international celebration like no other (along with The World Cup).

They are about hard work, determination, celebration, tragedy, dreams, overcoming challenges, support, growth, teamwork, focus – globally universal themes. In a word, they are about heart. And, this is something that every single person in the world has and why, at the end of the day, we truly are one people. Heart.

As I watched the Olympics in Vancouver, I couldn’t help but be swept away by a few highlights and lowlights. No matter your nationality…

Who didn’t feel the pain from the tragic death of Nodar Kumaritashvili, the 21-year-old luger from the Soviet Republic of Georgia, who died during his training run on the day of the Opening Ceremonies? TV commentators, athletes, and coaches from around the world felt this loss and it showed on their faces. So much so that the Opening Ceremonies were dedicated to Nodar.

Who didn’t feel the joy for Xue Shen and Hongbo Zhao, the Chinese ice skaters that won their first gold medal after four Olympics? What a love story. They met eighteen years ago, fell in love five years ago and got married three years ago. In their first three Olympic competitions they won the bronze medal in 2002 and 2006, and then retired. With their gold medal dream still alive, and now married, they came out of retirement to go for it yet one more time… and they succeeded. The joy on their faces was priceless and felt around the world.

Who didn’t feel the relief for Lindsey Vonn as she won the gold medal for women’s downhill skiing after not being able to step on a pair of skis for 3 weeks before her race because of an extreme injury to her shin? I found myself excited to just see her make it down the hill safely, let alone win the whole thing. Here is a woman who had a dream when she was nine years old and, in the best year of her career, having won five-out-of-six of the events around the world, she injured herself weeks before the Olympics. The emotions that poured out of her at the bottom of hill were something we have all experienced in our unique way.

Who can’t help but love Shaun White, who has become the poster child for the Olympics with his long red hair, big smile, and ability to push a sport to a limit it has never seen before? In some ways, Shaun White is an anomaly. Snowboarders and skateboarders are often cornered into the stereotype of rogue characters, a bit crazy, and definitely not “All American.” Then there is Shaun. Sure he might have crazy hair, but he brings professionalism, class, and genuine emotion that is hard not to love. Oh, and he happens to be far better than his closest competitor…namely due to his work ethic, according to him.

Who couldn’t feel the weight of a country that South Korean Ice Skater Kim Yu-Na had on her tiny 19 year old frame? The idea of becoming South Korean’s first ever gold medalist in ice skating. Yet, still so humble with her simple smile. I can still hear her saying that she was trying not to feel the pressure, and that she just wanted to do the best she could and be happy with it. Not bad for a 19 year old skating on the biggest stage the world has to offer.

I could go on and on with these types of stories, but most likely you have already heard most of them. The bottom line is that the Olympics matter. They remind us that we are all connected. We come from different corners of the world – big cities, farms, fishing villages. We are raised under different religions, governments, and social influences. But, at the end of the day, we all experience the same emotions. The same heart. Be it pain, joy, admiration, relief, or pressure, we all feel it.

And, this is why I love the Olympics. They are a breath of fresh air. The glue for a world that often times seems broken. And, I will miss them now that they are gone, but can’t wait for World Cup South Africa to begin in June. May the world come together and celebrate our “oneness” again.

But then last year, my grandmother suddenly passed away. In the hubbub of the flight arrangements, the arguments and the general madness, I didn’t go. I could have gone. Yes, work was kicking my butt. Yes, I had a head cold. But I had the means to go, and there were flights available, and I didn’t go. And I have kicked myself for it ever since. The last time I saw my grandmother had been several months before she passed, and we didn’t get to spend a lot of quality time. I managed to get some of the worst food poisoning of my life (note to self: never eat gado-gado from small Indonesian roadside stalls, ok? Not unless you’re trying to drop two dress sizes in a week). Whilst I was sacked out in the bedroom, trying not to move/ eat/ speak, my grandmother was, well. Being a grandmother. She sat by my bed and tried to get me to eat – anything – anything at all. Being elderly, she probably didn’t realise that I just would have preferred death over the stewed meat she kept offering me.

Although not as bad as many other people’s ‘last time I saw her’ stories, I am not proud of mine. I took my grandmother for granted and raised my voice at her, and that was the last time I saw her. My grandmother, the only one I ever knew. The woman who taught me how to cut a sleeve, shape the pastry for traditional egg tarts and pork-stuffed buns, a woman who only ever wanted me to be happy.

I didn’t even take the time to pay my respects at her funeral.

Although not as close to my grandfather, when I learned that he was sick, I hauled myself onto the first flight I could find. I arrived a day too late; he was already gone. My father was already there, my younger brother met us the next morning. My grandfather had been sick for a really long time, but I still could not go and look at him in the open casket.

Here’s how a Chinese funeral goes: You hire a viewing room. There’s a kind of shrine, for the deceased, with their photo on it and offerings of oranges and other sweets. The shrine is built out of tinder and paper, and includes everything they will need for their next life – in this case, a comfortable house, a car and driver, two servants, two satellite dishes, buckets of paper money. The relatives dress in white, and we sit in the viewing room; anyone who comes to pay their respects is escorted to the shrine by the children of the deceased, whereupon they light incense sticks and pray. Then they are offered refreshments, and they sit down with everyone else and talk story for awhile.

My grandfather had his viewing room open for three days. Even as I paid my own respects each day, even as I stood whilst family friends stood at the shrine, I did not cry. When we were led through the ceremony to seal the casket, I realised I did not know my grandfather. Did not speak the dialect of the chanters – the dialect of my father’s family. Was clueless about Chinese funerals. And I remembered the last time I saw him, my grandfather, restricted to his chair, squeezing my hands, urging me to visit soon. I remembered him looking at us, the Australian grandchildren, taller than the others, carrying a darker tan. We didn’t speak his dialect but he spoke to us in Mandarin Chinese so that we’d understand – “don’t forget who you are. Remember where you came from. I will miss you.”

I did not cry.

At the crematorium, we did everything we were supposed to do. Everything went off without incident. I watched as they rolled the small coffin onto a block of white cement. Then we went to an adjacent room, and as the gears cranked, the children of the deceased set fire to the shrine and all the paper-money around it.

As the next-life house succumbed to the flames, I felt the kind of sick tears that you know will not stop. The kind that leave you hiccuping and sniffing for an hour afterwards. I felt so sick, for the times I had gone to Bali and not stopped by to see my grandparents. I was ashamed, that even when he reminded me gently, to remember where I came from, that I had paid no attention, preferring to spend my summers anywhere else. I will always remember now, that I wasn’t there when it really counted, that I was not a solace to him in his old age, and that I would now miss him forever, for what I was not. And then, I cried.

I do not ever want to feel this way, ever again. I do not want to stand at a coffin and regret not doing what I should have done. I don’t want to wait for a funeral to tell someone I care. I cannot wait for a death to show a loved one my respect.

Today is the day to send flowers. Today is the day to bite my tongue and agree with my mum. Today is the day to forget about arguments and grievances and all that petty nonsense that fills up so much of every day, and remember that none of that matters in the flames.

Today is the day that I have to show that you matter, because today is all we know for sure.

xoxo

Yet sometimes I look at my cherub’s sweet face when he asks “Is that a package for me?” and I wonder if my efforts have led us astray somewhere. I know our son is only five but I worry whether the right lessons are sinking in or if his obsession with Legos could have blocked out my signals.

Yet, over the last few weeks, a few glimmers of global perspective have shown themselves. His preschool is sending a small group (including our son’s teacher) to Ethiopia this week. They have been talking with the classes about how different life in Africa is compared to our local creature comforts and standard of living. Our son was drawn in by a slideshow that showed images from the village where his teacher is headed this week. He saw their homes, their landscape and their faces. Suddenly this all became clearer. We had a fascinating conversation when he told me that he saw a picture of a boy playing with a toy.

“What kind of toy?”  ”One he made for himself, Mommy.”

“How did he made it?”  ”Out of trash. He put wheels on a can.”

“That sounds like a smart idea, buddy. Did he look like he was having fun?”

“Yes. He had a really big smile on his face.”

Eureka! Enter in what people like to call a “teachable moment”! It was a fantastic opportunity to talk about what the children in that village have (a cow right beside the house!), and don’t have (Legos!), what we should be grateful to have and what it takes to make us happy.

A week later, we helped our son count the coins in his “Give” container to take to school as his contribution towards the purchase of supplies to be taken to the village. Last week, the  school created caregiver boxes which the children stuffed with medical and hygiene supplies. I hope all the dots have been connected in his brain from his coins to the supplies and those photos of Africa.

This Monday, he took a shoebox full of items taken from our recycling to make toys with his class. He came home with a “lookout tower” made with a straw, toilet paper roll and plastic cup. He was pleased with himself and his Lego people liked their new digs. (Probably the can car in Ethiopia did not benefit from Lego adaptation, I’m guessing.)

His teacher also greeted them on Monday with two buckets of water. She told the kids that the children frequently have to walk four miles to fill the bucket for their families. She had them doing laps in the quad carrying the buckets to experience a fragment of that chore. It turns out those little muscles are not as mighty as the preschoolers proclaimed them to be. Luckily, she only demonstrated how the women of the village carry the buckets on their heads. The looks on the faces of these four and five year olds were priceless when they thought they would be doing the same.

I cannot wait to hear the tales that come home when his teacher has returned from her trip. I know there are plans to continue a relationship between classrooms in the two schools, each half a world away from the other. Imagine what they could learn from each other?!

Let’s face it. The world is a very big yet very small place. People are very different yet very much the same. Most of the possessions that bring our American children joy (Legos?) are really, truly optional for a quality life and completely unnecessary for survival (although my son would strongly disagree with that statement). Half a world away, they would celebrate the very things that we take for granted- clean water in the home, medical care and education. Our family is truly rich by this measurement. I think I need to carry a bucket on my own head every now and then to remember this important truth.

How have you taught the children in your life gratitude and global perspective? How do you remind yourself of your riches?

Here they are listening to, creating, and appreciating music. Thank you Oscar and all of your amazing team… and, of course, your students. You matter.

Rock on….

We also want to thank all of the members of the Gallo Marketing Team for their hard work and amazing spirits. You made a big difference. You matter.

Enjoy the video…

E & J Gallo reaches out… again. from Every Monday Matters on Vimeo.

Chicago Public Schools Matter from Every Monday Matters on Vimeo.

Before I go any further, let me first explain, that we, Every Monday Matters, launched a Corporate Social Responsibility Program (CSRP) in the last year.  Much like our K-12 School Curriculum, our CSRP is geared towards making sure companies understand their significant potential to create social change.  We not only help them understand this, but, more importantly, we implement a year-long program that helps them create it.  It is a win for the company, a win for the employees, a win for the community, and a win for the world. 

Now, back to my new CEO and COO friends…

After the brief introduction, we immediately scheduled a meeting.  It’s important to note that the introduction was so brief that they really had no idea what I was going to share with them during the actual meeting.  Maybe that’s where we went wrong in terms of our meeting.

After going through security and being escorted up four floors to a conference room, I picked the chair that “felt” best to me and awaited their team.  This is where it gets fun.

As the three person team sat down, we began our re-introductions… this time a little more thoroughly.  I spent about ten minutes sharing the background of EMM.  I wanted them to understand that this whole thing started from a book and has now grown into an international movement.  I wanted them to understand that if they chose to work with us, they would be joining a greater movement.  To me, that is kind of a cool notion… the idea of joining the fabric of people around the world in making a difference.  People just like them that have already jumped on board and are positively impacting the world.  Very empowering to me.

After the ten minute background, I then transitioned into our Corporate Program.  I tried to make the explanation of our program as concise as possible.  The nuts and bolts of the program are pretty simple to understand.  In my opinion, a program like this needs to be simple to start and simple to finish, so breaking it down for someone is not that challenging. 

Then it was their turn.  I welcomed their thoughts, questions, and comments; and, within the first couple comments, it was clear that I might as well have been speaking a foreign language they didn’t understand.  The first comment had to do with how they would make money with our program.  The next comment touched on the fact that they don’t really care whether their company is known as a socially-responsible company.  The third comment suggested they didn’t feel their employees and/or customers even cared about “this stuff.”  And, the final comment stressed the fact that they don’t do anything that doesn’t help their bottom line. 

In one way, I was not surprised by their comments, but I didn’t want to accept them.  Not because I wanted them to buy our program, but because I strongly feel that our companies today need to understand the magnitude of their potential to impact change.  Companies are made of hundreds or thousands of people… people who, if banded together, can do amazing things.  Again, it is a numbers game… how many people can we get to do simple actions that make a difference?  So, I decided to respond to their comments with some of the following information.

Firstly, my biases are not based on opinions, they are based on fact.  The research is beyond compelling:  73% of college graduates feel it is important to work for a company that is socially-minded.  88% of people are influenced to invest in companies based on their record of social responsibility.  69% of Millennials (our country’s largest demographic, ages 13-25) consider a company’s social and environmental commitment when deciding where to shop; and 83% of them will trust a company more if it is socially/environmentally responsible.  So, yes, employees, customers, investors, and future employees do in fact care about “this stuff.”

Secondly, in this day and age, how could the CEO and COO of a major company not be aware of the need for businesses to get involved?  After all of the Wall Street Scandals and “mishandling” of funds that have been unveiled in the past year, it is pretty easy to understand the ramifications of companies that are “bad” social citizens.  We are all feeling the effect of this.  Conversely, I think it is easy to postulate that companies that are “good” social citizens could therefore have a positive impact on the world.  Pretty simple leap in my opinion. 

Lastly, a quick look at some of the most socially-responsible companies in the world makes for a pretty decent argument that corporate social responsibility should be a focus for all companies.  Here are a few of them that seem to top most of the lists:  Google, Campbell Soup, Johnson and Johnson, Walt Disney, Kraft Foods, Levi Strauss, UPS, Microsoft, FedEx, Apple, Coca-Cola, Colgate, IBM, Costco.  Not a bad list of companies with which to share this common thread.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the details of the meeting, and I have no idea if we will end up working with this particular company, but that is ok with me.  I learned a lot from the meeting, and I hope they did too.  With or without EMM, I hope that this company decides to become the most socially-responsible company our world has ever seen.  That would be a big win for everyone.   

Because, at the end of the day, it all comes back to the same bottom line… the bottom line that really matters.  People matter, schools matter, churches matter, groups of friends matter, and, yes, big and small companies alike matter.  And, this is why I felt it mattered to share this story.

It leads me to wonder how many other children living on the streets could shine like Michael Oher with a little bit of polish. It makes me to wonder how many children in the foster care system could flourish and become truly amazing when their needs have been met and they have been loved. I would venture to say that they all have a special part to play in the world.

You don’t have to be a Tuohy and make up the living room sofa for a child  in order to make a difference. (Although you could.) One way to be involved with children in need is to become a CASA. A Court-Appointed Special Advocate (or Guardian ad Litem or Child Advocate) advocates for the child in cases of neglect or abuse and acts as an officer of the court. The CASA speaks for the safety and interests of the child and gives that child a voice amongst the lawyers, parents, social workers and judges. The other professionals in the courtroom do great work but the CASA is the only one who is there purely out of desire, not occupation.

Last year, CASA volunteers served 240,000 children, according to the National CASA website at www.casaforchildren.org. That means about 1/3 of the children trying to navigate the foster care system had a volunteer assigned to them to help them find their way.

It’s hard to imagine how it must feel to have your life go sideways as a child. It’s hard to imagine how it feels to live in fear and confusion and still try to learn, grow and laugh. It’s hard for adults to understand the unwavering love a child has for his parents, even if he has experienced loss, neglect or trauma at their hands. Now just imagine the devastation he must experience when he is removed from their care and loses them too.

It’s not at all hard to imagine what a difference it might make to have just one person make that child her chief concern. By advocating for that child, the CASA volunteer can ensure that the child is receiving necessary services, education and appropriate support. The CASA program has shown that children paired with a volunteer are more likely to successfully navigate the system, spend less time in foster care and return to the Child Welfare system less often. The CASA stays on the case long term until the child is reunified with his parents or placed in another permanent home. (The goal is preservation of the family, if possible.)

I often look at my son and wonder who or what he will be when he is all grown up. I know I’m not the only one who marvels at my child’s potential. I also wonder and appreciate the possibility of every child. The children I have encountered as a CASA may not become All American football players but maybe one will play in the symphony, make the Olympic Team, discover a cure or be an amazing teacher. Maybe one child will simply be given the chance to rise above the chaos and be a fantastic parent to his own children someday. That would be victory enough to make me do a happy dance in the endzone.

There are few things we can do that have more ability to change the future than to positively change the course of a child’s life. No one said it would always be easy. Few things in this life are. But not everything that is hard should be avoided.

How could you impact children in your community? Are you willing to be a CASA? Is there a Crisis Nursery in your town that has children who need to be rocked or read to? Could you mentor parents and help them find their strength before they find their way into the system?

Well, as Australia evolves into a hybrid sort-of US, the holiday gains momentum in the southern hemisphere also. And this year is a classic example. Having accidentally (okay, totally on purpose) signed onto the urban outfitters website, I am repeatedly bombarded with Valentines’ Day special gifts for my special valentine. It’s hard not to be afraid, particularly as I am 27, not sure what I’m doing with my career, am thinking of throwing it all in to go back to university, and can quite easily envision myself, ten years down the line (…okay, FIVE years down the line), Bridget-Jones style, screeching “Alllll by myyyyyself” into a hairbrush, alone, at home, on Christmas.

Note to self: must not envision myself as some kind of Asian Bridget Jones, or this might very well happen.

Here’s my question: At what point did Valentine’s Day, and Wedding Days, and Anniversary Days, and ‘special’ days in general, overtake day-to-day decency? When did the wedding become the focus, rather than the marriage? In the hullaballoo that ensues after a proposal, why are all the preparations focused on the ‘big day’ only, with scant attention paid to what will happen after? Why is the divorce rate So. Damn. High?!?! What’s with the arguing and lying and cheating and miscommunications and all the other things that break down love?

Why do we wait for a day in February, to turn to our loved ones, and tell them the things we should be telling them every single day? In word and in action? If Urban Outfitters is peddling a “Love Sucks” soap for only $8, why are we only waiting for Valentines’ Day to get this? I would LOVE that soap on any day! Labour Day! Anzac Day! WEDNESDAY! I can always use cute soap!

More importantly, all the other days? All the other trying, stressful days, when work is just a bit too-hard-basket, when the bakery is out of high-fibre multi-grain, when your co-worker handballs yet ANOTHER assignment onto you, only to take credit for it later… those days, when I come home and snap at the one(s) I supposedly love? How about trying to turn those days around? Exercising some patience? Showing some love, kindness, and consideration, on a non-special day of the year?

This year, on Valentines’ Day, I will be 10,001 days old. (Engineers are so pathetic). I really hope that I’ll have learned something with each of those days. And I hope that I can remember, that it’s important to love just as hard, on any given day. Hallmark-endorsed or no. Love matters!

Robin’s yelling, “Carpe Diem!”

Martha’s whispering insider-trading secrets to me. Or she’s reminding me that it’s time to clean and trim all holiday candlewicks to 1/4 inch lengths and individually wrap them (in silk bags?) for storage to ensure smokeless flames and longevity during future candlelight vigils.

(I suppose I should go see someone about these voices in my head, but I’m kinda enjoying the company.)

It’s easy to be derisive about Martha, but I need to come clean and admit that last year I signed up for a Pottery Barn decorating class. They emailed me about their free seminar on bedroom decorating tips, and so I politely R.S.V.P’d and brought my friend Debbie along.

There we were–more than 30 women–gathered around a fluffy, short-sheeted bed in the pre-opening hours of the store. The key to those lovely display beds? The bedding is doubled over to enhance the heaping highness of the comforters…but you can’t actually crawl into them unless you’re very small. Tinkerbell-sized.

Pottery Barn employees spent 20 minutes demonstrating proper bed-making techniques and debating with our assembled group whether military folds versus hospital-bed folds made for more perfect corners. I whispered to Debbie that I hoped no one ever came over to my home and flipped up my comforter to check out my bed-making skills. I must have been a poor geometry student, because  90-degree angles mean very little to me. Instead, a bed inspector would likely find my wadded-up pair of socks I kicked off in the middle of the night; Possibly some dust bunnies reproducing beneath my bed.

Here we are, four decades past the women’s movement of the ‘60s, and the Sisterhood was gathered to discuss–not women suffering under Taliban rule; not the plight of young girls in Thailand or Russia–but the various lavender-scented oils that could be added into each laundry load of sheets.

So that’s my confession. I signed up to spend a morning discussing thread count and Egyptian cotton and short-sheeted beds. I wondered what I was doing there the whole time.

I happen to appreciate beautifully packaged presents and lavish bows and lovely, graceful homes. And hey, someone can scent my sheets with lavender any day! But fast forward to the ebbing days of my life, and I suspect I might look back and wonder why I spent even 20 minutes contemplating hospital-bed corners. Tonight, though, sleep eludes me, and I am thinking about hospital beds…specifically, my thoughts are with my 97-year-old Grandpa who is occupying one.

He was admitted to the hospital a few days ago with severe pneumonia and other complications. Although he’s resting calmly this evening, one of his lungs is entirely collapsed, and the other is functioning at 20 percent capacity. His heart is tired from the years of life and the present effort to move blood and oxygen through his body now. We’re expecting him to pass from us sometime soon.**

On his 96th birthday last year, I wrote a bit about Grandpa with his strict adherence to the rules of English grammar and the application of his red editing pen on my vacation postcards. This weekend, so many other random memories of my Grandpa surfaced:

At least twice when I was young, Grandpa pulled his money out of one bank and opened a savings account in another to get me a stuffed toy: Crocker Bank’s Cocker Spaniel or Security Pacific’s circus animals. I remember delightedly showing my animals off to my dad (who promptly phoned Grandpa to lecture him about the losses he was incurring by moving his money around). Grandpa, famously frugal with his funds, seemed unperturbed by any losses. He just enjoyed watching me play with those stuffed toys.

I remember Grandpa stopping by the house a few days before my wedding to ask me how he and Grandma could help. I thought a moment and then realized that in the frenzy of preparations, I hadn’t purchased sawdust shavings for my hamster’s cage. I’d leave on my honeymoon, and Sebastian would be sitting in soiled sawdust! Grandpa climbed into his car and went in search of cage filler for my rodent.

Grandpa never won an Olympic medal or any trophies. He didn’t publish a best-selling novel. He didn’t distinguish himself by finding a cure for a dreaded disease. He never painted a masterpiece nor launched a multi-national, trillion-dollar company. Instead, he took the time to double-knot my shoelaces and button my sweaters.

My sister and I, sometimes our cousins too, had sleepovers at my grandparents’ house. Grandpa would fix us hot cocoa at bedtime and add blankets to our beds in case we were cold in the night. Grandpa called chocolates “chocs,” and made root beer floats with 7-Up. We had both treats in abundance when we were with Grandpa.

Maybe it’s the nature of being a grandparent and retired, but if Grandpa was parsimonious with money, he was generous with the time he lavished on his grandkids. He’d shuttle us to the library when our parents were too busy. He’d swim with us when we couldn’t swim alone and no other adult wanted to splash with us in the pool.

In the end, I can hardly name last night’s Grammy award winners in each category. I definitely can’t name award winners from previous years. But I vividly recall Grandpa helping me make hammocks for my stuffed animals on his backyard clotheslines.

The long rows of white sheets flapped in the breeze. Wooden clothespins held up our pillowcase hammocks. None of the laundry smelled of lavender. But when I remember Grandpa lifting me up to put my teddy bears to sleep in the pillowcases, the memories smell like love.