The next big trip

Well, I’m going to India—this is a work trip, and I’ll be gone nearly two weeks this time. I’m picking up some new direct reports and the plan is for twice yearly visits.

I’ve been reading up on everything I can find about doing business in India: manners, business customs and clothing. Everything I’ve read stresses how important it is to dress modestly and the guidelines are spelled out: for example, no shorts. Yoga pants are a huge no-no as are any tight pants (of course what’s popular right now for pants in the US? Skinny pants . . . ). Bare arms are out, as are short skirts or dresses. In fact, below the knee is the skirt or dress length most commonly mentioned in everything I’m reading. Tights won’t solve the length issue either, because they are form fitting. These guidelines pose a bit of a problem for me because India is quite hot and the idea of being covered nearly head to toe makes me sweat just thinking about it. Jeans are OK, but not for me at work (that’s a personal preference to be honest but also I can’t imagine wearing jeans in a Bangalore summer).

While I’m respectful of local customs anywhere I travel, I think it’s especially important when I’m traveling for work. I want my new associates to focus on the information I’m sharing with them, not my hemline or arms or what have you. So I’ve been scouting for clothing that will be acceptable, not overly hot and also not uni-clothing.

Uni-clothing is like a uni-task tool—a garlic press is a uni-tasker, as is a toaster that only lets you put slices of bread it the slots. For clothing, some clothes by design must be and should be uni-taskers too.  Think of bathing suits or wedding dresses—those are uni-clothing and of course you’d expect them to serve just the one purpose. But when I consider how I need to dress in India, what with the coverage and length requirements, I may end up with clothes that fit a specific location and won’t work anywhere else. So it’s a challenge.

Right now I’ve found a pair of linen pants, a flowy, longer top, and I’m examining the rest of my closet. My normal, go-to travel skirts are just above the knee and I suspect I’m going to need to find one tea length skirt that goes with everything—so probably black or charcoal. I have some light sweaters that come to my elbow which will help with the bare arms, and can also be buttoned over my chest.

Work outs will have to be in my room. I didn’t plan on running in Bangalore anyway—I have some reactive airway issues and air pollution is a problem there so running doesn’t seem like a good idea. And since workout clothing is specifically called out as being problematic (too tight, too short, too much skin), it will just be easier to skip the gym and do room work outs.

Have you ever made adjustments like this? I’d love to hear your story.

Wow, just wow

Today we are flying home from Miami—Miami to Atlanta to Kansas City to be precise. Right now I’m sitting in the Sky Club in Atlanta (Kent belongs, we pay for his membership because he flies every other week to Canada and it helps keep things a little more civilized) and I’m posting this because what I saw in Miami and just now in Atlanta is so bizarre I can hardly believe it.

I’m a huge people watcher, always have been and I guess that will never change. While in the boarding area in Miami, I noticed an old lady with a hell of a shiner and couldn’t decide if she’d (a) been in an awful accident or (b) gotten some plastic surgery. I also watched a tall, elegant middle aged man who had diamond status (Kent and I each have platinum, so that man flies a lot) and his son and wife (she sort of just wafted around, barely noticeable to be honest) and then this completely beautiful family of three: husband—very stylishly dressed, wife (also quite stylish and young, probably late 20s) and their daughter, equally beautiful and probably about eight. I remember thinking what a beautiful family they were; they weren’t American and I guessed that they were from somewhere in Latin America although I never heard them speak anything other than accented English.

Anyway, once we boarded things got ugly. The mother was immediately confrontational and lit into a man who was apparently sitting in her seat. I mean to say that she demanded to see his boarding pass and got really snotty with the flight attendant. Things don’t normally escalate like than on any plane but this situation did in a hurry, never mind that the man in the wrong seat was trying his best to ensure that she sat with her daughter. Sharp words were exchanged (all by her, not by the “offending” passenger who was the very soul of reasonableness) and finally everyone was in a seat. Kent and I exchanged eye rolls, I will confess, but hey not my circus, not my monkeys.

Until we were deplaning. 

I spoke to the passenger who’d been in the wrong seat to tell him what a great voice he has (truly great, very deep bass notes, kind of gravely, you’d love to hear that voice on the radio) and then I apparently committed my cardinal sin: I told him what he did was nice. Well, that just opened up a can of worms. On the jet bridge, the mother absolutely lit into me and went on and on about how judgmental I’d been, how it was HER seat and clearly I wasn’t a mother.

Wow. Seriously? I’m not a mother because I thought the other passenger did something nice? To be honest, I just started laughing at her (not nice I know but really??) and she just went off even more. Then her husband got into it and as we walked down the concourse, she said we were pieces of shit. I didn’t hear that bit but Kent did and he said, “Excuse me??” And finally I’d had enough and said well actually I have two sons and three grandchildren and good luck with your life, lady, you’re going to need it.

So now I’m still sitting here in the Sky Club just amazed. You know, she could have played that so differently when they got on the plane. I would bet you anything that the man with the cool voice, the one who ended up sitting directly in front of me, would have swapped with her husband so all three could sit together. But that family chose the nuclear option and now at least 10 people from our cabin, the ones who could hear the whole thing, think they’re jerks.

There’s a meme running around Facebook these days which I think fits here really well. It costs nothing to be a decent human being. Words to live by, don’t you think?

No joy

These shoes do not bring me joy. Instead,  they've brought me blisters on the bottoms of my feet. Yes, blisters, plural and feet, plural.

The material changes from the toe box area to the rest of the area where your foot rests. It's always bothered my feet but last night's walk to dinner was a different story. We only walked half a mile there and back, but I think perhaps my feet were a little swollen because I have three discrete blisters and a couple of hot spots. 

These sandals won't be making the trip back home tomorrow. I'm just glad I have a pair of flip flops I can wear

Hope I'm not the only one

When I find a song I like, I tend to play it over and over and over. I dissect each line of harmony in my head and sing it until I get it completely. I did that with Super Strong by Max Sedgley (on the Jalapeno Funk Vol 2 CD) because the bass line absolutely enthralled me. I couldn’t and still can’t get enough of it. That bass line is amazingly good and addictive. Here’s an unofficial video so you can hear what I’m talking about.




My current obsession is—of all things—Uptown Funk by Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Marrs—and wow. I have just started that deconstruction process and there’s a ton in there. I just love this song and I hope you enjoy it too.

Snoozy kitty

But not one of ours. This is the one who stalks mice in our backyard (I'm a fan of that) and the same one that batted at our office window one day as if to say "Hey! Look at me!"

I joined the fad

And got a pair of Tom's shoes.

I've tried some other styles, the ones that have what Kent calls a mummy look to them. The fabric on those are folded differently plus they don't have the seam running diagonally across my foot or the tiny gusset of elastic at the top. Those two differences help this particular pair fit me better. I got them at Nordstrom's Rack so they were about 40% off, and I think they're pretty cute too.

Gravity is a bully

My sister and I were talking a couple of weeks ago. Seems she’s got a nagging hip issue, very similar to the one I struggled with and it’s taking a long time to resolve. She said that getting old was hell and I just laughed. “Sis,” I said, “that’s not from getting old. You did that one to yourself, just like I did!”

And a couple of years ago, my brother blamed his teeth nearly falling out of his head on age. Only he also happened to mention that he grinds his teeth horribly when he sleeps—and that’s actually why his teeth are trying to vacate the premises, it's not age at all!

I’ve been looking at my own changes and trying to be honest about which ones are age-related and which ones I just flat out did to myself. That way maybe I can mitigate some of these things. So in no particular order, here’s what I came up with:

Click for a larger view.