Living-Deliberately.com

It feels a little bit delicously odd to sit in a movie theater with only a few other people in the middle of a weekday afternoon. The last time I did it I saw I’m Not There, in which Cate Blanchete was indeed brilliant, and the four other bodies sitting nearby in the darkness seemed to be there purely for a film class credit. Today I saw The Diving Bell and The Butterfly.

Other than it was Oscar nominated in four categories, I really didn’t know that much about it. There is a theater here that gets some really neat films…in recent weeks they’ve had quite a few shorts and the more obscure award winners that most mainstream theaters won’t carry. True enough Hannah Montana was showing in the other wing. Narrowing down today’s choice to something intelligent turned out to be not so difficult ;-).

The story has a subtle, story-telling plot line…man in his prime suffers a massive stroke and becomes completely paralyzed head to toe, even while remaining totally mentally aware. Understandably he feels utterly imprisoned; the only way he can communincate is by a series of blinks with one good eye. Mercifully surrounded by people who support the retention of his own humanness, he overcomes self-pity and realizes there are two things that are not paralyzed: his imagination and his memory.

And thus, he finds a measure of freedom. Forced to reconcile his old, very vibrant life frought with relational mistakes he now mourns but can do nothing to repair with his new, entrapped existance, he retraces his steps. He writes a book (which became the movie; it’s a true story). He overcomes the submerged silence of the diving bell to soar with the beauty of a butterfly. His story is that study of contrasts.

He does what I think most of us hope we could do when faced with a catastrophic crisis: find a way to move on. The film is brilliant…much of it is filmed from his perspective (remember he can only move one eye) and when someone rubs his cheek or sews his eye shut, we as the movie viewer share the somewhat removed feeling of paralysis: we know the feeling should be there… we can plainly see they are kissing him/us, and yet it’s as numb to him on his skin as it is to us, watching only an image of it. I found myself aching for his release, some kind of miracle breakthrough that would restore him; feeling frustrated with him when the orderly shut off his soccer game at the height, leaving him mentally screaming but without a way to communicate or each time he found out who was truly a friend and who was…not. I thought empathy with him was impossible to resist…

that is, until the middle-aged guy with his cup of coffee two rows up sighed heavily and got up. There were only three of us there…a woman in her 50’s dressed like a Lands End catalog model, myself, and this guy. True, it’s got subtitles (it’s a French film) and true, it’s a little slow at the start (waking from a coma always is I suppose). I have no idea what his problem was; I’m not the type to pay for a movie ticket and ever leave half way. Ever. I saw her in the bathroom when it was over and we joked about him probably thinking it was a “chick flick”.

I wouldn’t have said that about this though. I mean, I guess there is the kind of guy out there who thinks anything with subtitles is a “chick flick”. But I think “chick flick” means a combination of romantic-comedy-with-a-gaggle-of-girlfriends-who-help-the-spurned-heroine-get-her-revenge. So it’s a *thinkers* movie. A *poetic* movie. But knowing guys who are both thinkers and poetic, I wouldn’t classify it a “chick flick”. Maybe he thought it was going to be about scuba diving?
There was one scene where he imagined he was back in a French restaurant with a woman…they ate oysters and champagne. See the last post and you’ll see why I took this as a nice coincidental sign that if oysters and champagne came to my mind two days in a row then I surely must partake of them soon!

After I left I still had the gentle piano soundtrack in my head. I kind of wished I’d stepped out to white birches in a snow field..something nice and still. The jarring traffic of a Friday afternoon just as school let out was too much of a shock. I took my grandma a slice of the blackberry pie I made last night and she told me of the summer she lived in a tent while thier house was being built. The sunlight danced outside her window, here where spring comes early and butterflies, I swear they do, remind us all to persevere and dream of greatness.

To set the scene, the author was sitting in a corner, drooling over the decadent mail-order food offered in the Williams-Sonoma catalog. The mother of the author was sitting nearby, trying to figure out how said Williams-Sonoma company manages to ship cupcakes (not to mention an ice cream cake, flaky biscuits, and perfectly dusted desserts…).

Myself: “Oh I could just eat everything in this catalog!”

The Mother: “Have you ever had caviar?”

Myself: “No, but I know I’d love it, just as sure as I’d like the freshest oyster with champagne.”

The Mother: “You have such a good attitude about weird food.”

Oy. Somewhere in there is an adventerous foodie craving her next exploration….

My favorite kind of place? Comfortable and decorated with wi-fi and lots of friendly faces streaming in. We had our live kick-off for theworldsbiggestblogparty in just such a place. The coffee is strong and plentiful (you can opt for a washable mug and refill as much as you like) and every time the door opens, someone who loves the place walks in. There is art all over the walls because the owner is also an artist and it’s his gallery space. It’s great.

So’s my little cupcake! I made up my cake recipe: it’s COFFEE. And the frosting for this one is chocolate almond but it needs something more like the Mascapone filling in Tiramsu. I’ll be experimenting further with that.

This cupcake was created in thought of a great friend made in just that coffee shop. Cupcakes, friends, and Coffee. Can it get any better than that?

Coffee Cupcakes:

Mix the dry:

2 c. cane or turbinado sugar

2 1/2 c. flour

1 t. salt

1 1/2 t. baking powder

1 1/2 t. baking soda

1/2 t. cinnamon

Mix the wet and blend into the dry:

1 stick of butter, melted

1 c. buttermilk

1 T. vanilla

2 eggs

Mix until fully moistened and stir in 1 c. of very strong, very hot coffee.

Ladel into cupcake papers. Bake at 350 until knife comes out clean.

I find myself in a weird position: politically I adore Ron paul. I love his positions on almost every point, agree with him, and wanted him to be president. He awakened a spirit among those who heard him…I’m far from the only one who felt spurred beyond the apathy of apoliticism back into *caring*  and *hoping*.  And while I believe most all of the tales of media bias, poll manipulation, and results tampering…the sum of it all will be that Ron does not become the Republican candidate, will not run as an Independant, and won’t become our next president.

And so, I guess oddly but maybe not so much, I’ve moved into the Obama excitement. I was thrilled by him the first time I saw him, way back before running began. I won’t go into why I’ve moved away from the far-right. Somewhere along the way I stopped looking at candidates only within their “party box” and look more towards them as individuals. Maybe that’s because I think the real work of government is done mostly by others and that the job of president is different all together.

But I haven’t changed my affiliation officially. So the bumper sticker I created for my cafe press store is a clear statement of where I am and how I’ll vote, if given the chance.

What’s great about this country is that we can do this….this changing of minds, this choosing, this vocalizing about our one vote. We can do it and speak for ourselves and let others decide for themselves. We can break even our own boxes and well-worn ruts, when upon examination we see plainly what hasn’t been working doesn’t need to be repeated.

That is freedom: I am not bound to repeat the mistakes of the past. 

While there is no guarantee of any future outcome, we at least can decide to change what hasn’t worked.

Thanks to those who participated in my first contest! All “two” of you LOL! My hope is that many others of you mentally compared your progress so far to your goals considered. And, I’ll be doing this contest again the first week of May so if you want to participate, go ahead and blog your goals now so you can check in then!

As far as this contest goes, I really liked reading the progress of both women! You Go!!

Adventures in Simple Living & Daily Ethnography….you both have great blogs; thanks for sharing them! You had a 50/50 chance of winning girls!

Today we did the drawing…I made a slip with each name and Andrew pulled the winner out of the hat.

And the winner is……

ADVENTURES In Simple Living!!

The prize, as promised: A Free Use-Again Bag!!! (email me and we can do the color choice and shipping info: tia AT sixredheads DOT com)

So don’t forget: Contest repeats in early May. The best way to ACHIEVE goals is to write them down and check on the progress. Live Deliberately!

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tried to find THE perfect chocolate cake recipe.

My old stand-by used to be the one on the back of the Hershey’s cocoa box. And indeed the thing is heavenly…as long as it sits overnight first to “ripen”. It’s even better refridgerated…it’s dense, moist, rich, dark…everything a chocolate cake should be. Unfortunately, fresh from the oven, it always tastes a little like fish.

Blech. Many a cake baker I’ve talked to has said they didn’t like the Hershey’s version. Every time they said that it turned out they’d eaten the thing within a couple of hours out of the oven. No-can-do.

So you all have seen the different recipes I’ve tried. A cupcake is something that SHOULD be eaten fresh…around here the birdies start circling as soon as the frosting is on, which happens as soon as the ditties are cool enough for it not to slide off. There was the “My Dad Loves Me” german chocolate attempt, the disasterously dry rasperry-devil’s food which was so nasty it didn’t even get named, the outstanding yet gentle cocoa version in “Bought New Shoes That Fit and Got Somewhere To Go” cupcakes. I was still on the hunt for a good DARK chocolate cake recipe and was beginning to consider resorting to a box mix, doctored up.

But something happens when you read every recipe that comes your way: the method starts to sink in. And like any other art form, once the method is mastered, true freedom to divert from it is found. It began to dawn on me how I could tweak one enough to get my desired result. I think there are many variations of my recipe out there and I know that this is the one that works for me. I’m sold!

Today’s result is “There’s no place like home” cupcakes. The cake is light, dark, moist, great fresh from the oven and chilled for later. The frosting is dark, almost bittersweet. I didn’t cook the frosting this time; I wanted something stiffer. Together with a glass of milk, the quintessential chocolate/chocolate-washed-down-with-cold-and-creamy Americana dessert is achieved.

With a week of travel, months of gypsie living that won’t end anytime soon, and a life that is ever-complicated it’s good to remember that there really is “no place like home”. It’s warm and comforting, nourishing in soul, spirit, and body.  The best is usually simple, unpretentious, and excellent in it’s own quiet way. We return to it time and time again and the real thing is never as good as an imitation.

So this cupcake is like home… it’s no hotel, grocery store lard cake with a pyramid of lardy frosting on top. It’s not a bakery beauty or a wedding specialty. Just a humble, deliberately simple, quietly rich hug.

Tia’s Dark Chocolate Cupcake Recipe:

mix the dry first:

1 3/4 c. Turbinado sugar

1 3/4 c. all purpose flour

3/4 c. cocoa

1 1/2 t. baking powder

1 1/2 t. baking soda

1 t. salt

Separately, mix wet:

1 stick butter, soft and partially melted

2 eggs

1 c. whole buttermilk

2 t. vanilla extract

Combine all until moist. Whisk in 1 c. very hot, strong black coffee.  Mix at medium speed 2 minutes (I mix this all by hand; it’s about 200 strokes).

The batter will be very runny. Ladel into cupcake papers. Bake at 350 until the knife comes out clean.

Dark Chocolate Buttercream Frosting

(especially good for those who like their chocolate with a high cocoa percentage)

Melt a 4 oz. bar of unsweetened Ghiradelli chocolate

mix into it:

2T. hot coffee

1 1/2 t. vanilla

set aside and beat until fluffy:

2/3 c. butter

mix in 2 cups powdered sugar and 1/3 c. milk, alternating

add chocolate mixture until smooth.

Hat tip to Johnathan, who first posted our mutual buddy Kevin’s poem. I loved it and had to share it’s reach.

I like cold beer and noisy housewives

and little kids with rosy cheeks

who tell the truth. And good friends

who embarrass me and see all the things

that made me blind. I want to hold your

hand and walk in the park and get caught

up in your wheel of life. A thousand

little universes, the peaceful kingdoms,

the soft places to land.  I want to find

your comfort, that easy fireside existence.

I’ve seen so many glimpses of that tender

moment, soft sunlight in straight lines,

desire, and the most vulnerable of  hopes.

Just a note…I’ll do the drawing Monday, the 25th, so if there are any more entries waiting out there, get ‘em in!

The recent run down:

These started out as “He Never Brought Me Flowers Anyway” cupcakes but weren’t bittersweet enough in the end. They are instead, “My Dad Loves Me Cupcakes”. He loves carmely-nutty-goo :-).

We used silicon heart cups for them. I didn’t like these so much… the bottoms are sure-enough heart shaped but the tops are round. I did some with white papers as well and still like these for their simplicity best.

This sunday’s experiment involved dark chocolate and raspberries….pretty classic. I made a devil’s food cupcake, topped with a raspberry syrup made from fresh berries, and a chocolate Italian whipped buttercream frosting.

CRITICAL ERROR….using raspberry extract in the frosting. ICK. I have been away from artificial flavors for long enough so that I can’t tolerate them now. The only way to get REAL raspberry flavor is from a real berry. This attempt with the fake stuff just ruined the whole batch of frosting and drove me to scrape clean the top of my cake before eating it. And to wit….the dumb cake was DRY too. All in all, not so great a batch this time.

“They” say the best strategy for goal attainment is to write them down, break them into baby steps, and revisit them. Here are some of my stated goals for this year:

Goals for 2008:

(obviously not a complete list):

• continue to learn and train as necessary for my first sprint-level Triathlon; I want to do my first in the spring of ‘09 so the bulk of my learning and prep should be within this year.
• obtain and learn to play the guitar (leftover goal from last year, completely untouched).
• read fiction again this summer.
• paint again.
• hit my buisiness goal.
• transition my children healthfully, teaching them to live honestly, loving them patiently.
• continue, and to some extent return to, eating whole, traditonal foods prepared at home, wherever home comes to be.

And here’s the update:

1. Triathlon efforts continue. I’ve increased my running to include a 3rd lap of my route. I’ve decided I LOVE the end result of running…the toning, the clear mind, the endurance built. I HATE the process of running! It’s boring as heck. I don’t listen to music because I’m concerned I need to be listening for traffic and safety threats. Lap one means I’m having my “worry appointment” and sorting out all the crud in my life that needs to be chewed. Lap 2 means I’m feeling like puking, wishing I could be in childbirth instead and cussing to the caedance of my footfalls. Lap 3 means the worst is over… some kind of stupid mental and physical hurtle has been crossed…I’m smiling because I’m working on a balinese meditation method and I feel strong. In honesty, I *could* run a fourth lap by that point I’m bored out of my gourd and always head in home. It’s time for a shake up in my routine!!! And, I should actually *measure* my distance because I still don’t really know how far I’m going.
2. Fortunatley, one is coming! I have a bike!!! It’s not a racing bike but will get me on two wheels and street riding. I’ve got to refurb it and clean it first. It’s impetus enough to get a helmet and a little variety in the work out. I don’t know what to look for in a helmet…any advice?
3. BWWWWAHAHHHAHAHHAHAAA!!!! Oh joy!!! My beautiful GUITAR!!! I LOVE IT. My fingers have unfamiliar callouses that still take getting used to. I can play enough chords to strum a few favorite songs and am learning to finger pick. I started working with a capo last week. Lots of fun with different keys now! Sitting with my guitar has been tremendously therpeutic and fun. What a happy spot!
4. AND I’m painting again! I’m painting what I dream and I’m working in oils, part of a goal from last year. I finished one painting this weekend and have another in progress. There’s a whole ‘nother post coming on how many times Art and creative expression has saved my life. It may never earn me a dime or hang in anyone’s home but my own but I never feel more honest with myself, more true to who I really am, than when I have my fingers in paint.
5. Fiction in the summer? Gee… I hope so! But I’m really not much of a TV watcher and I got ahold of some fiction recently and decided not to wait. The Kiterunner was first, followed by A Thousand Splendid Suns, and A Year of Wonders. All of them excellent reads. They were good breaks in the more vigorous line up of “recommended for therapy” titles also on my nightstand.
6. (it was somewhere in this past month that I realized painting, singing, and reading have always been a part of my life since early childhood…and if I ever go years at a time without doing any of them again, I ought to take a good hard look at what’s causing that).
7. Business is recovering from a rocky season of too-much travel and disruption. Hopefully that will continue.
8. The children are doing well, though this particular goal will be many years in the meeting and is only in it’s infancy. And it’s much too private to go into detail over.
9. Whole foods…could still improve quite a bit here. I did manage to quit the Buffalo Wings Dorito habit. And I’m nearly addicted to sushi, which is a pretty dang healthy food option. But my diet really does need more good yogurt, soaked beans and grains, and fruit. Coffee is not a food group and I need to work harder on remembering that. There is also WAY too much white sugar going on….though my cupcakes of late have been made with Turbinado. I should give sucanat a try……

Because I’m doing much better on my goals than I expected to, I’m going to add in a few more that I think are healthy and necessary and currently not present enough in my life:

• work on “greening” things up a bit more….compost the food scraps, contribute to the garden, be more diligent with power consumption (turn off this ‘puter at night!), use a reusable water bottle instead of buying them…etc.
• get my budget written. I am now “variable income” and Dave has sheets for that. It’s time to get very, very intentional with money, more than I ever have done so before; there’s no excuse not to because I certainly know better!
• kayak…another long time wish that I’ve done nothing to attain. Saying it in writing is a start.

Okay…so now it’s YOUR turn! Blog your own goal progress and leave me a link in the comments. Also, link to this post in your own post. I’ll take the names off all who participate and randomly draw one to receive a FREE UseAgainBag…a reusable grocery bag, completely made in America (fabric included), with super-strong handles, hooks for the baggers, and a deep capacity. This ain’t the cheapies they sell for a few bucks that look like they could fall apart in a few trips….made in China, of course! I promise you’ll love your bag! (And for those not in the contest or who just want to buy your own…there is currently free shipping all all orders!)

Wanna win a reusable grocery bag? The very strongest, deepest, groceriest-holding bag available? The only bag that we can find, so far, that is made completely in the USA (even the fabric)? Here’s how:

In a few days, I’m going to post an update on my goals for the year, as part of my Living Deliberately Strategy for reaching them. When I do, post a link in the comments to YOUR update on your own resolution progress so far this year, feelings about them, etc. Link back to this blog as well in the post.

Then, I’ll take the participants and pull a winner from the hat. Check out the prize here!! They come in a bunch of colors too…winner gets to pick.

BTW…the photo doesn’t show them, but the Use Again Bag has super-strong handles and even little loops inside so the bag can hook onto the bag-brackets in the store for easier bagging.

In the Orthodox churches there is a wall of Icons at the front, the Iconostasis. There are doors with angels, there are faces looking at you as you stand before them and worship. One “gets to know” these images of saints over time…they are part of the tapestry of a family, in some ways, not unlike the rows of family photos lining the stair, and just being around what has become familiar is a comfort. Asking saints to pray for you, both visible and invisible, transforms the one asking…heaven and earth become “crowded”…and one feels less alone.

Since my conversion to Orthodoxy, I stood before Anne, the mother of Mary, the Theotokos. She is the saint our parish was named for. We asked her to pray for us. We remembered her life, her place in the lineage of Christ, her example. Many times I’ve drawn on that example for strength.

Yesterday it occurred to me that I miss Anne.

I know I miss my fellow parishoners. I pray for them daily, think of them daily, miss being a part of their lives and stories. I miss visiting them, bringing bread or sitting in armchairs and talking. I miss my priests. I miss having the church available for quiet, private prayers by candlelight.

But this missing a saint took me by surprise. Of course, she’s in eternity…what do we say when someone dies? “They aren’t really gone…they’re living in heaven”, etc. The protestant background I’m from doesn’t really acknowledge that beyond the grieving stage though and I’m pretty sure they’d all hesitate to say or believe that those in heaven even care a twit about what’s going on around here. But we don’t beleive that in Orthodoxy and we ask these saints to pray for us. It’s a church that prays for one another without the bonds of time holding us back.

Those who understand this better, or who could write it better, please forgive. It is likely very humble understanding I have. What I know is that in praying for Anne, and in asking her to pray for me, I feel I’ve gotten to know her a little. I stand before other icons of saints right now, out of necessity and gratitude, but Anne is not there to be seen. Of course, she’s as there as she is at St. Anne’s, but I miss her image, her icon. I haven’t gotten to know these others yet, though I’m sure that I will.

One thing I missed, without knowing a contrast, while I was protestant, was the presense of women. There were examples from scripture certainly, but they were mostly brought out in women’s bible study groups, or one or two mentioned now and then in a sermon. A few through history, used exhaustively (Susanah Wesley comes to mind…mostly for her ability to mother many babies cheerfully, not so much for her devotion to Christ). Missionaries here and there, again in our homeschooling lessons or women’s groups.

It is very different standing in a congregation of both men and women asking “Oh Godly Ever-Blessed Anne”, the grandmother of Christ, to pray for them, next to an icon of the Theotokos. Often on the calendar there are other female saint days; we acknowledge others every time a woman gives her saint name (mine is Julianna). Women became visible to me, in a way they never had been before. Their presence, their devotion, is a strength, an encouragement. It is in some ways, a redemption. Because as I felt myself disappearing, only visible for the role I filled and the services I provided, here were women who were unique. They are diverse. Where my femaleness was reviled, except where it was useful, theirs was integral and cherished. They are loved for who they are and were. They made choices that we remember. They have stories that we tell. They walked such different paths and yet in their devotion, they sing in unison.

So I took, and take, comfort in their lives. I miss Anne. I miss her image being visible, hearing her Troparion. If the saints are threads in the tapestry, how bare the world of christianity becomes without them.

I hate labels. I really, truly do. Boxes are not places for people and labels box people in. I suppose a concession is needed now and then that labels do serve a purpose….we all like categories for instance, dewey decimal systems, alphabetical order, demographics, nutritional information, and for some, polaroid pictures of the shoe inside box number 359.

But for people, or at least this person, labels feel restrictive. As if, “that’s all you’ll ever be”, or “you’ll never get there because you have this ‘fill in the blank’. ” I tend to focus on moving ahead… “who do I want to be?” rather than, “who am I?”.

I don’t think I’ve ever spent much time on “who am I?” My earliest memories are of wanting to be a mother to 5 children. I knew the answer when asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” After all…who asks a child, “who are you today little girl?” So I wanted to be a mommy to five children. And I wanted to be an artist. And a writer. I wanted to keep house and garden and cook well. I became all that.

I also became some other stuff. It’s nothing any little girl says when she dreams. My therapist, after hearing a short run down of my recent months and what led into them said, “well, you have a lot of denial to work through.” She said it like that. So matter of fact. Then she recommended I read the book my lawyer had first recommend three months earlier. A book containing a label so loathsome to me that I couldn’t even order it. Ordering it would be, at some level, an admission of the truth.

I know denial is a useful tool. Sometimes we use it for protection. Sometimes we use it for comfort. Somtimes it’s a buffer, like a psycological aspirin with a smooth coating for easy swallowing. But it also seems to be a wall. “No entrance beyond this point” in big, bold letters, yes, denying, progress beyond that point. Which means, of course, there is no way to overcome without tearing down that wall first.

Or at least cutting in a door.

So for someone who wants to move ahead, it’s time to look for the saw. I bought the book. I read it. I saw in black and white what I’d tried to deny. I’m not so naive as to think I’m anywhere close to being done. Maybe there’s a window in the wall now. Maybe just an outline where the door will go. Ironically, there was freedom found in admitting to the label. Of climbing into the box so that I could beging to dismantle it from the inside out.

Remember last week when I said I wanted to find a frosting recipe that used lots less refined sugar????

I found the secret! And the answer is: Italian Buttercream Frosting!

It’s cooked. It’s merange. It only takes a 1/2 c. sugar, and it’s FANTASTIC.

But first, the cake! I tried a sour cream chocolate cake recipe that was not the dark fudgy thing I’m still on the hunt for, but WAS, light, cocoa-y, and while I can’t describe it, turns out to taste exactly like a fascinating chocolate cake I first had 13 years ago. It has melted unsweet chocolate in it…. I think it could still be a touch moister but what I had there was the best cake I’ve had in years and years. I used Turbinado sugar (will try brown next time), and cake flour. I might also add some buttermilk next time for moisture.
They became the base for the chocolate buttercream frosting I made, my first effort at a cooked version. It was egg white, sugar, and vanilla, beaten over a double boiler until frothy and soft-peak stage. Then, mixed with the stand mixer for 5 minutes until fluffy. Added to that was the melted chocolate and the butter, cut into little cubes. I should have known the Italians would have gotten this right!

The result? Chocolate clouds.

Chilled, these little cupcakes had my eyes closed and each bite slowly savored. No overwhelming sweet assault and somehow a nourished-comfort feeling of childhood was close by.

So, like my grandma used to say, are these, “Hang Your Head Over The Sink When You Eat That Cupcakes”? Or, like Mom thought, maybe, “Just Bought New Shoes That Fit And I’ve Got Somewhere To Wear Them Cupcakes”?, Or, “Best Eaten Alone After Day Is Done Cupcakes”?

We are undecided. We are glad though, that this batch is gone, so that our temptation is now lessened. For a Chocolate Cake/Chocolate Frosting combination, there will never be another.

I’ve recently had lots of bank exposure. I have my little bank in my former town and it’s branch, closer into the city. I have a few different kinds of online accounts and frequently spend time getting all the accounts to work together, to transfer money where it needs to go and when necessary, make it either more accessible or less. I traveled a lot last month and kept an eye out for a bank, other than the giant Bank of America, that would have locations in all of the places I was. That is no small feat! Many states, many towns…I knew I was likely going to open yet another account so that I could have local check cashing, in my new locality. I wasn’t looking forward to it.

But there was  bright green sign that kept catching my eye. True, true it’s my favorite color: bright green. And, true, true, there was a branch location in every single town I visited. I’d decided to go with them just upon that.

Then came the day I walked in. I wasn’t enthusiastic. It was lunch time. I had all four kids with me. Going into a bank is usually quiet and echo-ey and I get “looks” from navy-clad professionals who look like they’re biding their time until lunch…or 4:30…wherever it is in the day. Lines are always long. Kids are always antsy. Waiting for the paperwork process is a pain the butt.

The *very second* I walked in, two bank employees got up and welcomed me. They did not get weird expressions of dread when they saw four children walk in with me. Across from the waiting area was a plate of fresh cookies and coffee. On every table and test was a big bowl of giant gumballs. I told them that I wanted to open a new account and within seconds I was sitting down across from a guy who seemed genuinely interested in doing this aspect of his job today. Right away they both expressed that they understood I didn’t want this to take a long time and that they’d do all they could to help me get it done and on my way.

He helped me open the account; she got my children washable markers and paper to color, and cookies and napkins. It was fast. It was easy. After he introduced me to the tellers I’d likely be working with, I left happy. Even after cookie crumbs and gumball drool, they still did not seem at all fazed or exhausted that some woman brought her four busy-bodies in. In many other businesses, that would have gotten me looks of fatigue, stress, dread, and the unique, “eewwww…..your kid just got goo on my desk…thanks for making my day even harder.”

Two days later I got a hand written thank you card from him, well written and with a phone number included, should I have any questions. My debit card also came, already pinned. We did that in the office, which was groovy because I loathe waiting weeks to get my card and then more days later to get my pin separately, and then have to relearn yet another number. It was great to choose my own ahead of time.

That day I went to the drive in teller. They asked me first if I wanted the kids to have lollipops. And I got a service call, just to check to see if I was indeed happy with my Region’s Bank experience.

The day after that I walked in alone, to get some paperwork notarized. The same employeed recognized me, noticed I didn’t have my kids, and asked me how they were doing. She described their cuteness to the employee she took me to, so that I could get my needs met. At this point, I was feeling a little guilty I hadn’t spent the same amount of effort to learn their names!

You know that point where they say, “Is there anything else I can help you with today?” I think it’s been a long time since I felt like the person asking it was genuinely interested in doing more than the bare minimum. It occurred to me that these Regions folks actually like their jobs! They enjoy their days there! And it shows in how they deal with people.

Two nights after that I got a call from a hired-survey center. The deal was to answer a series of questions using a scale from 1-5; 5 being the highest. I gave Regions a straight “5″. Yes, they made me feel like my buisness was important to them. Yes, they made me feel like I was a person, and not just business. Yes, they seemed to sincerly want to help. Yes, they greeted me right away (don’t you hate walking into a place where no one will make eye contact with you?). And on and on.

It seems a little odd to be so excited about something like a bank these days. I think it’s bigger than that though. This company has obviously given some thought to branding and the new generation, which uses conversational marketing and the relational economy to stand out in their field of competitors. They aren’t striving for the status quo, which would probably still give them a successful bank business. They seem to want more than that. They intuitively understand the connectivity this day and age is seeking. Their sincerity shows. They are indeed, Living Deliberately.

It’s refreshing, in the most spring-green of ways, to not have to dread a regular chore in my routine. Going to the bank is a happy spot in my day…not just for my kids, who know they’ll get free lollipops, but for their Mom too, who won’t be treated as if she were just another faceless customer handing over her hard-earned money. So a big THANKS to Regions Bank, and in return, here’s the biggest personal referral I can offer!