Where I have been

Hope this entry finds everyone enjoying the holiday season.  For me, the holiday season starts with Halloween.  Emma's birthday is on November 7 with Thanksgiving quickly following. Then I brace myself for all of Emma's end of year activities. We observe Hanukkah in our home. Emma is now old enough to light the menorahs.

Every year I struggle with my latkes. I always feel supported knowing that Grandma Zuckerman in New York City is working tech support just in case the latkes won't stick together in the pan.  I must remember that there's lots of room for error with these potato pancakes.  I've discovered you can't really taste the latkes too much after you slather them with apple sauce and sour cream.  I like creating olfatory memories for Emma. I hope she will fondly remember the house and her mama smelling like fried potatoes and hot oil.

We celebrate Christmas at my mom's house.  This year my mom and aunt plan on making Bacalao (codfish with tomatoes, olives and chilies), a traditional Mexican Christmas dish.

I also have a personal anniversary tucked between Halloween and Emma's birthday.   It was two years ago when I first struggled into the doctor's office with severe pain in my abdomen. ( I was later diagnosed with stage 4 Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma.)   What a life transforming chapter in my life that was.

I have been in remission for almost two years now. I am low key about the diagnosis anniversary. In my mind, I acknowledge the date and move on.  The red leaves on the trees in Austin around this time of year remind me of the little things that I started to see when life seemed so fragile. I am thankful for health, family, friends and the color red -- not just on the anniversary of my diagnosis, but every day. (I recently painted one wall in my home office red.)

The new normal for me now also means returning to my professional life with renewed purpose, with little tolerance for things that don't contribute to what I think is important.  I think the cancer experience plus being in my mid 40's has helped me focus only on things I consider meaningful and enduring.

After finishing chemo treatments,  I returning to consulting (freelance research) and teaching at Texas State.  I wasn't as active on this blog as I no longer had cancer stories to tell. However, I was active in other online forums. I started a blog for my account planning class at Texas State.  (Account planning is essentially advertising research ---big idea strategy plus creative development).

In keeping with my "meaningful and enduring" criteria,  I teach account planning. Understanding the consumer's perspective helps copywriters and art directors create ads that are "good," meaning ads that respect the consumer and touch a universal, emotional cord. In addition, research is the first internal line of defense against stereotypical, offensive, and annoying ads. I teach advertising research because I want the next generation of creatives to make ads that are clever, insightful and truthful.

I realize that not all of my students will become account planners in advertising agencies, but my goal is that every student will leave my class with an appreciation for the importance of research in strategy.  The link between research and decision making applies to just about everything---advertising, marketing, management, public policy, career planning, etc.

Here is the the link to my account planning class blog.  I am more like an editor on the class blog as most of the content is student-generated.  Check out the YouTube research videos made by my students.

  I have also been active on Twitter. Frequent updates are much easier to maintain with a 140 character limit. I follow 249 people. I have 261 followers. I don't know most of these people. Many of them are advertising professionals from around the world (account planners, advertising agencies, copywriters, art directors, creative directors, research firms, media planners, advertising schools, advertising clubs, professors, advertising headhunters, even Mad Men impersonators).  Unlike this personal blog, my "tweets" on Twitter are either about strategic planning or teaching. Like Linked in, I use Twitter as a professional forum.

Here is the picture associated with my Twitter account. I am still love those red lipped styrofoam heads from my wig shopping days.

This is life

 
David recently emailed me a link to a short video called, "The Years are Short."  He kept asking if I had had the time to watch it. I kept telling him I was too busy.

The other night, I finally sat down with him at my side and I watched it. I was moved. David told me he even teared up a bit the first time he saw the video (which is saying a lot).

What makes this little PowerPoint presentation so good? How does it manage to pack such a powerful punch in such a soft, gentle way?

I often ask my advertising students to deconstruct television ads from a communication perspective, that is to notice each individual element of the piece: the copy (words), the images, the pacing, the music. These same communication techniques are found in this little video.

Watch the video first as you normally would watch any video. Then watch it again with an eye for all of the elements that are used to tell the story.

The Years are Short

This is why I think this video "works."

The images in the presentation are every day pictures ....streets, people, dogs, buses, shoes, hands, sidewalks.  Yes, the images are from New York City, but they are pictures that could be any city USA. We never actually see a face of a person, which makes it easier to place our own faces and those we love into the scenes.

The emotion of the piece is set by the music, a piano solo played in a minor key. The rhythm is slow and deliberate. At several points, the piano even stops for a second and then surges into the next phrase. The music takes the viewer to that odd place where feeling sad actually feels good.

With the images and music setting the emotional stage, the words then tell the story.  It is my story and your story---a story that any parent could tell.  It is the universal story of living too fast to see the ephemeral quality of life.  All parents can remember a time when a child points to the simple and ordinary. "Look, a dog!" the child says and we see the world through their eyes. These moments happen fast with no opportunity to hit the pause or rewind button. The best we can do is play this video over and over again to remind us how precious these years are.

A note about the interplay of words, music and images.  The words in the PowerPoint accompany the music like the voice of singer. We see one sentence. Pause. The singer takes a breath. Then we see the next sentence. We sit with the images and words until the music cues the next slide. The video is 2 minutes of carefully paced reflection. I am a sucker for all of this.  I feel a lump of emotion build inside me every time I see this video.

I don't take Emma to school on a bus, but I do pick her up in our car 3 out 5 days of the week.  When it's 2:30 in the afternoon and nothing is crossed off my  "to do" list, I often get ready to pick up Emma in a haze of frustration.

Recently, Emma asked to go to the park after school. At the park, Emma asked me to swing with her. I decided I would show Emma a trick out my own childhood playbook.  I sat in a swing and told her to straddle me. Now facing each other,  I started to pump my legs.  I pumped higher and higher and higher until the swing takes a little bounce and my heart starts to hurt. I remember the split second of terror when my 40-something bottom feels like it is going to fall out of the swing. I feel my body tensing up, telling me I am swinging too high, but I love the exhilaration of being out of control. I am a child again, now playing with my own child.

At the end of our playground time, Emma looks at me with excited eyes and asks, "That was fun. Can we do it again, please, tomorrow?" I bend over, hold her face in my hands, look into her eyes and say,  "Of course, sweet baby girl, of course."

This is my version of the "Years are Short" video. Given that Emma is 8, I am not sure how much longer Emma will want to swing on her mama's lap, In my struggle to balance my professional life with motherhood, I must remember that afternoons in the park with Emma are numbered.

So seemingly, just the other day, in November of 2001, I took this picture of Emma, a beautiful, cherub of a baby. Thank goodness I have pictures and video, because I have actually forgotten Emma as a baby.

Now, this is the 8-year old version of Emma in 2009 in her jazz dance pants and leotard. Emma, a sweet, happy, social butterfly of a child.

What will this child be like in 8 more years. I don't know how 16-year old girls are like anymore. In 2017, Emma will remind me, but by then I will have forgotten the 8-year old Emma.