5 letters, 2 syllables, and rhymes with ‘tricky’…

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M-i-c-k-e-y? No. Mikki, M-i-k-k-i. No, not like the mouse. Yes, Mikki, with an M. No, no…not Nikki… Mmm-ikki. (And then I sound like a jerk for dragging out the M sound.) Finally, I’m serenaded with Hey Mickey. Do they expect me to dance too?

MIKKI. Who knew five letters and two syllables could be so tricky? Well, apparently it is because when it’s not “Mickey”, it’s Micky or Micki or Miki or Nikki or Mikey (okay, seriously?). Ah, let’s not forget all the colorful words ‘Mikki’ rhymes with.

So my mom wanted to be creative back in ’79. Fine. Yet, I find it mindblowing when people I know and work with spell my name completely wrong. It’s not like my email signature is right there in front of your eyeballs. Forget that Facebook friendship. Ball up that business card. And it’s not like I’ve told you 10 times.

Point being, spelling and pronouncing ones name correctly is a sign of respect. Do you think Mickey Mouse would appreciate opening an email that reads, “Dear Mikki the Mouseketer?”

No. No, he wouldn’t. Matter of fact, you’d probably get kicked out of the Club.

 

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The Messenger

“The owl,” he was saying, “is one of the most curious creatures. A bird that stays awake when the rest of the world sleeps. They can see in the dark. I find that so interesting, to be mired in reality when the rest of the world is dreaming. What does he see and what does he know that the rest of the world is missing?”

― M.J. Rose, Seduction

the-messenger

Margaret Roach Wheeler, Chickasaw, “The Messenger” (The Owl) cape and headpiece, Mahotan Collection, 2014. Peabody Essex Museum

Cinco de My Flo

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Well, it’s official. Flo has been “away” for a year. And while I’m happy that a majority of you love Mexican food, margueritas, and your mothers, I can’t help but be reminded through a barrage of Facebook posts that today sucks more for me than it does for you. The only silver lining?

1. Got a call from Judy Josephs today. I didn’t answer the phone, mostly because I don’t really feel like talking to anyone today. Turns out, she left me a voicemail telling me how proud she is of how far I’ve come. And while it didn’t sound like Flo, it felt like she was the one saying it. You see…Judy nominated me for my high school’s Hall of Fame and has had my resume for over a week. I even saw her last night. But I didn’t get a “message” until today.

2. My assistant found me hiding in my office and said she was thinking of me and a story or two I’ve shared since Flo passed. She then hands me a box, which I open. Inside is the handmade wood plaque pictured above. 5515. Well hello Flo!

5515, the day she passed.
5515, the first license plate I see the next morning.
555, our street address number.
5, the gold balloon on my first birthday without her.

Love you mumsy. Happy Mother’s Day. See you at the crossroads. ❤

Your Little Bushkas.

Were you raised by mimes?

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Well apparently I was…

After realizing I had all but pressed my face up against the glass as I picked out burrito toppings at Comida Mexican. Sean, my faithful burrista (get it?), may have laughed when I realized my mistake but seriously…

Keep your hands of the f@cking glass people. Rude! Even if you were raised by mimes, it’s still unacceptable.

Touch that glass, and you may be denied the best burrito in Massachusetts. And that would mean… No burrito for you!

Consider yourself warned.