Dear Girlfriends,

Like some other women, I often have to share my husband's attention with another.  Luckily for us both, Steve's mistress is a new project. Occasionally the project is a sexy piece of metal with an engine that purrs, but usually she sports "good bones" and lots of windows.

It all begins with simple infatuation. First the reading of sensual descriptions of marvelous homes in the real estate section in the newspaper. As Steve reads, he'll often mutter "ummm" under his breath. The serious flirting continues at the book store, where he'll pick up architectural magazines and books to study their centerfolds with lust. I recognize the affair is escalating when we head to an open house; it's out of control when he requests a personal introduction to the beauty by her agent.

I know this dance well as we sold our home and moved again - our sixth move in nine years. But this affair took on a whole new meaning in our lives when we decided to move from our single-family home on "Leave It To Beaver" Lane to a multi-family dwelling in the heart of downtown Dallas. Move number seven is scheduled for March 2009, when our high-rise condo is completed and ready for the Millers' arrival.

In the meantime, we've made our home in a high-rise apartment in an area of Dallas called Uptown. Perched 120 feet in the air, we look out into the night sky of twinkling lights, and artfully lit high-rise buildings reflecting perfect Indian-summer sunsets. Our city view is breathtaking and our downtown living adventure is exhilarating.

Coinciding with our move, my friend Gretchen invited Steve and me to volunteer with her and some of her other friends at the Dallas homeless shelter known as The Bridge. Less than three miles away from our home, the city view there is strikingly different. Standing less than 12 inches away from poverty, I see things I've never seen before. The lights are on here, too. And this view, also, takes my breath away as my heart pounds.

Nothing is as I would have thought.

We are not what we know but what we are willing to learn. - Mary Catherine Bateson

Over the next few weeks I hope you will join me on my city-living adventure, that I might share with you the view I now see with new eyes.

Looking through a new window,

Ellen

Posted by Ellen on November 4, 2008 3:03 PM  |  Category: A City View

Dear Girlfriends,

"I didn't think you saw me."

I caught my breath and my eyes welled with tears as I fought for my composure. "Yes, sir," I answered the bearded homeless man sitting alone at the table. "I see you clearly. Are you ready for your lunch?" As I placed the tray before the crippled man, he looked up at me and his eyes twinkled with the same intensity as my Dallas downtown skyline view on a Saturday night. He knew he wasn't invisible. And I knew for a moment, at that moment, I wasn't either.

During the next 90 minutes, my fellow volunteers and I served food and poured and refilled the water glasses for over 700 men and women. My city view was eyeball to eyeball, our hands often touching as we passed the glasses back and forth. I could feel them, I could smell them, and most importantly I could see them - and I knew they could see me. Each person connected with me and I with them as we exchanged pleasantries in the crowded dining hall. When I spilled water on the floor, we locked eyes and laughed together about my poor waitressing skills. At the end of my shift, my heart raced, my spirit was buoyed, and my soul sang. I was connected to the human race.

I needed this.

I love community. I love neighbors. I love the energy that is created by lots of people in a given space. So needless to say, moving into an apartment building, I looked forward to connecting with a community - if only in the elevator. But I quickly found out that the city is not the place to make friends.

When we first moved in, our young neighbors would get on the elevator with their heads down, texting on their phones. They never looked up; I swear, I thought I was invisible! They'd enter the downstairs gym in a dazed state of sleep deprivation, connected to their iPods like a permanent appendage; and, even on the tread mill - I was invisible. I watched them come and go through the lobby, always talking on the phone - they're so verbally connected to one another, but not to me. Do they know what it means to look into a stranger's eyes, to connect with them as a fellow human being? Or must you share a mobile phone number in order to be a part of this generation's world?

I have been greatly amused and surprised by the fact that it was our homeless people, more than the young, urban professionals I see daily, who made me feel alive during my first months of living in the city. It was the homeless folks who energized me. It was those without a home who made me feel a welcomed addition to this great city. And it was those who make their beds on a concrete sidewalk who awakened me to the concept of invisibility and the importance of connecting with our eyes ... if only for a moment.

Our greatest strength as a human race is our ability to acknowledge our differences,

our greatest weakness is our failure to embrace them. - Judith Henderson

So I made it my mission to see my high-rise neighbors and for them to see me. They are likely confused and amused by my extrovert greetings in the halls; in the parking garage; in the elevator - and I'm sure I'm absolutely obnoxious to them at 6:30 a.m. in the gym. But over the past several weeks, I have seen a change. I have made it a point to reach out and welcome them to my world. And yes, I've even made a couple of friends (who probably think I'm a nut job). But they will know that they are not invisible to me. I will extend to them the same welcoming spirit my homeless friends have extended to me. I welcome them to my world. We are, together, a part of the human race.

Giving them the twinkle eye,

Ellen

P.S. Wishing you a week of purposeful reflection on all we have to be thankful for!

Posted by Ellen on November 24, 2008 1:34 PM  |  Category: A City View

Dear Girlfriends,

I'm not sure how we qualified for this apartment; Steve and I are neither young enough nor pretty enough to live in our building. The fire alarm went off the other night and we all gathered downstairs in the lobby, spilling out into the circle drive. Never in my life have I seen  such a concentration of so many physically gorgeous men and women (except in Newport Beach, CA)!  Dressed to the nines in designer duds, they should be living inside the pages of Vogue. But they're not all beautiful people.

My perception of beautiful people changed drastically after our move.

While I'm an ardent believer of "pretty is as pretty does", I guess I hadn't seen it played out with such contrast until we moved downtown. Like many young people in our society today, my neighbors rarely say please, thank you, or pardon me. They drop their candy wrappers in the hall; they leave their cups by the pool; and, oblivious to those around them, they stand and stall, expecting others to move around them. Contrast these well-heeled, well-educated young adults with our city's homeless.

Out of the 700 people we serve during lunch, I estimate that only a handful have not repeatedly said thank you and please, and then extended another note of appreciation for our volunteer service. As I watch nearly a quarter of them bow their heads to say their own personal grace as they give thanks for the tuna sandwich sitting before them, I am as star-struck by these beautiful homeless people as I am dumbfounded by our so-called beautiful society.

How do we teach gratitude when we have had so much?

How do we teach grace when we rarely extend it ourselves?

How do we teach the power of an apology when we're never wrong? And,

How do we teach the concept of beauty when, in realty, we have forgotten what it looks like?

I think about all the beautiful people I have encountered over the past eight weeks. What do I remember about the six-foot-tall beauty on the elevator? That she was carrying a Stanley Korshak bag with three pairs of designer shoes (THREE!) and never looked up from her BlackBerry. I think she might have been blonde - but other than that, I can't tell you a thing about her.

On the other hand, I remember fondly the frail little 70-something woman who dined with us two months ago at The Bridge. She wore a hand-me down suit and nylons, and I remember that she smelled like rose water. I remember that she was drop-dead gorgeous as she bowed her head to pray. And that later, she winked at me when she thanked me sweetly for pouring her another glass of water - all with the voice of an angel and the grace of Jackie O.

When you think of the beautiful people you've encountered over the past few weeks - what do you remember? And what do you think others remember about you?

This past Sunday, as I reached for a gentleman's glass, I asked him, "How are you, today?" It was 26 degrees outside, he wore a thin coat, and his worldly belongings sat in a grocery bag at his feet, but he answered me with a smile the size of Texas and the enthusiasm of a cheerleader, "Ma'am, I'm blessed."

As we celebrate this Holy season, may others be blessed by your beauty that resonates from your grace and gratitude. And throughout the New Year may God bless us all with the gorgeous ones to remind us that pretty is as pretty does.

Heading to the shelter for my beauty tips,

Ellen

Posted by Ellen on December 22, 2008 8:39 PM  |  Category: A City View