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Show Motherlunge a novel 94 was ashamed that even though I lived with my sister, I didn't know the answer to any of these questions. Luckily, I had worked up a plausible account. "She's fine," I began. I took a puff off his cigarette and blew it out quickly. "The baby seems to be good; did Pavia tell you it's a boy?" Walter nodded, shrugged, and waited. I parked the cigarette in the clay ashtray I'd made for him in grade school, a circular tray with a peace sign scratched into the bottom. "And she'll keep working of course, and her job is going great. They just expanded the leadership training she was doing; now everybody in the corporation is going to get it. She'll do some traveling for the rollout or whatever, but only for the next month or so." "Everybody gets leadership training? Everyone's a leader?" "It's called Self-Leadership." Seated at the table I could look through a set of poorly hung French doors into the small fenced backyard. There were a few twisted breadcr<umhs frozen into the old snow outside; Walter was overfeeding the local fauna. "Self-Leadership is like, how to inspire and motivate yourself, I think. How to show initiative and proactivity, even if you're not a manager. How to model values and manage time." "How not to cheat on your timecard." "Yeah. And being your own best friend. And being the peace you seek in the world. And not hiding your light under a bushel." Walter smiled. "I can see it. She can really do it, can't she? Your sister can say absolutely anything." |
