At a networking event I attended recently, Grant Gamble, senior vice president of ACAC Fitness and Wellness Centers, talked about finding your real age. His point was that relationships with people are good for your health and are as important to your longevity as exercise, diet and safety. Relationships, both personal and professional, virtual and in-person, are important to your sense of well-being, your self-esteem and your mental health.

Gamble said a visit to Real Age told him that while his chronological age is 45, his real age is 39. Gamble obviously takes exceptional care of himself.

I visted the site and entered all the information I had at hand (I have no idea what my cholesterol level or blood pressure is). Not surprisingly, my real age is slightly older than my chronological age (I blame stress), something I’ll have to pay attention to in the coming years. I’m just glad to find out I’m not “really” 85.

What’s your real age? It only takes a few minutes and you can skip the registration. If you do it, leave your numbers in the comments.

I have been called a hugger. I’m not sure I agree with that. One of my colleagues, Michelle, is not a hugger, and she’ll tell you that. Once, pre-hug, she said, “I’m going to hug you now because I know you’re a hugger.” She hugs with disclaimers.

I respect non-huggers and actually, am pretty put off by the premature hug. I don’t want to hug you if I don’t know you very well. If I know you’re not a hugger (non-huggers are pretty vocal with their warnings)

I think hugging comes from how you were raised. My dad? Not a hugger. My mom? A hugger. My sisters are one of each, I think. I really think I fall somewhere in the middle.

I get a lot, and give a lot of hugs at work — it’s only not weird because it’s because mostly it’s because I haven’t seen my co-workers in months. Every return to the office is a reunion. Every goodbye is for quite awhile. If hug-lovers were greeted the way I am on every return to the office, they’d be in heaven.

This morning I attended a business networking event. As I was introduced to a stranger, I held out my hand for the expected handshake. Imagine my surprise when I was engulfed in a hug, instead. In a flash, I thought, “Does he think he knows me? That I’m someone else? Is this his gimmick? Is he a MAJOR hugger?” and, “Oh, this is SO inappropriate.” I’m definitely not a stranger hugger.

Are you a hugger? If not, how do you react to people entering your personal space with open arms?

As a PR professional, a blogger, and a blogging advocate, I am a big follower of David Meerman Scott, an expert in public relations, marketing and social media. David wrote the book, The New Rules of Marketing and PR, a guide that I’ve encouraged all my colleagues to read and which sits deskside, as a ready reference.

On the topic of nonprofits, David encourages them to start blogs, “Yesterday, if you can.” I think this is brilliant advice, particularly as it provides a venue for nonprofits to feature volunteers and cultivate relationships with donors. He says nonprofits can even invite volunteers to be guest bloggers about their experience. Think how powerful that message could be, in reaching other potential volunteers, the organizations’ target audiences, and donors interested in supporting the cause.

Nonprofits often struggle with communication — letters and newsletters cost money — sometimes money the organization doesn’t have! The use of a blog along with a well-designed (not expensive!) Web site enabled with an e-commerce function to accept donations is the key to moving the bar for nonprofits to reach and grow their audiences at low cost.

This morning, as I stepped out on the deck to let Clover out into the backyard, I heard a familiar whoooosh . . . whoooosh sound overhead. I grabbed my camera and headed down to the common ground to try to get a clear shot through the trees, and this is what I saw:

Hot air balloon sightings are pretty common here in Charlottesville, but I still think they’re special.

I drove to JMU today to pick up the boy from band camp. I left without my campus map, but had a general idea of where I needed to go. I was running later than I would have liked, and when I got to campus, had trouble finding the lot by the music building where I was supposed to park. When I found it, it was closed for renovation. So, a drive back to the stadium parking, where the other band camp parents, the ones whose kids were performing with the marching band, were supposed to park, ate up another few precious minutes. Around and around and up to the fourth floor to park; sprinting down the stairs then across campus to the quad. I was hot, sweaty and freaking out because the concert by this time, had already begun.

And then it started to rain.

I finally got to the building. The door was covered with caution tape and renovation was clearly under way. I continued around the building until — at last — found an open door. I was late, to be sure. The boy caught my entrance and I caught a glare. I missed two songs and I’m sure he’ll never let me forget it. I was buying him a root beer later as he was wryly telling me I’m the worst mom ever. I think he was glad to see me, anyway.

The Top Five Netflix Picks in St. Louis

1. The Miracle Match
   The Game of Their Lives
2. The Rainmaker
3. The Parent Trap
4. Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic
5. CSI: Season 1 (6-Disc Series)

Charlottesville’s Top Five:

1. Babette’s Feast
2. Bruce Almighty  (painfully obvious — for the St. Louis audience — everyone in C’ville is an extra in Evan Almighty)
3. Best in Show
4. MirrorMask
5. A Room with a View: Special Edition

What do you make of this?

I’ve written of the many things I miss in my former home, St. Louis; among them, friends, family, co-workers and food. I also miss the big city (with a small town feel), architecture, and lately, above all, baseball.

Having a major league baseball team in your town makes a big difference, but nowhere, I believe, more than in St. Louis. It’s true what they say; St. Louis is a baseball town. Spring through fall, St. Louis breathes baseball.

Now, I can’t claim to have ever been a big fan of the game of baseball. It’s always been more about the experience to me; the stadium, the superstar athletes, the excitement of the crowd. I said once that what I love is the poetry of baseball. I said it to a group of people who had no earthly idea what I was talking about but it’s true: I love the music, fiction, movies, art and indeed, the poetry of baseball.  Maybe it’s because my dad has recited Casey at the Bat from memory to me since I was an infant.

My dad loves baseball, the St. Louis Cardinals, in particular. As a kid in upstate New York, Dad could sometimes catch Cardinals games on St. Louis AM radio station KMOX when the reach at night was that much greater. He became a lifelong fan and when the opportunity to move to Springfield, Ill. came up, being just two hours away from his beloved team was too good to pass up. Springfield even had a Cards farm team so when we couldn’t get to St. Louis, a small scale version was available right across town. I loved going to those games — not for the baseball of course — but for the hot dog, the ice cold Coke, the ice cream in a cup eaten with a small wooden spoon, all that, and time with my dad.

This summer in Charlottesville, I’m missing baseball; the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, the peanuts, the Cracker Jack, oh, and catching a bit of the game.

Interested in a career in strategic communications, public relations and issues management?

Always wanted to be employed by a great place to work?

Dying for the opportunity to work with me (and people like me)?

Standing Partnership has an opening for an account executive. Read the job description and leave a comment if you want to know more.

Somewhere in Germany floats one of the most frequent (if not the most frequent) readers of my blog, on a ship, cruising the Rhine.

Dave, you’re gonna have a lot of reading to do when you get back.

The kids, they warned me.
They put tissues by my side.
The saddest movie.

On IMDB.