Welcoming 2010

A friend of mine, who recently published a book btw which can be found at Amazon, pointed out today on his Facebook page that technically the new decade doesn't begin until 2011.

It made me think about the last time I heard this debate. 2000 - the new millenium? Or did we have to wait for 2001?

I didn't wait. I'm not waiting now. This first decade of the 21st century found me exactly where I'd left off. Married and not particularly happily, and a spook.

6 months after it started I was still married but no longer a spook. Spinning wildly and feeling like I'd been completely betrayed by an organization I'd given my entire adult life to I was faced with the choice to shut up and be obedient...or be able to look myself in the mirror in the morning.

The face that looks back at me is older, sometimes sadder, but always confident in knowing that I may be imperfect but I am my own person. For the first time in 17 years I told a certain government agency "no." It cost me dearly - but not as dearly as if I had been compliant.

On September 11, 2001 three thousand people lost their lives. The result, I believe, of an intelligence community going horribly wrong. We saw a part of that in 2000 and we were largely silent...or powerless...in the face of enormous determination and incompetence. I sometimes wonder if things would have been different had I been strong enough to take the stand that needed to be taken.

It is the impossible wondering of a woman. I don't know that anyone would have been strong enough to stand up in the face of the accusations and delusion we faced and do what needed to be done. It was hard enough not to just agree to be "wrong" and be allowed back in to the fold.

The past 10 years have been the best of my life in terms of personal growth. I've accomplished more, experienced more, and become better. They have been harder than any other 10 years of my life. I am still a mom but my work is different and mid-decade I finally bid adieu to a good man who was not the man for me. I know less today than I did at 34.

But today I am grateful for being so much more than I was at this time in 1999. I am praying for the second decade of the 21st century to be one of more joy and less hardship. I am hoping for...hope.

I might end this year skinnier. I might be healthier. I might be more successful. But I will, for certain, no longer be just the "ex-spook." The Agency is my past. I need it to stay there. I am a better person for having left - time to be that person all the way through.

NL

Neither Julie nor Julia but...

While visiting my sister and extended family last weekend we watched Julie & Julia. For me, again.

I really like the movie. I almost never watch a movie twice but there are a few notable exceptions. Anything Star Trek, Benny & Joon, and most Robin Williams movies.

Now Julie & Julia.

As I've been wandering around the "spouse of a diabetic" world - trying to figure out exactly *what* my role in all of this is supposed to be and trying to be a much better person than comes naturally to me - I've taken up cooking.

This is not the first time I've taken up cooking. The last time was when I joined Weight Watchers and had to admit to my then husband of 10 years and the rest of my family that I'd been keeping a secret. I can cook beyond a baked ham or cookies.

Chris knows I can cook. He also knows that that I firmly believe the requirement TO eat is one of the greatest jokes God ever played on mankind.

In the movie Julie & Julia there is clearly a great love of food. I do not share that in common with them. Although I do believe that butter makes everything better. And butter with lemon? Or butter with brown sugar? Oh yum.

At night I send Chris to the gym. Then I put on some music and pour a glass of wine. I spend the next 30 to 45 minutes concocting.

I've discovered the creativity to be had in cooking. Color. Smell. Taste. A little this, a bit of that.

This morning Chris was comparing our cooking. On a scale of 1-10 he says he's at most a 5. Occasionally a 7. But me? I'm occasionally a 5 but usually in the 7 to 9 range. He reserves 1's and 10's for those really extreme moments. So 9 is as good as it gets.

He likes eating what I cook. He says that at some point it just "turned on" for me. It did.

When I got angry with him I took to my kitchen. I rewarded his not telling me about his diagnosis and pill decision by baking all weekend long. Food he could not eat. Food I deliberately taunted him with. I found comfort in baking. I never find comfort in eating so I was happy to throw out everything I made. I just enjoyed making it knowing he wanted it and couldn't eat it.

In a way, I was cooking for him. And it turns out that I *like* cooking for him. I like that he genuinely enjoys what I make, knows I never know exactly what will happen but somehow it is flavorful and good for him (having gotten over the punishing him with food he can't have business.)

I bought a diabetes cookbook for him for Christmas. Diabetes recipe software for me.

I read through the book. It is uninspired.

Unlike last night's dinner of baked ham, baked sweet potatoes, southern collard greens (which he had three helpings of - the secret is bacon grease!) and mexicali cornbread. A meal that in balance was really good for him. Oh, and very very southern.

So last night I bought the two volume set "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and I'm going to give some of the recipes a whirl. Not all of them. Julia Child had too great a fondness for mushrooms and seafood - neither of which I can eat. But the rich, creamy, lemon-buttery sauces the French and us southerners are known for.

Screw diabetes. I'm going to cook for the shear joy of it. Somehow I don't think it will hurt if I apply a bit of creativity to Julia Child's recipes - and maybe end up with things healthier as a result.

NL

Battling Death in the Season of Light

So God has a sense of humor.

Just when our relationship got to the point where I wanted to run and run and run...he dropped 20 inches of snow on us and made sure I could run absolutely freakin' lutely NO WHERE!

What do two adults do when they are facing serious questions about where they are going and whether they are going to try going there together? I don't know. Because last weekend was not two adults. It was many adults all stuck in the same, thankfully large, house for a couple of days.

(BTW, the bright spot was a wonderful visit with my sister - whom I love beyond measure, as well as my brothers and my sister-in-law.)

So we fought. For several days. In whispers. We got hardly any sleep. We dredged up every issue we could think of and when we ran out we invented some. There came a point in the midst of this that we decided that we were ended. We could not continue. We were done.

Then we looked out the bedroom window at the acres and acres of pure white snow and we realized that of all the things that felt wrong, splitting up felt the most wrong of all.

We ended up staying a day longer than planned which turned out to be a good thing because we were able to take my father to the hospital for his hip replacement surgery. As Chris sat there quietly, patiently, with me and my mom and my dad I realized that he's a good guy. Not perfect. But good.

Good because he knows that in the world of places I hate above all others, the hospital is right at the top of the list. And we were there for HOURS waiting for dad to go into surgery, get out of surgery, come out of recovery. Even with a lunch break in the middle (Cheesecake Factory - Red Velvet Cheesecake!) it was too much time for me. So when I said "I want to check out the gift shop" what he correctly heard was "I need retail therapy NOW!"

I walked through the doors of the gift shop and made a beeline for the jewelry counter where I scored 3 pairs of absolutely fabulous earrings.

I slept like a baby Monday night/Tuesday morning. 3 days of fighting, several hours in a hospital, a trek across still not great roads, and still no freakin' clue what what happening next with us - I was exhausted. But while the fighting was done the talking was not.

It is a week now since the worst of our battle and what we have to work with are a bunch of analogies because we aren't broken, we:

1. Are like several beautiful necklaces all tangled up. Time to tackle it one knot at a time.
2. Like a car stuck in a rut. We need a fulcrum (he had to actually explain to me what one of those is - I understood the intent but had no idea it was a tool!) to help us get unstuck.
3. Are able to work through much of the junk we gunk up between us BUT need to occasional poke to make sure we actually DO it.

At the end of it the visit to the counselor was a good thing - not because the visit went well but because it forced us to decide head on if *we* are worth working on.

We have a long way to go before we are anything approaching perfect - or even completely comfortable with where we are or where we are going. I still don't know if we're going to end up together in the long run. But then, does anyone?

My favorite quote in all of this was from Chris. He said "You are so rational when you are dispassionate. I like it when you are irrational because at least you are passionate." In short, he needs me to be as committed to us as I need him to be.

Meanwhile on our left hand ring fingers are two white gold & diamond rings. Our Christmas gifts to each other. We picked them out - he for me and me for him - with no input at all from the other. We weren't together.

And oddly the designs are lovely, elegant, and very similar. Eerily similar.

They are promise rings. A promise of a commitment to each other - to us. They are the visible reminder of the decisions we made out of last weekend's "fighting." Because what I realize now was that we weren't fighting each other...we were fighting *for* us.

NL

Huh?

So yesterday Chris and I visited a couples counselor. The plan was to discuss with her ways to improve our communications so that when we have our tiffs, we do it more constructively. We find ways to build up and not tear down.

We have hurdles. It seemed like a grown up thing to do.

This is what really happened.

We went in. We sat down. She asked me to talk. I talked for 5 minutes. She asked Chris to talk. He wouldn't. I said "you want to talk without me here?" She said "that sounds like an idea. Go wait in the waiting room and I'll come get you in 10 minutes."

So I waited for more than 30 minutes.

When she finally came back to get me I was on my way out the door. Furious.

I went back to her room, sat down, and listened to what she had to say.

She said "Chris needs to get clarity. You will need to be patient."

I said "how do we pay you. Chris. Pay her. This was clearly a session for you."

We left. I was so angry I couldn't be in the car with him. So I walked/cabbed home. He was blissfully unaware.

I'm still mad. He thought it was a good session. I thought "did we not have the same goal here?"

Then I told him....for the 400th time. "GET OUT!"

He won't. Now we are at my sister's house, trapped in more than a foot of snow (expecting 2 feet) and somehow it is supposed to be okay. Because he still doesn't see the problem. Here's the problem. He either works with me on this or he gets out. Because I'm not really interested in working on a relationship that is one sided.

And somehow this counselor completely missed that point.

So I'm more confused and less helped than ever.

Because I don't know how to make this man either decide to work on us or get out. I am tired of him sitting on some imaginary fence.

Which sucks because other than this quirk, he's a wonderful man and deeply loved by every one I know...including me.

NL

It's A Lot To Process

My father is having his hip replaced on Monday. A friend "in the know" says that she wouldn't be surprised if he wakes up post surgery in less pain than before the surgery. Apparently hip pain can be

JUST

THAT

BAD

So he's going in and they are replacing his bad hip. And I am hoping, hoping, hoping that he gets some of his mobility back. Because in the past two years he's been in so much pain that he has barely wanted to live.

Which, as his daughter, makes me sad.

Meanwhile I am pondering Facebook, lovers, and The Spectrum's really interesting question about relationships. Sometimes bad relationships are like bad hips - they just need replacing. But how do you know?

Hoping to get some insight on that tomorrow.

NL

Little Happy Pills

No doubt about it. The past week has been a trial for me.

There are a few things in my life I have a lot of trouble with. Lying and dependency are the two big ones.

I learned early on in life that lying gains you nothin' but trouble unless there is no way in heck you are going to get caught and only if the lie is for good (I love this sweater Aunt Flo!)

Dependency is a whole 'nother issue. I was on the roof one day at the tender age of 17 and I was BITTER. I'd been invited on a picnic with then boyfriend and my father, for some unbeknown reason, decided that it was high time I learned to fix a roof. So up there I was, in the hot sun, pounding nails and bitchin'. But nicely because I was never sure if my father, pushed to far, might be inclined to throw me off the roof.

"Why do I HAVE to do this Dad?" I whined.

I'll never forget what came next. Instead of exploding he looked up at me and said "because no daughter of mine is going to be dependent on a man."

My life lessons included stacking and loading hay, chopping wood, repairing a car, and fixing a roof. Except for repairing a car, none of those other lessons have done me a whit of good...except this: they reinforce in me the sense that I do not have to be dependent on anyone or anything.

There is good to that. There is bad to that. The good is that I am pretty competent in most things AND I can have alcohol and Ambien in my house and know that I will never become reliant on either of them. Amen.

The bad is that I am extremely resistant to any drug which may become a lifelong requirement - including those for which prescriptions are written by a doctor. This resistance extends to my beloved, who I think should have my same unwillingness to be bound to the pharmaceutical industry.

But one of the best things about Chris is that he is not me. We make different decisions and when we are in disagreement we fight like crazy until we find a spot in the middle. And sometimes one of his decisions turns out to have an unexpected benefits.

(Dad, if you are reading this you might want to stop now.)

So it was that after a week of fighting over a lie and decision it occurred to me that if he was going to go the pill route for life management there might be something in it for me. As a result Chris found himself in the doctor's office in which the conversation, as relayed to me, went like something like this:

"Deb says if I'm going to use pills there may as well be something in it for her. Can I get a script for Viagra?"

She laughed. She said "Did she really say that?"

Chris said "she did." (And I did.)

So he came home with some little blue pills. And I can honestly say that while he's never been a slouch in "that department" these are a *wonderful* addition to his medicine cabinet.

Which makes me wonder about all of the other doors that might be opening up just because Chris is a lot more open minded when it comes to medicine and doctors. I could learn a lot from him I suppose.


NL

Commercial Seductions

A few days ago I discovered that Chris has elected to control much of his health through drugs. I *thought* he was keeping his promise to try diet and exercise first so this was quite a shock. Since 100 percent of his "issues" are lifestyle related and since I believe that pharmaceuticals are important but should not be a crutch, we are having a difference of opinion.

I'm trying hard to understand but I'm failing. He feels like the choice he made is essential to saving his life. I feel like it was weak.

The liberal part of me acknowledges that this is his choice and it isn't my business. The part of me that is pure woman is disgusted by what I consider to be weakwilled. To keep from exploding over and over I have to not think about it.

Tough if you are watching any amount of TV (ironically its own special player in this drama) because the commercial lineup is roughly 60 percent drug company sponsored. As I sit here 3 of the last 4 commercials have been for the following:

Crestor

Lipitor

Viagra

Lipitor is one of the components of his drug cocktail and the one I most object to given its side and cumulative effects. But there sits a man about Chris's age and he is discussing how important it is to him not to have a heart attack. How he is doing this for his wife. He is so convincing it's hard not to be sucked in.

He is exactly the kind of role model men all over the country would follow, the 2009 version of the Marlboro Man.

I'm not an Ad Man but I've touched the industry in my practice and I'm familiar with the concepts of hook and hold. I've been closely involved a couple of campaigns (product and services) and I know the first step is to identify your target audience.

There is no question in my mind that these commercials are just like any commercial for a product upon which profit is the goal.

And they are effective.

This afternoon I was going through a pile of magazines and found an ad for Viagra. It was about having "that talk" with your doctor. A full page ad. It resonated with me because frankly, cholesterol, and high blood pressure aren't the only problems a man like Chris has when they are nearing 60.

What I don't understand is why the ads aren't geared toward women and why they don't say "how to have that talk with your man?"

Oh wait, I know...*we* aren't the gullible ones.

Until we become mothers and we are told to shoot our daughters up with Guardisil in all of its minimally field tested with no long term impact studies conducted. Because we should trust our daughter's fertility to the motives of profit just because a commercial, or a doctor who recently had lunch with a drug rep, told us to.

Personal responsibility has many faces. It starts with asking the hard questions and not falling for the advertisers story telling.

Cigarette anyone?

NL

Pick and Choose

I've had a chance to spend some time recently thinking about relationships...particularly familial relationships... and I've come to the following conclusion:

They are complicated.

Over my desk hangs a snapshot taken at my stepdaughter's wedding. In it is the bride (her), her father and my daughter (her half sister). That is where the blood ends.

The picture also includes my niece, two nephews, my mother, my sister, and my brother-in-law. Oh, and me.

Generally speaking I like this picture. It oddly contains some aspect of each person's personality. My youngest nephew is distracted by something his sister is holding. His sister is focused and wearing her Mona Lisa smile. My daughter is smiling and her eyes are dancing at something the photographer was saying. My ex-husband is wearing the exact same smile he has for every picture.

My sister is smirking. She smirks frequently because, I think, inside her head is this constant Robin William-like chatter. It's even funnier when it exits her mouth. My brother-in-law is a stoic kind of guy and yet he has a pleased look on his face. It's the look that has always anchored my fondness for him. You have to know him to be able to see it and I'm still not sure that everyone in our family has figured that out.

Next to me my mother is grinning her usual grin - it's the one she uses for pictures and moments when she has to smile becauses she is "bucking up." I'm not suggesting she wasn't happy...I think she was...but the tedium of post ceremony pictures gets to everyone. Behind me my eldest nephew is towering over most of us and it is in this picture that I am reminded that the bare-butt baby I helped deliver into this world has grown into a handsome young adult.

And yet...it feels incomplete.

I look relaxed in this picture as I tilt my head in toward my mother and I actually like this picture of me because it doesn't show just how fat I am (vanity thy name is woman.) But if you know me, if you really know me, that smile is the one I give when I am seething and trying to be a good sport. It is a perfect blend of my mother and my father.

Missing from the picture is my heart. He is standing out of the picture looking on. It never occurred to him to be part of the picture - but it occurred to me. The look on my face is the look of a woman honoring a bride's wishes made clear just moments before and trying to be a good sport about it.

It is only just now that I realize why this picture and that scene make me so angry.

With two exceptions, every person in that picture is the brides family because of me and only because of me. Not an ounce of shared blood flows through her veins. She hangs on to the family I brought into her world with a tenacity reminiscient of Molly Brown and the Titanic. But not my WHOLE family. Only the part she picks and chooses.

Also missing from this picture because they could not attend are my father, 2 brothers, my sister-in-law, my brother-in-law, my 5 other nephews and other niece. Had they been there she would have wanted them in the picture and those 10 other people would have spread around her in love. But still she would not have wanted Chris.

But Chris is as much my family as she is. In fact more so.

It is Chris that wakes up with me every morning, worries about whether I've had lunch (or dinner), holds me when I sad, sits quietly with me when I am watching a waterfall, thinks outloud with me when I'm am noodling through a "situation", patiently explains football to me every weekend and laughs at me when I yell at the football refs, players, and coaches. He is not me but he amplifies everything I find good in who I am (and sometimes the stuff that isn't so good.)

My sister wisely suggested that perhaps she did not want Chris in the picture because to her he represents the fact that her father and I are no longer together. That may be true. But my family is as much to blame for that as I am, and certainly more to blame for it than Chris is. It was my family who raised me with enough self-esteem and strength that when I finally realized that we were NOT good for each other I was able to leave him.


So it left the question wide open. How much of your family can you choose?

With that first divorce in my family came a question in our ranks - was my ex-husband (and his children) still part of our family. We pondered deeply for about 3 seconds and then came to the conclusion that yes, they were.

And it was this decision made without hesitation that serves as the backdrop for why my step-daughter's exclusionary behavior bothers me so much. Does she have the right to pick and choose?

After much thought I've decided that while she can choose her family, she can't choose mine. Mine is wide and open and loving even in our every annoyance with each other. Entrance into my family is a gift that seemingly never ends as my divorce from her father (and therefore her) did not alter my family's decision to let them keep their places. Maybe it's the fact that a big family realizes that a new kid does not spread the love any thinner.

At the end of the day I think what I've learned is that I *can't* pick and choose parts of my family. If you're in, you're in. But I think I learned that the moment my parents brought home my first sibling.

So if the piece that glues you to my family is *me* then you get ALL of my family - Chris included.

If you can't deal with that...then it's time to get out.

NL

People Who Mean Something

Ah Facebook....the decisions you force me to make.

Do I accept a friend request from someone I don't know (or at least, don't think I know?) I do not.

Do I accept a friend request from someone who is a great friend and whose invite I've been expecting? I do.

But what about all those people in-between? The ones I'm more a passing acquaintance with or, in a few cases, whose presence brings back some past ugliness?

I have a couple hard and fast rules. One rule is that, no matter how often FB suggests you, if you work for me I don't initiate the friend request. If *you* initiate it then it's probably a yes. If you didn't work for me and now you do, I'm not hurt if you de-friend me. I know that the boss relationship can make the friend relationship a bit...um...awkward.

[Let me take moment here to let all of you who have been friends for a long time and are now navigating with grace the path of working for me AND being a friend that I am very very grateful. I'd hate to be losing friends faster than I make them simply because of a paycheck.]

Recently I found several friends on Facebook and I initiated "friend requests" and I was SCARED. It had been a LONG LONG LONG time and what if they didn't remember me? What if what they remembered was that they didn't much care for me and that's why we lost touch? (I know that's stupid - ALL of my friends will tell you that losing touch is almost always my fault...I've very bad about staying in touch with people...just ask my mom!)

One of them, after several weeks passed, said YES to my friend request. I can't tell you how excited I was to find him in the first place. He had a HUGE impact on my life - there is a part of who I am that was very much shaped by our relationship and I hold several memories very precious. Our lives changed and our paths parted but he never completely left my thoughts.

But as the weeks passed from the time I first asked him to be a friend I thought "oh, maybe what he remembers isn't as fond as what I remember." Maybe he was disgusted by the life/career choices I made and wanted nothing to do with the woman he last knew.

So his "yes" thudded through me like a drum and I was awash in relief.

Turns out that Facebook is full of people and some of those people MEAN something to other people. A lot of people on my friend list are those kind of people in my life. I am who I am today because of them.

And I know that the double blessing is that there are several people who friended me even though I have hurt them through the years. I wasn't always there when they needed me. I wasn't always who they needed when I was there. Sometimes I would get so caught up in my own dramas that I wouldn't pay enough attention to theirs.

So maybe, just maybe, Facebook will be the place where a few relationships are mended while others are rebuilt. Because these are people who mean something.

NL

Songs My Father Nearly Sang Me

When I was a kid, every once and a while my father would burst into the one happy little ditty I think he knew (his other favorite song was the Russian dirge "Happy Birthday".)

He'd get this far:

Last night I slept in a hollow log

With the girl I love beside me;

When my mother would make him stop.

This drove me crazy because I just KNEW the lyrics would be delicious and probably a bit naughty.

I was talking about this the other day with my friend Jane and so she said the obvious "Let's google it." A moment later the lyrics were up on the screen in front of us and when we found the familiar verse I thought "huh...that's not so bad."

It went like this:

Last night I slept in a hollow log

With the girl I love beside me;

Tonight I sleep in a feather bed

And she's right there beside me

This morning I sent the entire song with its lyrics off to my father. It was found in a link from the SCA (Society of Creative Anachronism) in a document titled "Songs unsuitable for children...and small dogs." It is full of songs I think my father would love. It was while sending this email to my father that I noted the verses that followed and I finally understood my mother's concern.

Last night I slept in a hollow log

With the girl I love beside me;

Tonight I sleep in a feather bed

And she's right there beside me

She jumped in bed and covered up her head

And said I couldn't find her

But she knew damn well she lied like hell

So I jumped in bed beside her!

I diddled her once, I diddled her twice,

I diddled her once too often.....

I broke a spring, or some damn thing

I diddled her to her coffin......

My mother was probably right not to let him finish the song because I would for sure have remembered it and sung it for someone - and not knowing what "diddled" meant, likely would have done it in church where I sang most often.

All that said, it is now clear to me that I come by my love of Bawdy English Drinking songs quite honestly.

Thanks Pop! I love you!

NL

Hi! I see you've met my cat.

Buzzzzzzz.....

6:17 am this morning my phone rings. Fortunately, I'd woken up at 6:15 am all on my own so I wasn't completely startled awake.

I knew before I answered it what it was.

I was right.

"Hi, I'm sorry to call you so early but this is the number on the cat's collar" said a sweet voiced young man in my ear. I glanced over at Chris quickly, thinking that tenor sweet had it's advantages but remembering that from the moment I first heard it, Chris's baritone rumble had me at hello.

"I'll come get him, what apartment are you in?" I offered, wondering just how fast I could get dressed.

I am not a pretty sight in the morning. Gone are the days when a boyfriend would greet me with "You really are beautiful in the morning." Now my hair sticks up, more in the grayer places, and my cat allergies show up in my eyes.

I throw on a bra and a house dress and run down the hall in my bare feet. I knock and the door to 408 opens up. He's a nice guy clearly, and way ahead of me in his morning routine. He is obviously okay with his surprise visitor.

"It's okay, we're cat friendly and he's a great cat."

"He loves people" I explain "and he's discovered that by walking the balcony he can meet more of them. He's been visiting other people regularly. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay" he offers back "we don't mind. He's a really nice cat. What unit are you in?"

I shove my thumb to the left and tell him. He looks surprised, tells me that he thought for sure he came from above and that explains why there were no injuries when he checked for them.

This entire time I have my purring fluffy big boy of a cat in my arms and he is perfectly happy to be in the center of two talking adults. Thanks to him, I've met 3 of my floor neighbors - only one of which wasn't particularly pleased to find him on her balcony. The other two have discovered that he is perfectly content to be petted, held, and chatted with.

Meanwhile, I've decided that I really like my neighbors. I think it might be a nice chance to get to know the people I live next to beyond just a wave in the hallway. Arlingtonians are typically a pretty good lot and I know that already.

But I have to find a way to stop meeting like this!


NL

Freeze this Moment

Yesterday I went to our local farmer's market for the first time. There was a seller there with tons of flowers and herbs. Potted and cut.

I bought a bunch of herbs for balcony planting. And flowers for the vases.

I got home with my loot and got to spend a glorious 30 minutes with my daughter where we clipped and arranged and vased our flowers.

I wish I could freeze that moment forever.

Here are some...right here...

And here is me, as I type this, with some more behind me. In the vases - next to the guitars.

Here's another shot and in the background you can also see the mint, rosemary, and lavender I bought for the balcony. Oh...and yet another guitar. We have 5 hanging, 1 on the floor, and one at my daughter's firehouse. Wonder when I'm getting that one back...hmmmm....

Now, time to go to Best Buy. And the RV. And to find out why our A/C isn't working...again.

But before I go, one last shot. (I just missed the Chris/Beau kiss.)

NL

Back in the Mill

I hadn't realized how working so hard could be such a great vacation. But 10 days of moving was so effective that even though I returned to work on Wednesday, my brain still hasn't accepted that I'm not on leave.

Maybe this is because the entire three days I was back I kept thinking about how much I wished I were still back home working on stuff.

My network is still slow and, btw, so far I am not a fan of FIOS.

My home server is still not set up. Turns out I need to get a switch. If FIOS were not so far behind the times I could be running Wireless N and therefore would not need a switch because my desktop machine would no longer need to be hardwired. But they are behind the times. And for the record, when the FIOS tech sets stuff up the world does not suddenly go all glowy. No. It. Does. Not.

Several folks have suggested that perhaps I have too heavy a load on the network. HELLO? This is why I've changed over to FIOS. They are supposed to be able to handle it. Grrggh.

I did get real work done the 2.5 days I was back in the office. I left early on Friday to work from home and will need to do that work over the weekend since I spent my "work at home" time at the Farmers Market (planned - this is why I want to work at home on Friday afternoons) and then at the vet having a cat put down.

For those of you who have never done this, trust me when I tell you - it is not fast. Some people just hand their pet over and say "do it" then leave.

I am not those people. The decision to put down an otherwise healthy cat was not easy. But I believe it was the responsible choice. For five years now when she gets mad at me she starts peeing on a piece of furniture. She does not stop, even when she is no longer mad at me, until that piece of furniture is removed. As a result, I've lost an heirloom rocking chair, several office chairs, a laundry hamper and, in the non-furniture category, a good smelling closet.

Two days ago our old cat returned and she was miffed to have him back. So she picked our brand new leather $1500 dollar couch.

Called the vet. Explained the situation. He agreed.

When looking for the other cat - the runaway - we visited the local shelter where there were 70 cats in residence looking for a home. I just could not add a 71st with an attitude problem. Nor could I bear the idea of leaving her there lost and alone.

So I sat with her as she drifted off with the sedative - such a nervous little kitty that she fought it off best as she could - and I held her as she breathed her last. Then I swallowed, wiped my eyes, and left.

(Rest in Peace Fluff)

Because she had a great life for 10 years - 10 years she almost didn't have. I will leave this apartment in a few years without the vestiges of bad cat behavior, having done my part to keep this building pet friendly. And maybe, just maybe, a few of the petless residents here will visit the local shelter and adopt.

And PEOPLE! Spay or neuter. Seriously!

NL

Lost & Found

Shortly after our move I misplaced my blackberry. No internet and no blackberry meant no work.

(Okay, I *could* have worked - but let's keep working this excuse.)

The night we moved into our new place we went to bed with three cats (shhh...if anyone asks it's only two) on the balcony.

When we woke up the next morning there were only two cats.

Uh oh.

So I ran out the door to see if there was cat splatter on the sidewalk below. Fortunately, before I got very far, I ran back in and put some clothes on.

Dressed, I took a walk and I looked...and called...and looked...and then noticed the Brueggers bagels and got some breakfast.

The cat was no where to be found. I wandered back up and broke the news to my daughter.

Not a good moment.

She has never known life without this old boy of ours. Proving that she is definitely my daughter she immediately formed a plan and took action. She created flyers and put them up everwhere - using up ALL of my color ink in the process.

Several days passed and no Snickers. A visit to World Market included buying some floor pillows for the two remaining cats (I dream of keeping them from sleeping on my face...I am *allergic* damnit.) Chris looked at me and said "two or three."

I damn near burst into tears.

14 years ago I walked into a petstore to buy pinkies for youngest son's snake and on the other side of the store was this cage FULL of kittens. They were sleeping, and playing, and climbing, and meowing. All except one. THAT one locked eyes with me and did not break his stare even once as I crossed the store to get to the cage - and that kitten. It was clear to everyone that I had been chosen.

He came home with us and a year later Gwen was born. My fondest memory - Gwen crawling out of her room in the morning and Snickers greeting her with the cat head bump. You want to know what a crying cat sounds like? Come to our place when she has gone off to school and he is looking for her. Theirs is a true love.

Sunday we made our way to the Shelter where we were told that if they had him they'd know - a cat like that would stand out. But we looked anyway. We looked at 70 cats/kittens all wishing they could come home with us - and none the one we were looking for. We came home and made a deal - we were going to believe he'd found a good home and was so wonderful that his new family just couldn't bear to give him up.

We'd understand.

I found my blackberry at 10:30 last night. I did not read email. Really, 10 hours before going back to work isn't that just stupid?

Last night at 11:30 my phone rings. It's the front desk folks in our building. "Ma'am" said Rick "I think we have your cat."

We stumbled out of bed, knocked over a lamp, tripped over the comforter, and made our way to the closet to get dressed. Actually, I did that. Chris woke up with my ruckus and when he learned what was going down he swung his legs over the bed and calmly slipped a pair of shorts on. (Why is it that no matter WHAT is happening, men can always get dressed faster?)

We then half ran, half stumbled to the elevator, made our way downstairs and tried to process where we were supposed to go when we rounded a corner and sure enough, there sat Snickers - calmly sitting there looking at us with a look that said "what in the HELL took you so long?"

I scooped him up and we headed back into the apartment and then crept into my daughter's room and then whispered her name so she would wake up.

The look on her face when she realized who it was is what makes me cry now. Happy tears.

Stupid cat.

Stupid cat I love.

NL

Did you say something?

I am the oldest of five kids. This means that I am very good at tuning out noise, especially talking, and creating my own special little quiet place.

This means that at any given time I can be on the couch and suddenly realize that Chris is talking. He usually has been chatting away for quite some time before I realize it.

A moment ago I realize he is having a onesided conversation and I say "are you talking to me?"

He says "no, I was talking to Beau but expecting you to listen."

Oh.

No.

No. No. No.

Someone get me off this slippery slope.

But call my name first - otherwise I won't hear you.

NL

And here I am

all moved in to the new place finally...mostly.

Feet up on the new couch.

Internet all wired up (I install the server tomorrow) with PC's in every room EXCEPT the two baths.

TV in 3 rooms.

And HGTV on all of them.

It's a sickness I tell you.

NL

Confessions of an Addict

57 boxes of books.

Roughly 60 boxes of everything else.

My life is largely packed up and I can't walk through the apartment without bumping, tripping, or stumbling several times as I weave through the stacks.

Last Saturday I flipped on the TV for background noise as I packed a few more boxes. Somehow I tripped over a show called "Property Virgins" and that was the end of it.

HGTV has become my addiction. I am hooked. I am driving Chris crazy because it is ALL I watch. He tries to wrestle the remote away from me - I sit on it. He begs and I am without mercy. He tells me there are two TV's, I say "yes but I was at this one first." This one is the big screen.

I wake up, flip it on. We go to sleep to it. At work I think about getting home and settling in. I can tell you about "First Time Homebuyer" or "House Hunter International" or "Save My Bath" or "Cash in the Attic" and not only that but I've gotten pretty good at the price guessing and figuring out which house the buyer/renter will choose. Oh, and I am SO opinionated when it comes to those million dollar vacation homes.

We take possession of the new place tomorrow. We move into it on Tuesday. Maybe, just maybe, once these boxes are gone and we are settled in this craving for all things home will go away.

I hope so. Otherwise someone will need to come and rescue Chris.

NL

Ummm....Hi...it's Me

I have not blogged in nearly two months.

This is because I have done nothing and I hate the world.

Okay, not really. Well, sort of not really.

Since my last entry a brother, a nephew, a niece, and a sister have all had birthdays. I didn't visit them for any of these even though they only live 45 minutes away. When my niece had her birthday I was all the way in New Mexico. I have no excuse for the rest.

Except that I'm packing. Endlessly.

We picked our apartment. It is even more fabulous than the one I described in my last blog post - nearly 2 months ago. And cheaper. Oh, and no one has ever lived in it before.

Not only do we need to pack up everything we own BUT Chris has decided that we should get rid of a bunch of stuff and replace it with new stuff. So we've been packing, purging, and purchasing.

I am in hell.

This past weekend I sorted out our bar. It was a mystery.

Gin? Almost gone. I love gin.

Vodka? Barely touched. I hate vodka.

Single Malt Scotch? Do not touch. It's my favorite maker.

Lymon Cream? Ryan's Cream? Bailey's Irish Cream? Hey! How long does this stuff last? Is it real *cream?* It's three years old. Toss out.

Vioga Wine? Worst. Wine. Ever. Cool bottle. Toss.

Vermouth? Is this a kind a wine and therefore, does it spoil? I think yes. Chris says no. I'll keep it until he isn't looking then throw it out.

Creme to Cacao? Is it supposed to be *that* dark?

Aftershock? OMG! I love that stuff! I forgot I had it.

So went my waltz through our liquor cabinet - made better only by the fact that there is an ABC (Alcohol Beverage Control) store across the street from us in the new place. Just in case I decided wrong and Bailey's *doesn't* go bad.

But I am sober, and packing, and purging, and purchasing all while trying not to lose my temper at work and shout "you have JOBS people - can't you just do them and be grateful?" as I try to figure out why I am supposed to worry about whether they are also fullfilled. Fullfilled? Seriously?

A dear friend of mine is an older very high performing man with an amazing work history and has been on the job hunt for 10 months. Bad economy. Younger is cheaper. But you get what you pay for.

So I haven't posted because I'm busy. And sometimes I hate the world. Oh, and I'm trying to be fullfilling.

NL

Green Moves

I should have known better than to follow him into the elevator.

I should have said something when I saw him hit the button for the 18th floor.

Instead I stood there silently next to my daughter as we moved up, up, up.  The doors opened.  We stepped out to a neatly groomed, well lit hallway.  He chatted with us as he led us down the hall, leaned in past my too low cut shirt (thrown hastily on as I realized we had warm weather today) and slipped his key into the door.

He swung the door open and ushered us forward.  We stopped, momentarily blinded by the sun, and then bit back tiny little gasps.

There, in front of us, sprawled out in all of its patriotic glory was Washington DC with the Washington Monument standing there like the centerpoint in a compass.   As we stood there, blink blink blink in the sun and beauty, I quickly imagined a small group party on the 4th of July and realized at that moment we had the potential to be the very cool friends in our circle.  THE place to be on Independence Day.  

All for a the small monthly price of $3100 a month, excluding amentities.  For an apartment measuring less than 1100 square feet.

We are already thinking hard about how we can streamline. Wondering if we can make our carbon footprint a little smaller without having to expend much energy.  Looking at the book shelves that bring us comfort (and take up valuable square footage) and wondering if we move them to the low voltage e-readers we now carry whether that is the "greener" solution.  

We are picturing a network upgrade to a nicely secured Wireless-N solution with this little beauty hanging on the walls in each room.  I have a nephew dearly in need of a new PC desktop unit and I have a spare to offer him if we take it off the wall I have it hanging on as a glorified picture frame.  

A couple of terabytes of storage space stored in the den or work area of our new place will allow us, we think, to make efficient use of limited space.  Leaving enough foot space to enjoy RB 2 and stash the drums will be a challenge.  But we think we can do it.

And so we are wondering how to afford the luxuries, how to streamline our world but still have everything we love a touch away, and how, maybe, to actually recycle.  Live Green. Live Lean.  Live Full.

One thing is for sure, we are packing.  And we will be packing every weekend for the next several weekends.  Even if we don't know where we are going.

I hope it has a view.

NL

Generations

I am pretty sure that everyone in my family believes that this country is going to hell in a handbasket.

They might be right.

But this past Friday I had two separate conversations that included 3 women who are about 28 years old each and in both conversations I had to tell them to "knock it off."  

Two of them had been up until 1 am in the morning taking care of getting some deliverables to the client...deliverables they wouldn't have to be pushing through had the late 30's early 40's woman who makes significantly more money than they do done it right in the first place.

One of them slipped into my office to apologize for the trouble she caused when she let one of our internal clients know she was taking on some additional work and this woman - a 45 year old woman who is an EXECUTIVE COACH - pitched a serious fit.  KZ's mistake was simple...she's very good and everyone wants her help.

Meanwhile I'm ushering a non-productive (read: lazy) mid-30's man out of the practice because, quite frankly, his work is nowhere near the quality of anyone else AND I'm having conversations with a woman in her 50's who does good work but not good enough for the rather significant salary she currently makes.  (I did not give her that salary...I simply inherited it.)

And so, as I pondered my family's misgivings as we headed home after a wonderful day of Easter eating, the faces of these three extraordinary young women popped into my head.

Followed closely by the two college hires on the team, and two of their colleagues who joined us just a few years prior.  

What it boils down to is that I've got a great team but the best performers,  hands down, are "millenials" - and so, if we want to make sure this country DOESN'T go to hell in a handbasket then people like me need to do our absolute best to raise them up right in the workplace.

And get rid of the bad examples we don't want them learning from.

Meanwhile, here's a shout out to Lara from "The Spectrum" - another young woman who's blog endlessly entertains me and proves that yes, these "youngsters" are quite capable of writing a grammatically correct sentence.  

And to my fellow X'ers (and Boomers - I'm a "cusper") let me warn you now - get up off your lazy whiney asses and get to work.  Because these "kids" are better than you are.

For the moment.

NL

Sunshine & Edits

There is something about springtime in Washington DC that fills the entire world with hope.  Or at least the part of the world that has a chance to be in DC and is willing to give hope a chance.

Winter in Washington is never fun for more than 2 or 3 weeks.  Usually we have just that to get the various Christmas trees up and lit and the Nutcracker  sold out in its annual performances before the gray begins to get to us.  

This weekend is the Cherry Blossom Festival.  The trees are decked out, the sun is shining, and we are sneezing.  But still we are called to drive around top down. 

You can safely drive around top down in this area for exactly 7 weeks out of the entire 52.  They aren't all fit together.  Some happen in Spring - when it isn't raining, some happen in the summer - when it isn't so sweltering hot that you want nothing more to peel off everything you have on and run screaming naked through the streets, and then there are those glorious moments in the autumn when it is sunny, crisp and cool but not so cool that you can't throw on a jacket and challenge the air.

Of course, it was such long weekend in October that brought on the worst sick I've had in a couple of years...but who wants to remember these things?

So yesterday the sun graced us and the wind was not so bad that it could compete with the wind of top down driving.  We took the new car out for a spin.  First to Manassas to pick up Beau from the vet.  He was supposed to return to us newly suitable for continued apartment living but alas, still he fights some sort of infection from his barn living tribulations.  So we will take him back in a few weeks to try again.

Then we headed down for a quick visit with my family.  A stop into my sister's place revealed that she shares my opinion of laundry and is beyond grateful for my mother's help in this.  My mother watches my niece and nephew during the week so that my sister and brother-in-law are able to work.  For this she is paid a modest sum and everyone rests easier knowing the children are well cared for.

A pop over to my parents house meant that we visited briefly, my father handed me a book he'd bought a case of and thought I should read and then share with the most liberal friend that I have.  I thanked him, told him I'd read it but that I'd not be sharing this book with my friend and if he wanted her to read it he could enter that territory on his own.  

A stop back up to the end of the driveway took us over to my other sister's house where my brother is staying while she and her family are in England.  It was an unexpected visit but my brother is an unexpected man so I was reasonably sure we'd be welcomed...and we were.  As we walked into the house we saw immediately that he had been hard at work fixing what needs to be fixed given the previous tenants (the family who rented it from my sister first) and some then current but now unfortunate decorating decisions made by my sister several years back.  

My brother and I talked politics, about the government, and our feelings about the general state of the country at the moment.  Then I told him that he was a good man for taking care of our sister in this way.  He wants to give back to the family that I'm not sure has treated him fairly in his life.  I could see a moment of pain pass over his face and then he was resolute again.  He would do this for our sister.  Even as I remember that momentary expression I feel a surge of anger pass over me.  For this she'd better not be charging him rent.  Knowing him, he'd pay it and still give up what he had to do this kind thing for her.

A final visit to my pregnant with identical twin boys sister-in-law and my pixie'ish neice rounded out our evening and our visit home.  We caught them just as my SIL was try to wrestle her daughter into bed.  My niece will be three in June and if she keeps going the way she's going my brother is going to have to re-think his views on gun ownership.  Of the entire family, it may be this brother and his wife with whom we feel the most kinship, if for no other reason than there is a fair bit of wanderlust in the both of us.  My sister-in-law is an artist and in her home you see bits and pieces of whimsy developing.  I can't wait to see what they've come up with when the remodeling is finished.

Over the past few days I've been struggling with whether to go back and edit the various typos that appear in my blogs.  I write "stream of thought" and quickly - and the end result is sometimes imperfect but always me.  

Sort of like my family.

So I'm not going to edit my previous posts.  Because even though they are imperfect, they are fine just the way they are...and just like my family.  

NL

Multi-Tasking

I've taken to drinking VAST quantities of SlimFast. Not for the "slim" part - as evidenced by the fact I drink it with whole milk - but for the "fast" part, because it is literally a way of shoving nutrients down my throat while I continue to work or go to meetings (which aren't always one and the same.) Having to stop to eat seems like such a waste of precious time when there are things I'd much rather be doing...like working...which I actually enjoy.

This weekend I brought work home with me. Due to timing and promises I'm writing like the wind in order to get the proposal tossed back into the client's hands record time.

But we'd originally set the weekend aside to go car shopping. Could we do both?

We did. So as of 3 pm this afternoon one 40+ page proposal written and sent off for input & edit, 8 cars looked at, 5 cars test driven, and one car purchased.

The sun came out. The new car, a convertible, was just itching for a run topless and, since it was raining when we test drove it off the showroom floor, it was first introduction for us as well. We felt like Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant. I couldn't get my scarf on for all the blowing wind. My daughter announced it was okay but she still hates convertibles and I am left wondering "how can she be MY daughter?"

The sun ducked away and the temperatures plummeted. We stopped at Starbucks for hot coffee, bought the car it's first CD, put the top up, and headed home.

On the way home we dodged a man driving what I think was a Nissan Sentra - green - and I got a good look at him as he raced along his lane and tried to be exactly where we were...in OUR lane.

And there he was, driving too fast and typing on his blackberry.

Multi-tasking.

There was a moment on Friday when I was in a meeting with a member of my team and a client (who was on the phone) and at the same time I was running staffing numbers - unrelated to the conversation. There have been so many times in the past few months when I have stretched the very limits of my innate ability to multi-task and usually, like a good run, I'm tired but I feel good about it.

I wonder if the man who very nearly ran a family of three (and their new car) off the road also feels good about his ability to multi-task.

My friend Connie posted the following link about a police officer who had an accident while texting. It made me go hmmmmm.....

So like Ecc. 3:1 there really is a time and a place for everything - even multi-tasking. I'm going to pray every day that I never lose sight of that.

Well, and that the man who was texting while driving doesn't hurt anyone but himself.

And maybe, if I find time to do this, I'll start publishing the license plates of people who do truly stupid stuff like that.

NL

.72 on the 1.00

It seems that lately all I do is whine, whine, whine about how busy I've been.

I don't know why, when someone asks how I've been, I feel compelled to tell them that I am busy. It isn't really something I need to explain given the fact that most of these same people have noticed I'm not emailing back right away, my blog has been neglected for nearly a month, a week goes by between Facebook log-ins, and the best place to reach me between the hours of 8:30 am and 8:00 pm are at my office phone.

I also don't know why I'm whining. The fact is that I'm busy because I love my job and the work that I do and, for the most part, the people that I work with. I'm busy because I choose to be.

That doesn't mean that I haven't had my issues to deal with. A week ago today I got an email which I read, yes on a Sunday, from a colleague who was taking the opportunity to lambast me for not being "a team player." For having an expertise that apparently he doesn't have and he needs in order to win some work and build his practice.

I got mad. But I got mad because I was feeling a little bit guilty because I knew he wanted us to do this and I just DID NOT HAVE TIME to help. I held my tongue.

Then on Monday morning it hit me...how does a Sr. Consultant in Emergency Management NOT have this expertise? In short, knowledge in the area which I had, but apparently he did not, is much like someone who is an expert in Literature being expected to be familiar with Shakespeare. Frankly, it's a given. You have it because you just DO.

On Tuesday I was in a meeting with him and another colleague - a man I find pleasant but not particularly innovative or capable - and I was fighting like mad to get mid-year boosts for 3 folks on my team who have earned it. As a list of all three of our staffs sat in front of us, there - not hidden from view - were our salaries as well.

I know these men make more than I do and usually I'm okay with it. In an economy like this, I like the protection of having high value for dollar. But with recent changes my team is nearly twice the size of both of their's combined and pulls nearly twice as much revenue as well.

And the man who'd decided to rip me a new one on Sunday, it turns out, makes $32K more a year than I do.

Which hit home when my sister, who got a raise this week, told me today that she's trying to make the company take it back because she doesn't want to be priced out of the market. She thinks she's not worth it. And as I lectured her I realized that somehow - maybe because we are women - we are actually "ok" with making less money than our male counterparts. Even when they don't work nearly as hard as we do or contribute nearly as much.

So here's the truth - we shouldn't be making 28 cents per dollar less than our male counterparts. But maybe it isn't that we're underpaying women. Maybe, as is clearly the case of both of these colleagues of mine, we are overpaying some of these men.

Right now it's okay because I am very busy...out performing them 4 to 1. And I like being just that much better than them - because I am a woman and I am ROARING. :)

But maybe something to think about longer term...so that my daughter inherits a better workplace for women than I did.


NL

Greying

Two Christmases ago my mother looked at me and said "you are getting grey hair. I am too young for you to have grey hair. Do something about it."

My mother's hair is light brown, as it has been for more than a decade when her hairdresser suggested a change from her previous platinum blond. I'm relatively certain that I have never seen her "real" hair color.

I was blessed with my father's coloring, which included the auburn brown hair that actually looks brown until the sun (or stage) light hits it. Then it is a flaming blaze of autumn that bears out the Scots/Irish in our blood.

My favorite part of getting my hair cut is the moment the hair dresser, in the process of blowing it out, exclaims "oh my it really *is* curly...and beautiful." I can promise you it wasn't that way when I walked in. I almost always enter the salon looking like a homeless woman. I don't know why. I just do.

My hair is now its natural color. Long gone are the days when I would make it darker or lighter or more red. It has gotten lighter as I've aged and the red is still there but no longer blazes with Irish fury in the sun.

Instead it is turning grey. The single streak that rested down my right cheek, a gift from my ex-husband's harrowing aneurysm adventure, has been joined by scattered white threads throughout my hair. It appears that it will not be turning a true grey but instead will become a silvery white.

For a moment yesterday I considered coloring it. But I know that matching my natural color is an almost impossible task and the maintenance of haircolor would become yet one more thing to fit into an already busy schedule.

So this morning, after re-straightening my hair, I picked up a strand that had fallen and wondered how strong it was. It must be very strong I think for it has come from a head of many adventures.

Somehow that grey hair did not make me feel old or as if my life will be drawing to a close soon. Instead it reminded me of the woman I am still becoming. The woman I hope to be.

I am going to go grey and I am not going to fight it. I've earned that right.


NL

Presents and Rules = Ruckus

I grew up in a house with five kids, two adults, 1 bathroom and 4 bedrooms.

My mother had one bedroom. My father had one bedroom. The other two bedrooms and were shared by me and my two sisters and my two brothers, respectively.

When I was young the fact that my parents each had their own bedroom seemed odd to me. Once I'd been married for a few years, to a man who snored, I fully appreciated the sanity in separate beds. With walls.

Ours was a house with rules.

Ours was a house that, in addition to seven people, also included a dog and cat.

The dog was allowed in the house but not upstairs.

The cat was not allowed in the house.

That didn't stop us.

One morning we'd snuck the dog upstairs while my father was sleeping. I think he probably knew and wasn't saying anything but at the time we thought we were being sneaky and enjoying dog time. There the dog lay, on a bed (shhhh, don't tell Dad) enjoying the petting from five sneaky kids when the cat, noticing the open window, decided to deliver a present.

It was fresh.

It was so fresh it was still alive and wiggling in her mouth.

The dog spotted the cat, the cat dropped the bird, the dog went tearing after the cat, the cat hightailed it down the stairs and the bird began to fly frantically around the bedroom while five kids dove around trying to catch the bird and get to the dog and cat to shoo them outside - all the while praying that Dad didn't wake up and catch us.

No dice.

Within moments we heard my father's roar - "What the HELL is going on up there."

Cripes.

I think it was my brother, Jon, who managed to get the door open and put on an innocent face. I know for sure it was me who caught the bird because I still remember having to crawl under the bed to get it.

"FRONT AND CENTER"

Oh, we'd heard that before. The five of us lined up in front of my father, sure we were in for it.

But somehow the humour must have been enough for my father. Because although I clearly remember the sequence of events, I'm pretty sure we didn't get in trouble.

However, from that point forward when ever we snuck the dog up stairs we made sure the window was closed.


NL

Organizing My Thoughts

Anyone who knows me knows that music is a pretty important part of my life. In addition to 8 guitars, 1 piano, a couple of wooden flutes, a hog-nosed psaltry, tibetan bells (okay, actually those belong to Chris - I bought them for him last year as a birthday gift) and several other instruments used in the making of music, I also have about 40 gbs of music. I think.

Actually, I have roughly 6 "music" folders scattered between computers and each of those folders averages 22 gbs.

For some reason they are not all the same. So at no time do I have all of my music in one spot. I need to organize my music, be able to catalog every tune and find a way to efficiently load up my iPod.

My iPod Touch to be specific since I still also have my classic iPod. I gave my sister my Zen, which had a bunch of music that I really hope she likes. And there is my phone AND my blackberry, both of which also play tunes.

Technology was supposed to make this all easier but somehow it's more complicated. Sigh.

So I'm searching for some software that will help me compare everything I have and then keep my MP3's and my AAC's separated so I can load my iPod.

I was searching for this software when I decided to log on to Facebook. There I saw my sister. Which made me think of my other sister. Which made my thoughts get all jumbled up again.

So I'm just going to say it and take whatever comes my way for being "public" about it.

I love her. I love my brother-in-law. I love my nephews. But I cannot figure out what, for the love of God, that I have personally done that my sister (not the one on Facebook) is so peeved at me that she thinks it's okay to hurt my daughter.

Because while I was in Albuquerque with my daughter I got a call from my sister-in-law, a woman whom I love with all my soul, asking if I wanted to have a "girls night" since my younger sister (not the one on Facebook) was in town with her son.

When my daughter found out that her Aunt was in town with her beloved cousin, the cousin who is exactly six months older than her, the cousin she loves with ever fiber of her being, her face crumpled. She said "why didn't you tell me?" and I said "I didn't know she was coming."

You don't travel from across the Ocean on a whim...usually...so the fact that my sister elected not to tell us had to be kinda on purpose. Not that we could have done anything about it, after all we were half way across the country, but it would have been nice to know. Especially since even though I was out of town, my daughter didn't join me for several days after my sister and nephew arrived. I know my ex-husband well enough to know that he would have gladly taken our child for a visit.

My daughter held it together. She finished packing for our trek up to Taos. She spent the weekend learning to snowboard with some friends. We didn't mention it again. We haven't talked about it at all.

But my God my baby girl was hurt. And this is where all of my "good person, caring person, brush it off" skills are brought up short and my thoughts are all jumbled.

Because I don't know what the hell is going on with my sister OR what I have apparently done to her. But I do know this...I'm pretty mad. I was mad two weeks ago and pushed it down to some place where I didn't think about it but the minute I was reminded again tonight I just got mad again. Thoughts all jumbled up mad and I'm digging around for that voice of reason I'm kinda known for - the voice that brings people through my door for advice or just to talk through things - and I just cannot find it.

So I'm going to go back to organizing my music and trying not to remember the crumpled look on my daughter's face when she discovered that her beloved Aunt didn't care enough to let us know she was coming into town with the cousin my daugther adores.

NL

Change is in the Air

So I'm blogging from New Mexico. I've been busy. I've been ignoring my blog.


To be honest - tonight I wasn't planning on blogging so much as I was planning on catching up on blogs. There is one I really like by Laura over at thespectrum.org and so I was catching up on her goings ons when I caught wind of her really spiffy new blog design and I thought "I must have one for me!"


Even though I have been working for as long as she has been ALIVE and therefore I feel very, very (very very very) old - there is a sort of "old soul"ness about her that I love. And now I'm thinking that I need to hunt Gisele down and beg her to make me one!


But meanwhile I am in New Mexico and enjoying myself. So is my daughter. Here she is, dressed in the snowboarding gear she borrowed from the amazing Irene! I think she looks like Speed Racer. For a kid who hasn't seen "real" snow in several years I hear that Lil Miss did a pretty good job! Her ski instructor's name was George. He called her "cool" and I think I am going to have to embrace winter sports.







During all of this, for the record, I was in the Lodge -which was not as warm and comfy as I expected.



This is the ski valley is Taos. In case anyone still thinks New Mexico is always hot, it's not. Last week our highs were 40. This week things are warmer and it's ALL over the news.







Before heading back to Albuqueque we traipsed out to the Rio Grande Gorge. Paul (Chris's brother) was the only one of the bunch brave enough to walk to the bridge cut out with me. I'm still learning this camera (a third one - a Canon that falls between my Nikon D40X Digital SLR and my Nikon Coolpix S550) and I still haven't figured out how to get it to capture depth.











Tonight we made our way to Sandia Peak - again. We went last week and I liked it so much I wanted to share the experience with my daughter. Things are a bit high...but only 2.7 miles so!









And with that - a desire to shake things up a bit with my blog look and feel (and maybe a new site altogether, I'm looking at WordPress) - and some pictures of our adventures in New Mexico, I close tonight tired but happy.



NL

I'm in Love

You know the signs. Suddenly you are talking about him all the time. To your friends. To your family. To complete strangers. You are talking about him all the time because you are thinking about him.

It can't be helped.

Everything he does is so adorable it makes you melt. Even his bodily functions are of interest. You look for his favorite foods. You miss him when you are apart. You wonder what he's doing, if he's happy, how his day is going.

You feel like a fool and yet as soon as you get home you look for him. You can't wait for some cuddle time. You know that he will look at you with adoring brown eyes (eyup, BROWN) and you will grin and hold him close.


You will stay up too late. You will get up too early. Suddenly parts of your day and most of your night revolve around his needs.

You introduce him to your friends. To your family. You are deeply pleased when they agree that, yes, he really is a handsome fella.

It's a sad state of affairs and the only thing that sustains you is that you know you are not alone. Millions of others have fallen just as deeply in love and understand exactly what you are feeling.

Eyup - it's true - I admit it.

I am in LOVE with Beau.

Isn't he cute?



NL

Resolutions

My friend Jane says she doesn't make resolutions, she makes "intentions." This year one of her intentions is to spend 10 minutes, every day, working on her kitchen.

Sometimes she is unbelievably wise. Not because of the kitchen thing, although maybe that is wise as well, but because intentions aren't actions of failures - they are actions of desire. A way of saying to the universe "I'd like to make this change or do this thing" and do it with the understanding that you have to be an earnest participant but you aren't the only participant in the process.

I make resolutions every year. Except this year. I had a list at the beginning of the holiday season and that list included making my resolutions. It hasn't happened.

The addition of a third cat to our household has sent my cat allergies into overdrive. The cleaning I've been doing (sorting/purging is a better description perhaps) means that I'm also stirring up dust. So for two days I've been a watery eyed mess. Last night, desperate, I took a double dose of Claritin which I am able to report did little more (I think) that make me very drowsy. So this morning, as I was struggling to wake up, I spent some time reflecting further on what I want out of 2009.

First, and most importantly, I do not believe that some magical change will suddenly come over this country on the 20th of January. That's a bit like buying an 1800 square foot house for a million dollars and expecting it to double in value in six months. You can wish for it all you want. You can even speak your intention into the universe (or God, specifically, if that's your thing) but there is the possible and there is the probable. Anything is possible. Probable is a much more distant bet.

But I do believe that people can make changes in their lives, in their actions, in their behaviors and those changes can have a global impact. If those changes are positive, the impact globally can be positive.

Even simple things like Jane's intention for her kitchen has the potential to echo beyond her house and into the lives of others - those who want more of her time, friends who visit, her pets, the people she does business with.

But this early this afternoon I was still without any intentions of my own. I chased the new kitten out from under the bed, gave him his medicines, and cuddled with him a bit.

Then we decided to play RockBand 2. This was the first time we'd all played together (me, my daughter, and Chris) since buying the second guitar and getting the new RB version.

We had a blast. Several hours later, sweaty and exhausted, we finally all called it quits.

For a moment I thought "I need to finish cleaning this area and sorting through those files." I'm so glad I ignored that thought. Because yesterday and today I spent a significant amount of time and other resources doing two things that I think really get to the core of who I am, or how I like to see myself at least.

The cat "rescue" escapade involved several people, many hours and many dollars but at the end of the day we'd taken steps to preserve life, something I consider incredibly precious - regardless of whether animal or human. (I am, for the record, adamantly pro-choice.)

The family time over Rock Band was the most fun I'd had in more than a week (maybe longer - I can't remember that far back) and I don't think I was alone.

With these come my intentions for 2009 - live what I believe and invest in those I believe in - of which my family is my priority. I'd like 2009 to be a better year than 2008 - and by my reckoning, 2008 was a pretty good year.

NL