Noticing Life

In the Service of Others

2010-01-12T21:45:00.002-05:00

It was a spontaneous morning for one that had so many plans. A visit with Jane, a trip to the DMV for my driver's license renewal (yes, proof that I can still see!), and then on to IHOP for an early lunch.

There we sat, scrunched into a tiny booth in an impossibly crowded restaurant, when she came up and softly asked in heavily accented English if she could take our order. She must have known that she could be difficult to understand because she never once broke our gaze - using her eyes to ask as much as her voice.

We told her what we wanted, customizing our order just as if we were eating at a more expensive restaurant and she captured what we wanted, perfectly. Shortly we were happily chatting and dining on eggs, scrapple, and...of course...pancakes.

We asked for the bill and it came, promptly. The $30 tab reflected my customization (I'm an ala carte girl) and was the cheapest meal we've eaten in recent memory. Chris wandered off to pay the bill and I reached into my wallet to grab cash for the tip.

I thought about about the percentage for the tip and grabbed $6. Then I thought about the service and grabbed a bit more cash. I remembered her eyes and the softness of her voice and reached back in. Even as I dropped the cash onto her table I thought about how many times I've paid a straight 20% tip on a meal four to five times more expensive ...and, unfortunately...not as good. How is it that her service was worth less?

My first hour this morning was spent in getting ready for the day. My second hour included telling my daughter and my lover that I love them. My third hour reminded me to love myself. My fourth hour was in the DMV where I smiled gratefully at the woman behind the counter and observed outloud to her that it seemed many people come to her for help. She smiled throughout our 10 minute encounter, fixed a problem that had vexed me for years (I have two middle names, the result of refusing to give up the name I'd been born with and Virginia's decision nearly 2 decades ago to hyphenate the second one with my last one), and I was grateful for the good work she was doing.

I arrived the office with a smile, feeling connected to the world around me, greeted by coworkers who have become dear to me and as I unlocked my office door the bright sun caused me to squint as I sat down to my desk to perform my own service to others.

And now, 14 hours after the start of my day I feel as if it was a day well spent - connected to the universe in the spirit of service and grateful for the blessings in my life - including those who served me with a smile today.

Amazing Strength in Unimaginable Grief

2010-01-03T17:20:00.002-05:00

It has been nearly two decades now since I first visited my friends Katherine and Tom in their home. I'd brought an ornament for the tree as instructed (one I'd hand painted) and arrived timely for their annual Solstice party, an event so extraordinary that this year 60 people made it through 15 inches of snow. But they live in Martha's Vineyard now and I am still whiling away my time in DC. So I have not been in more than a decade despite being faithfully invited every year.

The first time I visited I was treated to a tour of their home. Both are avid cooks and even now, when I am in distress and say "I've taken to my kitchen" I can picture both of them at their huge stove in a kitchen perfectly outfitted with tools meant to last. As they work away, 30 year partners finely tuned to the ways of each other, they are simply delighting in the experience of doing something together. Tasting, smelling, feeling.

My favorite part of the home tour was a visit to their bathroom. They'd found it too small so they knocked out the wall to the room next door and made it bigger. In their remodelled bath was a large clawfoot tub and next to it a rocking chair so that Tom could read to Katherine while she bathed.

It is to me still the epitome of romance. But more than romance, there is a timelessness in the kind of love that has a man reading to a woman while she soaks in a tub. To simply be there with her in a moment that is about her.

They'd been together for many years before they actually married. Sitting in the cafeteria over lunch one day I asked her why they finally "tied the knot" and her answer was simply "insurance reasons." Over the years some of the rest of the story unfolded and it turns out the insurance issue was the broader one of "what is family?" Apparently Tom had ended up in the hospital - a fall I think - and Katherine had found herself unceramoniously removed from his hospital room by Tom's daughters, who were still unwilling to accept their father's relationship with her. I have no doubt that whatever reservations they had about marriage were resolved when faced with very real issue of people outside of their relationship defining the morality of the couple.

As I write this the smell of a beef dish with fennel and onion wafts from my kitchen. It is joined by the overtones of baking rosemary bread. I'd put it all on to cook and because cooking always makes me think of Katherine and Tom, I remembered I'd not yet read their most recent update.

Mid-stream in Tom's blog - ruminations - he writes: "Clearly, my death has been postphoned by four months but my life has not been extended by one minute while it has produced four months of misery for my caretakers."

At that line I am crying, as I have many times after first learning of Tom's cancer diagnosis, treatment, remission, and the re-emergence. I am praying hard again for Katherine, a woman who considered herself "just a librarian", who introduced the CIA to the internet, who wrote wonderfully whimsical guinea pig poetry - and who had a herd of guinea pigs underfoot while she cooked in her home in Bethesda (today she has an entire porch dedicated to finches!) She has always had long white hair pulled back in a braid hanging down her back and I cannot imagine her any other way. I cannot imagine her without the whimsy, the earthiness, the Texas steel that seems to seep through every pore of her body. I cannot imagine her without Tom.

I don't know how Tom and Katherine came to be together. I know there is an age difference somewhat similar to mine and Chris's and I know that apparently his family did not approve of her. I don't know where the mother of his children was in all of this and nor do I care. For it is Katherine who extends his soul and that I know with certainty that who ever came before and for however long, Katherine was the one intended for him. The mate to his soul.

Now they fight fiercely a disease that fully intends to separate the two of them and I anticipate the collapse of her heart when it finally wins. She is one of the strongest people I know but I cannot imagine how even that strength will bear her up under the grief that will surely fall upon her. He does not leave her willingly. I don't know if he realizes that every breath he takes - whether in sickness or in health - is a breath she treasures with every fiber of her being.

It is not a love I would have understood when I first met them. I recognized it but understood it to be so rare that I could never expect to be so lucky. I now understand. And I understand that it isn't a love that has to be approved of to exist. It simply is.

NL

Welcoming 2010

2009-12-31T22:34:00.002-05:00

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...

2009-12-27T14:52:00.003-05:00

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.

Battling Death in the Season of Light

2009-12-26T23:33:00.004-05:00

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:

Are like several beautiful necklaces all tangled up. Time to tackle it one knot at a time.
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.
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.

Huh?

2009-12-19T13:25:00.003-05:00

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.

It's A Lot To Process

2009-12-17T23:22:00.002-05:00

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.

Little Happy Pills

2009-12-04T09:55:00.002-05:00

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

2009-11-29T18:44:00.002-05:00

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?

Pick and Choose

2009-11-16T08:36:00.002-05:00

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

2009-10-11T20:15:00.002-04:00

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.

Songs My Father Nearly Sang Me

2009-08-01T10:17:00.003-04:00

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!

Hi! I see you've met my cat.

2009-07-30T07:03:00.008-04:00

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

2009-07-11T11:46:00.007-04:00

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.)

Back in the Mill

2009-07-11T09:57:00.005-04:00

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!

Lost & Found

2009-07-08T22:14:00.003-04:00

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.

Did you say something?

2009-07-07T21:26:00.003-04:00

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.

And here I am

2009-07-06T21:31:00.001-04:00

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.

Confessions of an Addict

2009-06-26T11:25:00.003-04:00

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.

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

2009-06-16T20:48:00.005-04:00

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.

Green Moves

2009-04-19T19:44:00.002-04:00

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.

Generations

2009-04-12T22:08:00.003-04:00

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.

Sunshine & Edits

2009-04-05T10:26:00.002-04:00

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.

Multi-Tasking

2009-03-29T18:20:00.002-04:00

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

2009-03-22T00:18:00.004-04:00

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

2009-02-23T07:41:00.002-05:00

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

2009-02-04T22:32:00.002-05:00

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

2009-01-28T21:04:00.002-05:00

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

2009-01-22T00:05:00.007-05:00

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

2009-01-06T19:45:00.003-05:00

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

2009-01-01T17:02:00.008-05:00

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

For the Love of Cats

2008-12-31T15:26:00.013-05:00

It was during the family (extended) Christmas celebration that my sister brought us all up to her house to see the little family that had settled in on her porch. Three little kittens and a Momma Cat whose tail you can see just a little bit of as she moves in for a petting. Of course, we all "ooh'ed and aah'ed" and thought to ourselves "how very cute, too bad we can't take them home with us."

That evening, after a second visit which included a bit of wine, we crossed paths this this little bunch again. This time the kittens were all huddled up in a group and the Momma Cat was standing outside their home, ready to do battle with any threat. So very brave!

Oh the cold. Oh the risk of perishing at the hands of a wild animal. My heart clenched. What to do?

On Sunday I called my sister and said "post pictures - we have possible adoptive homes." Within an hour my friend Jane had signed up for two kittens and we were taking the Momma. Baby Gray was still up for grabs but would stay with one of us until he was old enough to move on.

Earliest vet appointment would be today (Wednesday) so at 7'ish in the morning Chris and I dashed to Sis's house (about 40 minutes away), helped my Brother-in-Law scoop up all of the cats, and we raced back to the vet for a 9 am appointment.

Momma and two kittens quickly settled in comfortably on the scale - altogether weighing a whopping 13 lbs.

While Abigail (the Siamese) decided to play with the air vent.

With all four sneezing, eyes running, and quite a bit of general stinky-ness, the vet pronounced them adorable but quite sick. Meds were prescribed.

We'd begun learning how to administer everything with very patient Vet Assistants taking us through the entire process when the kindly Doctor walked back through the door and gravely announced that Momma Cat had FILV (Cat Aids.) There was nothing else to do, they would all have to be tested. Blood was drawn, pathetic mews were heard, and then we settled in to wait.

Baby Gray was tired of the cold floor. So he climbed up Chris's pant leg and settled in for a nice nap.

And there we all waited.

When the vet came back the news was mixed.

Abigail and "Beau" (the grey striped kitten) were fine. But Baby Gray also had cat aids and was sick enough that possible recovery was slim to none. He would not be going home with anyone.

As we stood there holding him, he drifted to sleep curled in our warmth and we thought "how quickly a small cat can wriggle his way into your heart." We didn't leave him, even as he took his last struggling breath. Having an animal die in your arms, no matter the reason, is just as hard at 43 as it was at 16. But it was the right decision.

Momma Cat, who we were ready for back home, was also destined for a different road. Her FILV status meant that there was risk to Fluff & Snickers, the two grey tabbies we've had for 9 and 14 years respectively. A foster family had been found and the vet would care for her until she was well enough for the spaying surgery we gladly paid for. Fortunately, we also learned that she wasn't pregnant again, something we'd feared.

After all of this we decided to keep Beau - calling my daughter to announce the decision and having her laugh at us because, once again, we were adding a grey tabby to the household. But I suspect my niece will be thrilled to know she'll see her playmate again.

A thousand dollars later and three cats will have much better lives. Maybe a little good Karma for us.

On the other hand, I am unbelievably angry at the people responsible for failing to spay and neuter - and likely dumping the Momma in the first place. We don't think all the kittens were hers but at least one was. Had it not been for the warm hearts of my sister's family, and eventually our own cat love, it could have been a much different story.

So, if you are reading this and you have an un-neutered pet, get off your ass and fix the situation.

NL

Corporate Blogs: Srsly?

2008-12-30T14:13:00.002-05:00

I can't tell you how many time I've heard the advice given to have "corporate blogs." And lately they seem to be EVERYWHERE. Weight Watchers has a couple their members are advised to follow - but I don't because they are inane. Every politician it seems has one and they are all written by, well, someone else. Dell has one but I couldn't find it, not that I looked all that hard. So do GM, Yahoo, and Google. Amazon has a few to include one for the Kindle.

This afternoon I was getting ready to install the Neat Works scanner when I noticed the instructions reminding me to go their website blog which I assume is their way of saying "hey, we're hip. we're cool. we don't capitalize or spell out words unnecessarily."

In fact what their blog was, as they all seem to be, was a news reel in text about their products.

Look. I have no problem with companies blogging. But I'd like them to actually "get" what blogs are. So instead of finding my way to a marketing page for some company masquerading as a CEO telling me what he's thinking and yawning through the drivel I find - why not actually have the guy SAY it?

If you go out to HP's website and do a search on the word 'Blog' you'll come up with some pretty good ones. They don't seem to be recent, maybe current economic events have the honest bloggers running to the hills corporately, I don't know.

But I do know that if, for instance, one of the major car makers - like GM maybe - had the guts to say on a blog post something like "hey guys, big lesson learned for me - when you make cars, drive, do not fly to Washington when you are begging. Wow do I feel stupid. I promise never to do that again!" I'd be the first one in line to help turn the company around.

Or how about one like this from maybe a senior manager of AIG "Yikes! Sorry about that. We totally screwed up but we're going to fix it and here's how. First, we're going to go for a little financial transparency. We're also going to clean house and we're going to start with the guys with the big bonus checks - this year the mailroom employees get one instead."

But no. Instead we take one of the most powerful things about blogs - the human voice connected to human brains - and completely water it down and feed to people like strained & processed peas. It tastes no better than it looks.

All the folks out there claiming to be PR and Social Media folks - knock it off. The readers can tell the difference between corporate message and a real blog. You ought to be able to as well.

NL

Oh J - You Troublemaker

2008-12-29T08:10:00.005-05:00

Fans of the Myers-Briggs will recognize the list making obsession that characterizes the "J" trait. The fourth indicator suggests a preference for either spontaneity or list making.

I am a J.

If I'm feeling stressed I "make a list." If I'm feeling like I have entirely too much to do in a short period of time I "make a list." If I'm going somewhere, starting a new project, taking on a new hobby I "make a list." I have even been known to make lists of lists I need to make.

Last summer, before starting out on our 45 day cross country RV trip, I had a list of lists that included: RV Stocking & Readiness, Work wrap-up, Pet Prep, Household Readiness, and Gwen.

I'm not a purist. I like things a bit open-ended and it's not unusual for me to dive right in to a last minute something just because. Sort of like, well, NaNoWriMo, which I decided to do literally hours before it was to begin. This gets me in trouble because although I crave order, I'm not particularly good at maintaining it.

This morning I was up and about a wee bit early because Chris is headed into the office and one of my favorite things is morning coffee with him. Sipping away at my eggnog enhanced brew I curled up on the couch for a visit - knowing that although he was headed in, I was still off for the rest of the week.

Oh, but I was distracted.

Every year, the week between Christmas and New years, I take off and I spend that week creating order. Because I do this I pretty much put off creating order at any other time during the month of December. Then I dive in, pull everything out, and start sorting through the previous year of my life.

This year the in-process piles include several magazines which reflect either interests or things I'd hoped to become interested in at some point during the previous 12 months. So, among the piles on the floor are "Shop Smart" for my love of bargain hunting, "Body & Soul" - a Martha Stewart empire (you go girl) magazine devoted entirely to health and spirituality which was my goal for 2008 when it was still 2007 and I'm pretty sure I got nowhere with, "Highways" and "Motorhome" magazines which are our bibles for RV'ing, and "QST" - thanks to my newly re-acquired ham radio license.

Near those piles are stacks of bills - none of which have been opened or are late because electronic bill-pay has made my life much more manageable, some PeaPod receipts which are the result of my discovering home delivery for groceries, various software packages also reflecting my interests over the year - scrap booking, genealogy, photography - and then the various gadgets which may or may not work.

I have a lot to do. And only a few days to do it in. Oh, and I forgot. My 2009 Franklin Covey set. Oh how I love FC. This past summer, while in Salt Lake City, I actually visited the FC global headquarters and their attached store. I felt like I'd come to Mecca.

And then there are the KITTENS!

Because during the family Christmas my sister introduced me to a momma cat and a litter who had taken up residence on my sister's porch. Her husband, for all the right reasons, called Animal Control to come pick them up but this had not yet happened. She and her children have fallen in love with all four of them (3 kittens and one cat who looks like she's about to drop another litter) and know that if AC gets there before homes are found then it is likely the end of the line for all of them.

So I got in touch with a friend who offered to take two kittens. My sis thinks she's found a home for the baby gray. I will take the momma and deal with the potential litter when the time comes. It will be her last litter, I promise you. And if I find the person who dumped this brave and friendly young mother I will stick my foot out and trip them...then yell at them for not having the sense to have her spayed.

But first we need to gather up all of them and get them to the vet.

Which is who I should be calling instead of blogging.

And staring at those piles on my floor. Which are less likely to be sorted through if I've been distracted by the needs of new furballs. Which is my own fault for letting my heart and my J fight with each other...

But then, isn't life really the point here?

NL

Sanity in the Cards

2008-12-21T17:37:00.002-05:00

I've been a very bad girl.

I haven't blogged in 21 days.

I haven't sent out a single Christmas card.

I haven't cleaned the apartment until every speck of dust is gone.

I'm very afraid that Santa won't visit me this year because, oh my, I've been so very bad.

I'm hoping, though, that the cards that we've received, despite me sending not a single card in two years (I've completely fallen off the wagon I tell you), are an indication that there is still enough love in my life that those reindeer will find their way here and fill my stockings with chocolate!

[Mental note: buy chocolate...just in case.]

I *am* going to send cards. I have to go buy some first. I am thinking that I will send cards on Christmas Eve. Maybe come up with something symbolic and all. I'm only going to send them to a few folks - those that sent them and a few others as well - folks I don't keep up with on Facebook. I hope the rest of my friends understand. I hope.

I should have been more prepared. I wanted to be more prepared. I used to be more prepared. But in the past few years I seem to be me easily distracted. Or maybe it's because so much of life is now lived in increments.

I'm actually looking forward to curling up on the couch, pen and hand, and writing small and hopefully thoughtful messages to these people in my life. We are all living our lives in increments and I am in awe of the women (and a few men) who, despite this, have managed to get off thoughtful cards that catch me up on their worlds.

I want to be more like them. But for now I'll just have to settle for at least being glad my Christmas shopping is done...and wrapped.

There is always 2009.

NL

A Difficult Woman

2008-11-30T13:57:00.004-05:00

"You are a very difficult woman, Missus Anna"

My ex-husband, who loves movie quotes, used to say this to me all the time when we were married. While the line is from "King & I", the sentiment, I'm certain, hailed from the very core of the ex's soul at various moments in our marriage. As if somehow I was purposefully making his life difficult and he was a martyr for putting up with me.

I wasn't trying to be difficult. After a while the role got tiresome...and required action.

There is a man at work who I am certain is about to think that I am a very difficult woman. He is my boss's boss and therefore, my boss. Earlier this week he called me, along with two of my colleagues, into his office and announced a reorganization that included removing my boss from her position.

She hadn't been told yet.

As I sat there, in disbelief, I said very little. Within in 24 hours, however, I completely accepted the truth.

This man is an idiot.

Oh, the signs had been there all along. I just refused to see them. I kept telling myself that I wasn't seeing the poor management or lack of ethics possessed by this man. I kept thinking, when things didn't add up, that it was *my* math that was faulty.

I was dreaming.

The fact is that an organizational re-alignment is absolutely in order. The company I work for has two outstanding teams that do the same thing and they should be unified. The leads for both teams believe this ferverently. So, apparently, do others within their respective management chains. Except for my boss's direct boss.

When this man finally sat my boss down to tell her all of the things he'd already told her three direct reports he also said, of me, "If she plans on moving to the other sector she will need to sit down with me, you, and our boss and we will decide if we will let her."

Let her?

Excuse me?

There might have been a time when a man could own a woman, but that time is past. My loyalty to the organization I serve is strong and my team and clients are well cared for. That is a loyalty that is freely given and cannot be owned.

I can honestly say that no one I've worked for in the past 18 years has done such a thorough job of personally losing my loyalty. But, as someone said to me this week, in this case my personal loyalty to this man might have been getting in the way of doing the right thing organizationally.

Not anymore.

NL

It's Official

2008-11-25T20:50:00.004-05:00

I'm a winner.

In a week of conversations which have had me a mix of happy, mad, hopeful, and upon occassion looking at the person across from me thinking "are you serious? You cannot POSSIBLY be serious? Are you an idiot?"

I have big work ahead of me this week. Work that has been a long time coming if only (if only, if only she says) we can remove some of the testosterone from the mix.

So this evening, after dragging home from a long day at work, I suddenly realized that it was "proof day."

Today is the first day that NaNoWriMo writers were able to upload their manuscripts for "word count validation" and, therefore, the first day that those of us crossing the crazy finish line that is novella writing on speed could actually call ourselves winners.

AND

TA DA!!!!

[This is the badge Chris told me to post. Have I ever mentioned that he's Norwegian?]

But I actually had options. Here's the other one:

What do you think?

NL

Oh My God, I've Done It!

2008-11-23T22:31:00.006-05:00

It's official. I ended my 50,000 word writing spree for my "novella" at about 9 pm this evening - and having written my concluding chapter am sporting 51,145 words in all.

I will upload it on the 25th, which is the soonest possible time, and then I will breathe a little easier knowing that I've dotted the last I and crossed the last T.

Yesterday, knowing that I was in the 10,000 word homestretch and still had a full weekend at my disposal, I went out to the NaNoWriMo site and ordered my official T-shirt and two coffee mugs. One mug I will keep for myself and one mug I will give to Chris, who has been about as patient as a NaNoWriMo widower can possibly be and therefore deserves something of his own. It has a Norwegian Viking Helmet on the logo and that alone appeals to my Viking descendent of a man.

He has finished reading the novel and a copy has been sent off to Bink for her reading pleasure. I'm not sure I can edit it at this point, the rush to the home stretch being what it was, and I'm not sure how wide an attributed audience net I really want to cast if I decide to ask someone else to edit it for me.

But I am finished and I am finished 7 days ahead of schedule. So frankly, I'm pretty darned pleased with myself.

NL

I Feel GREAT!

2008-11-20T08:55:00.004-05:00

This morning I woke up and I felt...well...strange.

I lay there for a moment and ran a quick body inventory.

Toes? Wriggle Wriggle. Oh, stuck in the sheets. Let me move my legs and get them unstuck. Eyup, the legs work.

Oh, I feel a cat moment coming on...stretch the back...ohhhh that feels soooo good. My back is working...why do I still feel strange?

I reach my arms up over my head and continue my stretch, spreading my fingers out one by one...completely enjoying the sensation of new circulation spreading from the tips of my fingers to my shoulders and connecting with the same sensation running up my spine.

What is this strange strange feeling though? I cannot place it.

I snuggle into Chris for a moment and give him instructions. I start to ask "will you make coffee while I shower?" but I stop because I suddenly remember that he has plans to visit the lab to having a fasting blood draw - something I think is absolutely stupid for about 12,000 reasons - all of which I listed in detail yesterday during a fight which involved every one of my personal demons and, because I am me, also involved me pulling out a few of his own and parading them in front of him.

But it is not yesterday. It is a NEW day. And I am feeling strange but can't place it. So instead I say "We will take my daughter to school, than you will drop me off at work, get your errands done, and then you will go to Starbucks and you will bring me a Venti Mocha Latte Breve" which is my favorite coffee drink in the entire world and is essentially the long name for one big fat calorie in a cup. I can feel his mouth curl up against my neck as he grins and asks me to write it down.

Feeling strange still, I swing my legs over the edge and in a few quick strides I'm in the hallway, knocking on my daughter's door, waking her up. "Sweetie" I call "It's time to get up."

"Okay mom, I'm up" her sleepy child's voice sings back to me.

"I love you"

I head back to the bedroom, finish the last bit of bedmaking, and head into the bathroom to shower. Under the steamy hot spray I am still feeling very strange.

Very strange indeed.

And then it hits me. I identify it. Standing there in wonder I realize that for the first time in weeks I am not feeling queasy vaguely green with nausea. Not in the least little bit. In fact, other than still being tired because I really am not the world's best sleeper, I feel pretty darn good.

I do my hair, put my makeup on and now I'm almost giddy with joy. Giddy I would be, in fact, if I weren't STILL tired and if I had coffee in my hands. I am filled with wonderous amazement because physically I feel pretty darn good.

Just before Chris drops me off I say to him "I am not nauseaus, not in the least little bit and you know what I haven't taken in two days?"

"Prilosec" he answers, not missing even a beat.

"Right!" and then I hop out of the car and dash up the steps into the building and up to my office.

And here I sit, working on project financials and waiting for him to bring me my coffee while I revel in the fact that I feel GREAT. I've decided to completely ignore the doctor's orders and listen to my body, which while on the double doses of prilosec craved tomatoes, salads with vinegars, and soda (which I rarely drink.)

What do those things have in common?

They are all acidic and they are all that I've wanted for a week now.

The doctors essentially ordered an approach that shut down all acid production in my stomach. Prior to that they'd been minimizing it with once daily prilosec. I don't have a gallbladder thanks to the gallbladder soccer game my daughter played the entire time I was pregnant with her and as a result I don't produce all the digestive juices we were built to produce.

In my heart I knew what they were telling me didn't make sense. I knew it but instead I listened to them anyway. I trusted them more than I trusted myself.

Until the weekend when I finally said "there has to be a reason I'm craving this stuff" and I went back to my once a day prilosec. And then last night, instead of taking my daily dose I said "no" and this morning...I feel strange.

Because I feel GREAT!

I am on my second bottle of water, happily rehydrating my body...which I've had trouble with over the past few weeks because of the nausea...and I'm enjoying the orange I've flavored it with. Two bottles of water before 9:30 in the morning..amazing. Oh, and my coffee has arrived!

It's going to be a fine day indeed....

NL

Oh Happiness! Holidays Coming!

2008-11-18T21:38:00.005-05:00

I love Thanksgiving. I love Christmas. In fact, I pretty much love the entire stretch between the 29th of October and the 2nd of January.

I used to be a purist. Before Halloween (but not before Labor Day) you are supposed to have ghosts, graveyards in front yards, and the turmoil of figuring out what you are going to dress up as. Me, I don't do ugly. On purpose at least. I think Halloween is about celebrating a part of you that you don't usually let the rest of the world see. Or just have a little fun. So I've been a belly-dancer, a mime (big mistake, I did that for a party once), a medieval princess, a pirate, an earthquake survivor (my one foray into the ugly)and a cat to name a few. When I became a mom I expanded to family themes which included a pumpkin patch and a Host of Angels.

After Halloween you are allowed to start decorating for Thanksgiving. Everything becomes golds and oranges and browns with Indian corn and pictures of turkeys. I don't actually like turkey but I love ham so every year I make it for Thanksgiving dinner with the extended family. Nitrate free so it tastes good. It is now known as the "ham that Dad F" likes. One year we hit on the fact that I make a "sloppy spinach" - canned spinach with an ungodly amount of butter in it - that the kids like too. So every year I wait for my cooking orders and then I figure out the logistics. And every year I pretty much know I'm buying a ham and canned spinach and then working what little cooking magic I have in my fingers.

This year my brother and sister-in-law are hosting. They happen to own my parents old house, a big rambling brick split level that the father of an ex-boyfriend of mine used to refer to as a "the mansion." So it will fit us all very nicely and my sister-in-law, whom I often refer to as a sister of my heart, is a magnificent hostess. Oh, and I bet there will be WINE!!!

But the day after Thanksgiving, THAT is the day I wait for starting sometime in March or April. THAT is the day the decorations come out and get put up. THAT is the day I begin my Christmas shopping, often with my one sister online at the same time and our fingers sing-songing back and forth between the websites we are surfing and the chat session we have open between us.

I will stop at absolutely nothing to make my home look and smell like Christmas. I will have Christmas cards bought and ready to be addressed - even though I'm likely never to finish getting them sent.

I know that one of the gifts my family (extended) has given me is that we never celebrate Christmas all together on the 25th of December. Instead we pick a different day and we end up have TWO Christmases. My step-children, when they discovered this, thought they'd died and gone to heaven. So already they are asking "When is the F Christmas this year?" and I will have an answer for them on Thanksgiving day. I will also know which sibling I will be buying for this year because, oh glory how lucky am I, the family is just too BIG to buy for everyone.

Do you know how wonderful it is to be part of a family that is so big? It is amazing!!! It is a gift!!! Because not only are we a big family, we are only a little bit dysfunctional all things considered. But no one is in jail and no one is dead and that means everything else is just peanut butter.

So I am itching to start my Christmas shopping now. But I will wait. Oh, and here is where I need to give a shoutout to my sisters:

ISO and LilSis: I need Christmas shopping ideas for my niece and nephews. You know where to find me. Oh, and LilSis...I need a shipping address. :)

And finally, we got our very first snowflakes today. YAY!!!!

I'm dreaming of a White Christmas.

NL

Work and NaNoWriMo

2008-11-16T23:37:00.005-05:00

I brought work home with me this weekend.

It was two little presentations and usually I like the creative process of presentations. But, apparently, not on weekends.

I'd sit down to work on my novelette and the Presentation Nag would sit on my shoulder whispering in my ear. So I'd pull up the presentations and work on them. Fiddle fiddle fiddle.

Oh, but the Presentation Nag's cousin the NaNoWriMo Nag would then hop up on the other shoulder and remind me that I was very naughty because I wasn't feeling well on Friday and so I didn't write and then I didn't get around to it yesterday because I had mom stuff to do.

So today I plopped on the couch and worked on the presentations. Then I sent one over to Chris because frankly, he needed to make up the hours and I didn't because I have plenty of sick leave to accommodate my recent sickliness on account of the fact that I hardly ever get sickly and use my sick leave.

So he worked on it a bit while I blathered on in my novelette. Then he sent it back to me and I worked more than I'd hoped to have to on finishing it.

Finally, I finished it good enough and went back to "If You Get Stuck, Write Porn" which is the title of my book which, as it turns out, Bink has read the first half of and apparently likes enough to print and have her mother read. Although she says there is not enough porn in it. I'm sure she'll appreciate tonight's chapter, which has to do with incontinence and kegels.

So as of this post I am at 30,057 words - which is about 3,000 words ahead of where I have to be and about 5,000 words behind where I want to be. And I am annoyed at the job that actually PAYS me because, get this, I'm not as far ahead as I want to be on this crazy novel thing I've decided to do for no money whatsoever.

Sigh.

I'll be up early tomorrow, writing. Oh, and I've stopped a week early the twice daily dosage of Prilosec the doc put me on to heal my bleeding stomach because I've just spent the last week walking around with what feels like a big stone in my stomach which I am convinced is undigested food and, of course, I watch entirely too much House and so I am sure it is probably creating the human equivalent of a huge hairball.

The great big "carrying a rock around in my stomach" feeling has gone away but not, apparently, my food aversions - and this is why I nearly ran screaming from the couch when Chris came into the living room with his tuna fish (which, according to my ex-husband is redundant) but of course I couldn't because I was being weighed down by my writing responsibilities and those two nags on my shoulders.

I enjoyed taking a quick break to answer some interview questions sent to me by my sister. So Sis, if you're reading this, thank you thank you thank you for the excuse to take a break. That was the best part of the evening. Except, of course, for writing the following in my novelette.

"This is why, when you’ve managed to hold a volume of urine that, if you were plumbed for it, would allow you to write War and Peace in the snow, you have no dignity left as you run mad for the hills to your bathroom yelling “Get the hell out of my way. I need to pee like a racehorse!”

By the way, if you’ve ever seen a racehorse pee it’s enough to put any man to shame in half a dozen ways. But horses cannot give foot massages so men are safe."

Oh, and Dad, if you are reading this...sorry for the image. But you deserve it for all the times you've talked about "parent sex."

NL

20,000 Words and Truckin'

2008-11-09T23:42:00.002-05:00

And thus concludes the first day of the second week of NaNoWriMo.

This week started off beautifully. I was a little late to the starting gate, not getting my first word written until well into Saturday evening. Sunday wasn't much better but I still managed to start my work week with a about a 1,000 extra words in the bank.

Monday I set the alarm, got up and then wandered around on Facebook and Weight Watchers before knuckling under and producing a single written word. Whoops!

Tuesday, now much wiser, I got up and wandered to the couch where I whipped out a cool 2,000 words without even breaking a sweat. I'd hit on a formuala - I could talk about my travels!

Wednesday I put the laptop down with only 800 words written but still feeling okay about things. It had been an early morning with me needing to get my daughter off to school and so writing time was cut short for good reason. No sweat, I still had two more days and the WEEKEND! Goal, 25,000 words by COB Sunday night.

Two in the morning on Thursday morning I was hanging my head over the toilet vomiting up, wait for it, blood.

Shit.

This went on for 6 hours with me forcing everything out of my stomach every 15-20 minutes like clockwork. When it finally ended I was an exhausted wreck who wanted nothing more than to never ever see food again and to sleep for the next eight weeks.

Chris called the doctor. The doctor called me and ordered me to the emergency room.

Double shit.

Despite their attempts to admit me, I resisted with my newly intravenously provided willpower which had done much to rehyrdate me. I made promises and we went home.

Obviously there was no writing on Thursday.

Still exhausted on Friday my word count of 8,900 remained exactly where I'd left it on Wednesday. Things were not looking good.

Feeling better over the weekend, we now tackled several things that needed doing, to include getting the SMELL out of the apartment (you vomit for six hours straight and see if it doesn't leave a stink.)

But last night I opened up the laptop and began work in earnest again. Despite being pulled slightly off track today by a 3 hour phone call from a friend I hadn't spoken to in 25 years (we had a LOT to catch up on) I was still whipping the words out.

So here I am, Sunday night, at 20,000 words written...leaving me a solid 4,700 word buffer. Just in case I talked my way out of the hospital just a bit too soon!

And here is a shout-out to all the NaNoWriMo folks fighting their way through their own personal battles just for the ability to say "I Won!"

NL

I Have a New President

2008-11-05T08:04:00.003-05:00

While I did not vote for Barack Obama, the results of yesterday's presidential election still please me greatly. I'm not sure whether it was hearing Charlie Gibson's voice choke as he announced the win on behalf of ABC or if, more likely, it was seeing the various members of the black community respond with sheer unadulterated joy.

I have long treasured the roles several African American's have played in my life. From my 4th grade teacher Mrs. Johnson, who was the most grace-filled, dignified, and loving teacher I'd ever (and have ever) had to my friend Deborah Johnson, who is still this curious mix of petite energy and serenity who handles the English language with a tongue that curls delightfully around every word and a voice that purrs down one's spine, these are two women who represent the profound blessings my African American friends have brought to my world and they are joined by countless others.

I wanted a better first African American President for them and in that category I put men like Michael Steele and Colin Powell. But I also understand and take extraordinary pride in an American democracy that allows us to move a groundswell of voices and changing ideas. This is *my* America and I love it with every fiber of my being.

I wish I could say that I viewed all of last night's events with the same warmth and peace as I view the election of President-Elect Barack Obama. But I don't.

While John McCain's concession speech, which included the statement "He was my opponent, now he is my President" showed the commitment to the ideals of this country that made me support him, and while Barack Obama's acceptance speech demonstrated that he is a man of quiet and respectful dignity who did not delight in his opponent's defeat, the same cannot be said of many of the other Democrats who won major elections last night.

In North Carolina Elizabeth Dole, a woman I have respected for decades, gave a concession speech to Kay Hagan that demonstrated the strength, grace, and love I expect from a woman who has the deepest commitment to our democratic principles. She offered her unwavering support and prayers to the state's incoming senator. A Southern woman does not offer prayers mockingly. Prayer is the most powerful gift they have to give and it is never given out of anything but love.

When Kay Hagan offered her acceptance speech she began with a rooster's crow of joy over defeating Elizabeth Dole which did not end with a "we won" but went on for nearly a minute of nothing more than "ha, ha, we took it from her." I was horrified. Who was this woman who believed in such unsporting behavior?

Democrat after democrat failed to recognize the worthiness of his or her opponent. When Mark Warner, a man I had previously respected, joined in the same sort of "hail hail the gang's all here" without a single gracious word to or about his opponent, I could do no more than sit there in disbelief.

Many of President-Elect Obama's supporters have hailed him as being a man of grace and good manners, a man who will close the gap of partisan-ship that has resulted in a country which includes many women in my demographic (one of the few demographics not to have given the majority to Obama) that went to the polls yesterday feeling as if they were between a rock and a hard place. I'd argued that he was a man likely to be under the control of the Senate and the House, given the nature of the democrats superdelegate process. Now I am praying to God that Obama's supporters are right. Because at this point in time I think we have an even bigger problem brewing, one that makes the term "ugly American" even more appropriate.

Today I will be watching to see if "both sides of the aisle" treat last night's historic election with the grace and dignity it deserves - and it deserves much. And I am encouraging President-Elect Barack Obama, along with Senator's Hillary Clinton and John McCain, to take the lead as examples of American graciousness, dignity, hard work, and collaboration.

Oh, and let's keep an eye on some of these women we're electing - because when it comes time for 52% of the population to actually be represented by a President, we don't want it to be someone like Kay Hagan.

Just a Word of Warning

2008-11-02T09:30:00.002-05:00

November 1st is the start of National Novel Writers Month, affectionately known as NaNoWriMo, or NaNo for short.

For reasons I believe have largely to do with being fairly confined to the couch/bedroom over the past week I've been antsy and a little bored. All I really need to get into mischief.

So when someone threw out information on a Weight Watchers Message Board about this annual event I was surely not in my right mind.

I signed up.

50,000 words in 30 days.

They advise at http://www.nanowrimo.org/ (a site that currently has a high crashibility factor so if it doesn't work for you keep trying) that authors just write. That they no go back and edit their work.

You can start with an outline, which I might have had I decided more than a hour before the event was to begin to actually do this, but you must write all of your prose fresh.

50,000 words in 30 days averages out to about 1700 words a day. No sweat. I thought. At my first 1400 yesterday I was thinking "what the heck have I gotten myself into?" and then it dawned on me...just write.

I hit my 10 percent mark this morning. It has become blatently obvious to me, however, that if I'm going to pay attention to this then a few things are going to suffer.

Noticing Life may be one of them.

So consider yourself warned.

Oh, and by the way, my "novel" starts out:

“It’s not about sex. It’s about feeling desired. As if, at that very moment in time, you and only you are his entire focus.”

I shared that on the NaNo Thread for the General Daily Thread board on Weightwatchers.com to which the response was "when you get stuck, write porn."

NL

Two Damn Weeks

2008-10-25T14:22:00.006-04:00

Two weeks. Two funerals. Two thefts. Oh, and two headcolds which have taken up residence in my chest leaving me without a single good night's sleep in...yes...two weeks.

I lent my laptop to a colleague at work who had it in her car when she stopped for an errand in Alexandria. When she got back hers was one of many cars that had been broken in to (and one was stolen) and of course, my laptop was gone.

This was not her fault. The fact is, someone came along and decided to take something that did not belong to them. That is theft. The victim is not to blame and I believe this continued belief that victims "ask for it" should be stopped immediately. Another colleague blames the economy. I blame parents and bleeding heart liberals who have raised an entire society of "something for nothing" people.

So, two weeks of wrangling with the insurance company.

Enter first headcold. Shivering, shaking, 24 hours of head misery before it wandered down to my chest. Oh...sigh...I know what this means. Bronchitis.

Then my Aunt Elli died. While not technically my "aunt" she was the closest thing to a sister my mother ever had, and like every good southern family (with a Yankee mom) we grew up calling her "Aunt Elli." I took my parts to the funeral - thankful for a lovely day and owning a convertible. Screw bronchitis. And thank god for abuterol inhalers and halls cough drops.

So this past Monday Chris gets an email from his sister. Her mother-in-law has died and the funeral is Wednesday. Being a good Southerner I am well aware of the following critical decision making facts:

1. Angie is reportedly closer to her mother-in-law than to her own mother. That's family.

2. Chris is the only "blood" family Angie has on the East Coast that Angie has not birthed out.

3. It is less than a 7 hour drive from Arlington, VA to Middletown, CT.

4. It's autumn. It's the East Coast and it's Autumn. It's Connecticut, in autumn, arguably the most lovely place on earth right now.

5. Family is there for each other.

So Monday evening we decide to take Tuesday-Thursday and make a trip to Connecticut.

We're working through our checklist - which includes finding the GPS. Chris says "it's in the mini-van" and so we wander over to grab it. I am watching Chris stick his hand through the window, and trying to make sense of what I am seeing as he says "look at this!" And still I am like "what?" Finally I realize that the sparkly stuff all around is shattered window glass and there is no GPS.

I just can't deal. If ever there is a doubt that I am Southern, it is erased by my next action...which is to say exactly this "I can't deal with this right now. Just leave it and I'll deal with it when we get back."

Moments later we are sorting through our mail as we enter our apartment and I spot a letter from the Arlington County Police Department - which essentially reads "we're sorry for your loss. We understand being a victim is difficult. However, we aren't going to do anything about it."

I'm "blink, blink, blink" for a moment as I try to figure out how they already have a police report for a crime we only just discovered. Then I realize that the apartment complex must have known about this, reported it (and surely ours was not the only vehicle involved), and then never bothered to tell us.

So, for one brief moment, I had this thought..."you have to stay home and fix this."

But I am still Southern and those roots are there and there strong. Some things really can wait. (post-post note: it is not "they are" strong...which Chris doesn't understand.)

So we packed up and drove to Connecticut. Top down for much of the drive. Chris went to the funeral while I went shopping. Even after 2.5 years together, 2 of them together on the same coast in the same apartment, he is still uncomfortable about being a man with a girlfriend. Although, to be fair usually his ex and his kids refer to me as "the Devil's Spawn" so girlfriend is marked improvement.

His sister, whom I love more every time I spend time with her, called him an idiot when she'd learned he wanted me to not go to the funeral, and ordered him to correct the situation. So in the midst of a lovely shopping outing my phone rang and the message came in to please come to the reception. I found my way back, meandered in, and was promptly introduced to about 2 dozen people before Angie (have I mentioned that I really love this woman) sat down with me and we had a nice few minutes of girltalk.

We spent much of the rest of the day with Angie, her amazingly talented husband, handsome and equally talented son, and her delightful daughter who just happens to be nearly exactly 1 month older than my own daughter.

While we were there the insurance claim on my laptop was settled so on our way back home we stopped at Best Buy and bought a new laptop for me. And one for Chris.

Then we drove through Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey with the top down.

Now I am very sick. Fever, hacking awful cough, and kleenex piled up all around sick. But it was worth it because in all of this I realized the following things.

1. I have my priorities straight and Connecticut in the autumn SHOULD be enjoyed with the top down, no matter what it costs you later.

2. Chris has truly wonderful siblings who don't seem to want anything more from me than to know who I am and that I love him. Which I do.

3. Theft is committed by people who believe they should not have to work for what they have - victims are those who believe they should be free to expect better behavior out of society. Victims aren't stupid, they are Americans actually trying to BE Americans. Thieves, on the other hand, should be shot immediately.

Oh, and one huge "Thank you" to Chris for running out at 11:30 PM last night to get me cough medicine and then for holding me through the night as we waited for that stupid fever to break.

NL

A Hail to the Women Who Went Before Me

2008-10-15T19:28:00.004-04:00

Last night I joined the American Red Cross as a volunteer.

Again.

Okay, technically I never left. I just changed chapters to reflect the fact that I don't live where I used to live.

I decided to start over, just like a brand spankin' new volunteer who has never before taken a CPR course, or taught a Disaster Education class, or led a committee. Or, for that matter, been up close an personal with chapter politics. (Hoping to avoid that this time around - what a waste of time.)

I love the Red Cross. These thousands of volunteers do amazing things in horrible circumstances every day somewhere in the world. No matter what, no matter who...if there is a need, the Red Cross is there. I love being a part of that.

So there I was, back in orientation being reminded of the honor of serving with these fine men and women when the woman leading the class made the following comment:

"75 years ago to the day that Hillary Clinton addressed the Democratic Convention in 2008, the suffragettes turned over this building to the American Red Cross. They no longer needed it...they'd won the fight."

They most certainly did win the fight. Not the war. But definitely the fight.

And so as I sat there, reflecting on those women who came before me I thought also of my daughter I made this solemn promise:

I will do everything in my power to make sure that their fight was not, and will never be, in vain.

NL

Open Season on Women

2008-10-12T14:27:00.002-04:00

"More and more people are having babies simply for the love of german engineering." Brooke Shields in the new Volkswagen Routan ad campaign

This commercial just wigs me out. It took a bit for me to figure out why and frankly, it was the new Chevy Traverse commercial that closed the brain loop for me. You know the one...a woman driving a Traverse notices shoes falling from the sky, stops her car, and begins to scoop them up by the armful and shove them in the cargo hold of her car. Leaving me to wonder, 'how do you match the pairs?'

Maybe I'm just being sensitive here but just WHO is the target audience supposed to be for these two ads? Does Volkswagen really think that having Brooke Shields lecture in the mockumentary about the relationship between family planning and mini-vans is going to make women feel anything but stereotyped?

Does Chevy really think that the way you sell a car to a woman is to throw shoes at it?

Cadillac did this right with the fabulous Kate Walsh delivering the line "The question is, when you turn it on does it return the favor?" in a way that made it clear that it's not just a car for the boys club.

Just because a woman has children doesn't mean she wants to be classified as a "soccer" or "hockey" mom. Giving birth does NOT make a woman take leave of her senses or her sense of style. Nor does it create in her a wanton lustfullness for german engineering.

I love shoes, this is true. I also love gadgets. You wanna sell me on a car? Show me the amazing navigation system that connects me to all of my data on the go any time I need it. Treat me as smarter than a woman who, noticing shoes falling out of the sky, doesn't bother to ask "what is going on?" and instead hops out and scoops them up. That ad is just stupid on too many levels to mention.

It certainly seems to me that the advertising industry has picked up on the public sentiment that a woman who is strong, confident, and capable is nothing more than a woman who will have a child or stop for shoes all for a car. It makes me wonder where this came from and to be honest, I'm afraid much of it is flourishing in the political arena...on both sides.

William Shatner's character Denny Crane said, on Boston Legal this week, that sexism is alive and well in American and women are the ones perpetuating it.

You think?

Because when ads like these or politics like we've seen in the past 18 months succeed, we most certainly are perptuating it. And we should be deeply ashamed.

NL

Signs of the Times

2008-10-12T04:22:00.005-04:00

So my father, in a bold political move, did something he has never done before.

He put a yard sign up in his yard. For John McCain.

My mother is not happy about this. My sister and brother-in-law (a cop), who share a pipestem driveway with my parents and are the first of the two houses, are not happy about this.

Their problem isn't that they disagree with my dad. Their problem is that they are worried about *other* people who disagree with him and feel that vandalization is an okay way to express an opinion.

I'd say they were crazy...if it were any other election. But while I was in Texas and in Pennsylvania, I heard a number of people say they had the same concerns when they were considering putting their support for Hillary Clinton in full view. We verified, in Texas, a number actual sign thefts and did hear reports of vandalism, so it's not a unique concern. In fact, there are *laws* around this sort of thing precisely. But it's hard to catch sneaks in the night.

A friend from work relayed the following story to me a few weeks back. She was driving to work with her "Hillary" sticker still proudly displayed. She and Hillary Clinton are actually personal friends so it seems reasonable that although Hillary is no longer in the race my friend is not so inclined to remove the sticker. An individual driving a car behind her honked his horn, sped up, and began to guesture rudely while pointing back and forth between her sticker and her as a driver. So she, this fairly well mannered southern lady, returned the favor.

Then he turned into the parking garage at work. Her work. My work.

We work for a consulting firm where supposedly we hire people who should know better.

I'm not a bumper sticker kind of girl. When we were campaigning for Hillary we did put signage on our 30 foot RV. And we did worry about having it up when we went to campgrounds. But campgrounds are kind of special and generally full of people, we've learned, who don't go around messing with your RV just because they disagree with you. We did generate a lot of conversation when we'd roll in - and most of it, I'm pleased to say, quite civil.

But I drive a Beetle convertible and my not being a bumper sticker kind of girl isn't why there is no support sticker for McCain on it. Because my brother-in-law, the cop, isn't worried about vandalism for no good reason.

I don't care who you support, but I do know this - you should be able to have a yard sign or bumper sticker and not have to worry about stupid people and what they might do to you.

Just a thought.

NL

A Religious Comment about Politics...

2008-10-11T21:00:00.001-04:00

From a friend:

" While walking down the street one day a Senator is tragically hit by a truck and dies. His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

"Welcome to heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in," says the Senator.

"Well, I'd like to, but I have orders from higher up. What we'll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."

"Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in heaven," says the Senator.

"I'm sorry, but we have our rules." And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.

Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne.

Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that before he realizes it, it is time to go.

Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises ...

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him.

"Now it's time to visit heaven."

So, 24 hours pass with the Senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

"Well, then, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity."

The senator reflects for a minute, then answers: "Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell."

So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.

Now the doors of the elevator open and he's in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above...

The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulder. "I don't understand," stammers the Senator. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?"

The devil looks at him, smiles and says.......

"Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted."

NL

You're Wrong...No, I'm Right

2008-10-06T07:13:00.004-04:00

I've got friends on all sides of the political spectrum. One of the reasons they are my friends is because usually we are capable reasoned discussion around their opinions and that makes things interesting.

But not lately.

This really frustrates me because I love hearing what people think. I'm less interested in hearing them repeat what other people think and somehow passing that off as reasoned discussion. It's not.

I promise you, I do not now, nor have I ever, had a parrot as a pet. It is unlikely I ever will. I've never been in the least bit interested in having something that just repeats what I or someone else says. It's boring and unnecessary noise.

What is even worse is that somehow in the past 22 months or so it has become a part of "reasoned" discussion to shout at people. For a while most of that shouting came out of the Obama camp. Now it's coming from everywhere. McCain supporters have begun to shout. Even worse, they've begun to shout at other McCain supporters. What? How not okay is that?

Along with that shouting has come phrases like "how can you be so stupid to be voting for [insert candidate of choice]?" as if the person you are talking to has suddenly lost their mind because they don't agree with you.

But my personal favorite (not) has been this willingness to "comment" on opinion pieces that don't agree with your opinion and then to call it "witty."

It's not. It's tired. It's juvenile. It's disrespectful. And the only reason anyone gets away with it is that somewhere in this country, I hope, are people who recognize that reasoned discourse does not involve what is essentially a "nanny nanny boo boo" and so the conversation stops.

Two other things on my mind with this "you're wrong" attitude. First, there is a very basic fear people who have an opinion and aren't expessing it have - and that is that the lack of manners coming from other parts of this society are an awful lot like being in High School where if you weren't doing the 'in' thing you were in jeopardy of being beaten up. The second is that it's okay to 'wink' and parody the girl in this race but if you do the same thing with the black man in the race, well, that's racism.

It's true. Sarah Palin does and says some things that make her an easy target. Thank God she's okay with the fun we are poking at her at her expense. John McCain's face, drooping from the after effects of cancer treatment and just plain being old, make him fair game for comments about his health. Biden is fair game but not really leveraged because, well, he's not as old as McCain, not as female as Palin, and he's been around long enough not to be *that* interesting. But really, what if people actually did with Obama what they do with McCain or Palin?

And the lies, the outright lies wrapped around truths...on both sides. Geez, that's not debate - that's rumor mongering.

We teach our children not to behave this way...but apparently the lesson wears off.

So please, don't send me any more "opinion" pieces for either candidate. I'm bored with them. Furthermore, I am entirely too smart to vote for someone just because you tell me I should.

Oh, except for Saturday Night Live...they ARE funny - for the first time in years.

NL

Crazy Thinking?

2008-10-05T18:57:00.003-04:00

I'm a Washington Redskins fan.

You know how we get. It doesn't matter if you even LIKE football, which I didn't, until recently when I've begun to appreciate its finer aspects...sort of like the French impressionists - who, in my opinion, lack clarity. A Redskins fan believes, even in the face of all evidence to the contrary, that this is the BEST team in the entire league and that any bad season is the result of bad weather, bad refs, and cheating opposition. Sometimes we will concede that we'd be better if we had fewer injured players. Oh, and in case you hadn't picked up on it, is said "we." That's right. Redskins fans believe they are part of the team.

It's crazy thinking...but it's who we are.

So last week when the 'Skins were facing the Evil Empire, otherwise known as the Dallas Cowboys, I watched them start the first quarter in a state that I can only describe as "clearly stoned."

So there I was, watching and thinking "I have to do SOMETHING. I have to PLAY my POSITION!" But what could I do? I was already rooting for them with ALL of my energy.

Then I got it.

I would bake a pie.

As soon as I began rolling out that pie dough (okay, unrolling the already rolled pie dough) the team, MY team, perked up. By the time the pie was in the oven Washington was playing the game. As the pie baked and filled my apartment with the smell of cherries the 'Skins played and played. Just about the time I took the pie out of the oven, fully baked, the 'Skins were taking a knee for the win.

This weekend I planned to bake a pie. But I wasn't sure. Was I crazy thinking? Really, it's just a pie. So I held tight. Through the first quarter I watched Philly run over the Redskins as if they weren't even on the field.

As they started the second quarter down so far I thought I was in hell I knew the truth...

I was going to have to bake another pie.

The question...is it only Cherry that works or can I make any kind of pie?

Out came the dough. Unrolled and patted into the pie plate. Out came the apple pie filling, poured into the pie shell. Then the butter, sugar, and flour for the crumb topping I favor. For a bit of interest I decided to add some brown sugar and cinnamon.

And just as I started all of this, the 'Skins woke up. It was if they knew I was baking a pie in their honor.

Once again they won, even though once again they were not favored for the win.

I'll leave Coach Zorn to continue working his magic with my team. Clearly he is doing good work.

But I have my job too. There will be pie at my house next weekend if you happen to be in the neighborhood.

:)

The Beauty of the Bailout

2008-10-04T13:08:00.007-04:00

So one of the things about Washington that I don't think will ever change is that it is full of opportunists. No where in the country is this more apparent than in our Legislative process. No time in the legislative process is it more likely to happen that when all hell is breaking loose and legislation has to be passed quickly. (Quick, for the record, isn't a word that appears in the body of the congressional dictionary.)

Knowing this I decided to wander out to our newly passed H.R. 1424. This bill provides "authority for the Federal Government to purchase and insure certain types of troubled assets for the purposes of providing stability to and preventing disruption in the economy and financial system and protecting taxpayers, to amend the Internal Revenue Code of 1986 to provide incentives for energy production and conservation, to extend certain expiring provisions, to provide individual income tax relief, and for other purposes."

I like economic and financial stability although I'm still hoping it doesn't mean that what we've stabilized is bad credit and people who got rich off of it. I think energy production should be incentivized although I'd like a clearer definition of natural gas (methane gas is natural but do we really want MORE of it?)

I'm wondering how much tax relief we'll really see individually if we are now having to fund an additional 850 billion (for what we've spent on this and the war we could have bought BOTH Iraq and Mexico - solving at least two problems and increasing our tax-base.) I was heartened to see, I think, that the Palin family paid the same amount in taxes as I did in 2007...although I made a bit less. But she has more deductions and lives in a much more expensive location. Oh, and she didn't get a stimulus check either.

It's the "other purposes" I think bear a closer look. So let's see what else the "bailout" gave us.

First, it made some improvements (depending on your viewpoint) to the Paul Wellstone Mental Health and Addiction Equity Act of 2008. Since Paul Wellstone died in 2002 I was immediately assured that it wasn't specific to his mental health. Which is good because otherwise I think we could be looking for more specific mental healthcare coverage for at least 435 representatives in the House and 100 senators in the Senate. I digress, but only a bit since this is the whole point of the what was the original H.R.1424 before it was changed to make economic stabilization even possible.

In brief, this "rider" makes it clear that limits are based on duration/scope of treatment - not dollars, substance-related disorders have to be included in mental health benefits (does lemon cake addiction count?), prescribes a bunch of minimums in terms of what all health plans must cover, increases medicaid drug rebates, limits certain types of physician referrals (mostly around ones that benefit the referring physician - like a practice run by the referring physician's "Uncle Louis.") and makes Congress responsible for investigating whether or not anyone is paying attention to this little piece of legislation.

Then we get the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act of 2008 - Title I: Genetic Nondiscrimination in Health Insurance and Title II: Prohibiting Employment Discrimination on the Basis of Genetic Information - (Sec. 202) legislation. Basically it prohibits insurers and employers from forcing you to undergo genetic testing and punishing you in ANY WAY if you do - especially if the results of your tests might suggest you could cost them some extra bucks in the future. Furthermore, if you've undergone it already (or do at some point in the future) they don't get to punish you if the results aren't what they consider optimal. Not in granting insurance and not in determining what your rates are. I consider this piece of legislation possibly worth 850 billion dollars. I'm hoping they fund HHS, Labor, and Treasury sufficiently so that these three Departments can actually enforce their mandate. Oh, and I'm wondering if they've figured out how to test for lemon-cake addiction genetics. Do I have my mother to blame for this (because lately she's become the heir apparent for family blame - so much for personal responsibility dearest brother.) Maybe my father? I blame him for my love of travel, willingness to question what others tell me is truth, and my pot belly. Maybe my lemon-cake addiction comes from him...

The greatest irony, and the part that pleases me most, is that these two riders poke the insurance companies and their greed right in the eyeball. Why? Because insurance companies are part of the financial infrastructure and thus benefit from the economic stabilization act. Good insurance policies help Americans with healthcare and if we do it right we won't have to risk government nosiness into our very personal business. For every pro-choice activist this should come as good news.

There's a lot more that this bill does in the "other category." Things that aren't mentioned in the summary. That's research you'll have to do yourself because this thing appears to be about 451 pages long. If you want more information on the bill (and a chance to see partisanship in action - thank you Financial Services Committee) go here:

http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/bdquery/z?d110:H.R.1424:

Thank you Paul Wellstone. May you rest in peace.

...

Because it's your JOB!

2008-09-29T23:10:00.002-04:00

Last time I checked (which was about 30 seconds ago) US Senators were paid an annual salary of $169,300.

Clearly congress is different than any other place where people get paid a salary. The rest of us, we work. And if we don't work, we get fired. No salary.

So could someone please explain to me why we taxpayers are paying these men salaries while they interview for another job?

We're in a terrible financial situation and at least one senator is "phoning in" while he stumps in Colorado and wonders why Washington can't get their job done.

Um...because it's full of people who don't actually bother DOING their job? The one they are being PAID for?

You're fired.

Brain Cancer in Children

2008-09-28T20:44:00.004-04:00

I have a friend named Babs who is one of those special people you don't come across very often. So when she takes on a cause I sit up and take notice.

Recently she asked her AMEX Card holder friends to go to this website:

http://www.membersproject.com/project/view/NN934A

And vote for the project Brain Child.

Every year American Express holds a "contest" for charitable dollars. Brain cancer is personal to Babs. Her mother has been fighting it for several years. Another friend of mine lost her daughter at 12 to this horrible disease. When she told me about it, even though it had been 15 years since her daughter's death, her face still showed horrible anguish and I went to bed that night praying hard that I never face anything like it.

I closed my AMEX card a few years back so I'm not eligible. But one I thought that maybe folks who read this might be.

Please, Don't Rescue Me

2008-09-28T11:44:00.003-04:00

There are moments in my life that stand out so crisply in my mind that if I could paint them, I would. I long for the camera that captures what only I can see.

I live less than half a mile from the Pentagon. It's an impressive place. Clearly built for protection and not rescue. Every day men and women in uniform walk the sidewalks past my apartment on their way into work. I want to lean out the window and say thank you.

One of those brain-picture moments is from the 9/11 search and recovery at the Pentagon. It was evening and I was down with the care and feeding efforts for the S&R folks who were working at the site. The air was chilly and strangely silent for all of the activity going on around us. More than an hour had already passed as I'd repeatedly watched man after man come down from the building, weave their way through the debris and ground operations and make their way to the tents we called "Unity City." Inside those tents we had all the things that people give to those who are doing the unimaginable.

S&R uniforms have pockets. Lots of pockets. And our tables included candy and lots of it. They'd come to these tables, load up with candy and then head back up into the building. The candy in their pockets would help cover the taste and smell that filled their mouths and nostrils as they dug through the burned and still smoldering remains of the plane & Pentagon victims of 9/11.

I hate crowds. The reason I was there was to help plan some next steps in our organization's response. But I needed to get away from the activity and the awesome emotion of it all. So I wandered off for a bit, quietly chatting with Gerald and processing all that I was seeing. As we talked I looked up at the gaping hole in the side of this amazing building and I stopped...

...this is the picture.

A smoldering, gaping black hole in the side of the Pentagon and hanging from the roof next to it an American flag. Framing this, a starless Washington DC night sky with the Washington Monument glowing in the background. A cold breeze nipped and kissed my cheeks and I could feel my hair fluttering against my neck. I was spellbound.

I stood there staring and Gerald looked down at me and seeing what must have been an ashen face, asked "are you okay?" I told him I was. Compared to so many others that day, how could I not be?

But inside I was screaming "no, I'm not okay. WE are not okay. THIS is not okay."

The people killed in the Pentagon that day died at their desks, in meetings, on the phone, doing whatever it was that they did in performance of their jobs - jobs that were essentially this, to protect the United States of America and her citizens within.

No one will argue that they did their job perfectly every day. But they did it. And they died doing it. Mundane every day jobs for most of them. Jobs they rose for early in the morning, fought traffic to get to, and I'm sure they never thought would get them killed.

I think that there are a lot of people who look at the U.S. Government as somehow responsible for rescuing them from whatever it is they need to be rescued. Me? I want the government to help us be a better nation and to protect my freedoms while they protect us from those who don't want us to be better...or free.

I want the deaths of those people to not have been in vain.

So please, don't rescue me. Instead, protect. Protect us all. Protect us from our greed. Protect us from our neediness. Protect us from our willingness to follow blindly those who promise to rescue us from ourselves. I don't need rescuing.

My Name is Debbi and I'm

2008-09-27T10:20:00.005-04:00

a Libertarian.

It took me a long time to admit that. I thought only friends who did drugs or were anarchists had a problem. Me? I could quit anytime.

Sure, there was this little issue of being pro-choice while being pro-life. My Republican friends began to suspect I might have a problem when I refused to go to rallies with them. It's true, I hid behind excuses. I couldn't go because I had, well, laundry...that's it...and grocery shopping for my family of six. Then more questions began to arise when it was discovered that I favor peace, I don't think the President is always right, and patriotism isn't something you mandate. I began to realize the gig was nearly up when I forgot to hold my tongue and I whispered "um, I don't actually trust John Ashcroft OR George Tenet."

My Democrat friends were even more confused. Why *wouldn't* I want laws that govern wages, speed limits, education, energy, oil, greater regulation, more social programs, universal healthcare, amnesty for all, taxes that support investment in the arts (really, a painting that is just pink?), tax payer funded abortions, welfare, or politic correctness - although I have a soft spot in my heart for the perennially un-PC (Sarah Palin is a very appealing woman) Bill Clinton.

The problem is, being a Libertarian in a two-party system is an awful lot like being a purple man in a sea of black and white. No one knows quite what to do about you.

Okay, I know I know...the Libertarians haven't helped matters at all. First, they found www.reason.com, a wonderful site full of, usually, thoughtful discussion...and then they hand us Bob Barr and Ron Paul. There was a moment during the Republican primary debates when Ron Paul raised his shaking hand and waving it back and forth said "I was an OB/GYN for 30 years and I..." and I could hear no more. My legs clamped shut and every ounce of my body began to react in "oh no No NO he did NOT go THERE!" Ewe.

But Colorado's got my attention right now and this is why: they've got an interesting ballot going. This year they are defining when "personhood" begins (at the moment of fertilization...or not), whether or not "race" needs to continue to be a deciding factor in hiring and education, and they are considered by some political analysts to be THE swing state of swing states.

Why would a State with 9 electoral votes be so significant? Because in 2004 they proposed an amendment to the state constitution that would allocate electoral votes based on popular vote. The Democrats, who originally supported it, withdrew support when it appeared to them that John Kerry would take the state. This one decision (courts aside) cost the Democrats the election in 2004. George Bush won all 9 electoral votes. He would have won 5 of the 9 (and Kerry the other 4) and not have won the Presidency.

It's time to put measures like this back on the ballot. It does three things:

a) more accurately reflects true popular vote
b) paves the way for 3rd party candidates to actually compete for a place in the race and,
c) begins to lessen the stranglehold the two parties have on the constitution - a document who's intent is now completely violated by the winner take all strategy of the electoral college.

A clear example of the correction that takes place is California. With 55 electoral votes the populations of LA and San Francisco typically drive the state to blue. But not by much. There are 6.8 million registered Democrats and 5.9 million registered Republicans. There are 688,000 others across the American Independent (277,000), Green (91,000), Reform (92,000), Liberatarian (81,000), Peace & Freedom (67,000), and Natural Law (70,000)parties. And then there are your "independents" - people like me who favor a party but reserve the right to vote their judgement and not the party line.

So as you can see, even the most "democratic" of states isn't...really. Those 55 electoral are cast to represent an entire state - and in fact represent only about half.

Correct the problems in the electoral process and it just might be okay to be the purple man.

Or the Ballsy Broad.

Brokering Hope

2008-09-25T22:13:00.003-04:00

Not all that long ago I got an up close look at the inside of one of the financial institutions involved in the "bailout." It was the first time I'd encountered "mortgage backed securities" and I thought for sure that somehow I must be missing something because no matter how many ways I looked at what these were about I just could not see how they were good.

I'm not a financial wizard. I go to work every day and I make money which I then spend, over the course of every month, on life. All the things we do every day while about the business of living. Food, clothes, rent, gas, and stuff.

But with this financial crisis looking us dead on I was thinking about this former client of mine and one of the names I most encountered (and which will not be spoken here) and so I decided to see what she did with some of her most recent multi-million dollar bonus.

What she did with $10k of it last spring was donate to one of the PAC's supporting Barack Obama's campaign. A man with an extraordinarily enticing message of hope.

Which got me thinking...

It seems to me that "hope" is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place. Every homebuyer who "hoped" so much that they were willing to believe that there is no "catch" to low interest/no interest no money down mortgages. Every homebuyer who looked at houses that were gaining 30-50 percent in value a year and who honestly believed, because real estate agents, friends, and financial advisors were telling them this, that they would make money on these risky investments.

We saw similar hope during the DOT COM boom in the late '90's. Every person with a dream and an idea chased investors, fancy business plans in hand, hoping for "venture capital" to bankroll the next great "thing."

To be fair, some of these companies actually had great ideas and they worked. Google, the company that hosts this blog (for free mind you), is one of the more famous. But how many of us remember pets.com?

A high life, easy money, fast cars, big houses, and "networking" events on money that returned little, if anything, on investments.

Hope. Something we've been recovering from on the DOT Bust. That impact was a momentary thing. This ugly thing happening with our financial sector isn't that bad. No. It's much, much worse.

We did this to ourselves. We let greedy people, get rich schemes, bad judgement and hope lure us into doing something that as American's we should be deeply ashamed of.

And now every American taxpayer is looking at paying in taxes just about what this woman from my former client DONATED to a presidential campaign just six months ago.

It makes me angry that I am just one of thousands of Americans who are about to pay a price because of foolish hope and greed. The subprime mortgage market was not a good idea. You don't have to be an economist to know that.

What do I want? I want the assets of every decision maker in these financial firms seized and auctioned off. I want the US Government to buy these securities at a penny on the dollar and then hold them. I want every one of these companies to close their doors and for us to turn to the higher performing banks (credit unions, etc) to help with the movement of our money. I want the people who were duped into believing the "great american home dream" to quit whining about losing their homes - stupid is not fixed by a sob story.

And for everyone who dreams of getting rich quick I invite you to join me in my personal approach - play the lottery. I've never had to take out a line of credit for it and the return on investment is just about the same.

Familiar Energy

2008-09-23T22:39:00.002-04:00

My friend Tim came over this evening and we lost ourselves in the familiarity of old Broadway tunes. He sat playing at my piano, an instrument that deserves better than I am usually capable of, as I stretched vocally into notes that scared the cats out of the room and sent us all into horrified (on my part) giggles. I am, clearly, rusty and no longer the clear throated 3 octave soprano I once was.

But despite the hour and most of a bottle of marvelous New York Concord wine (a wine you smell coming and makes your mouth water in the process) I am a mix of energized exhaustion. Oh the energy of friends and familiar songs!

This morning it was a lovely DC crisp autumn day. The kind of day you wait for all year long. I drive an Aquarius Blue (car talk for baby blue) VW Beetle Convertible and this morning we took it in to work, top down. We passed our friend John and then our friend Cynthia and each time exchanged waves and smiles - happy at the familiarity of friendship. Energized by the sun and the smiles.

I was reminded of a place I worked for 17 years, of a game I used to play with another friend who shares my general gregariousness (because despite being an introvert, I am gregarious.) We'd walk down the hallway and see which of us was greeted first most often. He was the editor of the internal newsletter (circulation: 15,000) and well known. I just get to know people. He loved playing this game with me because I could actually win. I loved playing the game because I love the energy found in the warmth of a familiar smile. Well, and I could beat him.

I've always thought it interesting that another use for the word "Familiar" is to describe a witch's companion, most commonly imagined as a black cat. In truth, a familiar's sole purpose is to bring extra energy to the intentions of the witch. Sort of like candle light brings energy to the intentions of someone praying in front of a church altar. Any high energy animal will do. But as the owner of two cats I understand why they might be the animal of choice.

A familiar's energy must be freely given. Sort of like the energy we give to each other when we smile and greet another warmly.

And it makes me wonder. How much more might we accomplish when we are sustained on the familiar energy of others and their good wishes for us?

Should we all practice familiarity?

Painting Life

2008-09-22T22:19:00.002-04:00

This morning I groggily wandered into the kitchen just in time to hear my daughter's father tell her how beautiful she looked. Her face turned up toward him as I struggled to reconcile his words with her shockingly pale face. I could feel my eyes blinking as I tried to understand what was going on and in confusion I asked my daughter if she was going to put her makeup on.

She laughed at me and said "mom, you are totally out of it" and then explained that it was picture day. Since her grandparents would be getting copies of her picture she opted not to wear any makeup.

I could feel my brain ache as I fought to understand what was happening in the kitchen. Something felt incredibly wrong about what I was seeing and hearing but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

In all fairness, I'm usually a morning person. But this morning I woke up with a pounding headache and the accompanying spinning room. This made both my daughter and her father laugh while I swore that I was not either "out of it."

But here's the deal. Last spring my daughter decided that she wanted to 'express herself' by adopting the "Emo" look. In what seemed like an overnight deal, she went from a wardrobe made up of primarily "camo" prints to black t-shirts, black eye-liner, and what has been described as "perfected complexion." She's been very proud (and committed) to this expression of herself. Since I remember wearing roach clips in my hair in the 80's (and please, anyone who lived through the fashion of the 80's has NO business criticizing today's styles), glitter eye-shadow and flourescent pink lipstick, I have good reason to believe she'll outgrow this with her self esteem intact.

And that was what was wrong with this morning. My beautiful daughter, who is perfect just as she is and just as she wants to be seen, changed because she was afraid of being judged. She believes that if her father, who loves her, disapproves of how she views herself then surely others will too.

We all paint ourselves. Sometimes it's with makeup, clothes, jewelry. Sometimes it is with where we are, what we say, or how we decorate the spaces we inhabit. We carefully choose how we show ourselves, what we let other people see, what we want other people to see. We make these choices and in these choices we are our authentic selves.

Sometimes it's in the blog templates we pick (I'm still deciding on this one.)

This mothering business isn't for the faint-hearted. And when I finish writing this I'm going to slip into my daughter's room and remind her that I love her, just exactly how she chooses to be.

A Racial Race...Seriously?

2008-09-21T13:33:00.005-04:00

I read a "news" article recently that said that 1/3 of white women who identify themselves at Democrats did not want to vote for a black man for President.

What?

First, I'm not planning on voting for Barack Obama this year and the color of his skin has nothing to do with it. If Colin Powell were running, he'd have my vote. If Michael Steele were running, he'd have my vote. Both of these men have demonstrated to me, in different ways and under different circumstances, the qualities that I personally look for in a US President.

That said, I understand that there are some people for whom race does matter. I met some of them when I was in Texas last spring helping the campaign efforts for a candidate who is no longer among the contenders for the 2009-2013 Administration. I heard it. I shrugged it off as a "to each his or her own." In my book things balance out and besides, at least twice as many people told me that they were being told, in their churches, by their families, by their communities, to vote unified...to vote black.

I understand that the color of a candidate's skin might still figure into a Presidential vote. I also understand that the anatomical plumbing of a candidate (precisely, the presence or absence of a penis) might play into the decision making process of some. So does eye-color, the kind of clothes they wear, the timber of their voice. Some people *do* actually vote for a candidate based on nothing more than the alphabetical order of the person on the ballet box. This is America. We can't help the fact that yes, some people do just vote stupid.

What I want to know is this: Are the same pollsters who are trying to make this race about...well...race, asking how many African Americans are being encouraged to vote "black."

Why is it suddenly so important to dissect the white American woman? The last time anyone was this interested in what we thought as a group - well - they were trying to sell tampons, laundry detergent, and about 3,671 other kinds of cleaning products in general. We're used to being a "target audience" - we've been that ever since the advertisers figured out who does most of the household shopping.

But until recently, we haven't been that interesting as a political voice. And neither campaign is singing the songs about issues I care about. So let me make it easy:

The Presidency should be an office sought for no other reason that the firm belief that it is the greatest sacrifice any person can make - to serve this country. And the person who seeks it should be able to prove to me that they care more about America than themselves. They should have already served.

The United States is not an opportunity for intellectual gymnastics. Instead, it is one great big huge dysfunctional family - we fight amongst ourselves but nobody else better try and hurt one of us. If you don't come from a big dysfunctional family you won't get this - but this is what it boils down to - sometimes someone farts at the table, or leaves the toothpaste cap off, or "borrows" your sweater without asking, or about 325000 other wildly annoying things. You have to deal with it, you can't whine and it will never change. But fight one of us and you fight ALL of us.

Both the President and the Vice President should be willing to stand up and say "knock that shit off" when people try stuff on them that we generally protect our citizens from. Things like violation of privacy, stereotypes, and unequal treatment. Things like accusations based on skin color or the presence of a vagina.

The President and Vice President should be able to read and fully understand what they are reading. That includes things like the Fair Wage Act - an act which, had it passed, would have really screwed women in this country. It includes the economy, and while bailouts are a temporary fix they don't actually HELP the country in the long run despite what Suze Orman says. (Someone recently pointed out that had the bailout money been distributed to each citizen over the age of 18 instead of these piggy financial institutions run by, yes I'm going to say it, STUPID people, we'd have an economy!)

The President and Vice President should have such a spirit of service to this country that every filthy rich entity, be they CEO's (or former CEO's), celebrities, and "special interest" groups should be absent from the picture - because there is absolutely nothing in it for them.

The President and Vice President should be smart enough to know that the Presidency is a terrible position to hold but that short of dying in the line of duty there is no greater service. Oh wait...did I say that already? I guess I'm just a big fan of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson - two old white guys who'd been scarred in battle and neither of whom was perfect. Neither of whom could get elected today.

I don't vote because I'm a white woman. I vote because I'm an American and it isn't my right...it's my responsibility. It's a responsibility because people through the generations have sacrificed beyond measure so that my voice is heard. It is my responsibility to be smart about my decisions. Not to let heresay or brute force think for me.

So if you are one of the people making this race about race...or gender...do us all a favor and stay home. You ARE too stupid to vote.

...The More Things Stay the Same

2008-09-20T16:53:00.004-04:00

Of all the pithy things that stay with you, the one that comes to mind the most for me is this little internet adage...

"On the Internet, no one knows you're a dog."

Which is why, although I've been wandering around on the 'net since the way early 90's when you actually put your phone ON the modem to connect, I've always been pretty cautious about being "all the way" out there as my whole self. BTW, Chris says that if I remember putting the phone on the modem it must have been the 80's. For the record, I'm not admitting in writing that I'm that old...

The problem is, when no one knows who you are, no one can find you. For privacy junkies, which I can be, it's also a good thing.

Every January, without fail, at the very top of my list of resolutions is this one: Keep in touch with all of the people you care about. Every March, without fail, any attempt I've made to make good on this promise to myself has fallen woefully by the wayside. I've misplaced so many friends I could fill a stadium.

A few years ago I discovered linked-in. A friend invited me, I joined, and forgot about it until about 9 months ago. Then recently some of my friends whom I'd lost touch with found it, found me, and we reconnected. Then I found some more friends and connected again with them. But this networking site is very much "professional" and I want to reach out to folks in a more personal way.

I could, I suppose, try writing a letter, or even an email - which I did for a few of them - but this all seems terribly time consuming when all I really want to do is say, in a few words, "hey...how are you doing? What's going on in your life? Do you miss me as much as I miss you?" Plus, I haven't even sent Christmas cards out in 2 years (yes, I have some friends who thought I was dead, having missed the card business...)

So I wandered out to Facebook. I took the plunge. I used my *real* name. I used my "real" birthday (but not the year because I am, afterall, a Southern Woman.) I let Facebook make some recommendations and I agreed - at least with myself - to be a little less private. A little more transparent. I'm swallowing hard and shaking a bit. The song "If I Were Brave" by Jana Stanfield (I like the version by the Four Bitchin' Babes) echoes in my head and I am diving in.

In doing so, I discovered a few friends that I'd loved dearly and lost touch with, some of them all the way back from my high school years (2.5 decades ago.) And I thought, well...why not? I added them as "Friends" and they wrote right back!

And here I am, reconnecting with these people who were important to me during an important time in my life. I can see already that time has dealt us all different hands and we have shaped our views in response. But I've also noticed that there is this piece of me that is joyful...yes, that is the right word...joyful to hear from these people again. So even if we didn't take the same paths or make the same choices, maybe we are still enough the same to remember why we were friends in the first place.

The More Things Change...

2008-09-18T20:42:00.003-04:00

I had this thought.

Actually, I had many thoughts.

I had these thoughts 3 years ago when I started this blog.

I was thinking that I needed to make a change. I didn't think, until 6 months later, that the change I'd been avoiding for 12 years was actually going to happen. It did.

I was thinking that I've never been very good at commitment and I'd try hard to be committed to something...in this case, blogging. I wasn't.

I was thinking that a lot goes on around me and it might be nice to write about it. I didn't.

I was thinking that I might be busy, but not too busy for the catharsis of the written word. I was.

But tonight my thought, after catching up on my sister's blog, was:

I like to write. I like to think outloud. And my very *first* blog entry EVER made the DC Blog watch.

So I'm going to try again.

Because there has been a lot of change in my life in the past 3 years. But some things stay the same.

The Death of a Legacy

2006-10-08T19:55:00.000-04:00

My grandfather died at 12:30 am on Saturday the 7th of October. He was 94.

He died with my mother and father at his side. With them, my two sisters. He went peacefully. He went with dignity. He went as we would all want to go. Suddenly and except for that moment, in extraordinarily good health.

Few men deserved it less.

I've never really understood why it was so socially unacceptable to speak ill of the dead. So today I sat with my father, who finally cried over the fact that he would never have the relationship with his father he so desperately craved his entire life and I wondered why none of us felt free to say what we were feeling. I watched my father's eyes well up with tears and his face redden in grief as he spoke words he needed to say. Finally.

He hated his father. He loved his father. He took on a tremendous burden to ensure my grandfather was cared for in his final years. That burden included hearing my grandfather say, every day, that nothing his son did was good enough.

I watched my father this afternoon just as I've watched him the past 41 years in every desperate attempt to please his own father, to make him proud. I watched him just as as I've watched my mother cook exactly the *right* food in exactly the *right* way, 3 meals a day, for a man who spent more than 40 years calling my mother every nasty name in the book.

A father who craved a father's love and never felt it.

And I realized that what I was feeling was not grief. It was not sadness.

It was guilt. It was anger. It was the feeling that only a child who feels keenly the sorrow of a parent can feel.

I hated my grandfather. I hated what he did to my father. I hated what he did to my mother. I hated what he did, directly and indirectly, to his grandchildren.

And yet I smile. Because in my grandfather's final moments my mother stood over his bedside praying for his very soul.

Which would have really ticked him off. And perversely, is exactly what he deserved.

We will travel to Nebraska, where he is to be buried, and we will pay our last respects. We will bury our guilt behind tears we'll call grief and then we will move on. We won't speak ill of him because after all, we are not to speak ill of the dead.

But we can finally move on.

He's God's problem now.

What is a Man Advantaged

2005-06-01T01:25:00.000-04:00

if he gain the whole world, but lose himself...

I like to consider myself pretty plugged in. I am, after all, a near native of Washington DC. So I was shocked when the first news I got on the revealing of Deep Throat wasn't until I got home from work. I walked in the door about 7:15 and my husband's first words were "have you heard about Deep Throat?"

Okay, I have to admit that my first thought was "are you KIDDING? I just got HOME? I don't have the energy to watch *a movie* with you."

I was 7 years old when the Watergate scandal broke. My thinking at the time wasn't about the "right or wrong" of the President's acts. In fact, what I most remember is watching my mother as she watched Nixon annouce his resignation - tears running down her face. I was angry at the people who made my mother cry. But the name "Deep Throat" had no staying power with me.

Later in life the term "Deep Throat" would take on a different meaning, one that registered when I confused the name of a character I was playing in a school play. I came home from school and told my mother I was playing the character "Linda Lovelace." In fact, I was playing "Linda Lovely" but she didn't know that and I stood in shocked silence while she strictly informed me that no daughter of hers would play a porn star.

Adolescent curiosity erased any vestige of Nixon's Deep Throat from my memory and planted a different reference altogether.

25 years later Deep Throat is back in my vocabulary, in a way more adult than my 7 year old brain could understand and my 15 year old brain would have cared about.

Today Deep Throat has a name. Mark Felts. Journalists are calling Felts a hero. Those closest to the late-President call him a traitor. I'm looking back at the events of 1972-1973 and thinking about the secrets kept. Mark Felt had nothing to gain and everything to lose by his actions. Except his personal knowledge that he fought back against a corrupt government the only way he could, the way every Washington insider does, through the press. That there was no personal gain could not be clearer. He remained anonymous for more than 30 years.

Linda Tripp could take a lesson from him.

Memorial Day

2005-05-31T01:05:00.000-04:00

Well, I just finished watching the first running of A&E's movie "Faith of our Fathers" and once again I'm wondering why I haven't bought stock in Kleenex.

Reality check. I'm caught between admiration for the fact that anyone survives POW status, and John McCain is no exception, and my typical DC cynicism which notes that 2008 is open season and McCain's a player - probably the best one the GOP has to offer up right now.

Mid-movie we noticed a smell wafting up from the pool patio, which is now open because as we all know - swimming pools are directly related to people killed in the line of duty. It was the unmistakeable smell of charcoal and lighter fluid that caught my attention. It's a smell I didn't expect to bump into now that we've moved into the city and live in a cement and balcony paradise. I had to go look.

Apparently, one of our residents bought himself a grill and tried to break in memorial day right. From the looks of things it was his first time. For a while he was much more entertaining than the movie.

Which got me thinking: why is memorial day the time we think more of opening our pools and grilling (outside - not George Foreman style) and not so much about our service men and women who have died for our country. We get a day off, and now we worry more about bridge traffic, interstate traffic, accidents and gas prices. Not so much about cemetary traffic. More of us rushing to get to the beach. Betcha there was plenty of room for visitors at Arlington Cemetary. Not that I know. I was at the pool.

Rolling Through

2005-05-29T11:53:00.000-04:00

Rolling Thunder is in town this weekend.

I walked into Rock Bottom Brewery at 9:30 last night with my husband and daughter. Looking for a table we walked bast bikers in full colors. A few in wheelchairs. My husband took one look, screwed up his face, and gave a full on city "sniff."

Huh?

Them of you who don't know - Rolling Thunder is the annual biker fest in DC. Happens on Memorial Day Weekend. Folks roll in from all around the country and the sound of those bikes, coming down highways usually filled with slow moving commuters, sound just like thunder. I love the sound. The shining, painted, cared for bikes. The riders in their denim and leathers, colors proudly displayed on their backs and small black & white POW/MIA flags coupled with the red, white, and blue American flags look, well, patriotic.

I grew up around bikers and I was at the some of the earliest gatherings as these vets and friends of vets rolled into town, my town, to pay homage to their missing and fallen brethern. You watch a biker cry at the Wall and be unaffected. I can't.

His issue, our nine year old and his protective father instincts. Mine? Twenty years from now this annual event will be rolling into town but then they'll be talking about Iraq. At least, I hope so. Because war has a terrible way of making a lot of mothers childless. I look at my nine year old daughter and know that women all over America have kids in Iraq and are waking up to their worst fear. How many have screamed silently into the night "take me instead...," knowing all the while their screams are fruitless. It is too late. It is done.

Frankly, in that bar full of bikers, I never felt safer. People who care enough about the past to roar into town and be heard get what this country is really all about. We need more of 'em. Maybe as President?