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
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
.72 on the 1.00
It seems that lately all I do is whine, whine, whine about how busy I've been.
I don't know why, when someone asks how I've been, I feel compelled to tell them that I am busy. It isn't really something I need to explain given the fact that most of these same people have noticed I'm not emailing back right away, my blog has been neglected for nearly a month, a week goes by between Facebook log-ins, and the best place to reach me between the hours of 8:30 am and 8:00 pm are at my office phone.
I also don't know why I'm whining. The fact is that I'm busy because I love my job and the work that I do and, for the most part, the people that I work with. I'm busy because I choose to be.
That doesn't mean that I haven't had my issues to deal with. A week ago today I got an email which I read, yes on a Sunday, from a colleague who was taking the opportunity to lambast me for not being "a team player." For having an expertise that apparently he doesn't have and he needs in order to win some work and build his practice.
I got mad. But I got mad because I was feeling a little bit guilty because I knew he wanted us to do this and I just DID NOT HAVE TIME to help. I held my tongue.
Then on Monday morning it hit me...how does a Sr. Consultant in Emergency Management NOT have this expertise? In short, knowledge in the area which I had, but apparently he did not, is much like someone who is an expert in Literature being expected to be familiar with Shakespeare. Frankly, it's a given. You have it because you just DO.
On Tuesday I was in a meeting with him and another colleague - a man I find pleasant but not particularly innovative or capable - and I was fighting like mad to get mid-year boosts for 3 folks on my team who have earned it. As a list of all three of our staffs sat in front of us, there - not hidden from view - were our salaries as well.
I know these men make more than I do and usually I'm okay with it. In an economy like this, I like the protection of having high value for dollar. But with recent changes my team is nearly twice the size of both of their's combined and pulls nearly twice as much revenue as well.
And the man who'd decided to rip me a new one on Sunday, it turns out, makes $32K more a year than I do.
Which hit home when my sister, who got a raise this week, told me today that she's trying to make the company take it back because she doesn't want to be priced out of the market. She thinks she's not worth it. And as I lectured her I realized that somehow - maybe because we are women - we are actually "ok" with making less money than our male counterparts. Even when they don't work nearly as hard as we do or contribute nearly as much.
So here's the truth - we shouldn't be making 28 cents per dollar less than our male counterparts. But maybe it isn't that we're underpaying women. Maybe, as is clearly the case of both of these colleagues of mine, we are overpaying some of these men.
Right now it's okay because I am very busy...out performing them 4 to 1. And I like being just that much better than them - because I am a woman and I am ROARING. :)
But maybe something to think about longer term...so that my daughter inherits a better workplace for women than I did.
NL
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
Monday, February 23, 2009
Greying
Two Christmases ago my mother looked at me and said "you are getting grey hair. I am too young for you to have grey hair. Do something about it."
My mother's hair is light brown, as it has been for more than a decade when her hairdresser suggested a change from her previous platinum blond. I'm relatively certain that I have never seen her "real" hair color.
I was blessed with my father's coloring, which included the auburn brown hair that actually looks brown until the sun (or stage) light hits it. Then it is a flaming blaze of autumn that bears out the Scots/Irish in our blood.
My favorite part of getting my hair cut is the moment the hair dresser, in the process of blowing it out, exclaims "oh my it really *is* curly...and beautiful." I can promise you it wasn't that way when I walked in. I almost always enter the salon looking like a homeless woman. I don't know why. I just do.
My hair is now its natural color. Long gone are the days when I would make it darker or lighter or more red. It has gotten lighter as I've aged and the red is still there but no longer blazes with Irish fury in the sun.
Instead it is turning grey. The single streak that rested down my right cheek, a gift from my ex-husband's harrowing aneurysm adventure, has been joined by scattered white threads throughout my hair. It appears that it will not be turning a true grey but instead will become a silvery white.
For a moment yesterday I considered coloring it. But I know that matching my natural color is an almost impossible task and the maintenance of haircolor would become yet one more thing to fit into an already busy schedule.
So this morning, after re-straightening my hair, I picked up a strand that had fallen and wondered how strong it was. It must be very strong I think for it has come from a head of many adventures.
Somehow that grey hair did not make me feel old or as if my life will be drawing to a close soon. Instead it reminded me of the woman I am still becoming. The woman I hope to be.
I am going to go grey and I am not going to fight it. I've earned that right.
NL
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
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Presents and Rules = Ruckus
I grew up in a house with five kids, two adults, 1 bathroom and 4 bedrooms.
My mother had one bedroom. My father had one bedroom. The other two bedrooms and were shared by me and my two sisters and my two brothers, respectively.
When I was young the fact that my parents each had their own bedroom seemed odd to me. Once I'd been married for a few years, to a man who snored, I fully appreciated the sanity in separate beds. With walls.
Ours was a house with rules.
Ours was a house that, in addition to seven people, also included a dog and cat.
The dog was allowed in the house but not upstairs.
The cat was not allowed in the house.
That didn't stop us.
One morning we'd snuck the dog upstairs while my father was sleeping. I think he probably knew and wasn't saying anything but at the time we thought we were being sneaky and enjoying dog time. There the dog lay, on a bed (shhhh, don't tell Dad) enjoying the petting from five sneaky kids when the cat, noticing the open window, decided to deliver a present.
It was fresh.
It was so fresh it was still alive and wiggling in her mouth.
The dog spotted the cat, the cat dropped the bird, the dog went tearing after the cat, the cat hightailed it down the stairs and the bird began to fly frantically around the bedroom while five kids dove around trying to catch the bird and get to the dog and cat to shoo them outside - all the while praying that Dad didn't wake up and catch us.
No dice.
Within moments we heard my father's roar - "What the HELL is going on up there."
Cripes.
I think it was my brother, Jon, who managed to get the door open and put on an innocent face. I know for sure it was me who caught the bird because I still remember having to crawl under the bed to get it.
"FRONT AND CENTER"
Oh, we'd heard that before. The five of us lined up in front of my father, sure we were in for it.
But somehow the humour must have been enough for my father. Because although I clearly remember the sequence of events, I'm pretty sure we didn't get in trouble.
However, from that point forward when ever we snuck the dog up stairs we made sure the window was closed.
NL
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
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Organizing My Thoughts
Anyone who knows me knows that music is a pretty important part of my life. In addition to 8 guitars, 1 piano, a couple of wooden flutes, a hog-nosed psaltry, tibetan bells (okay, actually those belong to Chris - I bought them for him last year as a birthday gift) and several other instruments used in the making of music, I also have about 40 gbs of music. I think.
Actually, I have roughly 6 "music" folders scattered between computers and each of those folders averages 22 gbs.
For some reason they are not all the same. So at no time do I have all of my music in one spot. I need to organize my music, be able to catalog every tune and find a way to efficiently load up my iPod.
My iPod Touch to be specific since I still also have my classic iPod. I gave my sister my Zen, which had a bunch of music that I really hope she likes. And there is my phone AND my blackberry, both of which also play tunes.
Technology was supposed to make this all easier but somehow it's more complicated. Sigh.
So I'm searching for some software that will help me compare everything I have and then keep my MP3's and my AAC's separated so I can load my iPod.
I was searching for this software when I decided to log on to Facebook. There I saw my sister. Which made me think of my other sister. Which made my thoughts get all jumbled up again.
So I'm just going to say it and take whatever comes my way for being "public" about it.
I love her. I love my brother-in-law. I love my nephews. But I cannot figure out what, for the love of God, that I have personally done that my sister (not the one on Facebook) is so peeved at me that she thinks it's okay to hurt my daughter.
Because while I was in Albuquerque with my daughter I got a call from my sister-in-law, a woman whom I love with all my soul, asking if I wanted to have a "girls night" since my younger sister (not the one on Facebook) was in town with her son.
When my daughter found out that her Aunt was in town with her beloved cousin, the cousin who is exactly six months older than her, the cousin she loves with ever fiber of her being, her face crumpled. She said "why didn't you tell me?" and I said "I didn't know she was coming."
You don't travel from across the Ocean on a whim...usually...so the fact that my sister elected not to tell us had to be kinda on purpose. Not that we could have done anything about it, after all we were half way across the country, but it would have been nice to know. Especially since even though I was out of town, my daughter didn't join me for several days after my sister and nephew arrived. I know my ex-husband well enough to know that he would have gladly taken our child for a visit.
My daughter held it together. She finished packing for our trek up to Taos. She spent the weekend learning to snowboard with some friends. We didn't mention it again. We haven't talked about it at all.
But my God my baby girl was hurt. And this is where all of my "good person, caring person, brush it off" skills are brought up short and my thoughts are all jumbled.
Because I don't know what the hell is going on with my sister OR what I have apparently done to her. But I do know this...I'm pretty mad. I was mad two weeks ago and pushed it down to some place where I didn't think about it but the minute I was reminded again tonight I just got mad again. Thoughts all jumbled up mad and I'm digging around for that voice of reason I'm kinda known for - the voice that brings people through my door for advice or just to talk through things - and I just cannot find it.
So I'm going to go back to organizing my music and trying not to remember the crumpled look on my daughter's face when she discovered that her beloved Aunt didn't care enough to let us know she was coming into town with the cousin my daugther adores.
NL
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
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