It feels like it’s been a long week. I don’t know how that’s possible when I had one stupendous day off. Anyway, I felt I needed to unwind, so at 6pm, I attended beer o'clock where I work.
I know that it sounds a tad crazy; however, it's exactly what it sounds like. At 4:30pm, the technical support guys have a few beers and stand around and talk. I had always been invited to this event when I had my old job, though I didn't technically work for their department; in my new job that was once old, I now was in the same department with these guys.
I wasn't one to be shy; however, for some reason, when it came to drinking a beer with a bunch of guys, I turned out to be rather shy. I know. Who knew?!
I had always been one of the girls. I think the pink, the lipstick, and the shoes gave me away in that department. Due to the nature of my professional industry (Engineering), it seemed for the last 26 years that I was always dotted lined to the boys.
Anyway, in need of a release, I ventured over to the land of Technical Support. I met one of my friends and he dragged me to the cubicle that housed the refrigerator full of beer. On the way there, he stopped to speak to someone about an issue, a director, and he mentioned that I was "afraid" to mingle.
Immediately, I said, "I am not," which was a total lie. The director congratulated me on meeting my deadline earlier in the week, and I thanked him. He was really nice; however, after 5 weeks there, I still wasn't sure what he did and if he was my "boss."
Actually, the nice thing about my job was that I did my thing, and everyone seemed to leave me alone. In fact, the first day I started my job, I told the person who I thought was my "boss" that I would run at lunch, but I'd work an extra hour to compensate for the time being a contract employee. He said, "I don't care what you do as long as you meet your deadlines."
To this day, I still don't know if I really have a boss. I seem to be on my own planet. I check in with Fleet Command once a week, and everything in between has me being Jeanus, Jars, Jeantune, or Plujeanto.
I joined the group of engineers in the hallway of cubicle row. I was offered a beer from the refrigerator; I accepted, though since 1981, I had a fear of drinking a beer out of a bottle. My first boyfriend's mother always said that she thought women who drank beer out of a bottle weren't classy; of course, after beer number two, I found myself trying to explain this to the five engineers around me.
As we talked about the issues of the day, the engineers would throw out an "f*ck" or a "f*cking" every now and then. I noticed that once they uttered the "f" word that they'd wince and then quickly attempt to verbally wite-out their words by substituting a less offensive word. I laughed to myself.
After the tenth "f*ck" one of the more outspoken engineers looked directly at me. He asked, "Why is everyone so afraid to swear in front of you?" I responded with, "I f*cking don't know, because I have been known to say f*ck on occasion!"
Everyone laughed. Thereafter, it was open season on "f*ck" and anything else. It really hit home when one of the engineers said that his wife brought home a dress and asked if it made her look fat. He then said, "She's really skinny," but then he said, "It just didn't fit her well."
So, he told her that it didn't look right. He said it was a big mistake, and she got all pissed off at him. I laughed but to myself.
While I wasn't one of the guys, it was good to be with the guys today. They didn't seem bothered that I was there, and I was not bothered in the least that I was there with them. It's always nice to see life from the other side; it's even better when the other side seems to appreciate the fact that you're there and wants to speak to you exactly like you're on their side. Happy weekend. ♥
Lastly…
Writers are not just people who sit down and write. They hazard themselves. Every time you compose a book your composition of yourself is at stake.
In the midst of being very caught up in my old-new job, I had somehow lost track of my seventeen-year-old son, Nathan. Well, I hadn’t really lost track. It was really beginning to feel like he had somehow gotten misplaced though not intentionally.
Since Nathan and I had both been working over 40 hours a week for the last couple of weeks, we seemed to see each other only occasionally. In fact, I texted Nathan once last week asking, “Will I ever see you play your X-box again?!” It seemed that our schedules had us only saying “Hi,” “Bye,” or “Work’s okay” to each other.
Today, I estimated that in the last two weeks, I had seen him for about 3 hours at most. Well, he had been in his room while I was trying to sleep to the soothing sounds of his IM going “bonk-bonk” or his text messages going “beep-beep.” Or, I was awake and he was just a big lump under his red and blue comforter.
Despite the lack of contact, he always checked in. Unfortunately, it was mostly to tell me that he was going to be anywhere but home. He was either going to be at work, the card store in Lowell, or sleeping over a friend’s house.
It was nice that he was now working and that my first question wasn’t always, “Do you need some money?” Though, as of late, I felt a bit pathetic. I always wanted my first question to be, “When am I going to see you again?” but I restrained myself.
It’s was a crazy parental conundrum. You drive them all around and wait for the day that they can drive themselves. That day comes, and you dwell in the sweet sound of them jingling the car keys in their hands along with the fact that they now can now go to the grocery store, pick up siblings, and repay your for all your years of service as shopper and chauffer. But, they really have the last laugh.
Very gradually, they slip away. You’re too busy enjoying your new-found freedom from chauffering that you don’t even notice. Believe me, they plan it this way; eventually, they take the car keys and don’t return except for occasional visits so they can tell you “I love you,” and “By the way, I need $1000 for my trip to Hungary!”
I have to admit, I was truly amazed by the way Nathan was getting along. He was doing well at work, making his own money (though, I had my doubts if he was saving much of it), and he was finding time to do what he enjoyed. For seventeen years old, he seemed to have it all figured out; he was independent, resourceful, and responsible, and I couldn’t ask for much more than that, well, besides maybe a B in English this Fall instead of a C.
No matter how well he was doing, I found I still longed to have a hand in his life. I knew I always would somehow. Lately, I figured out that it may only be my hand touching his back when I went to say “Bye,” as he left for work, school, a friend’s, or the Magic card store.
Usually, Nate stays with me every Tuesday and Wednesday night. This Tuesday night, he asked (and at least, he still asks) to stay at his friend’s house. They were having a LAN party, and I said, "Sure."
When I was about to leave work last night, I got a text message from Nathan. The instant I caught a glimpse of “I love you,” I knew Nathan was exercising his right to be the United Person of Nathan. I sighed, because I knew it meant a “Hi” and a “Bye.”
His text said, “I love you so much. Can I got to Higglesbottom’s later tonight?” I said, “Sure. Where are you now? Can I wash your work clothes? Are you stopping by home first?” Nathan responded, “I’m at home. No, you can’t. And, technically, I am stopping by home.”
I laughed out loud. I was a bit sad, and then I realized something about getting older. No matter how much I kidded, it really didn’t bother me that I was getting older; it only bothered me that Nathan was getting older.
Tonight, Iz asked me if Liam liked being kissed; not knowing Liam’s true feelings, I said, “Sure,” because doesn't everyone like to be kissed? Sometimes I thought I was crazy for having a baby at 41, but these days, I am consoled knowing that while my hand is only on Nathan’s back now, my hands are still the ones that drive Iz everywhere (school, camp, the beach, and the mall), wash and fold her clothes, brush and braid her hair, clean her sometimes disaster area room, make her lunch, rub her forehead when she's sick, pat her back when she can't sleep, and hold her tight when the sailboat heels. ♥
When Iz and I left for our adventure yesterday, I knew that this trip would not be like our usual run-of-the-mill beach trip. While there were always many questions from Iz before any trip, we had done the beach trip so often that Iz’s only question was usually asked before the trip. That question was, “Can Noah come?”
When I put the car in reverse yesterday to head toward the marina in Salem, I felt a slight tremor from the back seat. I wasn’t too surprised by the rumble, because I knew it was coming; it was question number one out of what I projected to be a potential 427 for the day. As the steering wheel shook, Iz asked, “Mom, are we like going to France or what?”
I laughed out loud a bit; it was so funny I couldn’t contain the laughter in my head, and then I said, “No.” Iz, sensing my amusement, said, “No. I mean like what state is it in?” I said, “It’s in Salem, which is in this state.”
She said, “Oh, the witches!” I forgot that even though she played a witch on Halloween, she was terribly scared of them in real life. Sensing that I should have said Saskatchewan instead of Salem, I hoped that what I said didn’t require not passing Main Street and collecting sailing. Then Iz said, “I love Salem. I just don’t want to go there on Halloween.”
Besides the location of the boat, her only other concern when she found out Brenda and Steve’s sailboat wasn’t a yacht was if she could go “under” the boat. I asked, “Do you mean is there a cabin area below the deck?” She nodded affirmatively, and I told her there was; she seemed elated by the idea, perhaps thinking it made the sailboat some kind of fort on water.
After about five when-are-we-going-to-get-theres, we arrived in Salem. We were looking for a “tall ship,” which was not to be confused with Brenda and Steve’s sailboat; we were supposed to call Brenda so she could meet us at the dock when we passed this ship. I said to Iz, “Gee, this is sort of like a scavenger hunt.”
Iz said, “Oh, Mommy, there it is.” We had just passed an alley. I highly doubted Iz’s sighting, so to be diplomatic, I said, “I think Brenda said that it was further up the street.”
After we passed a building, I saw a huge open area and a very tall ship. I said, “There it is.” I grabbed my phone and called Brenda. Iz said, “Is that their boat?”
I laughed, totally to myself this time. I said, “No. That’s not it.” Iz frowned, and I said, “But, it looks just like that only a bit smaller!”
We arrived in the parking lot, grabbed our bag and our cooler, and walked to the dock to wait for Brenda. Trying to totally be in “ready for the long voyage” mode, I asked Iz if she needed a call of Nature. She said she did; thus, we exited "dock right" for the woman's room so we would “be prepared” like every good sailor or Boy Scout, if we were boys and scouts and not girls and sailors.
Once Brenda arrived, we took the launch out to the sailboat. The instant Iz saw it, she fell in love. No, it wasn’t with the sailboat; it was with the dingy. She liked the sailboat, but for some reason, she became obsessed with the dingy, perhaps because in true Goldilocks fashion, it was just the right size for her.
Steve greeted us and we climbed aboard. Iz was somewhat quiet; I sensed she might be sick, because questions thirty-two and thirty-three were behind schedule. As Brenda and Steve prepared for our departure, Iz said, “Mommy, when are we going to leave?” Thank goodness; there was question thirty-two.
The longer she sat there waiting, the more she asked the question; this made me think. Was this question when asked a second time question thirty-two again or question thirty-three? When she asked the 32nd question for the 8th time or the 40th question, I repeated my 9th answer, which was, “Soon!”
I didn’t know if she was nervous or excited. I thought it was a bit of both. I knew the trip could go either way; she’d spend it in her fort or she’d have Brenda, Steve, and I down in the galley washing dishes in less than 45 minutes.
Kids are funny. I’m stating the obvious, I know. What trip isn’t without its battles? On this trip, it was Iz versus her lifejacket for the entire day.
By law, she had to wear one; and I wanted her to wear one. Iz had other ideas and she was willing to go to court over it. Her opening statement as we prepared to get under way was, “Why do I have to wear one when you don’t?” as she waved her index finger around pointing to the adult jury and judges.
I finally got it on her; however, then it was time for “Goldilocks and the Three Inconveniences of Wearing a Life Jacket.” It was too tight, it was tan, and it made her not like the others on deck. The best we could do was loosen up the straps, and this seemed to make Goldilocks happy for about 30 minutes.
Once the life jacket battle subsided, Iz had to check out the fort. Unfortunately, I told her that she didn’t have to wear her life jacket while in the fort, so it appeared she might spend the entire trip below deck. Fortunately, she found out that the fort wasn’t as cool as the four season porch above.
Once underway, as if a fish to water, Iz began to make it clear that she was a sailor but totally on the fast track to becoming captain of the vessel. When Steve took the wheel, Iz stood nearby. I do believe that is when questions 41 through 56 occurred, and Steve patiently explained everything to her.
If I didn’t know any better, when Iz was drawing in the backseat of the car on the trip to Salem, she was really diagramming her hostile takeover of the sailboat. I’m sure it went something like, “I’ll lock Brenda in the head, I’ll put Mommy in the storage closet, and I’ll tie Steve to the life line, because I’m going to need him until I get my sailing license.” Of course, this is why most corporate big wigs sail; it’s where they got their start!
At one point, probably due to frazzlement from questions 57 through 119, Steve explained the water depth meter to Iz a second time. Iz said, “You already told me that!” Like me, it seemed that Iz felt from the moment she got on the boat that being with Brenda and Steve was like being with two people you had never not known to be in your life.
Of course, being seven years old, Iz had to touch everything. If the boat should become a mutiny crime scene, everyone would know that Iz was the prime suspect due to the fingerprints she left all over the instrumentation. I reminded her not to touch, and she said, “My bad.”
I had never heard her use that expression before. I remember when Nathan started using it; I never liked it for some reason, but now that Iz said it, I found it awfully funny. Nathan exchanged “my bad” for “I don’t really care” two years ago; I’d take Iz’s “my bad” any day.
After 20 minutes or so, Steve shut the motor off, and we began to sail. I guess Iz was a true sailor, because she didn’t like the motor; I don’t know if it was the sound or whether she was a sailing purist. I encouraged her to come up to the front of boat, and she came along stuffed in her life jacket and holding on to the life line as instructed.
We sat down, her in front of me. At one point, the boat began to heel. We were only a few feet from the water, and Iz said, “Mom, hold me tighter!”
She seemed scared out of her wits; I thought this might be the end of our almost Titanic “I’m flying” time. Ten seconds after the boat straighten out, Iz asked, “Can we do that again?!?!?!” This question was closely followed by question 120, which was “When are we going to see sea anemones?”
Iz also liked the “goggles.”When she first put them on, she had them upside down. Of course, maybe it was a better way to see the world.
When it came time for lunch, we decided to moor the boat near the Misery islands. Of course, before lunch, there was another small battle going on; okay, it was more like an encouraged and forced activity. Iz wanted to swim off the boat.
In fact, she was so intent on swimming that she changed into her bathing suit (after the appropriate alterations were made to the fort below so no one could see her changing into her anti-shark swim suit) about 30 minutes before we moored. She then asked when I was going to change into my suit; I told her soon. Then Iz asked the same of Brenda.
I saw her approach Steve and then question 125 came out her mouth. I said, “Iz, it’s a law that someone must stay on the boat at all times.” Steve agreed, and I’m sure he was glad that Iz was not making him walk the plank into the 61 degrees of Atlantic Ocean below us.
Once we ate lunch, Iz paced the deck. “Can we go swimming now?” It became clear that we were not leaving Misery without some misery in the form of frigid waters.
When the time came, I knew that I would not be able to take the ladder into the water. I’d never get in step-by-step. Then Steve mentioned the cannonball off the side, which I found was they key to misery. A count to 10, and I was in; and after coming up out of the water, I knew exactly what it felt like to be a Polar Bear without the fur coat.
Gutsy Brenda got in by the ladder. Once I swam around to her, we both agreed that we could not feel our arms; l guess being cold was okay as long as it was a mutual feeling. Where was Iz?!
She made her way down the ladder. True to form, once her big toe hit the water, she began to climb back up the ladder. I think that’s when she said something about needing to get back on the boat and get her towel because she was –gasp- cold.
After Brenda and I had braved the water, there was no way she was getting out. If she wanted to be the leader of the pack, then she needed to live by Polar Bear example. I said, “Come on. Get in!”
With her life vest on, she dropped into the water. I think only then she realized that this was not the same water that was in the town pool where she went for swimming lessons. To her credit, she paddled around the boat with us.
She begged me to take her life vest off, so she could swim “under water.” Now, she was not only a captain in training, but somewhere between the bow of the boat and the ladder, she had morphed into Jacques Cousteau, hoping probably to catch a view of those sea anemones. I took her vest off and handed it up to Steve.
She told me she was going to swim to me, and she did. She did this a few times, and I was amazed by what a good swimmer she had become in the short time she had been taking swimming lessons at camp. Part of me winced, which was not because of the cold water; it was because I knew I had entered the working world again, and there were going to be these surprises that I once knew about on a daily basis.
After Brenda and I had totally become one with the sea, Iz decided that it was time to retreat! She told us once again that she was just going to go on deck and get her towel. I think she even said she might be back; however, I knew once swaddled in fur, the polar bear would remain on the iceberg!
Before Brenda and I could dry off, Iz was wandering around the deck saying to Steve, “Let’s get this show on the road!” If she had been an adult, we probably would have thrown her overboard. Since she was 7 years old, we all laughed.
She helped put the sail up.
On the trip back, I couldn’t keep track of her. She was at the wheel next to Steve, where it was an “it’s okay to take your life jacket off here because you’re not near the water” zone. Though, at a certain point, I knew it was much more about being with Steve than about taking her life jacket off.
When she wasn’t telling Steve how to steer his own sailboat, she was going up and down the boat as if effortlessly walking along a tight rope. I now had to remind her to hold onto things as she traveled, because her sea legs and her good sense of balance told her otherwise. The deck had now become Iz’s playground on water.
At one point, when I was sitting by the wheel, Iz traveled toward the bow. She stood there not holding onto anything. Then she started doing a funky dance; I had no idea what possessed her, other than the great feeling it was to be part of a good crew.
As we sailed slowly back to the harbor in Salem, Iz traveled up to the bow to see me. She sat down for a second. It was long enough for her to say, “This was a lot more fun than I thought it was going to be.”
She left and made her way back down to Steve. If I didn’t know any better, he was now her BFF.
I sat there listening to the sound of the water.
I watched the water sparkle like “diamonds” so said Iz.
And, I thought, “If I were to die tomorrow, and I had to name the best 20 days of my life, this would surely be one of them.”
As I get older, I realize how much things like the ocean, the wind, and the sun shining on my face mean to me; they mean so much more than a unreliable red Italian convertible, the perfect lipstick, or a pair of killer stilettos. Swimming in the frigid Atlantic, feeling the salt on my skin, and riding the waves on the bow of a boat is far greater than any amusement park ride could ever be. And while it was important to be in the Atlantic Ocean with a life jacket on, there was no better feeling than being in a moment with the arms of two very wonderful friends wrapped around you. ♥
As many of you (too numerous to mention) remember, I went sailing with my friends, Steve and Brenda last year. Tomorrow, Iz and I are going sailing with them for the day. Of course, when I told Iz about the trip, the first thing she asked was, “Do they have a yacht?!?!”
I told her that it was a small yacht. Hey, it was to me! Then she asked, “Does it have a place where you can go under it?”
I was a bit surprised that she knew this. I said, “Yes,” and then I remembered that she was probably getting most of her boating knowledge from “The Suite Life on Deck.” Don’t cringe, Steve; you can certainly reprogram her from the Disney Channel to the Coast Guard tomorrow!
In preparation for the trip, I told her she needed to pick a “babein’ suit.” Would it be the one piece or the bikini? The bikini always seems to win.
The one-piece swim suit won. I asked why. She said that she felt she needed more coverage in the ocean given the sharks.
She also needed to practice holding her breath under water.
When on a sea vessel, there was always the possibility of a mutiny. It was going to be three girls versus one boy, who might develop intolerable cooties while we sailed along the Atlantic; though, realistically, the adults might revolt against Iz after she asked her 192nd question which would probably be, “Are people sailing in Florida now?” “Just in case there should happen to be a mutiny, Iz needed to learn how to talk like a pirate.
Who doesn’t like fun? Personally, I’ve always believed that someone needed to put the “fun” back into work. I guess that for most of my professional career I’ve been that someone; wouldn’t you much rather go to “funwork” or “workfun” than just plain old “work?”
Today, I tried to get both of my guides finalized. It was a mad dash to get them through the approval process. So, first thing this morning, I sent email to the three people I needed to approve the guides to make them cognizant of that fact.
Within 10 minutes, I had an email from one of the engineers who needed to approve both guides. He lives in Turkey, which I thought was cool. He comes to the corporate headquarters for a few weeks every now and then.
The first time I met him, I said, “It’s really cool that you live in Turkey.” He looked at me strangely. I could tell he probably didn’t think it was cool that I lived in Massachusetts and thought I was a bit odd, but he smiled keeping those unspoken thoughts to himself.
I had asked him a question only yesterday in which I probably only reaffirmed his opinion that I was a bit goofy; I wondered about the naming of a particular file. I prefaced it by saying, “I’m just asking so I can tell my 7-year-old daughter that I learned something new today; we compare notes at the end of every day.” Given he was in Turkey, working US hours, he responded to me quicker than engineers who only sat 10 yards away from me.
He replied with a smiley face. He then said, “It describes the target system architecture. X86 is the traditional CPU architecture that uses the Intel X86 series instruction set. It has two flavors: 32 bit and 64 bit. And this stands for the length of each instruction.” Then he said, “May be you should just tell her that it signifies Intel compatible 64 bit CPU architecture.”
I knew Iz would never go for all that by saying, “I think the minute I mention Intel compatible that she’ll look at me funny, and then tell me about how she learned how to find more treasure for Mario.” He responded by saying that his children were only 3 and 2, and he was light years away from 7. I then warned him about 7-year-old girls with their 186 questions a day and the constant brain-numbing questions like “Is it raining in Florida?”
Anyway, after I sent out my email notifying him that I’d need his approval, he sent me an email that said, “I could not find the approval form in my inbox. Did I miss it?” I replied, “Oh, I'm going to send it out in a minute. That was just your "10-minute warning" message so to speak.” He replied with, “Duh.”
I then replied with “No duh! I could see where my email might be confusing. I just wanted to make sure everyone knew that they could not cut out of work at 3pm today to lounge by the pool with one of those fruity umbrella drinks, because I need signatures.” I sent out my approval email for the first guide; true to form, within 10 minutes he approved it. I replied with, “Thanks. You’re only one more approval away from sipping that fruity umbrella drink by the pool!”
By 2pm today, after I just received some late comments on my other guide, I knew my guides weren’t going out the door today; that’s why they invented Monday, right? At 4pm, I sent my User Guide out for review; my approval from Turkey arrived in under 10 minutes. My approvals from the US were nowhere to be found when I left work at 5pm.
I emailed the engineer in Turkey to thank him. I said, “Happy weekend!” I included this picture.
He replied, “You too. A little late for the drink though. I am 7 hours ahead.” I forgot about that whole time zone issue. This was probably because he seemed closer than the engineers I could throw a paper cup at.
I said, “Oh, that’s a good time zone point; then, you have two make-believe options. 1) There’s only fruit juice in it, so you can drink it now. 2) There’s vodka in it, so you can put it in the refrigerator and save it for happy hour tomorrow.” He replied, “I will pick the fruit juice now.” I replied, “Okay, but I just wanted to let you know that for Version 3.0 approval, you will be getting the pool that goes with that drink!”
Some people go to work totally seriously; that’s okay, especially if you’re an auditor and you like Siberia. I think work is best when you accomplish things with intermittent laughter. Oddly enough, I do believe that’s why most of the people at my new-old job like me. ♥
My Favorite Church Sign Note: This church always advertises the greatest sermons. While not particularly religious, someday I should attend. I think I would like to meet the Reverend.
Anyway, this is the next sermon.
So, I went with that.
Oops. I thought it said, “Dog!” Everyone believes in their own way. So, I fixed that.
Bonus Monty Video Note: When Monty isn’t sleeping, pooping, or barking (yes, I still love him anyway, Steve!), he and I play this game called “Kill the Bone.” So, here you have it.
When I arrived in the lobby of my new-old company today, Barbara greeted me with her usual “Hi” and radiant smile. We started to chat a bit.
She, being a professional clown, told me how difficult it was to dress up as a clown in the unbearable heat and humidity that we’ve been having lately. I thought I could relate. Upon reflection, she had it worse than me.
I was running in the heat in a tank top and shorts. I was not sporting face paint, a clown suit, oversized shoes, and a red rubber nose. And, I hear those red rubber noses can raise your body temperature so much that you shrivel up and are able to fit in a small car with several other clowns.
As I climbed the three flights to my office, I thought how good it felt to be working again. The technical writer portion of my brain had been like the Scarecrow's brain; mine was updated and functioning again. And lastly, it was also good to be among lovely friends like Barbara, Lisa, Tom, Amrit, and Dave.
When I got laid off, I was devastated. But, over time, I realized that it provided me with the “forced” enjoyment of my life. In the end, it seemed that it was really a Force of Nature; it was the first time in my life that I truly got to enjoy my life.
I guess I could have held a grudge against my new-old company; however, the sum of the parts (the people I knew there) was greater than the corporate whole. I had learned a few years ago that it was always a good idea to let things go.
If truth be told, I had let events eat away at me in the past. It bothered me for so long that my Dad’s girlfriend was not there with him when he died; she hid up in his room. My sister said to me wisely, “Don’t let Anne rent space in your head,” and she was right.
Certainly, you can be angry, upset, and frustrated about something for a while. But, most times, it’s best just to let it go. It’s far greater to lose that kind of emotion from your life sometimes than it is to keep it and lose yourself in it.
When I walked to my office, I passed an engineer, who smiled at me and said “Hi.” He was one of the 15 or so people who stopped by my office the first week I was there. The common verbal theme behind all those visits was “I’m so glad you’re back.”
Once in my office, I booted up my laptop. When I saw some pages from an Installation Guide I had just sent out for review on my chair, I smiled. It was so good to be back.
While I eventually wallowed happily in my time off, I was still like Iz's marigold in the bay window, a thirsty plant that needed sunlight and nourishment. If my new-old company cancelled my contract tomorrow, my time spent in my 6x6 cubicle would still be worth it. In only a month, my friends at my new-old work made me blossom; and if I left tomorrow, it would all be worth it just for the group hug I felt I received from everyone while there. ♥
I Get By with a Little Help from My Friends Note: At 2pm today, I got an email from Barbara, which said “Delivery at the front desk.” I replied and asked, “Is it George Clooney?” She responded with, “LOL!”
I was a wine glass half empty kind of chick. I thought, “It’s the police with my rhinestone-studded handcuffs here to arrest me making Iz bathe every night!” I then thought, “Or it’s George Clooney’s lawyer, who is going to serve me with a verbal restraining order for mentioning him too much in last night’s blog.”
As I climbed down the stairs, I peered over the side. I saw a beautiful arrangement of pink roses. I thought, “Jeez. Is that for me?”
When I climbed down the last flight, I said to Barbara, “So, where’s George?” I had given her flowers a few times, because she was a very flower-deserving being. She immediately said, “They’re not from me!”
She asked, “Who are they from?” Then she said quickly, “I could have opened the card, but I didn’t.” I laughed, opened the card, and then I showed it to her.
The card read, “To my favorite tech-writer, congratulations on meeting your deadline.” She asked, “Who do you think it is?” I answered, “I have no idea!”
I carried the beautiful flowers back up to my office. I put them on my desk; the smell of the roses was incredible. Barbara came by later and said, “I just want to smell them. They’re so you.” Of course they were; they were pink.
Anyway, I questioned the usual suspects. No one would confess. I sense that I need to watch a few more episodes of CSI, Law & Order, and maybe even a Columbo or two to crack the case; until then, it remains a lovely mystery; and, thank you so much for the mystery whoever you are. ♥
In my new-old job, I document products that have to do with phones. There’s really a lot more to it than that. But, I don’t want to totally lose your attention in the first paragraph.
Believe me, whatever most of the products do, you probably don’t really care as long as your calls complete, you can text your teenager, because teenagers are One Nation under Text, and take pictures of strange things you happen to see, like say like a bad case of butt crack on the rail trail, and then email it to all of your friends. (And, no, I have no personal experience with that last one, I swear.)
If you think about it, every home must have at least two phones and then a cell phone for each occupant over the age of, let's say, 12. Iz just asked me recently when she’s getting a phone; I figure I’ll hold out as long as possible. It’s bad enough that Nathan texts me from his bedroom when I’m 10 feet away from him; I will not lose Iz to a cell phone, too!
I remember when my parents got a second phone in the house. We only had one phone in the kitchen. I think I was about 15 years old, and I thought it was going to be so cool to have a phone upstairs. Wow, 1977 seems like it was only yesterday, but alas, it’s now what 1952 was to me then – the olden days.
When I first arrived at my new-old job, I had no laptop and no phone. Within a day, I had a laptop, and someone casually said, “I’ll put in a work order for a phone.” Given this was a company that was phone-related, you’d think I would have had a phone the next day.
Well, I was so busy with work that I forgot about the phone. I didn’t really need the phone to do my job, and I had given up hoping that George Clooney was going to call and ask me if I’d go to the Academy Awards with him. So, why did I need a phone?
A week later, an auditor (hereafter known as Mr. Auditor) moved in across the aisle; he had a laptop and a phone in under an hour. As I saw the IT person set up his phone, I felt a bit slighted. I thought, “Humph. If I were working on the company’s financial future, I guess I would merit a phone, too.”
Soon after, he did not show up for work one Monday morning. By the time Wednesday morning rolled around, I knew he was gone. Did I take his phone?
No, but I thought about it. Then I thought better of the whole "having a phone" concept. People who had phones disappeared!
To satisfy my constant CSI curiosity, I looked myself up in the company phone directory. There were two problems. They had my old badge picture posted, which was taken five years ago; okay, that was really a surprise and not a problem, because theoretically, as far as work was concerned, I was still 43 and not 48. Then I glanced at my phone number; of course, I fully expected it to be blank.
I laughed out loud. Apparently, I had a phone number, even though I didn’t have a phone. In some Twilight Zone sort of way, this all would have made more sense to me if I had no phone number yet my picture had been replaced with that of Mr. Auditor.
Even funnier was that the phone number displayed was my old phone number. It was time to take charge of this phone issue; no, I didn’t put in a work order for a phone. I merely entered my cell phone number; after all, George Clooney still might want to drop a dime and give me a ring.
Another two weeks passed, and I was still phone-less; I really wasn’t bothered by it, because I knew I didn’t want my life to become a “Without a Trace” episode like it had for Mr. Auditor. I was startled (read “woken up”) when I was reading my chapter about MIB definitions one morning, because my cell phone rang. I noticed that it was a “work” number.
“Hello,” I said. It was my boss. He said, “Do you know that your phone number doesn’t work?” I said, “Yes. It’s because I don’t have a phone. That's my old phone number.” He said, probably wondering why I was content without a verbal communication channel to the rest of the company, “Well, you might want to get one.” I said, “Err, yes. I’ll get right on that,” hoping that I could get my doctor to install a tracking device in my forearm, so that I would not end up in Siberia with Mr. Auditor, although he was kind of cute but so not in a George Clooney kind of way.
Anyway, I finally put in a work order for a phone. I didn’t do it right away. I waited a bit, pondering if Siberia was nice this time of year and would provide good exile for a Polish princess like myself.
This Monday, an IT person arrived at my cube with a phone. Look! It’s a potentially ringing black Polycom!
I was kind of proud of myself for not caving to the telecommunications pressure early on. The whole thing also reaffirmed the fact that I can be stubborn about some things, err, mostly silly things. But then again, who can’t be?
Of course, after I got my phone, I became immediately excited. I emailed my new number to a few of my friends; and, I waited and waited and waited for the phone to ring. Finally, advised of my disappointment in my new phone’s inability to ring after all I’d been through for it, one of my friends called me; of course, the first thing I said to him in jest was, “I told you not to call me here anymore!”
Another friend was surprised that I (apparently, Ms. Adventure when I'm not Her Royal Polish Highness) got so excited over a phone. It’s funny how things have changed so much in my transition from unemployment to employment. It was no longer about butt crack on the rail trail (again, not that I would know anything about that); it was now about my phone on my desk at my job that was waiting for George Clooney's invitation to the Academy Awards or a desperate call for help from Mr. Auditor in Siberia. ♥
When I was at work the other day, a man passed my office. He said, “We don’t get enough Hello Kitty here,” as he pointed to my cubicle name plate, which I had recently adorned with a Hello Kitty sticker. In my decorating opinion, the new-old work place needed a bit of humor to offset the overwhelming sense of doom and gloom that I felt since I went back to work there.
I said to him, “That’s why I’m here.” He replied, “I get enough of that at home.” Apparently, while I thought Hello Kitty was a breath of fresh air, he thought he successfully dodged the cute pink cat bullet by going to work every day; obviously, he didn’t get the memo that Jean was back in town!
When my new-old job was old, I had an office that was wall-papered with stuff. It wasn’t just any stuff. It was a lot of stuff that I loved.
Greg, one of the engineers I worked with, once said, “I love coming to your office.” I laughed when he said that. He said, “You should sell tickets; it’s like going to a museum.”
Recently, I had to actually work with a friend who had helped me get my old job. He came by the other day just to catch up. He scanned my cubicle and said, “This is nothing like what you had before.”
When I first got my new-old job back, one of my friends asked me if my office would be resurrected. It probably would have been immediately had they hired me as a “permanent” employee. But, I kept having to remind myself that while I longed to be back permanently, I was only temporary.
You can tell a lot about a person by their office; there were levels of office decoration. I was definitely at some kind of alert level, which was “Employee That Thinks She’ll Be Here Until She’s 65!” I’m sure the company liked to see the offices that only had a calendar and a computer in them the best.
I approached my office like I approached my home; I spent a lot of time in both places. My home had no decorating theme. I surrounded myself with the things I loved, and I let it be.
For the most part, it all seemed to work. I think my home said to most, “This is Jean.” And, I think most people liked to linger in Jean.
When it came to decorating my home, I didn’t subscribe to feng shui, Laura Ashley, or anything like that. I had my totally kitschy candlesticks from the Lancaster Flea Market, my living room, which was reminiscent of 1890, and my plastic fish, Daisy and Spike, in my bay window. It was all so wrong, yet it was all so right…for me.
It was funny, but decorating my office was kind of like a relationship. If I moved in all the things I wanted, would it be saying, “I love you,” too soon? Having been around the relationship block too many times, I decided to be, no matter how much it hurt, conservative; I vowed that I would not put anything in my office that couldn’t fit into one box the day they decided to end my contract.
I had pictures of Iz and Nate.
I had my own personalized mouse.
I had my stash of food and my Maneki Neko.
I had my teapot, which was from a flower arrangement that my Dad sent me on Valentine’s Day a bazillion years ago.
I had something that Iz wanted me to put in my “office.”
Barbara, the receptionist/professional clown, had gone by my cube a few times. She said once, “It’s like you never left.” I had left, and now I was back; however, like any on-again-off again relationship, I wanted to get close but I wanted to stay far enough away, so I wouldn’t get hurt again. ♥
When I was running today, something shiny caught my eye. After I ran past it in Robert Dashel Parr speed (not!), I thought, “Hey, I should really pick that up, right, Melissa?” I turned around, ran back, and I scooped the side-of-the-road trophy up in my hand.
It was a key on a key chain that was on a blue cord. I ran off with it tightly gripped in my left hand and my iPod tightly gripped in my right hand. After I picked it up, I had flashbacks to a blog I had written a few months ago.
I asked myself why I needed to pick it up. Myself said, “It was bright. It was shiny. And, it might unlock a locker at bus terminal which was filled with…www.zappos.com gift certificates!” Yes, I knew I was kidding myself, but it was key on the side of the road; it already had a story, and it was a story that I knew I would tell just about now.
The key wasn’t to a house; it said “Master” on it. I knew it was to a padlock. “The interesting thing about it,” said CSI Jean, “was that it had a personalized key chain.”
On the key chain was a proverb. It said:
The wise person makes learning a joy. Proverbs 15:2
I liked that, because so far, my last year had been about learning, and it had been a joy.
As I ran, I thought, “I just picked up some key from the side of the road.” Then I said, “It’s cool. So what?” I then said, “It’s dirty. It has no value.” I responded, “I like it. It has no value, but it means something to me.”
As I go on in life, I realize that it’s good to pick up things along the way. It’s not good to pick up 18 cats, 25 boxes of magazines, or an Edsel; however, it’s good to find things and keep them, especially if they mean something to you. It’s so important to keep an open heart and an open mind.
What did the key mean to me? I didn't know. It was shiny, bright, and so very new to me.
A key is good. A key unlocks doors, safety deposit boxes, and, today, a key unlocked the software I needed at work. As I thought about it on my run, this key unlocked many things I had learned this last year.
o Never buy real estate with relatives.
o It’s better to be alone than to be with the wrong someone.
o Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.
o Just because you have family doesn’t mean that friends can’t be even better to you than your own family. Mentioning my wild and crazy kids on Nantucket this past weekend. ♥
o Never underestimate the power of a 7-year-old to always make you see life from a totally new perspective.
o Never chastise the 17-year-old who gets three Cs on his report card but rocks his SATs and his AP exams; we all do it differently, and 3 Cs don’t make or break a life.
There were many other things, but they’re too numerous to mention. As I ran along with my key, I knew it also unlocked something else. It was my hope that I would find the key to change my life totally when I was ready.
I bought a magnet last week. It’s on my office wall now. And right now, it’s next to my key. ♥
Cats love art; however, they like sleeping, eating, and coughing up furballs on your favorite rug far much more. They especially love it when they cough up that wet juicy furball on your carpet and you walk over it half asleep in your bare feet!
Answering the age-old question…if there’s a tree in the woods, and there’s no one around, can you see its bra?
When I dropped Nathan off at his Dad’s house the other night, I asked, “Nate, what’s that on the tree?” He laughed. I guess if you can get flocked, you can certainly get brassiere-ed.
Answering the age-old question…is “goddess” an inherited trait?
Iz and I went out grocery shopping tonight; I wanted to feed the pets before we left. She got impatient and said, “I’ve got the car keys. I’ll meet you in the car.” When I climbed into the car, she was in the back seat, adorned in her pearls and watching “Pretty in Pink.” The apple doesn’t fall too far from the 5’10” tree.
Answering the age-old question…just because someone is gone, does it mean you can’t celebrate his or her birthday?
When Iz and I got home from grocery shopping, we headed over to Susan’s; as we drove by, I noticed she was cleaning up after a family party. It was her Mom’s birthday today; however, her Mom had passed away recently.
Iz and I met her by her flower bed; she told me that she invited everyone in her family over. They passed around pictures of her Mom and told stories. It sounded like it was a lovely party.
I gave Susan her pink roses, hugged her, and I said, “Happy Birthday, Susan’s Mom.” She started to cry. I said, “It’ll get easier.” She answered, “But not for a while.”
I said, “Right. What was your Mom’s name?” She said, “It was Dorothy.” I asked, “Did she have a nickname?” Susan said, “Dolly.”
I said, “I like that. Dolly.” Susan then said, “I’m weeding now, because I’m afraid to go inside.” I said, “Remember, if you ever need me, call me.”
Happy Birthday, Dolly. Happy Birthday, Mom. Happy Birthday, Dad. Happy Birthday, Bitsy. Happy Birthday, Sherrie. Happy Birthday, Terry. Know how much we'd love to call you and talk to you; however, the best and greatest thing we can do now is to celebrate you whenever we have the chance. While you’re not here, you are, because you’re always in our hearts. ♥
Since Nathan’s prom and since I had been ceremoniously deleted from his Facebook page for major infractions*, I had no idea where his love life was or if he even had one. Given his change in demeanor, the last few months, I treaded lightly on the conversation path. I kept it to the parent-teenager minimum, which was “Hi,” “How are you?”, “What’s new?”, “Where are you going?”, “What time will you be home?” and “I love you.”
*First infraction: I asked him if he was depressed, because of some song lyrics he posted. Second infraction, and the one that got me booted off his Facebook page: I told him to change his Facebook picture.
In my defense, I thought I was just doing my job as “Mom” with the first infraction. For the second infraction, I was a tad guilty; Nathan was displaying his prom picture, which featured Kelsey. Of course, Quinn had told me that he found out that Kelsey went to her prom with someone else. She told Nathan she wasn’t going to her own prom; and I never said anything, and it bugged me.
Was Kelsey playing the field? I guess so, and she was entitled. Should she just have been honest with Nathan? Probably, but sometimes, especially in matters of the heart, honesty is hardly ever heard.
When I picked Nathan up at his Dad’s today, I said, “Hi.” He said, “Hi.” I said, “Where do you need to go tomorrow?” He said, “I need the car to go to work tomorrow, and if it’s okay, after work, I need the car, because I’m going to hang out with a friend.”
I told him that he could take my car. Though, just then, my Law & Order ears perked up or I was back to that Maxim coffee commercial; Nathan never says “a friend.” Being quite daring and risking the wrath of a bitter angry teenager, I asked, “Who’s the friend?”
Nathan paused; aha, my sleuthing instincts were right! He said, “Megan.” I stupidly said, “Oooooooooohhhhhhh.”
He gave me the eye roll as if wishing he said, “Michael” instead of “Megan.” I asked, “So, what are you doing?” He hesitated and said, as if he was about to give me the PIN number for his ATM card, “I don’t know. We’re going for a walk or something.”
I grinned but only in my head. Not only had he pretty much aced his History and Biology AP exams (4 out of 5), he had mastered mind reading somewhere between Subway and the soccer field. He said, “See this is why I don’t tell you anything. You ask too many questions!”
I knew I was already at the parent-teenager question-asking maximum, so I pushed further with, “What’s she look like?” Nathan said, “Um, I don’t know.” I had to laugh, though at the same time it made me think what a good guy he was for not even dwelling on the physical attributes.
I asked, “So, she’s going to be a Senior, too?” Nathan nodded. I then asked, “Does she play sports?” And, Nathan, for one who said I asked too many questions, had so many answers for me and responded with, “Soccer and Track.”
There was a momentary pause; and, I thought, “Should I push the adolescent envelope?” So, I decided to try for new answers to old questions and asked, “What color is her hair?” Nathan listened to what I said, processed it, and then got a befuddled look on his face and said, “Oh! Jeez. It’s long. I forget what color it is!”
It was now time for Plan B; revert to questions that are less personal. I asked, “So, what does she want to be when she grows up?” He said, “I don’t know.”
He then said, quite unexpectedly, “Remember when you picked me up that time, and I was sitting next to a girl?” I wanted to say, “Nathan, I barely remember the route I took to get to your Dad’s house after work tonight, never mind something that happened when I picked you up months ago,” but I didn’t. I answered, “No. But, that’s okay. Never mind.”
I figured it was time to stop. I had already got more information about of Nathan in 15 minutes, than I had got out of him the last six months. I decided to abandon this mission; it had been successful!
After we ended the conversation, I said, “So, what’s new?” Nathan said, “Nothing.” And, we were back to normal.
Nathan thought I was prying in his life. When I thought about it as we drove along Route 110 in silence, I was really being a voyeur of sorts. I could think of nothing better than watching and being reminded of new, young, and untainted love. ♥
Bless the Weather Note: A big thunder storm just passed through; while it’s loud and scary, I love it just the same. I had a bad day yesterday. This is the way my day felt in weather; however, you have to bless the weather that makes you stronger. ♥
BTW: The above picture, though not cartoon-ish, is by B. Kliban. He's the artist that has done all the other pictures I've posted lately. Anyway, this picture is from his book, Cat; I love this book, and to this day, its pages can always make me laugh out loud when I'm not talking to myself.
I met a deadline at my new-old work. I’m exhausted. I thank everyone who was rooting for me (mentioning Melissa, Jeff, Anne, Brenda, and TomS).
I bumped into a friend tonight. I told him about meeting the deadline. I said I wasn’t really happy with the output, because they gave me three weeks to right the wrongs of nine months; I had only created a better piece of okayness.
I told him that after working last weekend and non-stop since I had been there, all I really wanted someone to say was, “Gee, this is so much better than it was.” He told me not to hold my breath and that’s what the paycheck was for. I knew what he was trying to say, and he was probably right.
But, to me, the words were far more valuable than the paycheck. Actually, in most situations, attention was far greater than any monetary gift. I checked my new-old job email; there were no "Wow, that's incredible" or "You totally rock, Girl" responses in reply to my “Here’s the book after only three weeks” email.
I think my friend was right. My paycheck would be my reward. The support and encouragement from my friends would always be the gift. ♥
This is the first thing I saw up when I got up this morning; I thought it was strange that Plume was facing the wall.
Unfortunately, I didn’t really understand cat body language, while I know most of you are thinking it was probably my second language. I’m hoping this was “Good morning,” instead of “Hey, you forgot to clean the litter boxes last night.”
This was the second thing I saw this morning.
She officially lost the tooth yesterday morning; however, the Tooth Fairy needed 12 hours to deliver the goods. The Tooth Fairly dropped a dime ($10), because that’s all she had in her wallet, and Iz was ready to go ZhuZhu pet shopping.
This was the third thing I saw; I had to read it to Iz.
It was a brilliantly written letter from the Tooth Fairy done in Word and using a tooth font! How awesome was the Tooth Fairy? If I had to guess, I think she just might be Polish royalty!
Kilroy Iz was here.
The best paper doll on the block…
The hippest chick on the block…
Kilroy Iz was here.
Hot and humid weather + Monty = No Barking. There’s just a lot of panting lately. Thank the Great Cat Goddess!
The struggle for socks and sneakers is a daily occurrence. It's a challenge to get her to put her socks on. But, then there's trying to untie the double knots in her black laces, which is a Rubix cube in itself!
Despite it all, by 8:30am, I am put together, just barely! I really look like crap; however, remember, everything and everyone looks so much better with pearls!
By 11:30am, I’m frazzled at work.
I need fiber! No, I didn't need Metamucil. I needed a picture of Netra fiber ports without these little black lines for my Installation Guide. (Note to Self:Joan Crawford’s wire hangers were my little black lines today! “No... black... lines. What's black lines doing in this figure when I told you: no black lines EVER?)
A Girl in Trouble is a Temporary Thing: I had tried every avenue at work to get a picture of these fiber ports without the wire hangers, um, I mean, the black lines. I sent the picture to my friend, Chris, an iPhone application developer, in the UK and asked, “How can I get rid of these lines?” Within 10 minutes, he sent back satin padded hangers, um, I mean, a Netra without the black lines, and it was exactly what the engineer needed.
Bright spot of the day…finding an unexpected photo on your phone that your daughter has taken of herself. Is she like so Gone with the Wind (read "Scarlett O'Hara") or what?!
At 5pm, I left work, knowing that my first major deadline would be met tomorrow. I got Iz, and then she pondered in Toys ‘R Us how to spend her accumulated cash from the Tooth Fairy. More ZhuZhu pets, the Bratz twins, or some plastic ponies?! Hmmm.
The best thing about the end of a long daze? It was certainly being with one of the ones you loved the most. ♥
I worked this past Saturday and Sunday. I did this because I was given a somewhat ridiculous deadline. I should have pushed back, but I didn't; I thought I could do it all, and I think the guy I work for thought so too, because of my damn notebook.
Note to self: Put Wonder Woman notebook in drawer, lock drawer, and throw away the key.
Use pink Hello Kitty notebook which says "super cute" instead of "super powers."
When I arrived at work on Saturday, the parking lot was pretty deserted. If truth be told, I really liked working when no one else was around. I knew I wasn't anti-social, because we all know "social" is one of my many middles names when it isn't "Marie, Pink, Lemond, Cookie Cutter, Chardonnay, Champagne, Feline, Party, Crane Beach, or apropos."
I wondered if it was that I needed total silence to really concentrate or if I felt less stressed and more at ease knowing I was the only one working. That is, no engineers were changing more code or filing more documentation bugs; thus, their world ceased on Friday at 5pm, well, for most of them, so I could catch up. It was a similar feeling to when I was working full-time and often wanted the entire world to stop for a day, so I could “Clean the refrigerator, organize 90 years of photographs, paint the bathroom, sleep peacefully for an hour, and teach Monty sign language.”
When I arrived at my office on the third floor, it was in near total darkness. I flipped my desk light on. It was time to search for those elusive light switches that were usually found in large groups living on a wall in some well-hidden corner of the spacious third floor.
So, I said, "Here lights, lights. Come out, come out wherever you are!" I randomly turned right out of my office and thought, "Now, if I were a light switch where would I be?" Light Switch Hunter that I am, I found them in under a minute!
Okay, that's a lie. Just as I was about to attempt to see the light, a man with a floor polishing machine appeared. I said, "Where are the lights?" He said, "Oh," walked off, and then I heard click-click-click-click-click. I was totally out of the darkness; well, I was literally; I'm still wondering about that figuratively.
I sat down at my desk, booted up my laptop, and looked at the pile of papers I had before me; I’d definitely be here for a while. Strangely, after about 30 minutes, I began to hear voices; no, they weren’t the ones in my head, real or imagined! Suddenly, it was as if it was Monday on Saturday on the third floor; when the CFO walked by, I knew something was up.
Just then I recalled that we were going through an audit. As one of my friends said who used to work at the company, when weren’t we going through an audit. I did have an auditor sitting across from me, until he mysteriously didn’t show up for work last Monday.
A few days later, a woman began to occupy his office. There was no explanation of what happened to the auditor; okay, I didn’t really ask what happened to him. But when left to my own Law & Order and CSI devices, I strangely went sci-fi with a twist and thought Body Snatchers, Coma, and then Tootsie! I told you it was strange.
Anyway, it became apparent that I was not the only one working on Saturday; I was actually kind of peeved. This audit was invading my reign over the entire third floor of work; though, when I thought about, the success of this audit ensured the deposit of my paycheck. Umm, err, go forth and audit, hell ya!
Actually, it was time for a deep thought then. My company was not that large, and when I thought about it, it amazed me how companies put every bit and piece together and became successful. I could never do it; thus, this was why I would never be a CEO of a company and would always remain Princess of my own small country, even if that country only happened to be my desk chair.
I got back to work after I chanted, “Go, Finance people, go!” While I loved being back at my company, it was hard being my own department of one. One of my friends asked, “So, when you work 8 hours, do you work the whole 8 hours?” I said, "Yeah!"
Of course, I was a contract employee and felt that there was no room for any goofing off, except 5 minutes here to check my personal email or 5 minutes there to see if anyone googled something interesting (say like “travel mugs black and white,” “Ziggy Wesolowski,” or “watching mommy go potty”) and came upon my blog. Believe me, after the second week, I was so looking to spend a bit more time socializing; however, I had no one to socialize with. I longed for Brenda, Nancy, Sarah, Chuck, or Jeff to stop by my office and chat about anything other than work.
As I plodded through my changes to my User Guide, I noticed something. Actually, it reminded me of something Nancy had told me only a few months ago. When you spend a lot of time by yourself, well, yourself begins to be the person you talk to.
Even though there were others around me, I noticed I began to get a bit vocal. When something didn’t seem to work as documented in the software, I’d say in a low voice, "Well, that's just not right!" Surprised by the fact that I spoke out loud, I’d freeze, listen to see if anyone might be near my cubicle, and then I’d be relieved when I heard off in the distance “Well, if we sold those services in that quarter, then the books need to reflect that” instead of “Did you notice that tall blonde woman is talking to herself!”
As the day progress, I began to get more chatty with myself. A web page would display, and I’d ask it, “Why are you lookin’ like that?” A button would appear, I’d click it, and then I’d say, “Oh, so that’s what you’re for.”
I knew I had reached a point of no return when I created a user group. I was trying to figure out how to add and delete users. Thinking I'd have to take a screen capture, I deleted the username I had created for myself, which showed my real work email.
I went to delete me. I paused, clicked Delete, and I said out loud and defiantly, "Delete the bitch!" I then giggled uncontrollably.
Somehow being a department of one had given me someone to talk to – myself; it had also given me a new found sense of bold. After I deleted myself, I paused, stopped to listen, and I didn’t hear anyone say, “What the hell is she doing over there?!?!?!?” Once I knew the coast was clear, I giggled uncontrollably again and smiled; I was the department for now, and I could only hope to giggle uncontrollably with someone else soon. ♥
Yesterday morning, not unlike most, was about getting ready. No matter what I did, it seemed that getting out the door in the morning was a challenge not unlike a scavenger hunt. I had a mental list of what we (Iz and I) needed to do; however, it always seemed to end up with one of us being peeved with the other.
I had my own list which comprised: Drag myself out of bed, take Monty out, feed dog, feed cats, drink at least one cup of coffee (a very necessary task because the list does not go beyond “feed cats” without it), put cold pack in Iz’s lunch, put Iz’s lunch in backpack, fill up Iz’s water bottle, put Iz’s water bottle in backpack, shower, make myself look awake on outside while still sleeping on the inside, and then leave the house without forgetting anything.
Iz had her list which comprised: Wake up, walk downstairs in a half-asleep zombie state, curl up on sofa, turn on TV, and subsequently ignore any dictated tasks from Mommy.
Of course, there were agreed-upon tasks in her list, though Iz would probably argue that she had not signed any legal paper committing to said tasks, so these tasks were null and void and not mutually agreed upon. These tasks were picking out clothes, getting dressed, eating breakfast, brushing her hair, brushing her teeth, putting her socks on, and locating one pair of sneakers amongst the rubble on the floor of her room. Every morning, it seemed that these tasks failed to reappear on Iz’s list previously mentioned above. I often wondered if Iz’s list was kept in the Bermuda Triangle portion of her frontal lobe and on purpose.
Upon entering the kitchen, I saw Iz curled up on the couch. I said authoritatively, “You need to get dressed and brush your hair.” She said, without moving her head away from the TV screen to look at me, “Okay.”
There are usually three responses to my request for Iz action; they are the following:
“Okay,” – This means “I hear you, and I may or may not decide to do this when I do or don’t feel like it.” “Okaaaaaay!” – This means “You don’t have to ask me again!” or “This is, like, the bazillionth time you’ve asked me!” “Yes, Momma.” – This means “I’m going to do exactly what you say, because you asked me four times and the fifth time you got really grumpy and threatened to take away everything from me except the clothes on my back.”
I went upstairs to continue getting ready. When I came downstairs 5 minutes later, Iz hadn’t moved. I said a bit perturbed, "I asked you to get dressed and brush your hair, Iz.” Just then, I knew the morning was going to involve a few “Isabelle Georges!” and a “Period!” or two.
Iz turned to look at me, and she said, “Okaaaaaay!” She headed upstairs. Each of her steps was intentionally stomped and a comment on how unbelievable she thought I was for not letting her leave the house in her nightgown with a tangled mess of knots on the side of her head.
I followed her upstairs. It wasn’t to watch over her, because I didn’t have the time or the patience to do that most days, hours, or minutes of my life. I always felt my children should be able to handle certain responsibilities by a certain age; today, seven was certainly thatage.
I went in the bathroom to dry my hair. I clicked the blow dryer on and began to lose some of the morning’s activity or inactivity thus far in the whir of my blow dryer. When I clicked the blow dryer off, I saw Iz around the corner of the bathroom door with her Hello Kitty calendar in hand. She handed it to me and asked, as if there was nothing better in the world to be doing at the moment, “Mommy, can you change this to July and put it back up?”
Still in my hair dryer coma, I said, “Sure,” and I followed her into her room. As I followed her, I noticed that she was still in her night gown. As I drove the calendar’s thumbtack back into the window frame, I said, “Isabelle Georges, get dressed now!”
She scrunched her face up, sighed, and said, “Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!” I repeated the task once again and said, “Please get dressed and then go downstairs and brush your hair.” She said, “I wiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllll.” (I forgot to mention that “Okaaaaaay!” and "“I wiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllll” are interchangable.)
I turned around and went downstairs. As I heard her comment again down the stairs, I plopped a chocolate muffin on a plate. She walked by me and into the family room; of course, she was carrying her clothes with her and still not dressed.
She put her clothes on the couch and began to change. I handed her the muffin, and I went off to do something else. When I came back she had eaten her muffin, but then I looked at her hair, and I asked, “Did you brush your hair?”
Of course, Iz knew that she was about to enter the Uncompleted Task Land of No Return. She defensively stated with the emphasis on Mom, “Well, Mom, I don’t know where my brush is.” I walked over to her desk, picked up her brush, and I said, “Here! Now brush your hair! Also, please put on your socks and find your sneakers.”
I went off again to pack my bag and her backpack. I knew that I was going to forget something today, or remember something I’d rather forget like how busy I was going to be at work. As Liam walked by, I thought about tossing him in my bag, because I sensed it was going to be a ‘I need a fuzzy kitty to kiss, pat, and hold” kind of day.
When I arrived back in the family room, Iz was sitting there on the couch dressed and with knot-free hair. I saw the naked feet, and I said, “Iz, socks and sneakers!” She said, “Well, I-I-I….” I said, “Do it NOW, please!” (You feel like less of an evil shrew if you continue to say "Please," I think.)
I tried hard not to raise my voice. I’m sure that I was loudly stern but on the verge of being a screaming psycho. And, is there any Mom out there who doesn’t reflect on this kind of interaction with her child and upon reflection picture herself like this?
Iz got her socks on finally, though she announced, “I can’t find my sneakers.” I love it when she says this; well, I don’t really love it. I just know how to properly interpret it; it means, “I didn’t feel like looking for my sneakers, so will you?”
I said, ‘Iz-pause-go-pause-look-pause-in-pause-your-pause-room!!!!” and she replied, “Yes, Momma.” When she calls me “Momma,” I know she has realized that my patience had worn thin. While I think I have a lot of patience with my kids, I think I’m generally an impatient person with myself most of all.
After several loud thuds and crashes in her room, she came back downstairs with a pair of sneakers. After removing all the knots in the laces, I put them on her feet and tied them. We were ready to leave the house, though about 30 minutes behind schedule.
I drove to her camp. On the way there, I asked, “You don’t have a field trip today, do you?” Iz replied, “I don’t think so.”
We got out of the car, and I walked her into the building. I hung up her backpack and gave her a kiss good-bye. A strange feeling came over me; I felt that I had forgotten something and I needed to kiss Liam right about then.
I went down the stairs, and there it was staring me in the face. It was the camp schedule I forgot to check this morning. And, Iz had swimming lessons, and her bathing suit and towel were at home.
I ran back upstairs and opened the door. I asked the teacher, “Does she have swimming lessons today?” in hopes that perhaps it was a different group. The teacher said, “Yes. We have extra towels.” I said, “Thanks, but I need to go home and come back with her suit.”
Peeved, I drove all the way home. I wasn’t peeved at Iz, though I would mark her “Task Handling” this morning as “Needs Improvement.” I was mad that I forgot to check the schedule.
The drive from camp to my house seemed to take forever. I began to think that I’d be late for work and had so much to do. Each half mile felt like 50 miles.
When I got home, I raced around the house to find her suit and towel. I ran down the hallway toward the front door to leave. Just then Liam sauntered down the stairs and said, “Hey, you look like you could use a hug.” I said, "Thanks, Liam, but I’ve got no time!"
After dropping Iz’s suit off, I headed to work now almost an hour behind schedule. Being a contract employee, I usually worked a 9-hour day so I could take an hour to run at lunch; as I drove to work, I saw my lunch hour begin to fade. To make matters worse, I realized I had no money for lunch and would have to stop on the way to work.
As I drove, I got more and more frazzled mostly with myself. I looked at the clock. When I saw it was only 9am, I had an epiphany in a black 2000 Toyota Rav4. A little voice said, “This is ridiculous. Snap out of it! Stuff happens! You’re a contract employee. You’ll run, and you’ll only work 7 hours today. Who cares?”
Apparently, up until 8:59am, I did; however, I’m glad that my little voice started speaking to me. If anyone can tell you to take a chill pill, it should be yourself after all. At 9:01am, I found the patience I needed to cope with myself and the rest of the world.
When I parked my car in supermarket parking lot, I thought boldly, “I just might mosey around the market while I’m here. Maybe I’ll even pick up some sushi for lunch. Who cares?” When I entered the supermarket, I glanced to the right toward the ATM machine; much to my surprise, I saw a man in black hovering over it.
No, Will Smith hadn’t stopped by Donelan’s on his way to Los Angeles to make a “fast cash” withdrawal; the ATM machine was being serviced. Had it been 8:59am, I might have thought, “Oh, jeez, another delay!” but since it was only 9:10am, I leaned up against the shopping carriages and stood there. I thought, "Kewl. I've never seen an ATM machine being serviced."
The man in black turned around. Before I could even smile and say ‘Hi,” he said, “It’ll be just a minute!” I said, “No problem. I’m not in a hurry,” and then my little voice added “anymore.” He rolled up the paper receipts, put them in a bag, and then he said, “You know, people like you are rare.”
Surprised by what he might say next, I looked down at what I was wearing. I thought to myself, “I guess a 48-year-old woman wearing a yellow Hello Kitty shirt might be considered rare.” He said, “Most people don’t have patience like you.”
After the morning I had, I wanted to laugh out loud. I didn’t tell him that “patience” was about 10 minutes old for me now. He said, “People expect you to be ghost. They ask me why I don’t service the machines at 2 in the morning.” I said, “I hope you say, because I’m sleeping like you are!” He laughed; he liked that one.
He said, “Some people are so mad that they stand here asking me when I’m going to be done over and over. Sometimes people have even grabbed me by the shoulders.” Obviously, servicing ATM machines was a more dangerous occupation than I first thought. I envisioned my own scenario.
“Hey, Sonny Boy, I need $20 now, so I can buy cat food, kitty litter, and litter box deodorizer!!!!! Mr. Stripe, Fuzzy Face, and Cat Benetar can't wait forever!”
Did he get a lot of that? I then noticed that he was armed with a gun. Hopefully, he’d never have to use it, especially on those crazy cat ladies, one of which I was destined to become.
He went on to tell me his story, which I didn’t mind at all. I now had all the time in the world. I always did; however, I just never knew it until 9am this morning.
He used to repair ATMs full-time. He retired and then he got bored. (I will never be retired and bored. I will be retired and biking!) So, he went to back part-time, and then they asked him to service a few more ATMs and then a few more and now he was back to full-time.
After slamming down the lid, he then said, “Okay. You can use it now.” He began to put away his tools, and I withdrew $60. He picked up his tool bag and said, “Have a nice weekend.” I said, “You, too!”
Life is about the long people encounters, but sometimes it’s about the short people encounters, too. These are the brief exchanges with a friendly stranger that often seem to magically reinforce in a Twilight Zone sort of way a new feeling for you. Patience was not my virtue until the man in black said it was. ♥
I am a devoted mother of two wonderful children, a writer (technical by day and creative by night), an avid baker and crock pot goddess (♥ Sucra), a runner and a cyclist, a rescuer of pets, a vintage fashionista, and a dispenser of social glue.
