Solving Life's Puzzles

I love doing puzzles. Crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles, sudoku puzzles . . . give me one to do and I will be most happy . . .

I do the Sudoku puzzle in the Comics page of the WashPost every morning before I get up to get ready for work. It drives me absolutely bats if I can’t finish it in the morning and have to wait until I get home at night. I especially like the “Samurai Sudoku” puzzles on Sunday, and usually work on that one every night before I go to sleep – sometimes only for 5 minutes, just before my eyes get heavy and I turn out the light to go to sleep . . .

I own about 8 or 9 thick crossword puzzle collections – full of Sunday-size puzzles that I work on in dribs and drabs, doing 1 or two puzzles in one sitting . . .

I have several jigsaw puzzles, but good ones are hard to find these days since the old “Game Keeper” stores closed. Most game stores nowadays are mostly for video games, and I am loathe to order them online . . . I kinda like to see the box before I buy, just to make sure I like the picture and the size . . .

During the most stressful times in my life, I do puzzles. No matter how sad or angry or frustrated I get, I always take the time to pull out some puzzles to try to calm myself down and snap me out of my funk.

For me, puzzles are all about logic – figuring out what goes where, and after that what fits in the next slot. It makes the logical part of my soul happy – answers are found according to order and reason with very little uncertainty thrown in. There IS a right answer to be found, and it CAN be found using certain logic patterns.

It is when I am doing puzzles that I tend to do a lot of thinking about other things that are going on in my life. I guess that in engaging that part of my brain, it helps me try to reason out other things hanging around in my head too . . . my mind goes into autopilot to solve the puzzle, while elsewhere it is focusing its attention on the other topics.

Yesterday and today, I have been doing a lot of puzzles. I am very unhappy about some things, and I am trying to figure out how to solve what’s been bugging me . . . and of course, I have to figure out exactly what IS bugging me . . . so out come the puzzles. Sometimes after doing the puzzles, I realize that I have been making a mountain out of a molehill – what I am upset about is really not a big deal, nothing to get so upset about. Sometimes, a course of action comes to me – “you know, you should do X first, then Y and then maybe it will lead to Z.” Sometimes, I realize that I need to do more research, or that I should just stop procrastinating and just DO SOMETHING. But no matter what, something useful always comes out of the puzzle session . . .

It seems to be taking longer today, though. But I guess I can chalk it up to being so distracted . . . not putting my focus on the puzzles, trying to do other things too . . . I need to figure something out though, and I need to figure it out soon, or else I am going to keep making everyone around me miserable as heck . . .

What do you do when you need to figure something out? Any specific rituals or people that you go to when you need advice?


BTW: Playwright Wendy Wasserstein, author of “The Heidi Chronicles” and “The Sisters Rosensweig,” died today of cancer at age 55. She leaves behind a six year old daughter . . . (http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060130/ap_en_ot/obit_wasserstein).

I'm Here All Week! Next Time, Try the Veal!

I’m working from home today, with the intent to get a good handle on some writing that I need to get done for a project. I can concentrate here much better than I can at work, where a hundred interruptions fill my day, ranging from pointless meetings to e-mail requests and phone calls to people just popping their heads in the door to say hey. Also, it means that I get to work on a much better computer – the computers at the Random Non-profit are beyond ancient – at least 6 years old, which IS ancient in computer terms . . .

However, my mind seems to be wandering elsewhere this morning.

Last night, Mr. Random and I went to see our friend, J, perform at a comedy open mike in Downtown DC, held in a basement room of a small hotel. I had never been to such a thing before, and it was a rather interesting experience – lots of people trying it for the first time, or having only done it a few times, and a few folks who had really honed their act and that you could tell they were about to make it to bigger rooms and bigger audiences. You sit through a lot of mediocre material - worthy of only a chuckle; a lot or horrible material - in which you sit uncomfortably, hoping that the person’s set ends quickly so you don’t have to sit through anymore of the foulmouthed, misguided attempts at jokes; and then, if you are lucky, you get to sit through some pretty funny stuff.

The organizer of the open mike was I fellow that I had read about in the Washington Post Magazine – his life had been profiled for a couple of months in a feature the Magazine did to follow the lives of “real” Washingtonians for a set number of weeks. His story was actually one of the better ones, and I was very sad when they moved on to another subject – which if I remember correctly was a couple of slacker guys who were flooded out of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina, and then managed to screw up any opportunities they were given here in DC. But I digress . . .

When I first walked into the room, I noticed how small and dark it was . . . there couldn’t have been more than 10 small cocktail tables with 3 or four chairs around each one. It was still a bit early and there were a few guys hanging around, waiting for the show to start. My first thought was . . . ugh, these MUST be the comics. Comics are not known for their striking good looks (although J is rather handsomely adorable looking, so he doesn’t get lumped in of course) but there is probably a reason they aimed for comedy, rather than, um, acting or modeling . . .

The stage was a small, square, black metal riser at the front of the room, in almost kind of a cubby, with barely enough room for both the tall, wooden stool and the tall microphone stand that stood on top of it. There was a white pot light attached to the ceiling that acted as a spotlight, and it shone almost directly in the face of whoever was onstage. The lights in the rest of the room were on dim, with most of the bright light coming from the doorway leading in the room from the hallway.

You could not order food and drinks at your table. You had to go to the bar upstairs and place your order and then the server would bring your food down to your table. At the end of the evening, you had to go back upstairs to the bar to pay for you stuff. It was annoying, and the food was expensive, but Mr. Random and I had no choice since we had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find a place to park in downtown DC at 7 PM on a Thursday night . . . those who know the area will recognize the pain of that search . . . which was compounded in its painfulness by the fact that I REALLY had to go to the bathroom . . . REALLY bad. Yes, I had gone before I left the office, but I had had a lot of liquids yesterday. We had planned on going to Julia’s Empanadas, which Mr. Random had not yet tried and which I loved when I used to work down there, but it was not to be.

The room filled up with people – random couples, friends and family of the comics, hotel guests. The show started. J was supposed to be number 6 in the order, but the MC screwed up and called him earlier than planed, which entirely threw J off, since he wasn’t mentally ready to go on yet. He was a bit shaken, and the set did not start well, but after a while some of his old bits came back and people began to laugh, but then he tried some new stuff which didn’t go over so hot. When he got off the stage he felt pretty bad, but for someone who hadn’t done that in 6 months we were just in awe that he was able to get back up there and try, regardless of how he did. He’ll get better again, I’m certain of that. It will just take a bit of time . . .

. . . We are now in the point of the story where I could either go on about each of the other comics or I could just end it right here . . . and I’ll have to end it right here, since I’m getting a bit tired. It was quite fun to go out on a “school night” and experience something that I hadn’t before. Who knows, I may go to another one sometime now that I know that they aren’t too horrible.

Has anyone else ever gone to an “Open Mike?” (comedy or otherwise?) Have any of you ever performed at one?

Telling Our Stories

. . . Registration for our local Adult ESL and Family Literacy classes has begun. To help one of the program directors, I went on Monday night to do assessment testing at a new Family Literacy site in the area. Family Literacy is set up like the usual Adult ESL classes, except that once a week, the students bring their small children with them to class so they can learn together and do joint fun, language-building activities. Unfortunately, in that program the classes start and end much earlier in the day than I am able to attend, so I wouldn’t be able to teach those, but I think I would love the challenge . . .

Anyway, I got there on Monday night, having to leave a bit early from work, and I met with E, the program director and teacher, and B, one of the teachers at the day care center where the new site was located. The three of us women sat at waited for the potential students to arrive. However, since it was a cold, rainy night, and because the social worker who is based at the site was out sick that day, reminder calls weren’t made to the parents about registering for classes that night, so no one showed up for the entire two hours we were holding registration . . .

Normally, I would have been quite annoyed, but I didn’t mind just hanging out at all. The three of us passed the time, just talking about this and that, until the small talk fell away and we talked about the importance of telling one’s stories.

B was born in Cuba, the only child of a mother and father who were both the youngest of very large families. She talked about growing up in Cuba until she was 14, when her family came to the U.S. in the late 60’s, fleeing the Communist regime. She talked about how when she was little, her large extended family would sit on the porch and tell each other the family stories long into the night. B said she was glad that she stayed and listened to the stories, because after they moved to the U.S., they did not see much of the family anymore, and the older members began dying off. Now that she has her 4 year old twins, she is happy that she will be able to share some of the old family stories with them, and hopefully the history will continue to be passed down.

E grew up in this area, and has a lot of family here, but lamented the fact that her family does not talk much about the past. She said her grandfather fought in the Pacific during World War II, but never talked about what he did. Only now that he is very old and ill do some facts come out, but she is afraid that she still does not have much information about her background. E got engaged over New Year’s (yay!) and is starting to think about family and kids and all of the related stuff, and wonders what she will be able to pass on to her family . . .

Mr. Random’s family certainly knows how to document their stories . . . both Mr. Random’s great-grandfather on his father’s side and his daughter, Mr. Random’s grandmother, wrote books about their lives. Mr. Random’s grandfather (on his dad’s side) was an artist and some of his work resides at the Library of Congress. He also typed up an oral history of his family tree that Mr. Random’s uncle updates every so often. On Mr. Random’s mother’s side, their history is strictly oral, but does go back several generations.

For my family? Not very much . . . Neither side likes to talk about the past. My father and his siblings had a very difficult upbringing and they like to dwell on that, but beyond their parents and a few aunts and uncles, they don’t touch a lot on anyone further back. My mom’s mom’s family lived in Philadelphia for many generations, but my grandmother was the very youngest of a large family and her brothers and sisters were all grown when she was brought up. She doesn’t like to talk about the past either, no matter how much I prompt . . .

I am afraid sometimes that when I have children, they will be wowed by Mr. Random’s history, but I won’t have much to share from my side. I am trying to rectify that, but it is hard work, and I can’t compete with several authors, a missionary, and an artist. I know it is not a competition, but sometimes it feels that way . . .

On Monday, we talked a lot about the importance of telling our stories, knowing where we came from and how it makes us what we are today. We spoke about how important it was to share our histories with our children, so that they know that they are not alone, they are not different – that their great uncle was a little prankster, that their great-grandmother was a tomboy who was the first woman in the village to own a motorcycle, as B related to us . . .

If we are not connected to our stories, how can we describe who we are and who we came to be? How can we show that hard times are not permanent, that people get through them and move on, that we are made of stronger stuff that we think? How can we show that there is beauty that eventually comes out of even tragedy? How can we show that change is constant and we are all part of a cycle of life larger than just ourselves?

I guess that is the great thing about blogs . . . we can hear each others’ stories and gain knowledge from those, even if we don’t have the family stories to guide us . . .

Have Passport, Will Travel

In the mail on Saturday, I found a pleasant surprise . . . a little, black book arrived that will allow me to go anywhere in the world, anytime I want.

Most people will think this is no big deal. Most people I know have traveled all sorts of places in the world – been to different countries, just hoped on a plane and gone wherever, maybe even got to study abroad and live in a different country in a while.

But for me, this is an entirely new and scary thing. You see, when I was growing up, traveling meant going to an aunt and uncle’s house somewhere else in Philly. It meant occasionally going to Atlantic City for a weekend during the summer with my family, all of us crowded into a dank motel room, “Ocean View” – which meant that the motel was actually several blocks away from the beach. My parents were not big into traveling – they were broke and working and trying to go to school at night and raise two little girls – so most of our fun was found at home. My dad had been stationed in Germany when he was drafted into the Army during the Vietnam years, and once upon a time my mom and grandmom went to Montreal to see the World’s Fair, but otherwise they had not traveled much beyond the Jersey shore either.

This was OK, though. There was so much to see at home, just by taking the bus and the subway. Philadelphia has more museums and historical sights than you can shake a stick at. I was spoiled by the embarrassment of riches of things to see. I practically lived in the Franklin Institute, the Museum of Art, the local libraries . . . a trip downtown or to the Gallery or to walk around Chestnut Hill or Germantown was exciting enough for me. Besides, I had a million cousins to keep me entertained. Who needed to leave the city?

When my family moved down to Virginia, our horizons widened a little bit. We got to go to Myrtle Beach and stay for a week for a couple of summers. We drove back to Philly to see family often. Once, at my grandmother’s urging, I got to fly to Austin, Texas to visit my aunt and see my newborn cousin. When there, we went to San Antonio and saw the Alamo (which was underwhelming – it was across the street from a Woolworth’s) and went to Houston and saw the Astrodome and went to Astroworld (ugh, I hate amusement parks . . .).

My mom’s mom was considered the traveler in the family. She was part of a seniors’ group that once in a while took cruises to places like the Bahamas and Nova Scotia. The trips were heavily planned for, and she scrimped and saved to do it, but she did it. She also visited my aunt who was stationed in Madrid, Spain with her husband who was in the Navy. While there, my aunt also took her to visit France and Italy, but grandma came back complaining about how dirty everything was – so she wasn’t exactly the best role model for world travel . . .

So for me, travel was always something that other, more moneyed people did. People who were a bit more worldly than I was, had a bit more confidence than I did, were more comfortable in new environments . . . which definitely was not me.

Once I went to college, and then moved out of my parents’ house, I was out on my own and meeting lots of people who were much more traveled than I was, who told many amazing stories about their adventures backpacking through Cambodia, or hanging out in Prague, or living in Switzerland for a semester. At first, I was very intimidated, but after a while, I realized that some folks were just rather lucky, I guess. At this point, I was trying to scrape together enough of my meager earnings just to pay rent and occasionally attend happy hours . . . finding the cash to fly to London was just not on the radar screen. Besides, there was plenty to do here . . . I was working on a ton of community things – political campaigns, community groups, going to various local events – I was pretty fulfilled in my local life, and I didn’t think I was missing anything . . .

Mr. Random has never traveled out of the U.S. either. Well, he says Tijuana doesn’t count, and I agree . . . His family just didn’t travel much either, so it was no big deal . . .

But now I am 35 years old. There is still much that I want to do here in the States, many places I would love to visit – did you know that I have never been to New York City? Been to Boston, been to Atlanta, Chicago, L.A., Portland, Seattle, San Francisco . . . I can even say I’ve been to Fargo, ND, for goodness sake! But, now I am starting to feel like . . . you know, I really should see London some day. Go to Barcelona and try the amazing food and see the architecture. Go to Sydney Harbor. Go to Vancouver, BC and Montreal. I want to try to experience something out of my range, something not American, but feel what it is like to live in another place, with different markers, and accents and culture. Try to speak a different language and understand others. I want to go to Harrods and Marks and Spencer and Selfridges. I want to watch British TV in all of its glory and see the Thames.

I want to be . . . more a part of this big world that I am living in right now. I want to . . . widen my horizons. I want . . . something different, and maybe, the same.

I want to experience it, see what happens. Will it change me for the better? Will it help me understand myself better? Will it help me understand human nature better? Will I understand the world better?

I don’t know . . . but I certainly hope to find out . . .

Spotlighting a Few Blogs

I’m still in a cranky mood . . . I actually typed up a long post yesterday about how cranky I felt, and how I don’t know why I’m still stressed out and unhappy even after the stupid conference is over . . . but I didn’t want to inflict more random, unfocused mutterings on you all, so I shared with you the poem instead.

Today, I’ll highlight some blogs that have caught my fancy . . .

*For a moment of contentment, stop by A Good Place for a Cup of Tea and a Think. (http://russelldavies.typepad.com/ateaandathink/) Russell Davies has a couple of new places up there. Pretend for a moment to pull up a chair and sit with a good book and a hot chai in some of these lovely spots . . .

*Virginia Gal’s friend, Molly Malone, has a blog (http://redheadedrover.blogspot.com/) and there I was introduced to The Cool Hunter (http://www.thecoolhunter.net/) where there is a plethora of interesting new stuff to see everyday. The Pick of the Week is static, so you have to scroll down past it to see new items . . .

*Another noteworthy blog is Jefitoblog (http://www.jefitoblog.com/blog/) – awesome music reviews and random stuff from this graphic designer/music critic. I learn something new every time I visit, or hear something I hadn’t thought about/heard in a long time. The mp3s don’t stay up too long, so you have to catch them while they’re up . . .

*I’d also like to take a moment to note the demise of our dear Anonymous Rowhouse. Not Justrose, of course – she is alive and well and doing spectacular things for herself and her family – but I will miss reading her musings everyday. She is the one who inspired me to start my own blog, and I have since gained an amazing appreciation for her writing and output . . . if I could be just a quarter as good as she, I will be quite the happy girl . . .

*In other blog news, Drink at Work is back up again after several weeks of blog problems. Yay! By the way, I think Ces and Carol are the coolest NYC couple ever . . .

If anyone has knows of any new blogs that ya’ll think I should check out, please let me know . . . I’m always on the lookout for cool, new reads!

Thursday Poem to Share

Story of My Life
Jennifer Michael Hecht

Each day goes down in history, wets its feet,
bathes in the clear or murky stream, drinks deep,
comes out to join past days on the other bank.

We go in with the bathing day, every morning,
brace the shiver on our skin, taste the slaking
of thirst, find footing on mossy rock. Climb out

with sleep. Waking, we're back on the first bank,
wading with a new day into the kaleidoscopic
water. Days far from either bank are barely seen

and seem unseeing. There is no recording of them
that knows the cold and quenching of their moment
in the water. Yet I cannot let them go, nor bear

the strong suggestion formed by their fading figures
that they have let us go and that those coming cannot
be foretold anything actual of water, flesh, or stone.

Publisher holds out a large envelope says, Sorry.
We can't publish your autobiography.
Man sighs, says, Story of my life.

All these words, then, are only for the stream?
The stream is everything? The stream is not enough?
The specters on the banks are deaf but listening?

More Random Than Usual

The winter is already filling up with activity. Wednesday night Choir practice is starting up again, my Tuesday night ESL class begins at the end of the month, and I’m taking a couple of professional development classes on Thursdays in the month of February. It is a good busy . . . doing things that I want to do and just seeing where they lead . . .

A friend of mine has invited me to an “open mike” night next week and I am eager to go, if only for the fact that I haven’t gone out for fun downtown on a weeknight for . . . well, a long, long time. I have been advised to keep my expectations low to non-existent about the performances that night . . . my friend has not been on stage in a while and just wants to slowly get back into it . . .

I certainly couldn’t do it, but then I am not a naturally funny person. Well, not intentionally funny, anyway. I think I do have a pretty good sense of humor, it’s just that I couldn’t tell a joke or anything to save my life . . . my timing is just horrible and I tend to forget significant words at times. But I do appreciate other people’s humor, although I must admit I am a bit of a prude and an elitist, so I really don’t like gross jokes or sex jokes or stuff like that . . . unless it is very cleverly done . . .

Lately I have been writing random things down that I feel compelled to get on paper. They are usually no more than a sentence or paragraph or two, but they seem like they may be the start of something interesting. There is something else that I write about . . . and emotion makes me want to do it, but once it is all down I don’t know who I would share it with . . . I started writing it several months ago and have been adding to it at times, but I feel like I should just delete it . . . but I don’t want to . . . because it records how I feel about a certain situation and I rather like it . . . it captures it well, in my opinion. Good grief, Is that vague enough for you? Anyway, I’ll probably just keep typing it and then put it in a box and store it somewhere until I am ready to deal with it, for lack of knowing what else to do with it . . . or I could make up an author name and see what I can do with it that way . . . I don’t know . . . we’ll see . . .

OK, since the preceding paragraph makes no sense, I’ll stop for today, because I don’t think my thoughts are going to get any more coherent and I do need to get some work done . . .

Highlights from the Conference Trip

. . . Reading all of Edith Wharton’s House of Mirth on the train ride down to Florida. I so identified with Lily Bart – I really wish that I had had time to write the lengthy post on the book that I had composed in my head on that Sunday when I arrived at the hotel . . . I can’t really do it justice right now, but I do think I need to read it again soon . . . it really affected me . . .

. . . Having a hotel bathroom no larger that a hall closet. When you opened the door, you only *just* missed hitting the toilet on the opposite wall and barely had enough clearance to close the door again without having to stand directly in the bathtub . . .

. . . Feeling exactly like a mom, in that I could never finish an entire meal without getting interrupted with a problem, question, or something that had to be done RIGHT THEN. I am certain that I must have lost weight during the past week, since I never had more than a couple of forkfuls of salad or eggs at any one sitting. I mostly lived on Diet Cokes and chewing gum, I think . . .

. . . Calling Mr. Random at work to get some information for one of the conference presenters and then accidentally leaving him on hold for 20 minutes, because the conference laptops broke down and we had to use mine in their place to show the PowerPoint presentations. I ran to give the AV guy my laptop, then was stopped in the hall with a couple of questions by some attendees, and then the next thing I knew, I was back in the hotel office looking at my cell phone, going “OH MY GOD! I’M SO SORRY, SWEETIE!” He was a good sport about it all, and was actually humming his own waiting music the entire time . . . such a trooper! What a mess! . . .

. . . Despite the fact that when we had copies of all of the presentations made, we specifically specified a number that would provide more than enough handouts for everyone, we still ended up short for several workshops. Getting copies made at the hotel was a very expensive proposition, since they basically wanted 20 cents a page to use their copy machines, and the nearest Kinko’s was miles away . . .

. . . Having to facilitate a workshop in the middle of dealing with everything else. I was an exhausted wreck by that point in the day (late afternoon) and all of the attendees were exhausted as well. There was good interaction, but I clearly did not do a great job at changing gears so quickly. I can’t do everything – be liaison to the hotel staff, make sure all of the presentations and workshops are running smoothly, make sure we the meals and breaks are set up properly, be responsive to the attendees questions, requests and complaints, AND then turn around and do my own workshop . . . something has to give somewhere . . .

. . . Watching the sun rise each morning over the beach from my hotel room balcony. So beautiful! The sunsets were amazing, too . . .

. . . Putting my feet into the Gulf of Mexico on my last night in Florida. Now I can say I did that, even though the water was pretty darn cold . . . and so was the sand. In fact the evenings were pretty chilly, and I’m glad I brought my sweaters and jacket down with me . . .

. . . Meeting a Pastor from Paris, France at the train station on the way out of town. I guess he saw how tired I looked sitting there, and he came over and talked to me. Such a wonderfully nice man, and his English was impeccable! He would often say, “My English is not very good, is it?” and I would reply, “Your English is better than a lot of native-born speakers!” – and it was true. (It made me wish that I knew how to speak French, for certain!) We talked for quite a while about how he became a priest and about his family in France (wife and three young daughters). He was in the States for a church conference and now was going to visit his sister in Connecticut. He was soon moving to the Congo to start a church there, and was trying to recruit some resources and support from the other pastors. He was born and raised in Congo, but his ministerial studies brought him to France 20 years ago, and he has lived there ever since. Before he left me, he said many kind words to me and gave me a blessing in French. Sometimes people appear in your life when you least expect it, and they give you a gift that you didn’t know you needed. This dear man was one of those people . . .

. . . Getting into D.C.’s Union Station three hours late, but seeing Mr. Random’s smiling face at the end of the journey . . .

So, how was everyone else’s week?

The Fat Lady Has Sung

The conference is finally over. Most of the attendees have filled out their evaluation forms, checked out of their rooms and are on their way home. The tables have been cleared of leftover presentations. All of the boxes have been packed up and taken away.

I am sitting in the hotel lobby – first time since Sunday that I have been able to just sit and take a breath and not worry about someone needing something, or something not being done. It’s all out of my hands now . . . the next conference is starting and it is all someone else’s problem now.

It was a good conference. Everyone said that they really enjoyed the speakers and the give and take, enjoyed being able to network with their peers, and took away some really great ideas that they can take back to their organizations and communities.

That is all I need. It was the entire purpose of all of this angst and last minute dramas and long hours. As long as the people that it is our mission to help are happy, I am now happy. They are the ones that count, no matter how annoying my boss is, no matter the hoops I need to jump through to get what I need to do my job.

Now I can rest. I will get to walk on the beach at sunset and have a nice dinner. I will leave here tomorrow well rested and calm, basking in the glow of a job well done, living in the happy moment.

Now, next week? . . . That’s another story . . .

On the Road Again

. . . On the road again
Goin' places that I've never been
Seein' things that I may never see again,
And I can't wait to get on the road again . . .

-- Willie Nelson (I think . . .)

Tomorrow I leave for my conference. Today many frantic last minute details are being taken care of, and many large boxes are going to be shipped overnight for Saturday delivery . . . because everything was left to the very last moment. After 3 PM today, everything conference-related should be completed, and then I just have to focus on a short writing project that I must finish before I leave the office this evening. When I get home tonight, a frantic evening of packing will ensue . . . temperatures where I am going will fluctuate between the 50s and the 70s, so I must pack for a range of temperatures. It’s all about layers! I am always cold in hotels, so I’m thinking of dressing for the conference rooms. I doubt that I am going to go out very much in the evenings – the days will start at 6:30 AM and I know that I am going to be running around the whole time, so no evening nightclubbing for me!

I think the hotel has wireless access, so I hope to still be able to use my new laptop to check my e-mail and post a little in the evenings . . . but who knows what will actually happen in practice. Mr. Random got me “Curb Your Enthusiasm” Season 2 on DVD so I’ll have something to entertain me at night.

I am nervous. I have not traveled alone in quite a long time. I know that I can do it, I have done it many times before, but there is still the slight anxiety about it lingering in the back of my mind. I do hope that everything goes well . . . if not, well, then I’ll have something interesting to write to you all . . .

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. I may or may not be able to add updates next week, so keep watching this space. Otherwise, I will return to ever lovely Northern Virginia on Friday afternoon and will catch up with you all then..

Shiny New Year, Same Old Me

Four days into the new year and I think I am already starting to react a bit better concerning work-related stresses. Well, I don’t know if “better” is the right word for it since I felt like I was sleepwalking through yesterday, but at least I’m not a bundle of anxiety. My attitude has been “eh, it’ll get done. If not, oh well.” I really hope this is the last one of these particular conferences I have to do . . .

Did you know that next week will be the first time I have spent a night away from Mr. Random since we were married over 7 years ago? Wow! I didn’t know it had been that long. I used to travel extensively for one of my previous jobs, when Mr. Random and I were still “courting,” and I would be gone for a week at a time. I’m actually looking forward to being away, oddly enough, and I feel slightly bad saying that. But it will be fun to have a hotel room all to myself and be totally independent and self-directed. I’m rather jealous that Mr. Random will have the condo all to himself – I guess lots of Cartoon Network and Sci-Fi Channel will be watched while I am away, and not many green vegetables eaten.

Another work-related blessing came my way today – a project which has been hanging over my head a while has been postponed for the end of the month. Yay! I have more time to work on it and I won’t feel horrible about it while I am at the conference. My counterpart at the other organization hasn’t been working on it on her end either, so that is a huge psychic burden taken off of my shoulders for now . . .

The sweater I’m wearing today is shedding like crazy . . . it’s worse than a cat! Plus it is one of those kind of bulky but “form fitting” sweaters that keeps riding up and I feel like I have to constantly pull the bottom of the sweater down, otherwise it will be up to my armpits by the end of the day. I got it at H&M last year for dirt cheap, and it is a nice pastel green to match the flowers at the bottom of my long black skirt. I’m also wearing black dress boots and a black scarf. I’m liking the outfit today: it’s very slimming and comfy (except for the constant tugging.)

After many months of bellyaching about it, today I finally went to the post office and submitted my passport application. In 6 weeks, I will be ready to travel the world! Yahoo!

However, my elation is tempered by highly irritating circumstances in which I submitted my application. Mr. Random and I stood in line at the post office for 45 minutes – it seems there were several families who decided to come out and apply during the lunch hour. Also three people were filling out their forms and were standing off to the side, so when I finally reached the window, the woman said “Oh, these people were here before you, they just had to fill out their forms.” Little tufts of steam rose from my head, because I’d already been waiting about 25 minutes at this point AND I had made sure to have everything already filled out nicely and neatly, documents at the ready, checks written. Then when there was just one person left in front of me, the employee decided she HAD to go to lunch right then. Off to another window and another line! More steam rising from my head! When we finally got to the new lady, she was very, very nice and had quite a lovely smile, which immediately made my grumpiness go away for the moment. My turn only took 5 minutes and then I was all done!

One goal down for 2006 already! So awesome that I can cross something off the list! I hope this bodes well for the rest of the year . . .

The Fun Begins . . .

Happy New Year, everyone!

Tomorrow the vacation is over, we jump into the fray again. Today I had lunch with my friend, J, at an Afghan place nearby. J, if you are reading this, I send a cheery wave hello!

It is so weird to tell someone I know so well about the existence of this blog. Mr. Random knows that I have one, but he doesn’t read it. I certainly hope I don’t come off as too whiny and annoying . . .

In the 2006, my mantra is to take things one day at a time and try not to get too stressed out about the job. We’ll see how long that lasts . . .

Today was dark and rainy and dreary and sleepy, the kind of day when you just want to crawl under a comforter and sit on the couch and read, read, read. I was surprised to see so many other people out and about today at the shopping centers . . . last weekend there weren’t nearly so many people shopping, as far as I could tell . . .

New Year’s Eve was a quiet one . . . Mr. Random and I bought ourselves a dozen vanilla-frosted cupcakes and a quart of Double Fudge Brownie ice cream, and ate ourselves into a sugar coma while watching MTV. We watched ABC for a minute to see Dick Clark. You can tell that he had a stroke – his speech was definitely slurred – but you could also tell that he did an amazing amount of work to get to the point where he was. It made me a bit sad to see him that way, but only because it was another reminder of how everything is constantly changing . . . how we all are getting older, and those people and things that seemed they would be around forever are now fading into history. It’s similar to all those people who mention how they used to watch Guy Lombardi play “Auld Lang Syne” . . . soon it will be all of us saying how we used to watch Dick Clark on TV way back when, and our puzzled grandchildren will say, “Who?”

This was the first year that I celebrated the holidays without my grandmother nearby. Mr. Random’s grandmother is turning 90 years old on Saturday. My parents turn 60 in a couple of months. All of these people that I love and respect and have been a part of my life for so long are growing older too. One day, they too will just be a name on the back of a picture, a “do you remember” person . . . I don’t know if I am ready to handle the passing of time in this way yet. I still miss my grandpa more than ever before, and almost 19 years have passed since he died. But I will have to handle it . . . time does not stop . . . those we love will be gone someday . . . and all of the people, those famous and those not-so-much, who served as the background noise of our lives will be gone too.

My! These are very sobering thoughts to be having today. To lighten the mood, I will end with a quote that has always stuck with me from my favorite children’s book, L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables:

"Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it."

I hope tomorrow goes well for you all!