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).
Monday, January 30, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
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?
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?
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
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 . . .
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 . . .
Monday, January 23, 2006
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 . . .
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 . . .
Friday, January 20, 2006
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!
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, January 19, 2006
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?
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?
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
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 . . .
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 . . .
Sunday, January 15, 2006
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?
. . . 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?
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
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 . . .
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 . . .
Friday, January 06, 2006
On the Road Again
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!
. . . 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 . . .)
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..
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
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 . . .
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 . . .
Monday, January 02, 2006
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:
I hope tomorrow goes well for you all!
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!
Friday, December 30, 2005
There is no try. There is only do.
(Bonus points if you can guess who the above title is quoted from!)
I am starting to get quite anxious about returning to work next week. I’m not feeling great about the conference that we are putting on or any of the other stuff going on at work. As I may or may not have mentioned, there is a bit of turmoil going on at the Random Non-Profit and at this point it is mostly caused by the head of my department. My colleague just gave notice that she will be moving to another department at the end of the month, and getting a promotion to boot. This is such an awesome opportunity for her and quite necessary because she was very underused in our department, but I am still sad because I’m going to miss working so closely with her . . . she’s such fun and a sweetie and extremely sharp. Meanwhile, my already heavy workload is going to get unbearable, and I’m currently in crisis mode all the time as it is.
Next year is going to be a “make or break” year for me, I can just feel it. I am either going to go one way or another, and I need to make a bunch of decisions very soon which will shape which direction I am going to go. I need to follow through on some of my goals and put other ones on the back burner. The ones that may be put on the back burner are the types of things that cannot be put off too much longer or they just may not happen – in other words, if I want to have kids, I need to start working on that again, but if I do, then I probably will not be able to follow some other opportunities for a very long time. I look at the example of my mother, who was a very talented artist, who put all of that behind her when she had us kids and still has not gone back to it. Now I know that I am not my mother and things could turn out differently, but I still have that example in front of me, and it gives me pause.
Change is scary. Figuring out what you want to do is scary. Getting out of the comfortable, if annoying, rut in which you are sitting is very anxiety producing. But at some point you must get off your butt and make things happen, otherwise you are just scared and anxious all the time, with nothing to show for it. At this point, I have nothing to show for my anxieties – now I want to at least have some spectacular failures that I can point to and laugh at and say “Well, that sure didn’t work, but at least I did something!”
. . . I have to get my freaking passport and at least go to Canada or something.
. . . I have to get a new job, or at least a new position at the same place.
. . . I have to submit my writing somewhere, so at least I can get a rejection letter to show that I am putting myself out there.
. . . I have to go back to school to find my way to becoming a teacher . . . and maybe a better writer in the process.
. . . I have to make peace with who I am, so that I am not so tentative with those that I care about most.
These are not resolutions . . . resolutions are made to be broken. These are more like . . . life goals . . . things that I have to keep working through to make me become whatever I am becoming.
I have to start failing at things . . . I have to start succeeding at things . . .
I have to start doing things.
. . . and tomorrow is as good a time as any to begin.
I am starting to get quite anxious about returning to work next week. I’m not feeling great about the conference that we are putting on or any of the other stuff going on at work. As I may or may not have mentioned, there is a bit of turmoil going on at the Random Non-Profit and at this point it is mostly caused by the head of my department. My colleague just gave notice that she will be moving to another department at the end of the month, and getting a promotion to boot. This is such an awesome opportunity for her and quite necessary because she was very underused in our department, but I am still sad because I’m going to miss working so closely with her . . . she’s such fun and a sweetie and extremely sharp. Meanwhile, my already heavy workload is going to get unbearable, and I’m currently in crisis mode all the time as it is.
Next year is going to be a “make or break” year for me, I can just feel it. I am either going to go one way or another, and I need to make a bunch of decisions very soon which will shape which direction I am going to go. I need to follow through on some of my goals and put other ones on the back burner. The ones that may be put on the back burner are the types of things that cannot be put off too much longer or they just may not happen – in other words, if I want to have kids, I need to start working on that again, but if I do, then I probably will not be able to follow some other opportunities for a very long time. I look at the example of my mother, who was a very talented artist, who put all of that behind her when she had us kids and still has not gone back to it. Now I know that I am not my mother and things could turn out differently, but I still have that example in front of me, and it gives me pause.
Change is scary. Figuring out what you want to do is scary. Getting out of the comfortable, if annoying, rut in which you are sitting is very anxiety producing. But at some point you must get off your butt and make things happen, otherwise you are just scared and anxious all the time, with nothing to show for it. At this point, I have nothing to show for my anxieties – now I want to at least have some spectacular failures that I can point to and laugh at and say “Well, that sure didn’t work, but at least I did something!”
. . . I have to get my freaking passport and at least go to Canada or something.
. . . I have to get a new job, or at least a new position at the same place.
. . . I have to submit my writing somewhere, so at least I can get a rejection letter to show that I am putting myself out there.
. . . I have to go back to school to find my way to becoming a teacher . . . and maybe a better writer in the process.
. . . I have to make peace with who I am, so that I am not so tentative with those that I care about most.
These are not resolutions . . . resolutions are made to be broken. These are more like . . . life goals . . . things that I have to keep working through to make me become whatever I am becoming.
I have to start failing at things . . . I have to start succeeding at things . . .
I have to start doing things.
. . . and tomorrow is as good a time as any to begin.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Not a Creature Was Stirring . . .
The house this week has been so, so quiet . . . even with the two of us here together most of the time. There were so many things I had planned to do during my time off this week – read several books, reorganize the kitchen, do a bit of baking, do some research into several things I’m planning for in 2006 – but in the end, I have taken a lot of naps, played with my new laptop a bit, and just sat quietly, not doing much.
It has been a wonderful week.
What possesses us to want to get so much done in our time off? Why does it seem like such sacrilege to just want to sit and let the mind rest?
Now I always go to bed each night stating that tomorrow is the day I’m going to start on these projects . . . but then the cat wakes me up at an earlier hour than I had hoped, making me groggy and lethargic through the morning. I feed her, read the paper while eating my cereal, do a little exercising and then pop onto the computer to check e-mails. Next thing I know, it is noon. Mr. Random and I have lunch and then I get sleepy and take a nap for an hour or so. Then back on the computer to play with it. The time passes. I do some puzzles, I read the mail, Mr. Random and I talk about random things . . . you get the idea . . .
Next week, after the New Year’s holiday, the hustle and bustle begin again. I am leaving for the Random Non-Profit’s conference on the 7th, where I will be for a week, running around like a maniac. Prior to leaving, there is so much to be done at work, most of the conference materials have not been finalized, so it will be a mad dash to get everything copied and sent. I must pack . . . my goal is to take one large rolling bag, a laptop bag and my purse – nothing more. Since I am traveling solo, I don’t want to be laden down with several extra little bags – let the other folks on the team be the packrats this time!
So this week is a godsend of sorts, a time for me to not be so stressed out and frenzied. I still want to do a bit of reading though, and plan to do so as soon as I pry myself away from this shiny glowing object.
Recharging one’s battery is a good thing. I hope I get to do more of this in 2006.
What one thing would you like to do in 2006? Not a resolution, per se, but just something that you are aware of and would like to make a conscious effort to do more of . . .
It has been a wonderful week.
What possesses us to want to get so much done in our time off? Why does it seem like such sacrilege to just want to sit and let the mind rest?
Now I always go to bed each night stating that tomorrow is the day I’m going to start on these projects . . . but then the cat wakes me up at an earlier hour than I had hoped, making me groggy and lethargic through the morning. I feed her, read the paper while eating my cereal, do a little exercising and then pop onto the computer to check e-mails. Next thing I know, it is noon. Mr. Random and I have lunch and then I get sleepy and take a nap for an hour or so. Then back on the computer to play with it. The time passes. I do some puzzles, I read the mail, Mr. Random and I talk about random things . . . you get the idea . . .
Next week, after the New Year’s holiday, the hustle and bustle begin again. I am leaving for the Random Non-Profit’s conference on the 7th, where I will be for a week, running around like a maniac. Prior to leaving, there is so much to be done at work, most of the conference materials have not been finalized, so it will be a mad dash to get everything copied and sent. I must pack . . . my goal is to take one large rolling bag, a laptop bag and my purse – nothing more. Since I am traveling solo, I don’t want to be laden down with several extra little bags – let the other folks on the team be the packrats this time!
So this week is a godsend of sorts, a time for me to not be so stressed out and frenzied. I still want to do a bit of reading though, and plan to do so as soon as I pry myself away from this shiny glowing object.
Recharging one’s battery is a good thing. I hope I get to do more of this in 2006.
What one thing would you like to do in 2006? Not a resolution, per se, but just something that you are aware of and would like to make a conscious effort to do more of . . .
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Needles Falling from the Tree
Christmas has come and gone. Bummer. The days are speeding by, and I have hardly caught my breath. It is WEDNESDAY already, for goodness sake! My vacation is half over, and I don’t know where the time went . . .
How did my holiday go, you may ask? It went rather well . . . in fact, right this very second, I am typing away on one of the most awesome Christmas gifts I have ever received . . .
A brand new laptop! A shiny, tricked-out laptop, with all sorts of bells and whistles and awesome things that I would never have been able to get on my own. Mr. Random, with much help from his family, engineered this lovely holiday surprise, hiding the box in plain sight in his office at work. I was so stunned and happy and flustered when I opened the box that I just cried and cried . . . it was so awesome! Mr. Random wanted to make sure that I liked it – well, DUH! – because he said that he knew that I would have one of two reactions – either I would love it, or I would yell at him for spending so much money. I said I was incredibly happy and too stunned at the moment to yell . . . we’ll deal with that part later.
It took a while to get all set up . . . yes, all the software was on it out of the box, but I needed an internet connection to get everything activated . . . plus I also want to use the DSL line too when I am working on it at home. So on Monday, we trudged out to Staples and bought a router and extra cables and decided that we were going to set up a home network. Long story short, everything didn’t get connected until this afternoon, so here we are!
I’m hoping that this will push me to do a lot more writing and make life a bit easier if I finally do decide to go back to school in the Fall. I’ll also be able to take it to my conference two weeks and be able to keep in touch with Mr. Random (and you guys) while I am away.
Now I just have to get a new mouse and a good laptop bag. I want one of those bags that don’t look so obviously like laptop bags, but more of a nice leather tote.
What else did I get in my holiday haul?
. . . My parents gave Mr. Random and me a really nice down comforter, with a micro-suede duvet cover. It’s so soft! Yesterday, we went out and got new pillows and sheets . . . because we’ve needed new pillows and sheets for the longest time, but it’s never been a huge priority – you know how that goes . . . so long as what you have works, there’s not really any burning rush. Now our bed feels like a hotel bed, if you know what I mean. You lie on the bed and you just sink into the comforter . . . sweet!
. . . Curb Your Enthusiasm, Season 1, DVD. Mr. Random and I don’t get HBO, but we saw the show once at a friend’s house, and I loved it, so Mr. Ransom got me the DVD. I watched the first 6 episodes and I was cracking up the whole time . . . Larry David is awesome, and you can totally see where George Castanza came from . . .
. . . Two Suduko books. I do the Suduko puzzle in the WashPost every morning, so Mr. Random thought I would like more . . .
. . . A beautiful cashmere wrap . . . it’s soft, and beige and a little sparkly . . .
. . . Rachael Ray’s 30 Minute Meals. My sister, J, is as enamored with the Food Network as I am, so she thought I’d like it. She tried to find me the “365 Meals, No Repeats” book, but they were sold out . . .
. . . A Barnes and Noble gift card. Which I am going to promptly spend when I find the “365 Meals” book . . .
. . . A pair of pajamas. It’s actually a t-shirt and matching pajama pants, but looks quite comfy and will get a lot of use out of me around the house . . .
. . . A jigsaw puzzle. 500 pieces. I love jigsaw puzzles . . .
. . . A DVD set of Tracy/Hepburn movies . . . Pat and Mike, Woman of the Year, and Desk Set. Does anyone NOT love Kate? . . .
I got Mr. Random several games, one computer (Age of Empires 2) and one board (Ticket to Ride – a train-related game), 3 CDs (The White Stripes, The Gorillaz, and a guy whose name escapes me, but he’s a Hassidic Jew who does reggae rap. No, I’m not making that up . . .), Barnes and Noble gift card, some new running togs, and the usual, much needed socks and underwear.
All-in-all, a fabulous holiday has been had by us both, and while we have spent the last few days frustrated in setting up the computers and running around getting new accessories, it has been a pretty restful week so far. I am already dreading going back to work, but I am trying to push those thoughts to the back of my mind.
By the way, thanks so much for the sweet comments about my writing post . . . it came to me that day and just begged to be written - I don’t know why – and I almost just deleted it. I’m hoping the laptop encourages me to type more of these things out and not just delete them, since I will have my own space for them . . . not that I couldn’t have done it before on our home computer, since Mr. Random is always quite encouraging, but I want to take things wherever they may lead, and I am not sure where that may be . . .
Friday, December 23, 2005
A writer is one who writes
What does it mean to write? Are you a writer?
A writer is one who writes.
This you have been told by many, many people. “Stop thinking so much and actually put words to paper!”
But what if you have a lot of emotional baggage associated with writing? What if you are unsure of how to write, what to write, the grammar and punctuation, the organization and all of the other goodies that “good writing” entails.
A writer is one who writes.
What if you want to write well? What if you want to express your thoughts and feelings on paper, but you want it to sound like it sounds in your own head . . . but better? Writing is a lot of hard, hard work . . . work that you do not know if you can do.
A writer is one who writes.
You do want to do the work, though. You have things you want to get down on paper, to share with the rest of the world. You want someone to understand, to empathize, to nod in agreement. You want someone to disagree with you, to offer reasons why your logic is faulty. You want to begin a conversation.
A writer is one who writes.
But what if you do that and people are turned off by your writing . . . the thoughts aren’t developed enough, the grammar deplorable, the vocabulary childish . . .
A writer is one who writes.
What if you are constantly nagged by your own internalized perfectionism, the voice that tells you that what you are doing is not right, not enough? How do you get rid of that horrible, nagging, pervasive voice?
A writer is one who writes.
When you were small, you loved to write. You loved to make up stories. You wanted to be the next Laura Ingalls Wilder, or Charles Dickens, or Louisa May Alcott. You wanted to move others with your plots and prose as much as you were moved. You filled small notebooks with many of your stories, of damsels being left at home by sailing suitors, of orphans looking for a place in life, of girls who had big dreams.
A writer is one who writes.
But as you grew older, and as it seemed that you were getting more serious about your writing, your parents tried to dissuade you from going further. “Most writers don’t make any money! You don’t want to do that. Why don’t you go into something more stable, like business or computer programming?”
A writer is one who writes.
Since your parents made the rules and held the purse strings, you had to listen to them . . . you had to, there was no choice. You were an obedient daughter who wanted to make your parents happy, whether it made you happy or not. So you gave up the writing and focused on other things, other things that you didn’t care as much about, but you tried to care . . .
A writer is one who writes.
You tossed out all of the little notebooks, since they seemed to be useless. You were hurt and angry, but that is just the way things were. You did not know where to put your creativity, so you tried all sorts of different things, just so you could get the feeling of creation out of your system.
A writer is one who writes.
But now, many years later, you have come to know that you can’t do things to make other people happy, even though that is all you have learned and all you have experienced. You try to make baby steps in finding out who you really are. You realize that you need to go back to the beginning and sort out where you got off track.
A writer is one who writes.
To discover who you are, you need to work through your experiences, make sense of them. You need to get the words out and look at them - in cold black and white – and see where they lead. You need to learn to write again. You need to be a writer again.
A writer is one who writes.
So you are back at square one, trying to rediscover what you knew so organically when you were younger, trying not to be scared, trying not to have fear. You want to just let the words flow and enjoy them, the sound of them, how they fit together.
A writer is one who writes.
Here you sit, letting the words pour out of you. The words may not fit. The words may not make sense. But at least the words are there, and you are trying to be heard. You are writing. Not well, but you are writing because . . .
A writer is one who writes.
A writer is one who writes.
This you have been told by many, many people. “Stop thinking so much and actually put words to paper!”
But what if you have a lot of emotional baggage associated with writing? What if you are unsure of how to write, what to write, the grammar and punctuation, the organization and all of the other goodies that “good writing” entails.
A writer is one who writes.
What if you want to write well? What if you want to express your thoughts and feelings on paper, but you want it to sound like it sounds in your own head . . . but better? Writing is a lot of hard, hard work . . . work that you do not know if you can do.
A writer is one who writes.
You do want to do the work, though. You have things you want to get down on paper, to share with the rest of the world. You want someone to understand, to empathize, to nod in agreement. You want someone to disagree with you, to offer reasons why your logic is faulty. You want to begin a conversation.
A writer is one who writes.
But what if you do that and people are turned off by your writing . . . the thoughts aren’t developed enough, the grammar deplorable, the vocabulary childish . . .
A writer is one who writes.
What if you are constantly nagged by your own internalized perfectionism, the voice that tells you that what you are doing is not right, not enough? How do you get rid of that horrible, nagging, pervasive voice?
A writer is one who writes.
When you were small, you loved to write. You loved to make up stories. You wanted to be the next Laura Ingalls Wilder, or Charles Dickens, or Louisa May Alcott. You wanted to move others with your plots and prose as much as you were moved. You filled small notebooks with many of your stories, of damsels being left at home by sailing suitors, of orphans looking for a place in life, of girls who had big dreams.
A writer is one who writes.
But as you grew older, and as it seemed that you were getting more serious about your writing, your parents tried to dissuade you from going further. “Most writers don’t make any money! You don’t want to do that. Why don’t you go into something more stable, like business or computer programming?”
A writer is one who writes.
Since your parents made the rules and held the purse strings, you had to listen to them . . . you had to, there was no choice. You were an obedient daughter who wanted to make your parents happy, whether it made you happy or not. So you gave up the writing and focused on other things, other things that you didn’t care as much about, but you tried to care . . .
A writer is one who writes.
You tossed out all of the little notebooks, since they seemed to be useless. You were hurt and angry, but that is just the way things were. You did not know where to put your creativity, so you tried all sorts of different things, just so you could get the feeling of creation out of your system.
A writer is one who writes.
But now, many years later, you have come to know that you can’t do things to make other people happy, even though that is all you have learned and all you have experienced. You try to make baby steps in finding out who you really are. You realize that you need to go back to the beginning and sort out where you got off track.
A writer is one who writes.
To discover who you are, you need to work through your experiences, make sense of them. You need to get the words out and look at them - in cold black and white – and see where they lead. You need to learn to write again. You need to be a writer again.
A writer is one who writes.
So you are back at square one, trying to rediscover what you knew so organically when you were younger, trying not to be scared, trying not to have fear. You want to just let the words flow and enjoy them, the sound of them, how they fit together.
A writer is one who writes.
Here you sit, letting the words pour out of you. The words may not fit. The words may not make sense. But at least the words are there, and you are trying to be heard. You are writing. Not well, but you are writing because . . .
A writer is one who writes.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Festivus . . . for the Rest of Us!
December 23 is Festivus! Happy Festivus to you all!
Since that Seinfeld episode came out, the holiday has just swept the nation. Or rather, it has swept through all of us with really warped senses of humor. Did you know there are all sorts of websites on Festivus now? This is one of the many featuring the holiday: (http://www.religioustolerance.org/festivus.htm). Here’s the wikipedia post about it, even though they have the true origin of the holiday kind of wrong. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festivus).
I love the whole idea of this. (I can be such a crank sometimes.) The stark aluminum pole, the airing of grievances (gather around the dinner table folks!), the feats of strength (which some people have turned into the playing of board games), . . . it all sounds so simple and so much fun . . . a catharsis of sorts, in which you renounce the consumerism and heavy spiritual baggage of the season and just get into the pure simplicity of getting together and being cranky human beings.
* * * * *
You know, I am just exhausted. I was originally scheduled to take today and tomorrow off, but there is so much left to do that I nixed that idea. I could really use the sleep, though. Mr. Random still has a wicked cough, and last night kept both of us awake with it. It is getting better, but the dry air was just killing him and our humidifier was acting funky. I am so unmotivated to do any of the tasks before me. Most of the Random Non-Profit has gone on vacation already. I just want the week to be over!
* * * * *
There is an amazing amount of candy at the front desk. I am trying to have some willpower here, so I am drinking about a gallon of water an hour. I’m getting plenty of exercise from all of the bathroom breaks . . .
* * * * *
The Counting Crows have a song that I think of a lot this time of year. . .
A Long December
A long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin’
Now the days go by so fast
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
If you think that I could be forgiven...I wish you would.
The smell of hospitals in winter
And the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
All at once you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
If you think you might come to California...I think you should.
Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
And it’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it’s one more day up in the canyon
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
It’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean...I guess I should.
. . . As a side note, which makes this song quite meaningful for me . . .
After Mr. Random and I had been going out for almost a year, he went back home to Southern Cal for Christmas. He was considering whether to ask me to marry him. One night, he was just driving around his hometown when this song came on. Just for the heck of it he drove to the ocean . . . hung out for a while . . . and made his decision . . .
. . . January 4th will be the 9th anniversary of our first date and the 8th anniversary of our engagement.
* * * * *
The next few days are going to get pretty hectic. My sister is coming home tomorrow, much gift-wrapping needs to be done, and I need . . . to take a few naps. Posts may be few and far between next week, since Mr. Random and I are taking a much deserved week off together.
It’s been a long December
And there’s reason to believe
That maybe this year will be better than the last . . .
I want to wish you all a very happy holiday season, no matter what – if anything – you celebrate at this time! May next year be a better one for each and every one of us.
Since that Seinfeld episode came out, the holiday has just swept the nation. Or rather, it has swept through all of us with really warped senses of humor. Did you know there are all sorts of websites on Festivus now? This is one of the many featuring the holiday: (http://www.religioustolerance.org/festivus.htm). Here’s the wikipedia post about it, even though they have the true origin of the holiday kind of wrong. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festivus).
I love the whole idea of this. (I can be such a crank sometimes.) The stark aluminum pole, the airing of grievances (gather around the dinner table folks!), the feats of strength (which some people have turned into the playing of board games), . . . it all sounds so simple and so much fun . . . a catharsis of sorts, in which you renounce the consumerism and heavy spiritual baggage of the season and just get into the pure simplicity of getting together and being cranky human beings.
* * * * *
You know, I am just exhausted. I was originally scheduled to take today and tomorrow off, but there is so much left to do that I nixed that idea. I could really use the sleep, though. Mr. Random still has a wicked cough, and last night kept both of us awake with it. It is getting better, but the dry air was just killing him and our humidifier was acting funky. I am so unmotivated to do any of the tasks before me. Most of the Random Non-Profit has gone on vacation already. I just want the week to be over!
* * * * *
There is an amazing amount of candy at the front desk. I am trying to have some willpower here, so I am drinking about a gallon of water an hour. I’m getting plenty of exercise from all of the bathroom breaks . . .
* * * * *
The Counting Crows have a song that I think of a lot this time of year. . .
A Long December
A long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin’
Now the days go by so fast
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
If you think that I could be forgiven...I wish you would.
The smell of hospitals in winter
And the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
All at once you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
If you think you might come to California...I think you should.
Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
And it’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it’s one more day up in the canyon
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
It’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean...I guess I should.
. . . As a side note, which makes this song quite meaningful for me . . .
After Mr. Random and I had been going out for almost a year, he went back home to Southern Cal for Christmas. He was considering whether to ask me to marry him. One night, he was just driving around his hometown when this song came on. Just for the heck of it he drove to the ocean . . . hung out for a while . . . and made his decision . . .
. . . January 4th will be the 9th anniversary of our first date and the 8th anniversary of our engagement.
* * * * *
The next few days are going to get pretty hectic. My sister is coming home tomorrow, much gift-wrapping needs to be done, and I need . . . to take a few naps. Posts may be few and far between next week, since Mr. Random and I are taking a much deserved week off together.
It’s been a long December
And there’s reason to believe
That maybe this year will be better than the last . . .
I want to wish you all a very happy holiday season, no matter what – if anything – you celebrate at this time! May next year be a better one for each and every one of us.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Christmas Potluck Today
(Sing along to "Deck the Halls"!)
‘Tis the season to have potlucks,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
The company’s too cheap to spend some of its bucks
Fa la la la la, la la la la
So all bring in their three bean salads
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
And guess what casserole that one o'er there is
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Then the church has its own party
Fa la la la la, la la la la
I guess that means I should not dress tarty
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Deviled eggs and blue ambrosia
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
If you get sick, I certainly warned ya’
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Are potlucks primarily a Southern thing? After my family moved down here, my mom commented that she never went to so many potlucks all the years she lived in Philly. You have a party, you provide the food – the guests just bring themselves . . . makes total sense to me! Even if you just order a pizza or just have cheese and crackers and beer, people appreciate you trying to entertain and feed them.
Down here, it seems like you always have to bring your own food. My mom would always bring something substantial, like her homemade mac & cheese or fry up some of her yummy chicken – and the next thing you know it was all gone in five minutes, because everyone else brought random salads that even the people who brought them didn’t want to eat. One time, the hosts complained because she didn’t make a large enough batch! So after a while she stopped bringing the good stuff and started bringing simple things like a bag of chips . . . making an effort gets tiring after a while.
I’m starting to get to that point myself, although I haven’t had the lousy experiences my mom has had. For potlucks I usually either make (a) green bean casserole or (b) some sort of cheesecake.
Now my green bean casserole is slightly different from the Campbell’s recipe:
I am a little more sparing with the Fried Onions,
I use cream of chicken and mushroom soup (adds a bit more flavor),
I use FROZEN green beans, rather than canned (EWWWWWW!) – this makes the beans crisper and they usually are a nice healthy green color.
Instead of just black pepper, I also put in a little Mrs. Dash for some more flavor.
. . . So people really like my version, and actually request that I bring it. Yay!
Same deal with the cheesecakes – I always make them from scratch and do the whole long baking process. You know, one and a half hours baking in the hot over (with a pan of water at the bottom, so there is no cracking), one hour in the oven with the oven turned off, then one hour on the counter to cool a little more, then at least 8 hours in the fridge. So it is a bit of a time commitment to make one . . . you just can’t decide to make one at 10 at night, unless you really want to stay up until 4 AM. So they tend to be rather popular . . . which makes me happy, because then it is worth all of the effort.
However, this time of year . . . oy! There’s always two or three potlucks scheduled for the same five day period. There’s the church party, and other friends’ parties and work parties . . . and all the baking gets rather tiring (and expensive!) So I always think I want to hang it up and bring the bag of chips or platter of cookies . . . but then I feel so lame doing so, like I let the universe down somehow . . . I’ve really got to get a grip on that . . .
The holidays are not supposed to stress you out, but something about this time of year makes me want to give Martha a run for her money. Being sick doesn’t help much, it just makes me feel bad that I’m not doing the things that I want to do. I must accept that being sick is the Universe’s way of telling me to slow down . . . get a bit of rest . . . stop trying to do eight million things . . .
I’m trying to be laid back, Universe! I’m trying! Just stop with the darn potlucks already!
[Apprentice note for VG – Randal totally lost my love in the last 60 seconds of the show. What a snot! I was under the impression that Trump was kind of asking Randal if he (Randal) would hire her, as his apprentice. I totally believe that Rebecca would have said yes if the shoe was on the other foot, because Rebecca had so much respect for Randal. Rebecca seems destined for better things anyway. I didn’t know she was only 24? She’s certainly a lot better candidate than either Kendra or Kelly were, ugh!]
‘Tis the season to have potlucks,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
The company’s too cheap to spend some of its bucks
Fa la la la la, la la la la
So all bring in their three bean salads
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
And guess what casserole that one o'er there is
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Then the church has its own party
Fa la la la la, la la la la
I guess that means I should not dress tarty
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Deviled eggs and blue ambrosia
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
If you get sick, I certainly warned ya’
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Are potlucks primarily a Southern thing? After my family moved down here, my mom commented that she never went to so many potlucks all the years she lived in Philly. You have a party, you provide the food – the guests just bring themselves . . . makes total sense to me! Even if you just order a pizza or just have cheese and crackers and beer, people appreciate you trying to entertain and feed them.
Down here, it seems like you always have to bring your own food. My mom would always bring something substantial, like her homemade mac & cheese or fry up some of her yummy chicken – and the next thing you know it was all gone in five minutes, because everyone else brought random salads that even the people who brought them didn’t want to eat. One time, the hosts complained because she didn’t make a large enough batch! So after a while she stopped bringing the good stuff and started bringing simple things like a bag of chips . . . making an effort gets tiring after a while.
I’m starting to get to that point myself, although I haven’t had the lousy experiences my mom has had. For potlucks I usually either make (a) green bean casserole or (b) some sort of cheesecake.
Now my green bean casserole is slightly different from the Campbell’s recipe:
I am a little more sparing with the Fried Onions,
I use cream of chicken and mushroom soup (adds a bit more flavor),
I use FROZEN green beans, rather than canned (EWWWWWW!) – this makes the beans crisper and they usually are a nice healthy green color.
Instead of just black pepper, I also put in a little Mrs. Dash for some more flavor.
. . . So people really like my version, and actually request that I bring it. Yay!
Same deal with the cheesecakes – I always make them from scratch and do the whole long baking process. You know, one and a half hours baking in the hot over (with a pan of water at the bottom, so there is no cracking), one hour in the oven with the oven turned off, then one hour on the counter to cool a little more, then at least 8 hours in the fridge. So it is a bit of a time commitment to make one . . . you just can’t decide to make one at 10 at night, unless you really want to stay up until 4 AM. So they tend to be rather popular . . . which makes me happy, because then it is worth all of the effort.
However, this time of year . . . oy! There’s always two or three potlucks scheduled for the same five day period. There’s the church party, and other friends’ parties and work parties . . . and all the baking gets rather tiring (and expensive!) So I always think I want to hang it up and bring the bag of chips or platter of cookies . . . but then I feel so lame doing so, like I let the universe down somehow . . . I’ve really got to get a grip on that . . .
The holidays are not supposed to stress you out, but something about this time of year makes me want to give Martha a run for her money. Being sick doesn’t help much, it just makes me feel bad that I’m not doing the things that I want to do. I must accept that being sick is the Universe’s way of telling me to slow down . . . get a bit of rest . . . stop trying to do eight million things . . .
I’m trying to be laid back, Universe! I’m trying! Just stop with the darn potlucks already!
[Apprentice note for VG – Randal totally lost my love in the last 60 seconds of the show. What a snot! I was under the impression that Trump was kind of asking Randal if he (Randal) would hire her, as his apprentice. I totally believe that Rebecca would have said yes if the shoe was on the other foot, because Rebecca had so much respect for Randal. Rebecca seems destined for better things anyway. I didn’t know she was only 24? She’s certainly a lot better candidate than either Kendra or Kelly were, ugh!]
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Nose Pressed Firmly to the Grindstone
I’m finally back at work today – still not feeling up to snuff, but good enough to start to tackle a few projects.
Mr. Random, on the other hand, is fully sick now and can’t talk at all. No sound comes out of his mouth except a low, guttural rasp. I’m making sure he is drinking plenty of fluids and not letting the cold settle into his chest, as was the case for me.
I am so behind, it is not funny - Funder reports are due again . . . I have to write some articles for a publication that we want to go to print in a few weeks . . . I have another project that I am supposed to be submitting chapters for, and have finished by the beginning of January . . . I have to write something to update/create a Website for my program . . . I have to complete some other documents and assemble things for our conference in January . . . . the list just goes on and on. I have a feeling I’m not going to get any rest between Christmas and New Year’s as I had hoped this year . . .
I forgot that we were supposed to bring in the goods for our “adopted” child today, but luckily the coordinator is going to hold off delivering the toys to the school until tomorrow at lunchtime. Whew! I was so upset when I had realized that I had forgotten all about it! Our Random Non-profit partners with a local elementary school each year to provide Christmas gifts for families at the school who are struggling. For the past 6 years, Mr. Random and I have sponsored a child, and have gone just bonkers buying all sorts of cool clothes, books and toys. Last year, we had a little two year old boy – you should have seen the little jumpers and socks and other teeny clothes that we bought! We also bought a bunch of little books that we hope he and his family enjoyed. This year, we have an eleven year old girl . . . this will be a bit challenging since all 11 years olds are different and it is difficult enough to buy things for people in that age group, even when you’re related to them!
I also have to bake a couple of cheesecakes this weekend – one for a party on Saturday night and one for the office party on Monday. This weekend, I also need to put together the goodie bags that Mr. Random and I usually give out at work instead of gifts. I’m feeling really overwhelmed right now, and I know that we could nix the goodie bags, but I still owe cheesecakes . . . people kind of look forward to them, and I was hoping to make a chocolate chip one that I haven’t made in while . . . they just take so darn long!
At choir practice, we always end by praying for people we think need it badly. I threw out for consideration all of those folks who are stressed and depressed at this time of year . . . I’m starting to fit into this category in a big way. (Also, last night we received a huge stack of music that we are supposed to be performing on Christmas Eve. It is a lot of familiar carols, but of course it can’t be that simple . . . we have to learn all sorts of harmony parts and descants and funky new things to throw in. In less than two weeks. Gee, no added stress there!)
Why does everything have to happen at the end of the year? Good grief!
Enough venting for one day . . . I’ll try to calm down a bit by tomorrow . . .
Mr. Random, on the other hand, is fully sick now and can’t talk at all. No sound comes out of his mouth except a low, guttural rasp. I’m making sure he is drinking plenty of fluids and not letting the cold settle into his chest, as was the case for me.
I am so behind, it is not funny - Funder reports are due again . . . I have to write some articles for a publication that we want to go to print in a few weeks . . . I have another project that I am supposed to be submitting chapters for, and have finished by the beginning of January . . . I have to write something to update/create a Website for my program . . . I have to complete some other documents and assemble things for our conference in January . . . . the list just goes on and on. I have a feeling I’m not going to get any rest between Christmas and New Year’s as I had hoped this year . . .
I forgot that we were supposed to bring in the goods for our “adopted” child today, but luckily the coordinator is going to hold off delivering the toys to the school until tomorrow at lunchtime. Whew! I was so upset when I had realized that I had forgotten all about it! Our Random Non-profit partners with a local elementary school each year to provide Christmas gifts for families at the school who are struggling. For the past 6 years, Mr. Random and I have sponsored a child, and have gone just bonkers buying all sorts of cool clothes, books and toys. Last year, we had a little two year old boy – you should have seen the little jumpers and socks and other teeny clothes that we bought! We also bought a bunch of little books that we hope he and his family enjoyed. This year, we have an eleven year old girl . . . this will be a bit challenging since all 11 years olds are different and it is difficult enough to buy things for people in that age group, even when you’re related to them!
I also have to bake a couple of cheesecakes this weekend – one for a party on Saturday night and one for the office party on Monday. This weekend, I also need to put together the goodie bags that Mr. Random and I usually give out at work instead of gifts. I’m feeling really overwhelmed right now, and I know that we could nix the goodie bags, but I still owe cheesecakes . . . people kind of look forward to them, and I was hoping to make a chocolate chip one that I haven’t made in while . . . they just take so darn long!
At choir practice, we always end by praying for people we think need it badly. I threw out for consideration all of those folks who are stressed and depressed at this time of year . . . I’m starting to fit into this category in a big way. (Also, last night we received a huge stack of music that we are supposed to be performing on Christmas Eve. It is a lot of familiar carols, but of course it can’t be that simple . . . we have to learn all sorts of harmony parts and descants and funky new things to throw in. In less than two weeks. Gee, no added stress there!)
Why does everything have to happen at the end of the year? Good grief!
Enough venting for one day . . . I’ll try to calm down a bit by tomorrow . . .
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Turn Your Head and Cough
I have bronchitis . . . I'm getting tired of being sick, but it seems like I can't really rest . . . there is so much to do at work, and every day that I try to rest just piles more stuff for me to do by the end of the year.
I did get some rest on Saturday - didn't leave the house! - and on Sunday I went to lunch with my friend, J, at a very yummy Thai place on Route 7. Yesterday, the Random Non-Profit had the day off, due to our board meetings, so I tried to rest a bit too, but I was quite stressed out and coughing up a lung. When the coughing continued this morning, we went to the Urgent Care, where I found out I have bronchitis. I promptly came home and slept most of the afternoon.
I will miss my last ESL class of the semester, which is quite disappointing, but this was such a funky semester that I'm just glad it is over.
I hope everyone else is keeping healthy . . . hope to have better posts tomorrow!
I did get some rest on Saturday - didn't leave the house! - and on Sunday I went to lunch with my friend, J, at a very yummy Thai place on Route 7. Yesterday, the Random Non-Profit had the day off, due to our board meetings, so I tried to rest a bit too, but I was quite stressed out and coughing up a lung. When the coughing continued this morning, we went to the Urgent Care, where I found out I have bronchitis. I promptly came home and slept most of the afternoon.
I will miss my last ESL class of the semester, which is quite disappointing, but this was such a funky semester that I'm just glad it is over.
I hope everyone else is keeping healthy . . . hope to have better posts tomorrow!
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