Is it me?

Two events this week have me wondering about myself.

Work sitch: Our programmer needs the scanner's owner manual its scanning software discs. Can't find them in my boss's old office, so we look in Camilla's office. That was the last place I saw the gear after our tech installed everything, so it made sense to look there. No luck.

We go upstairs to ask Camilla if she knows where the manuals and discs are. She has not a clue. We troop downstairs to look again--though C doesn't look in her office. She looks in my old office, even though the new equipment never lived there. Again, I'm just looking where I last remember seeing the stuff. I have no idea what happened to it after she took over scanner duty.

My first assumption (based on my observation of C's work habits and attitude) is that she got rid of the manuals and software boxes not knowing what they were. She's not the type to ask questions before taking headstrong and uninformed action.

Later, when I grabbed the dictionary to look up the word "fey," I saw some discs and a box of scanning software in my cabinet. It might be what the programmer is looking for, but I'm not sure. Now I'm feeling sheepish and contrite about pinning the missing goods on Camilla--even though carelessness and sloth are accurate descriptors of her M.O.

Volunteer sitch: An organization I volunteer with has committed to a fundraising effort I would call dubious. It was undertaken without informing the board of directors and it's iffy whether the project will generate any revenue. This got me hopping mad. We need to fundraise for our own needs, not pass the hat on behalf of someone else's project, regardless of its merits.

Also frustrating: the organization fails to implement process improvements that would better utilize our limited/existing resources and improve attendance at events (which would increase revenue). Yet we're involved in a fundraising venture that leaves us hoping for a slice of a pie that's not even baked yet. This makes no sense to me.

When I bitched about this--at length--last night to Mike, he asked whether my fiery approach was likely to result in a constructive dialogue. I had to admit that asking "Are you sure there weren't any hallucinogens involved?" would likely make the other parties defensive and preclude discussion.

But that doesn't stop me from being mad or wanting to grab someone by the lapels and holler "What made you think this was a good idea?" I DO get all impassioned with the things I care about.

But here's the part that got me thinking about me: How lickety-split fast do I attribute malice, ignorance, sloth and/or stupidity to the other party? Is this a good idea?

Am I so quick to judgment that I miss the software box in my own cupboard? Or miss the idea that people trying to raise funds (even with dubious methods) weren't also trying a creative way to promote the fiscal health of the organization?

I asked Mike whether my delivery always sucks, or if my counterproductive means of expression is specific to just this volunteer gig. He said, no, he doesn't think my delivery always sucks. I believe him, but I'm still wondering whether my delivery/approach is more of a problem than I want to admit.

Chrysalis Transportation

Last night, a brand new, shiny school bus pulled up beside me. I couldn't help but notice the newfangled side view mirrors.

If you've not seen one, the mirrors are attached to thick black appendages that jut out and down from the roof of the bus on both sides. (Sorry, couldn't find one in Google images). They look for all the world like antennae, and from there it's not hard to imagine the bus as a giant yellow caterpillar on wheels.

What if a whole parking lot of them turned into butterflies?

Intersection irritation

Moving back to mom and dad's house messed with my commute.

It's longer by about 15 minutes, which means I have to get out of bed earlier. That's never good.

There's a railroad crossing about a mile north of our house. Trains sometimes come to a dead stop on the tracks--like last night--and block all north/south travel. Everyone scrambles east or west which clogs the nearby surface streets. Rather waiting for the train to get its choo out of the way, I took a detour to KFC and picked up dinner.

I also pass two more schools on the way to work. Every day there's a new San Marino High School student darting in front of my car, ambitious to be my hood ornament.

Those items I navigate with varying degrees of finesse or frustration, depending on how late I'm running. But what I find most vexing are the stealth left turners at the intersection of Winston Street and Huntington Drive.

It takes a while to cross six lanes of Huntington drive at the Winston intersection. Winston has two lanes. You can turn left or go straight from the left lane and go straight or turn right from the right lane.

I generally avoid the left lane if I see left turners signaling their intent. But sometimes I'll pull into the left lane if there's one car ahead of me that's not signaling to make a turn. However, as soon as the signal turns green, BAM. The driver flips on the left turn signal. Now everyone behind that car is trapped until the stealth left turner turns left or until the right lane clears to go around the sly lefty.

I don't get the last-minute signaling. There doesn't seem to be any "cost" to the driver in front to have the turn signal on the whole time we sit waiting for a green light. The failure to signal does cost all drivers behind the stealth lefty. What's that about? The driver who inconveniences the most other drivers with a surprise turn signal wins?

Maybe I should be glad these boneheads signal at all--and make a habit of choosing the right lane.

Playing telephone at church

Our choir director, Allison, asked for our input for the Christmas program--holiday memories, traditions, etc.--to use as narration between songs. I was kinda hoping to read my own submission (since I can make my own words funnier than someone else) but she already had a narrator picked out. I didn't want to mess with her vision, but I did ask for a part in the Easter program since it will be my last hurrah with our magnificent ward choir.

Yesterday, Allison flagged me down after sacrament meeting to talk about the Easter program I had wanted to write. Huh? My wanting a speaking part in the program turned into me writing the entire Easter program?! Holy Shakespeare in Love!

The bishopric is breathing down Allison's neck for details. Understandable when Easter Sunday is three weeks away. My options: I can write the whole thing, I can be one of two speakers or the bishopric can ask new/other people to speak.

I asked to think about this during choir rehearsal. Still trying to figure out how the wires got SO crossed--and that this is the first I'm hearing about my substantial role.

Fortunately, I am not without resources.

A friend put together an Easter program several years ago that focused on the women present at the crucifixion and resurrection. I like the focus, since it's not typical of what we hear on Easter. She also presented it at Sunstone West when it fell on Easter weekend. Maybe I shouldn't mention that until after the program...

My copy of the script is somewhere in storage, so I called Laura last night to ask for a copy. She happily obliged and I am grateful to have the option of NOT starting from scratch if I am putting the program together!
Still, HOW did this land in my lap?

Party recap

I love it when a party goes well, don't you? Mom and dad's Golden Anniversary party was a blast.

The only hiccup came at the beginning: the previous party was just clearing out of the patio when we arrived at 6:00 pm. We had to wait for them to vacate and reset the tables before we could go in and set up.

Mom and I put together 3 posterboards with artfully arranged/accented memorabilia from their 50 years together--including the wedding announcement in the Logan, Utah paper, photos of mom and dad at 20, 30 and 40 years of marriage, a picture of mom with her grown-up flower girl and photos of their house in Utah and the new garage they built.

We had baby pictures of mom and dad on display and small album of wedding photos as well. They looked great and SO young! (I'm wearing mom's wedding dress for my wedding and it was fun to see how it looked on the original bride). The guests gushed--and it gave the early birds something to do until everyone arrived.

The folks who drove up from Orange County got stuck in traffic, so we waited to order. We gave people a choice of 6 entrees off the regular Claim Jumper menu and distributed sticky notes so everyone could write down their order for the servers. (ME channeling Martha).

During the lull, we had a multiple choice quiz: How much do you know about Ruth and Tom? It contained such tidbits as where they met (church social), the subject of their first disagreement (dad shut all doors in the apartment/mom wanted them open), the subject of their most recent disagreement (which freeway to take home from the eye doctor), and where dad proposed (by a statue of St. Francis [near the incinerator] behind mom's apartment). The prize was a box of Beloved Brittle from Trader Joe's.

Just as we were wrapping up the quiz, the food arrived (excellent timing). Everyone raved about the meal. Conversations were lively up and down the table and we had a little trouble settling everyone down. After everyone had finished eating, we had a 50th wedding anniversary commemorative plate that we passed around and had everyone sign.

During dessert (Claim Jumper's luscious carrot cake), mom and dad both stood up and said a few words of thanks for each other, their lives together, and for the friends and family who attended the celebration. After that, folks started to say their goodbyes. We schlepped the posters and gifts to the car and went home pleased with how well it all turned out.

The notoriously late aunt & uncle were no-shows. Unless they showed up after we left at 11:00 pm, which has happened before.

Footsteps I'd like to follow in

In 1976, my grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Twenty-five family members gathered at their house in Logan, Utah, went to The Bluebird Restaurant for dinner, and came home afterward for dessert and a little entertainment.

I was eight. I remember the performance anxiety as I picked out 'Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star" and a harder piece from one of my violin practice books in front of more family members than I'd ever seen in one place before.

I let my mom use dead butterfly I'd found in the under-glass flower arrangement she made to commemorate the occasion. When you're eight, it's a big deal to give up a treasure like that to make someone else happy.

Fast forward to now: my parents are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary this weekend. We're going out to dinner with friends and family. There will be no knock-kneed violin solos before, during or after.

We'll have to do a seating chart so members of the ward who dislike each other aren't seated together or next to the Robertson relatives who drink. Although, it would be interesting to see how the uptightest church folks would handle sitting next to "Uncle Scotch," perhaps this is not the right occasion for a social experiment.

Since I'm getting married this year to a lovely man who is totally worth the wait (I'm trying to bait him into leaving a comment), I can't help but look at the example of my forebears and aspire to a golden wedding anniversary of our own in 2056.

Breaking up with a friend

Last spring, a longtime friend and I had a falling out.

She was upset that I had not kept her in the loop regarding my relationship with Mike. When she blew off a "meet Mike" dinner and dodged my attempts to make other plans with her, this seemed to communicate something other than interest.

When I did fill her in, she was upset with the delay and the delivery. She went home that night and slept with her married Egyptian neighbor. A few weeks later, she called to confide in me about this new affair. It wasn't "ideal" but she wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

I'd been her sounding board during her 3-year slog with a physically and emotionally abusive (and also married) man. Frankly, I wasn't up for Round 2.

I sent her an email, saying I was having a hard time processing her affair. I was concerned about her. If she chose to pursue this relationship, of course I would still be her friend. However, I set a boundary: I asked that she not discuss her affair with me.

She responded with a torrent of criticism, taking aim at every tender dream and weaponizing every confidence I'd shared with her. Ouch.

During the 9 months of silence that followed, I sent cards, Christmas and birthday gifts, a Valentine. I was determined to live up to what I'd said: I would be her friend regardless.

Two weeks ago, she emailed to thank me for the Valentine and said she'd like to see how I'm doing. Then she took a couple more shots at my integrity and behavior and criticized me for the gift I'd sent for her birthday.

When I acknowledged her anger and asked if she wanted to talk about it, she again responded with vitriol. Criticized me, my relationship with Mike (whom she's never met), called me too much of a coward to deal with her in person and says it makes her sick that she ever thought I was a friend.

Gee, are you sure you're not holding anything back?

I value my women friends. I know how rare and precious a good friend can be. It always pains me to part ways with friends, even when we outgrow each other and "breaking up" is to our mutual benefit.

I wanted to open the door for dialogue with her. I'd hoped we could patch things up before I move to Texas, but her last email was one shit sandwich too many for me.

While I yearn to correct her accusations and misconceptions or respond in kind (and boy, could I!), a quieter, wiser part of me is saying this is my cue to say goodbye.

Thar she blows!

The ex has had a Reaction. It was not a positive reaction, nor was it pleasant for Mike to be on the receiving end of it. I'm actually much more comfortable with an angry, negative reaction than no reaction at all.

Mike and I are both in St. Louis for the weekend and he was trying to arrange a get-together with us and the kids now that they're aware of our plans. The two youngest girls were available Saturday night, so he made arrangements to pick them up. Then he asked J to pass the phone to her mom for a minute.

Mike told D that we'd be picking up the girls at 7:00 pm. He mentioned that I was in town and thought it would be a good idea for us to meet each other since we'd all be working together where the kids are involved. (He'd also sent D an email earlier in the week to try to arrange such a meeting and she had not responded).

I have no interest in "that," D snapped. (I didn't even merit a pronoun).

D then blasted Mike for being incredibly self-centered for springing this (his remarriage) on the kids "so soon" after the divorce. He's selfish for forcing it on the kids without any consideration for the impact it has on them.

"You sound pretty upset about this," Mike says. (This tactic is right out of his leadership seminar: invite the person to vent any interfering emotions in order to work constructively toward a solution).

D says, "Yeah, no kidding" and hangs up on him.

It's strange to me that D would be so hostile about the impact Mike's actions supposedly have on the kids. She's the one who filed for divorce. She had the papers served to him at work while they were living under the same roof and didn't breathe a word about it. Didn't that K.O. family life as they knew it?

We picked up the girls as scheduled and headed to the mall for some gift shopping and dinner at Panda Express. The girls rough housed during dinner and alternately laughed at or were embarrassed by their dad's antics and goofy jokes--typical teenagers.

The girls don't seem to share their mother's hostility or negative opinion of me or their father for bringing me into their lives. I know it's a lot for the kids to adjust to, but the fact that they are friendly, polite, and willing to socialize with us voluntarily makes it seem like we've started off on the right foot.

Happy couple, unhappy kitty

Blogger didn't like me using a different computer and I couldn't remember my password, so there were some technical hurdles to overcome in bringing you this update. Here's my first attempt to post a photo. I figured since Mike and I are now "out," I can display photographic proof. Don't we look cute together?

Since my illness precluded travel last weekend and I didn't want to wait to see Mike and the kids until May, I headed to St. Louis this weekend.

I sat in on Mike's weekend seminar, "Leadership Through People Skills," and paid special attention to the section on managing your manager--a useful and strategic aim. (J, this has your work sitch written all over it).

Mom called during the seminar to tell me PK freaked out when the contractor showed up to work on the bathroom. PK happily followed Robert around during other repair jobs, but this time Robert brought a helper whom PK had not yet sniffed out. Apparently, PK got spooked by the new person in the house and went tearing down the hall and ran right between Juan's legs!All the humans thought this was funny. Poor PK.

Mom said he sat by the front door all day the day I left and has been bereft enough to let her pet him. I'm not sure what we'll do with him in April when mom and dad are in Utah and I'm visiting Mike for a week. Take PK with me? If he can't deal with the contractor's helper, how would he deal with going through security or being housed in a carry-on for 5 hours?

Your thoughts?

I've been thinking a lot about when and how to tell my employer that I'm quitting.

Employer doesn't know about the engagement currently underway let alone the wedding date/relocation plans. Given the way Emp has handled recent layoffs, I don't want to spill the beans too early. Being unemployed would give me more time to plan the wedding, but I kinda need the income to do the wedding.

I'd like to leave on good terms with the Emp. A former co-worker gave 2 weeks' notice for a departure she'd quietly planned for months and it left a bad taste. I don't want to do the same. I'd like to help transition a new person in if I can. Pass along some specialized knowledge to help avoid the "single point of failure" everyone's terrified of (while doing precious little to prevent). I know, it's more than my Emp would do for me ever in a million years, but it's something I would like to do.

On the plus side for the Emp, they're looking to fill a couple of positions soon--what's one more? They'll likely have a pool of candidates to choose from by the time I break my news. But how and when to do that...

Any ideas?

Lent Suspension # 2

I'd been doing pretty well not talking about the annoying co-worker. I probably could have kept that up had she not just FOGGED me with air freshener. She wasn't going to come in today, yet here she is--and packing Glade.

I'd just heated up leftover salmon and was eating lunch at my desk when she came in, sniffed loudly and made a derisive noise. Queen of the non-verbal Disapproval Sounds, that one.

She slams stuff down on her desk, props the door open, gets the air freshener from the restroom and power sprays. Not her own office, but over the cubicle top into my office. So now there's eu de pukeflower settling in on my person, my lunch, my keyboard and my eyes are starting to burn.

Yes, the smell of fish can become powerful in an enclosed space. Nevertheless, there's a NICE way to deal with your office mate's abundantly scented lunch--and this ain't it.

Riddle me this: why the audible disdain today, whither the fogging today when I ate the exact same thing for lunch YESTERDAY with no such reaction?

End rant. Resume Lenten silence.

Mother/Daughter bonding

I spent the last week in the grip of a violent intestinal bug, hence the absence of new blog entries. I had to cancel my trip to see Mike in St Louis (injury) and I only had enough sick time to cover 3 of the 5 days I was out so I had to take two vacation days anyway (insult).

On the plus side, I got to spend a week + of quality bonding time with mom.

Mom visited the ER the week before last and picked up a bug in addition to the malady that originally sent her there. She thought hers was the result of a drug interaction. That is, until I came down with the exact same symptoms last Monday.

I called my doctor after the vomiting began. She called back an hour later (after the uncontrollable diarrhea set in) and phoned in a prescription for the nausea. Suggested Immodium for the trouble at the other end.

You know how once you vomit something up, you want never to eat it again? I'm adding bananas and oatmeal to the list.

Anyway, mom and I were both flattened the first few days. We spent a lot of time watching TV--mostly movies on AMC or whatever channel was showing something interesting. She rolled her eyes but indulged me when I petitioned to watch a couple episodes of The Young and the Restless and Days of Our Lives--soaps I only watch when I'm under the weather. It's part of my healing ritual, along with bed rest, chicken soup and other comfort foods.

If mom had seen a movie (i.e. The Philadelphia Story), I kept pestering her to tell me what happened in case a return of symptoms prevented me from watching to the end. When I'd seen something she hadn't (Bend it Like Beckham), she pestered me for plot details.

By Thursday, we were feeling ready for something a little more substantial: the six-hour A&E version of Pride and Prejudice. We'd watched devotedly when it first aired and I bought it for Mother's Day the year it came out on video. I broke the DVD out of my stash and popped it into the player. We made tea while the opening credits rolled and settled in among the down throws and fleece blankets to watch. PK would occasionally curl up on my lap and fall asleep, adding to the cozy ambiance.

We didn't stir until it was time to put in disc 2. About an hour in to the second half, Mike called. I exited to talk to him and missed a crucial hour of unfolding details. I rejoined mom and we watched the end together.

On Saturday morning, I wandered in and sat down on the couch with mom. We concluded that we were feeling better. Mom broached the topic first: "You know, we could watch it again..." Yes, I said, needing no details to know her meaning. "If we start now, we'll be done by 4:00 pm." We scurried to make breakfast, tea, and arrange our bedding for P&P round two.

This probably the last time mom and I will get to lie around together and indulge in P&P screenings. I could do without the being sick part, but it was truly sweet and truly decadent to indulge in a little mother/daughter/curled up kitty time.

We're Out!

Mike was in St Louis over the weekend. I was supposed to meet him there (cue the Judy Garland tunes), but wound up staying home sick instead.

Sunday night, Mike took the kids out to eat and told them that we're getting married and there's a stepmom in their future. They were, of course, surprised but seemed to take it well. No fits pitched, though one daughter did say that him waiting until age 87 to remarry was an appropriate length of time. (She later reduced it to age 57).

Afterward, when Mike dropped off the kids, he also told his ex. She wanted to know when and said July seemed like it would be OK. Other than that, she had NO discernible reaction. Just kept putting groceries away. I guess that's good? Or should we brace for a possible delayed reaction?

Either way, it feels good to have everyone in the know. Four teenage stepkids. Wow. Now it's real.

What the H really stands for in HMO

Hell Maintenance Organization.

Not just because of the endless red tape, approval processes and hoops patients have to jump through--though I would argue these rank among the most common frustrations. Based on my recent experience with my HMO, I'm convinced there's more to the "hell" part than meets the eye.

I believe that Satan, Beelzebub, Old Nick, Lucifer, Lord Voldemort--whatever you want to call him-- has his hands full. Notwithstanding the leg up he's getting from George W, Satan needs help spreading hopelessness, misery and despair.

That's where HMOs come in. Evil predates their existence, of course, but don't they do a bang-up job of sapping all that is good and holy out of you? After you've been trapped in their automated phone systems, dealt with unhelpful personnel and ego-tripping physicians, been denied coverage, treatment, a second opinion, or even someone who will LISTEN and after 40 minutes you're still on hold to make an appointment, where are you? You're in HELL! Lucifer is the COO/CEO and all the HMOs are supporting his mission statement! They're all branches of the Devil's Home Office.

This rant brought to you in part by my current battles with Facey Medical Group and a physician who's channeling Saruman.

Lent, Mormon style

I've always felt a little ripped off that Mormons don't get any religious holidays. Unless you live in Utah and your employer shuts down on July 24th for Pioneer Day, you're out of luck.

Some college friends tried to remedy this by celebrating Lent. We'd give up a vice, bad habit, or food group for the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter. Twas a very unMormon thing to do.

The first year, I was ambitious: I gave up all sugar, chocolate and carbonated beverages. I blew the chocolate part within the first week, but after going without sodas for 40 days, I didn't miss it enough to go back.

The following year I gave up dessert and swearing. (Shit, that last one was hard). I also tried to develop a GOOD habit for 40 days, thinking it wasn't enough to merely give up something that was bad. Now I can't remember what that good habit was...

It's been a while since I celebrated Lent. I'm feeling up for the challenge, so I'm giving up sugar/dessert for the next 40 days. I'm ruling fruit and honey as allowable substances, and I may make a one-time dessert exception for my parents' wedding anniversary party. I'll call out Mike to not tempt me overmuch with premium ice creams during my next visit. ;)

PS: I'm also going to abstain (or attempt to abstain) from bitching about my annoying co-worker. Believe me, that will be more of a challenge than giving up dessert.

What the cat dragged in

At least 4 more crickets, two spiders, and a fly met their maker since I last posted about PK's hunting skills. This morning, however, I woke up to a less pleasant gift from the kitty: a dead roach that PK killed and left ON THE BED.

Gifts like this are part of cat ownership--just as much as litter box scooping and cleaning up the occasional vomit. Many times I have earnestly talked to PK about barfing on easy-to-clean surfaces, but to no avail. At my former apartment with the dirt-brown carpet, I didn't care where he yakked as long as he didn't do it on my bed or the couches.

Insect and reptile carcasses rank above cat yak, but those gifts are FAR more likely to be deposited in a place the cat's owner is sure to find them. Like the bed. Thank heavens it was dead or I would have screamed half the neighborhood awake.

When I told mom about the roach on the bed, she said she'd heard an epic battle in the hallway in the middle of the night. Must have been PK stalking and pouncing on his prey--or maybe he did a victory lap. He can't run on the hardwood floors and stay upright, so that would make some noise. I should count my blessings that he's an indoor-only cat. No telling what kind of gifts he'd bring if he could go hunting outside.