Bitch-a-thon

Lookit me--blogging again!

As I was getting ready to leave work tonight, I got a phone call from a co-organizer of this weekend's symposium letting me know a few last-minute details--including a time slot swap that affects a panel discussion some friends put together.

Theoretically, I knew about the swap. Two plenary sessions switched places so that an out-of-town speaker would have time to get to Independence for her afternoon session. This meant that the other panelists were on at 8:00 am Saturday instead of early afternoon. And I just connected the dots tonight and alerted the panelists.

The online listing of sessions hadn't been updated in quite a while, so the panelists were hearing about this for the first time. One is driving in from SLC and said an 8:00 am session would be complicated for him.

Another panelist spoke up on behalf of the session's chair and organizer, saying he was just coming in for the day and the time change may be a significant problem for him (and sounded a little scoldy about this being a "non-trivial adjustment" that may be impossible to accommodate). The session's chair/organizer may possibly have a kidney stone that could also prevent him from participating--another fly in the proverbial ointment. I've tried to find out more about his condition, but no luck so far.

And just prior to typing this, I saw a third panelist asking around for a weekend babysitter so she'd be able to attend and present her part of the panel. This panel was accepted to the conference in January--plenty of time to plan child care in advance, no?

So, if two or three of the four panelists might not be able to make their session at the new time--or AT ALL--how much energy do I put into trying to find a workable solution?

Despite all the practice I get having to adjust to circumstances beyond my control, seeing my careful planning come unraveled, or not having helpful information soon enough to implement a Plan B, I have not perfected a zen attitude in the face of forced, sub-optimal change. Especially when 1) it's clear at least one of the above people is passive/aggressively irritated with me, 2) the eleventh hour is upon us all and the options are limited, and 3) I did completely miss the impact of the time slot swap on this panel.

How did I miss this detail, fastidious planner that I am? Probably something to do with the happenings of the past five weeks:

--Sunstone West in the Bay Area and our long detour home through Las Vegas.

--My mom's surgery two days later and her post-surgery complications (including a trip to the ER this morning to address her perilously low heart rate & blood pressure).

--My two bouts of iPhone problems.

--The still-unresolved issues with the Sheraton SLC and lining up an alternate venue for the August Symposium.

--A missionary homecoming/Stevens family event.

--A Sunstone panel discussion at the U of U last Thursday, complete with a fire alarm in the building and a spring snowstorm that tanked attendance (and one panelist who was in a car accident on his way to the event and never arrived).

--A phone call from a dear friend who's in the grip of some fierce depression and family crises which make me really worried for her physical and emotional health.

--Tidying up prior to our first house showing in four weeks. (Still no offer from the Seattle people who liked it enough to tour it twice).

--Trying to get the new house painted, carpeted, cleaned, fenced, and ready for habitation (on the few weekends we aren't traveling or Mike isn't teaching his leadership seminar).

So yeah, in the midst of ALL THAT, I missed a detail. One that has a fairly large impact on others, will not be easy to fix, and that I feel somewhat responsible for.

I emailed the planning committee tonight about the problem; it's possible we may be able to switch the first and last plenary sessions of the day--IF the folks scheduled in the last session can all be present at 8:00 AM instead.

Perhaps the course of action will be more clear tomorrow. In the meantime, I ought to put myself to bed.

Itsy Bitsy

A high school friend posted two photos on Facebook today: one of a large black widow spider he found in his garage. The second was a photo of said spider squished dead.

The spider carnage reminded me of another spider death I witnessed nearly two decades ago, the violence of which still bothers me.

I visited a former roommate at her home in West Virginia and we spent part of the week staying with her relatives in Maryland and taking the Metro into Washington D.C. One afternoon, I was in the relatives' garden admiring the rows of hearty tomato plants when I spotted an enormous yellow and black striped garden spider poised on its web.

I've been fascinated with spiders ever since I was a kid and knew that garden spiders are harmless. They weave orbs and eat bugs--not much else. So I watched the spider for a while and looked for an insect to help into its web so I could see the spider in action.

I point out the spider to my host--Jen's elderly male relative who had come outside. He leaned over and took a good look at it. He then rooted around the garden soil for two flat stones, walked over to the spider's web, and abruptly clapped the stones together, crushing the garden spider between them.

I was HORRIFIED. I never would have pointed out the spider if I had any idea doing so would result in the spider's violent death.

Trying to control my upset at this turn of events, I stammered "Why did you do that?" The host said they have grand kids over to play in the yard and didn't want black widow spiders around.

I bit my tongue a few times before blurting out that it was NOT a black widow; it was a garden spider, one that would pose little danger to anyone. My host shrugged. Oh, well. One dead spider didn't upset the balance of his universe.

I'm still bothered by that experience all these years later. And yet I'm a hypocrite--I don't tolerate spiders in MY living space. I squish, vacuum, or wash them down the drain without much thought about their demise. (Mike's better about taking spiders outside and occasionally I will, too). But I wouldn't purposely kill a spider that was outdoors doing its own thing.