Mike and I had one of those NPR driveway moments tonight--you know, when you get home but are too engrossed in the story to turn off the radio?
This was maybe a two-minute piece on adding cats to your household. The vet/narrator explained that if you want a mainly trouble-free household, just have one cat.
If you have two cats, be prepared that they might not always get along, even if they're reared together from kittenhood.
And if you have three cats, the vet said to be prepared for increased "inappropriate elimination" and/or urine spraying.
Check.
Wish we'd known that three weeks ago.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Alas, Poor Uric
We've discovered two kitty accident sites in the past week--one on Saturday when I found ancient turds and recent urine in the spare room closet and and a pee puddle on the seat of Mike's TV watching bean bag thingy from his bachelor days.
We aren't sure which cat is responsible for the latter, which makes evasive/corrective action that much more difficult. Belita has peed outside the box before. So has PK, but his accidents seem to be directly related to the cleanliness of the litter box.
PK never had litter box misses until we moved here, which makes Belita look like the likeliest culprit for last night's unpleasant discovery. And if she's pissed (pun intended) about having a new sibling, this could get increasingly destructive.
We haven't let the other kitties mingle much with Cosby. These latest discoveries will likely draw out the introduction process even more. Was hoping we would be able to leave them alone together by the time we leave on vacation in July, but I'm not sure where we'll be by then. Cosby can be pretty destructive to papers and he keeps overturning his water dish. Sigh.
We aren't sure which cat is responsible for the latter, which makes evasive/corrective action that much more difficult. Belita has peed outside the box before. So has PK, but his accidents seem to be directly related to the cleanliness of the litter box.
PK never had litter box misses until we moved here, which makes Belita look like the likeliest culprit for last night's unpleasant discovery. And if she's pissed (pun intended) about having a new sibling, this could get increasingly destructive.
We haven't let the other kitties mingle much with Cosby. These latest discoveries will likely draw out the introduction process even more. Was hoping we would be able to leave them alone together by the time we leave on vacation in July, but I'm not sure where we'll be by then. Cosby can be pretty destructive to papers and he keeps overturning his water dish. Sigh.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Star Struck
After an impromptu status meeting with the Provost this afternoon, my supervisor and I waited for the elevator to whisk us back to ground level.
When the doors slid open to admit us, I did a double take. There stood the president of UTPA. My supervisor greeted her and introduced me and explained I was the person keeping the time and effort process on track (with a 94% return rate as of this afternoon, thank you very much!)
The president smiled and said "Oh, I've heard about you!" My supervisor gushed about how well I've handled things so far, so I assume the president has heard good things.
I got all star struck at the notion that the university president had heard about little old me. My supervisor said my work would have visibility; I just didn't know it was that visible.
Hoping this means the outstanding 6% of the certifications will come back by tomorrow afternoon.
When the doors slid open to admit us, I did a double take. There stood the president of UTPA. My supervisor greeted her and introduced me and explained I was the person keeping the time and effort process on track (with a 94% return rate as of this afternoon, thank you very much!)
The president smiled and said "Oh, I've heard about you!" My supervisor gushed about how well I've handled things so far, so I assume the president has heard good things.
I got all star struck at the notion that the university president had heard about little old me. My supervisor said my work would have visibility; I just didn't know it was that visible.
Hoping this means the outstanding 6% of the certifications will come back by tomorrow afternoon.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Buggin'
Spring has sprung in the RGV and this means the insects are in the house. Literally.
I've found silverfish in the cats' water dish, ants in both bathrooms, winged ants which stormed the living room en masse after a rain shower, fruit flies hovering around the to-compost pile and the dreaded roaches, most recently discovered in our closet. Ugh.
We came back from an overnight to Corpus Christi and found three dead roaches in the living room and kitchen. This shreds my theory that if I don't SEE roaches, they aren't really there. At least I have a good set of hunting cats to keep the indoor population out of sight/out of mind.
Spring means a lot of creepy crawlies outdoors, too. Like the massive caterpillar chowing on our lemon tree, an orb-weaving spider that looks like a spiky black crustacean. And the ants. I don't go looking for them, but lordy, do they ever find me.
A few weeks ago, I was trimming some brush along the back fence when I felt the first sting. I look down and my shoes, socks and cropped yoga pant legs are covered with ants. I started stomp dancing around to dislodge them but got a few more bites before the end of the dance-off.
Later, I unwittingly stepped on another nest while watering and ended up with six bites on my left leg and two on my right. Ant bites itch and eventually blister, turn a vivid scarlet on my gringa skin and take upwards of three weeks to heal. Oh, and they look ever so attractive when I wear a skirt, too.
So I'm spraying up before I leave the house every day and wishing there was something that effectively repelled the little blood-vacs that smells less chemical. Sigh.
I've found silverfish in the cats' water dish, ants in both bathrooms, winged ants which stormed the living room en masse after a rain shower, fruit flies hovering around the to-compost pile and the dreaded roaches, most recently discovered in our closet. Ugh.
We came back from an overnight to Corpus Christi and found three dead roaches in the living room and kitchen. This shreds my theory that if I don't SEE roaches, they aren't really there. At least I have a good set of hunting cats to keep the indoor population out of sight/out of mind.
Spring means a lot of creepy crawlies outdoors, too. Like the massive caterpillar chowing on our lemon tree, an orb-weaving spider that looks like a spiky black crustacean. And the ants. I don't go looking for them, but lordy, do they ever find me.
A few weeks ago, I was trimming some brush along the back fence when I felt the first sting. I look down and my shoes, socks and cropped yoga pant legs are covered with ants. I started stomp dancing around to dislodge them but got a few more bites before the end of the dance-off.
Later, I unwittingly stepped on another nest while watering and ended up with six bites on my left leg and two on my right. Ant bites itch and eventually blister, turn a vivid scarlet on my gringa skin and take upwards of three weeks to heal. Oh, and they look ever so attractive when I wear a skirt, too.
So I'm spraying up before I leave the house every day and wishing there was something that effectively repelled the little blood-vacs that smells less chemical. Sigh.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Settling In, So To Speak
Things have calmed down a bit at the office. We're slaying errors, having meetings and generally getting a handle on how the process will work for spring semester (which just ended and needs certifying).
Our move to the third floor is on hold. Most of the furniture is out of storage and arranged in the new space, but there's no wall/door in the are where I am likely to sit; until we can secure the area, it doesn't make sense to move. And my supervisor said if we move before the wall is built, they won't do it.
Meanwhile, I'm getting used to campus practices and quirks. Like the relentless use of "ma'am" in the workplace. I don't know whether it's a Southern politeness thing, a deference to the gringas thing or both.
You know how you pick up expressions and speech patterns from friends? If I hear it constantly, how long before I start "ma'am-ing" people around me? Perhaps that will be around the same time I start answering people's questions in Spanglish.
None of the gringas in our office are fluent in Spanish. I've never said how much (or how little) Spanish I speak, so I'm not really included in the conversations the native speakers carry on. They go too fast for me to pick out more than a few words, pero since I hear them mixing Spanish and English I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I start doing the same--albeit con my pequeño vocabulary.
The other fun thing is trying to pronounce all the Spanish surnames. My tongue gets tied up over Guajardo; I want to say it right but I don't want to sound like I'm straining to enunciate, so I end up getting it mostly right if a little mumbly.
At least I don't mangle names as badly as the university's voice mail system. It flattens all the music out of Spanish names. Take Alicia Villareal. Properly said, it should come out like Ah-lee-cee-ah Vi-ya-rey-ahl. But the voice mail system asks me if I want to leave a message for A-li si-ah Vil-la-ree-al and puts the stress on all the wrong syllables.
I have fantasies of chiming into a conversation with impeccable Spanish, surprising my colleagues (and making them wonder how much I understood all along, although I'm fairly sure they don't say much about me. Then I remember that in Spanish, I have the linguistic prowess of a four-year-old and they'd have to be asking where I live, what my name is or where's the nearest toilet for my fantasy to play out as imagined.
Our move to the third floor is on hold. Most of the furniture is out of storage and arranged in the new space, but there's no wall/door in the are where I am likely to sit; until we can secure the area, it doesn't make sense to move. And my supervisor said if we move before the wall is built, they won't do it.
Meanwhile, I'm getting used to campus practices and quirks. Like the relentless use of "ma'am" in the workplace. I don't know whether it's a Southern politeness thing, a deference to the gringas thing or both.
You know how you pick up expressions and speech patterns from friends? If I hear it constantly, how long before I start "ma'am-ing" people around me? Perhaps that will be around the same time I start answering people's questions in Spanglish.
None of the gringas in our office are fluent in Spanish. I've never said how much (or how little) Spanish I speak, so I'm not really included in the conversations the native speakers carry on. They go too fast for me to pick out more than a few words, pero since I hear them mixing Spanish and English I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I start doing the same--albeit con my pequeño vocabulary.
The other fun thing is trying to pronounce all the Spanish surnames. My tongue gets tied up over Guajardo; I want to say it right but I don't want to sound like I'm straining to enunciate, so I end up getting it mostly right if a little mumbly.
At least I don't mangle names as badly as the university's voice mail system. It flattens all the music out of Spanish names. Take Alicia Villareal. Properly said, it should come out like Ah-lee-cee-ah Vi-ya-rey-ahl. But the voice mail system asks me if I want to leave a message for A-li si-ah Vil-la-ree-al and puts the stress on all the wrong syllables.
I have fantasies of chiming into a conversation with impeccable Spanish, surprising my colleagues (and making them wonder how much I understood all along, although I'm fairly sure they don't say much about me. Then I remember that in Spanish, I have the linguistic prowess of a four-year-old and they'd have to be asking where I live, what my name is or where's the nearest toilet for my fantasy to play out as imagined.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Crew Shot
One of the worker bees took pictures at Saturday's service project. Homeowner Peggy is in the purple shirt kneeling on the front row of the big group shot. I won't identify anyone else to preserve the privacy of those described in unflattering terms in previous posts about my weird ward.
It's a toothsome little cottage. The bottom pic is the "before" shot; we scraped all the popcorn crap off the ceiling and found rich, dark hardwood under the cream colored paint.
It's a toothsome little cottage. The bottom pic is the "before" shot; we scraped all the popcorn crap off the ceiling and found rich, dark hardwood under the cream colored paint.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
_____________ Dominion
As a service project, the ward has decided to rehab my friend/VT partner Peggy's house; today was the kickoff.
The menfolk did yard work, cleared brush, trimmed trees and scraped paint off the front porch. Next week, they'll take down the listing brick facade. The women were inside on ladders wetting the ceiling and scraping that popcorn crap off the ceiling. (It was so easy, it got me psyched to scrape the popcorn crap off OUR ceilings!)
After the ceilings were done, I chipped at a corner of paint on the mantel and discovered the top layer peeled off rather easily. I scraped further and found a layer of wood grain contact paper, which also pulled off in sheets. Under that was a coat of mustard yellow paint, and below: the original 1920s hardwood.
At the same time, some other women were scraping the paint off the woodwork and hit hardwood, too. The RS pres & others got all excited and wanted to strip all the wood and leave it exposed. They'll have to scrape whether they paint the wood again or not, so why not rehab the wood to add value?
Restoring the woodwork went beyond the original scope of work the ward planned to pay for. The ceiling scrape revealed more areas that need new drywall, too, and that will cost more. The RS Pres also has designs on redoing the hardwood floors once the walls are done and the carpet's up. Scrape a couple of ceilings and we all turn into Ty Pennington.
The bishop walked into the house and overheard our Woodwork Fever and He. Freaked. Out. Went all Nazi/authoritarian on everyone: This is for The Bishop to decide! (along with Sister Peggy, he allowed). Additional work HAS to be approved by The Bishop!
The bishop actually told Peggy, the RS Pres and a handful of nearby women NOT TO TALK TO EACH OTHER while he dragged the contractor guy into the bedroom to discuss the additional work. When they emerged after sorting it out Man to Man, the bishop dragged the RS Pres off to sit in the cab of his truck for 15 minutes, I supposed to rein her in on the creeping scope of work.
Despite my bitching, there are some good-hearted folks in this ward. At our high point, there were 30 people working on the house and yard. But the sudden transformation of the bishop, from mild mannered to throwing his weight around as reigning ecclesiastical authority was nothing short of WEIRD. In fact, maybe I'll start calling it that: McAllen First Weird.
The menfolk did yard work, cleared brush, trimmed trees and scraped paint off the front porch. Next week, they'll take down the listing brick facade. The women were inside on ladders wetting the ceiling and scraping that popcorn crap off the ceiling. (It was so easy, it got me psyched to scrape the popcorn crap off OUR ceilings!)
After the ceilings were done, I chipped at a corner of paint on the mantel and discovered the top layer peeled off rather easily. I scraped further and found a layer of wood grain contact paper, which also pulled off in sheets. Under that was a coat of mustard yellow paint, and below: the original 1920s hardwood.
At the same time, some other women were scraping the paint off the woodwork and hit hardwood, too. The RS pres & others got all excited and wanted to strip all the wood and leave it exposed. They'll have to scrape whether they paint the wood again or not, so why not rehab the wood to add value?
Restoring the woodwork went beyond the original scope of work the ward planned to pay for. The ceiling scrape revealed more areas that need new drywall, too, and that will cost more. The RS Pres also has designs on redoing the hardwood floors once the walls are done and the carpet's up. Scrape a couple of ceilings and we all turn into Ty Pennington.
The bishop walked into the house and overheard our Woodwork Fever and He. Freaked. Out. Went all Nazi/authoritarian on everyone: This is for The Bishop to decide! (along with Sister Peggy, he allowed). Additional work HAS to be approved by The Bishop!
The bishop actually told Peggy, the RS Pres and a handful of nearby women NOT TO TALK TO EACH OTHER while he dragged the contractor guy into the bedroom to discuss the additional work. When they emerged after sorting it out Man to Man, the bishop dragged the RS Pres off to sit in the cab of his truck for 15 minutes, I supposed to rein her in on the creeping scope of work.
Despite my bitching, there are some good-hearted folks in this ward. At our high point, there were 30 people working on the house and yard. But the sudden transformation of the bishop, from mild mannered to throwing his weight around as reigning ecclesiastical authority was nothing short of WEIRD. In fact, maybe I'll start calling it that: McAllen First Weird.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Staying above water
A major meltdown with the process I'm responsible for at work has consumed all my time since last Thursday. Hence the lack of new postings.
We found out last week (while my supervisor was unavailable due to a death in the family) that we had bad data from the new Oracle accounting system. We don't own the data or direct access to it, so we can only ask politely that the problems be fixed.
These problems and the muddle over who's responsible could force a significant process change, possibly moving Time and Effort certification back into Grants & Contracts where it came from. In that event, I may not be the one doing time and effort. My supervisor assures me she'd keep me in her area, but things are VERY out of sorts right now. Blech.
Mike and I did get away over the holiday weekend. Left Sunday for an overnighter in Corpus Christi. Ate seafood at a harbor side eatery, went to the aquarium Monday morning, stopped in Kingsville on the way home for THE BEST Thai food I've had since leaving LA and nearly ran out of gas 30 miles from Robstown. Will post photos from our adventures.
The new kitty went to the vet this week for $150 in health maintenance, not counting the booster shots he can't get until he's off antibiotics for a respiratory infection and a goobery eye infection. The other kitties are curious about who's behind Bedroom Door # 2, but we haven't let them interact yet.
My last feral cat census came in at 16--only this count included only two kittens. Meaning there are a lot more adolescent and adult cats on campus than I previously counted. The issues at work have kept me too busy to count daily like I was doing.
Anyway, I'm exhausted and this was supposed to be a short update before I crawled off to bed. Oh well.
We found out last week (while my supervisor was unavailable due to a death in the family) that we had bad data from the new Oracle accounting system. We don't own the data or direct access to it, so we can only ask politely that the problems be fixed.
These problems and the muddle over who's responsible could force a significant process change, possibly moving Time and Effort certification back into Grants & Contracts where it came from. In that event, I may not be the one doing time and effort. My supervisor assures me she'd keep me in her area, but things are VERY out of sorts right now. Blech.
Mike and I did get away over the holiday weekend. Left Sunday for an overnighter in Corpus Christi. Ate seafood at a harbor side eatery, went to the aquarium Monday morning, stopped in Kingsville on the way home for THE BEST Thai food I've had since leaving LA and nearly ran out of gas 30 miles from Robstown. Will post photos from our adventures.
The new kitty went to the vet this week for $150 in health maintenance, not counting the booster shots he can't get until he's off antibiotics for a respiratory infection and a goobery eye infection. The other kitties are curious about who's behind Bedroom Door # 2, but we haven't let them interact yet.
My last feral cat census came in at 16--only this count included only two kittens. Meaning there are a lot more adolescent and adult cats on campus than I previously counted. The issues at work have kept me too busy to count daily like I was doing.
Anyway, I'm exhausted and this was supposed to be a short update before I crawled off to bed. Oh well.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Missionary Zeal
Today during my morning lap around campus, I spied another kitten near the vending machine where we found two others. This one was black, tiny and lethargic where the others cussed me out for daring to pick them up.
When I swung by later on my way to Mike's office, it looked like the black kitten hadn't moved in 5 hours. So we found a box and I pulled the scrawny, ant-bitten little critter out from its resting place. I also caught a whiff of something dead in the vending machine; my guess is another kitten met an untimely end therein. Wonder if I should notify the physical plant folks? They have not responded to the email I sent Monday about the feral cats on campus.
Unlike the others, this kitten was vocal. Meowed all the way to the Humane Society. It was also in worse shape, healthwise--visible eye infection, a cold and some ant bites on its bum. I brushed off and squished all the ants I could. Hoping the Humane Society folks will take good care of the scrappy little furball and give it a good meal and a safe place to spend the night tonight--and for however many more nights it will have with them.
And, because we were there anyway, we stopped by the front to visit the adoptable cats. And we saw the same affectionate black cat we visited with Monday after dropping off the bag-o-feral kittens. We would have taken him home with us right then, but it was closing time.
Mike will be swinging by tomorrow to pick up the third member of our kitty family. We bought him a litterbox, food dishes and a scratching post tonight. Now we just need to come up with a name. Mike likes the name Cosby while I like Sharpton. Your suggestions?
When I swung by later on my way to Mike's office, it looked like the black kitten hadn't moved in 5 hours. So we found a box and I pulled the scrawny, ant-bitten little critter out from its resting place. I also caught a whiff of something dead in the vending machine; my guess is another kitten met an untimely end therein. Wonder if I should notify the physical plant folks? They have not responded to the email I sent Monday about the feral cats on campus.
Unlike the others, this kitten was vocal. Meowed all the way to the Humane Society. It was also in worse shape, healthwise--visible eye infection, a cold and some ant bites on its bum. I brushed off and squished all the ants I could. Hoping the Humane Society folks will take good care of the scrappy little furball and give it a good meal and a safe place to spend the night tonight--and for however many more nights it will have with them.
And, because we were there anyway, we stopped by the front to visit the adoptable cats. And we saw the same affectionate black cat we visited with Monday after dropping off the bag-o-feral kittens. We would have taken him home with us right then, but it was closing time.
Mike will be swinging by tomorrow to pick up the third member of our kitty family. We bought him a litterbox, food dishes and a scratching post tonight. Now we just need to come up with a name. Mike likes the name Cosby while I like Sharpton. Your suggestions?
Monday, May 21, 2007
Campus Crusade for Cats
UTPA has a good-sized colony of feral cats. I noticed a handful on the nights I sat in on Mike's class last semester. Since I've been working there, I've been taking an informal census.
Friday, I counted 16 cats, including 9 adults and 7 kittens. Four of the kittens were so young they didn't have their eyes open yet. Someone--perhaps more than one person--puts food out near the Fine Arts Building and the Health Science Buildings where the cats congregate. I haven't see who yet, but I hope to find out.
Over the weekend, I logged onto the local Craigslist and through a posting there found a website dedicated to feral cat support: http://www.shadowcats.net/index.shtml. I did some reading up and I think I've found a new cause.
Today, I did another count but only came up with 10 cats. I emailed the physical plant to inquire what, if anything, the campus does to control the feral cat population (which only gets larger if nothing is done). I may bring the digital camera to campus and try to document all the different cats/kittens I can.
When I met Mike at his office after work today, I dragged him by one of the kitty hangouts on our way to the parking lot. In the bushes, I spotted more kittens--one I had not seen or counted previously. Mike said "If we had a box, we should take them over to the Humane Society right now."
I volunteered my lunch sack for kitten transport; I plucked two out of the vegetation and heard/saw two more kittens in the bowels of a nearby Coke machine. One was spitting and hissing, but quieted down one it was in the bag. The other was much more docile and the two nestled together in the sack.
We got to the Humane Society just before closing. They had me fill out an intake form and took the kittens. The worker said once the animals were surrendered, they became the property of the H.S. and they couldn't make any promises about the fate of the animals. We agreed.
The kittens were young enough that it's possible to socialize them, but even if they were deemed unhealthy or unadoptable, they would meet a more humane fate at the Humane Society than they would enduring the hardscrabble life of a feral cat.
One of the Humane Society workers said a late professor at Pan Am and a local vet worked out arrangements to trap and neuter/spay the feral cats on campus. I'm hoping I can coordinate efforts with some of the folks who are caring fore/feeding them and see if we (and the university?) can do something to curtail the breeding capacity of the feral cats on campus.
Friday, I counted 16 cats, including 9 adults and 7 kittens. Four of the kittens were so young they didn't have their eyes open yet. Someone--perhaps more than one person--puts food out near the Fine Arts Building and the Health Science Buildings where the cats congregate. I haven't see who yet, but I hope to find out.
Over the weekend, I logged onto the local Craigslist and through a posting there found a website dedicated to feral cat support: http://www.shadowcats.net/index.shtml. I did some reading up and I think I've found a new cause.
Today, I did another count but only came up with 10 cats. I emailed the physical plant to inquire what, if anything, the campus does to control the feral cat population (which only gets larger if nothing is done). I may bring the digital camera to campus and try to document all the different cats/kittens I can.
When I met Mike at his office after work today, I dragged him by one of the kitty hangouts on our way to the parking lot. In the bushes, I spotted more kittens--one I had not seen or counted previously. Mike said "If we had a box, we should take them over to the Humane Society right now."
I volunteered my lunch sack for kitten transport; I plucked two out of the vegetation and heard/saw two more kittens in the bowels of a nearby Coke machine. One was spitting and hissing, but quieted down one it was in the bag. The other was much more docile and the two nestled together in the sack.
We got to the Humane Society just before closing. They had me fill out an intake form and took the kittens. The worker said once the animals were surrendered, they became the property of the H.S. and they couldn't make any promises about the fate of the animals. We agreed.
The kittens were young enough that it's possible to socialize them, but even if they were deemed unhealthy or unadoptable, they would meet a more humane fate at the Humane Society than they would enduring the hardscrabble life of a feral cat.
One of the Humane Society workers said a late professor at Pan Am and a local vet worked out arrangements to trap and neuter/spay the feral cats on campus. I'm hoping I can coordinate efforts with some of the folks who are caring fore/feeding them and see if we (and the university?) can do something to curtail the breeding capacity of the feral cats on campus.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Capturing the Moment
Buffets are wily, but I managed to snap some pictures of this one. Now I'm hungry all over again.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Glaring Menu Omission
Realized (as I was dishing up a bowl of leftover oatmeal with plain yogurt) that I forgot to mention Janet's World Famous in Poland Oatmeal was also on the brunch menu.
The folks who tried it were very complimentary, commenting on the plump raisins and granola-like texture. Make it yourself and see what a difference Janet's quick-cook method makes. Promise you'll never go back to the mush style, even if it means cleaning oat bits out of the colander every time.
Janet's fab recipe here.
http://dcrushhour.blogspot.com/2007/02/world-famous-in-poland-oatmeal.html
The folks who tried it were very complimentary, commenting on the plump raisins and granola-like texture. Make it yourself and see what a difference Janet's quick-cook method makes. Promise you'll never go back to the mush style, even if it means cleaning oat bits out of the colander every time.
Janet's fab recipe here.
http://dcrushhour.blogspot.com/2007/02/world-famous-in-poland-oatmeal.html
Monday, May 14, 2007
Mother's Day Redux
Short version: it wasn't as bad as I feared and turned out better than I hoped.
Brunch went well. Did most of the cooking and prep work Saturday. Went with a fairly simple menu. We had two berry sparkling lemonade; eggs scrambled with lox and chives with red onion, tomatoes and capers on the side; roasted garlic potatoes; roasted asparagus; grapefruit, avocado and butter lettuce salad with poppy seed vinaigrette; pasta salad with chickpeas, feta and and dill, mini bagels and cream cheese; and grapefruit upside down cake with fresh grapefruit-infused whipped cream. Volunteers brought fruit and veggie sides.
Made too much of some things and just right amounts of others; still need to fine tune that part. There were seven adults and five small children altogether. I'm a big lame-o for taking photos of the food but forgetting to take any pictures of the guests. D'oh! I guess it probably wouldn't be kosher to post pics of them on my blog without permission--and to get permission, I'd have to admit to having the blog (where I write unflattering rants about People We Know). It's just easier not to.
PK got agitated and I toted him off to the bedroom to cool off a couple of times, but I didn't have to lock him up. The little girls and two adult cat lovers were disappointed he wasn't friendlier. The little girls had a grand time playing with my salt & pepper shaker chess set and trying to pet the other kitty.
We packed up the foodstuffs in time to get to church. True to form, the service was unique. The opening hymn was "Come Listen to a Prophet's Voice;" the sacrament hymn was "Father in Heaven, We Do Believe," the rest hymn (during which I rebelliously stayed seated) was "Hope of Israel," and the closer was "Today While the Sun Shines." I don't know who's picking the songs, but on Mother's Day, they were curiously all about listening to men, preparing for battle and work.
The speakers weren't much of an improvement. The youth speaker was the only one to focus on Mother's Day. The mission president's wife said how glad she was Heavenly Father made her a girl so she could be a mother and how glad she was that all the missionaries would get to talk to their mothers that day. The mission president bookended his talk about missionary work with a couple of mother-related statements.
Trend spotting: 1) Musically uncoordinated services, despite the handy hymnal subject headers on Easter, Home or Family and 2) the Talks of the Passing Mention, during which the speaker gives a nod to the holiday or event observance but proceeds to give a talk indistinguishable from those delivered on any other Sunday.
Sigh. They had leftover Mother Tribute plants, so I scored two.
Brunch went well. Did most of the cooking and prep work Saturday. Went with a fairly simple menu. We had two berry sparkling lemonade; eggs scrambled with lox and chives with red onion, tomatoes and capers on the side; roasted garlic potatoes; roasted asparagus; grapefruit, avocado and butter lettuce salad with poppy seed vinaigrette; pasta salad with chickpeas, feta and and dill, mini bagels and cream cheese; and grapefruit upside down cake with fresh grapefruit-infused whipped cream. Volunteers brought fruit and veggie sides.
Made too much of some things and just right amounts of others; still need to fine tune that part. There were seven adults and five small children altogether. I'm a big lame-o for taking photos of the food but forgetting to take any pictures of the guests. D'oh! I guess it probably wouldn't be kosher to post pics of them on my blog without permission--and to get permission, I'd have to admit to having the blog (where I write unflattering rants about People We Know). It's just easier not to.
PK got agitated and I toted him off to the bedroom to cool off a couple of times, but I didn't have to lock him up. The little girls and two adult cat lovers were disappointed he wasn't friendlier. The little girls had a grand time playing with my salt & pepper shaker chess set and trying to pet the other kitty.
We packed up the foodstuffs in time to get to church. True to form, the service was unique. The opening hymn was "Come Listen to a Prophet's Voice;" the sacrament hymn was "Father in Heaven, We Do Believe," the rest hymn (during which I rebelliously stayed seated) was "Hope of Israel," and the closer was "Today While the Sun Shines." I don't know who's picking the songs, but on Mother's Day, they were curiously all about listening to men, preparing for battle and work.
The speakers weren't much of an improvement. The youth speaker was the only one to focus on Mother's Day. The mission president's wife said how glad she was Heavenly Father made her a girl so she could be a mother and how glad she was that all the missionaries would get to talk to their mothers that day. The mission president bookended his talk about missionary work with a couple of mother-related statements.
Trend spotting: 1) Musically uncoordinated services, despite the handy hymnal subject headers on Easter, Home or Family and 2) the Talks of the Passing Mention, during which the speaker gives a nod to the holiday or event observance but proceeds to give a talk indistinguishable from those delivered on any other Sunday.
Sigh. They had leftover Mother Tribute plants, so I scored two.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Gimme a Pink Martini on Mother's Day
It's my first official Mother's Day and I'm not entirely sure what to make of it.
Mother's Day has always been loaded. As a singleton, MD was the sucky, often saccharine reminder of what I wanted but didn't have. And there were well-meaning but emotionally deaf people who would insist on "honoring" me as a Potential Mother, despite my protestations.
It's not Anyone With Ova Day; it's Mother's Day. While the act of nurturing can take many forms, I did not feel like having unearned laurels thrust upon me.
(I did enjoy turned tables one year when a friend's single brother visited our ward on Father's Day and was perplexed with the honoraria shoved on him as a Potential Father. In fact, I teased him about it with great glee).
Marrying Mike included 4 groovy step kids, so now I'm in the category of Step Mother/People Who Count on Mother's Day at church. It will be an interesting sociological experiment to see how This Ward handles Mother's Day--and who skips out because the celebration, euphoric recall or milliseconds of honor are troubling or painful. Lots of women with raw nerves for whatever reason.
I'll also be braving church alone; Mike is in Utah/Idaho. I decided to host a small brunch before church for a few friends. I need to get my ass to the store if I'm going to get the make-aheads done today/not be insane tomorrow.
Mike says the replacement vacuum cleaner we had to buy this week is NOT my Mother's Day gift. (Old one died on the eve of our Japanese house guest's arrival).
Honey, if you haven't already scoped something out, I have a gift idea that would make my day:
Mother's Day has always been loaded. As a singleton, MD was the sucky, often saccharine reminder of what I wanted but didn't have. And there were well-meaning but emotionally deaf people who would insist on "honoring" me as a Potential Mother, despite my protestations.
It's not Anyone With Ova Day; it's Mother's Day. While the act of nurturing can take many forms, I did not feel like having unearned laurels thrust upon me.
(I did enjoy turned tables one year when a friend's single brother visited our ward on Father's Day and was perplexed with the honoraria shoved on him as a Potential Father. In fact, I teased him about it with great glee).
Marrying Mike included 4 groovy step kids, so now I'm in the category of Step Mother/People Who Count on Mother's Day at church. It will be an interesting sociological experiment to see how This Ward handles Mother's Day--and who skips out because the celebration, euphoric recall or milliseconds of honor are troubling or painful. Lots of women with raw nerves for whatever reason.
I'll also be braving church alone; Mike is in Utah/Idaho. I decided to host a small brunch before church for a few friends. I need to get my ass to the store if I'm going to get the make-aheads done today/not be insane tomorrow.
Mike says the replacement vacuum cleaner we had to buy this week is NOT my Mother's Day gift. (Old one died on the eve of our Japanese house guest's arrival).
Honey, if you haven't already scoped something out, I have a gift idea that would make my day:
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
File Under: Blast From the Past
I got a call yesterday from the publisher of a weekly newspaper the next town over--he of the promising lead turned sour, described here.
I called him back tonight, fancying he might have heard about my blog at The Monitor and would convey his regret for not hiring me as an editor when he had the chance. (Of course, I'm approaching this conversation with the smug knowledge that I'm not going to give up a plum job at the University no matter what he puts on the table. Bring it, suckah!).
Anyway, he's looking for a full time reporter now. Again, he twitted my lack of recent newswriting experience. It's as if he forgot we covered this ground back in January.
When I said I'd been writing an online column and suggested he read it, his response was, "I don't know if that would be terribly helpful to me." It's a different style of writing--he's hired good writers who turn out to be bad reporters and vice versa. I dunno, could that be bad management?
I ask "So, what kind of salary range are you thinking about for this reporter position?" That depends on the individual, he says. I'd want the person to prove themself before getting serious with serious pay. It's hard to plug in a number. I'd probably put them on a couple of assignments and see how they handle them. Sounds like he's looking for the Mormon discount, eh?
I said I was working 8-5 at the university and didn't think there was much room on my plate for more. (Not that he was offering "more"). Hey, buddy, a lot happens in four months--and I'm not desperate enough to be your FREElancer while you decide whether or not I'm worth hiring for reals.
So he made a few polite noises... if my situation changes, call him, blah blah. He exits stage left, thinking he didn't pick me.
In recounting the phone call and the guy's offputting 'tude, Mike said I missed a golden opportunity to tweak him hard. To ask questions that demonstrate that I was interviewing him--and that he wasn't making much of a case for why I should want to work for him.
Eh, so he goes untweaked. Would he have gotten it if I had? He'll go on having staffing problems at his little weekly papers and think it's not his problem.
I called him back tonight, fancying he might have heard about my blog at The Monitor and would convey his regret for not hiring me as an editor when he had the chance. (Of course, I'm approaching this conversation with the smug knowledge that I'm not going to give up a plum job at the University no matter what he puts on the table. Bring it, suckah!).
Anyway, he's looking for a full time reporter now. Again, he twitted my lack of recent newswriting experience. It's as if he forgot we covered this ground back in January.
When I said I'd been writing an online column and suggested he read it, his response was, "I don't know if that would be terribly helpful to me." It's a different style of writing--he's hired good writers who turn out to be bad reporters and vice versa. I dunno, could that be bad management?
I ask "So, what kind of salary range are you thinking about for this reporter position?" That depends on the individual, he says. I'd want the person to prove themself before getting serious with serious pay. It's hard to plug in a number. I'd probably put them on a couple of assignments and see how they handle them. Sounds like he's looking for the Mormon discount, eh?
I said I was working 8-5 at the university and didn't think there was much room on my plate for more. (Not that he was offering "more"). Hey, buddy, a lot happens in four months--and I'm not desperate enough to be your FREElancer while you decide whether or not I'm worth hiring for reals.
So he made a few polite noises... if my situation changes, call him, blah blah. He exits stage left, thinking he didn't pick me.
In recounting the phone call and the guy's offputting 'tude, Mike said I missed a golden opportunity to tweak him hard. To ask questions that demonstrate that I was interviewing him--and that he wasn't making much of a case for why I should want to work for him.
Eh, so he goes untweaked. Would he have gotten it if I had? He'll go on having staffing problems at his little weekly papers and think it's not his problem.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Things I Actually Like About My Ward
Because it's not fair to present just one side, here are the things I like about my ward.
- On my first visit to the ward, Mike and I were absolutely MOBBED by people welcoming us, asking if we were moving in, telling us it's the best ward around. Welcomes that warm are hard to come by.
- Meeting 90-year old Bro. Miller, tennis player and woodworker extraordinaire. He gave us a beautiful variegated wood cutting board and regales me with puns each time we talk. I'm sad he's in New Mexico for the summer.
- Invitations--to the country club for tennis, to dinner, to play group, to go along on errands and chat.
- Going to my first Enrichment activity on health & well being and one of the speakers was introducing everyone to NET, a technique that's produced great results for me--and one I never thought I'd hear about in the RGV.
- That speaker was the physical therapist who employed me for 5 months when no one was giving my resume/applications a second glance.
- Working together also led to a friendship I value--and a visiting teaching gig when she refused to be visited by a woman who's been sanctimonious and abusive to her.
- I get to see the expressions on the Sunday School teacher's face when Mike lobs a question or comment she's unprepared to field.
- Comparing notes with the good organist about hymns and spiritual music. And her tip about the Episcopalians doing a rocking good Easter service.
- A Compassionate Service babysitting gig begetting a friendship with a woman who's going through a divorce. It's humbling and instructive to sit across from someone who's on the other side of that equation. I think I've grown some empathy toward Mike's ex as a result.
- I love the unique building with the 3-story rock wall in the chapel, built with rocks people sent from all over to be part of the building. I should post pictures of what I affectionately think of as the Rock Climber's Chapel.
- Tamales and Mexican hot chocolate at the ward Christmas dinner.
- Stake leaders giving their talks in English and Spanish--just like the East Los Angeles Stake I grew up in.
- My goofy, adorable VT companion and the side-splittingly funny woman we visit teach, who calls bullshit on church fakery like "I love all of you RS sisters!" She's a hoot. One of our visits with her lasted over 4 hours.
- I'll probably add more items as they occur to me. But it's late and I need some shut eye.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Mental Ward
OK, that is a bit harsh. But my feelings about this new ward run such a gamut, it makes me wonder: Is it me? Or is it them? In all likelihood, both. Here are some of the contributing experiences:
Exhibit A: I'm called to be RS secretary. En route to my first weeknight presidency meeting, the education counselor (in Sunday garb) indirectly chides me for wearing pants. It didn't remotely occur to me that there was a dress code. Later the RS president explained Sunday dress is necessary in case we go visiting less active sisters after our meeting.
I get the feeling that appearance trumps substance and feel angsty/resentful about compulsory church attire. To date, we've NEVER gone visiting after a presidency meeting and after a while, everyone else started wearing pants.
Exhibit B: I try to start a book group with the church ladies. Only one shows up to the first meeting. We hammer out a 3-month reading schedule and I send it out. The RS president shows up on my doorstep because she's "concerned" about the first selection (Memoirs of Geisha). She's never read it herself, but that doesn't stop her from discussing her concerns with the bishop--oh, and then with me.
Rather than be micromanaged by people who 1) don't attend book group, 2) can't appreciate the literary merit of books they have not read themselves or 3) advocate reading "approved" literature (meaning Deseret Books), I opted to disaffiliate book group from RS. The group is open to church ladies but I'm not supposed to publicize book group at church or in the RS newsletter or calendar.
Exhibit C: The ward bars the doors and no one is allowed in the chapel after the sacrament hymn starts. I've never attended a ward that slams the doors on latecomers without sending sacrament passers out to the lobby.
I've been on both sides of the chapel doors and I think it's an atrocious practice. Not only does it penalize the late arrivals but it is profoundly unChristlike.
Exhibit D: Despite instructions from SLC, the ward has fast & testimony meeting on Easter Sunday with no Easter music, no Easter speakers, precious little acknowledgement and no apology. After 9 years of amazing Easter programs in Pasadena Ward, this was seriously depressing.
Exhibit E: The ward DID stage an elaborate presentation on cleaning the church building. This made the lapse of judgment resulting in Exhibit D all the more distressing.
It's not bloody every Sunday, but it happens often enough to vex my soul and mess with my spiritual equilibrium. I often spend and/or leave church hopping mad, gnashing my teeth in frustration or limply hopeless. Easter propelled me to outrage.
I want to contribute something good to the ward through my service, my presence or by being able to offer another perspective. But then something exhibit-level icky happens and I'm left feeling bludgeoned.
Spiritually, it's worse than the summer I worked for the church magazines. I wouldn't say it's affecting my testimony per se, but I am less enthusiastic about participating in ward life.
Exhibit A: I'm called to be RS secretary. En route to my first weeknight presidency meeting, the education counselor (in Sunday garb) indirectly chides me for wearing pants. It didn't remotely occur to me that there was a dress code. Later the RS president explained Sunday dress is necessary in case we go visiting less active sisters after our meeting.
I get the feeling that appearance trumps substance and feel angsty/resentful about compulsory church attire. To date, we've NEVER gone visiting after a presidency meeting and after a while, everyone else started wearing pants.
Exhibit B: I try to start a book group with the church ladies. Only one shows up to the first meeting. We hammer out a 3-month reading schedule and I send it out. The RS president shows up on my doorstep because she's "concerned" about the first selection (Memoirs of Geisha). She's never read it herself, but that doesn't stop her from discussing her concerns with the bishop--oh, and then with me.
Rather than be micromanaged by people who 1) don't attend book group, 2) can't appreciate the literary merit of books they have not read themselves or 3) advocate reading "approved" literature (meaning Deseret Books), I opted to disaffiliate book group from RS. The group is open to church ladies but I'm not supposed to publicize book group at church or in the RS newsletter or calendar.
Exhibit C: The ward bars the doors and no one is allowed in the chapel after the sacrament hymn starts. I've never attended a ward that slams the doors on latecomers without sending sacrament passers out to the lobby.
I've been on both sides of the chapel doors and I think it's an atrocious practice. Not only does it penalize the late arrivals but it is profoundly unChristlike.
Exhibit D: Despite instructions from SLC, the ward has fast & testimony meeting on Easter Sunday with no Easter music, no Easter speakers, precious little acknowledgement and no apology. After 9 years of amazing Easter programs in Pasadena Ward, this was seriously depressing.
Exhibit E: The ward DID stage an elaborate presentation on cleaning the church building. This made the lapse of judgment resulting in Exhibit D all the more distressing.
It's not bloody every Sunday, but it happens often enough to vex my soul and mess with my spiritual equilibrium. I often spend and/or leave church hopping mad, gnashing my teeth in frustration or limply hopeless. Easter propelled me to outrage.
I want to contribute something good to the ward through my service, my presence or by being able to offer another perspective. But then something exhibit-level icky happens and I'm left feeling bludgeoned.
Spiritually, it's worse than the summer I worked for the church magazines. I wouldn't say it's affecting my testimony per se, but I am less enthusiastic about participating in ward life.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Where the Emphasis Is
Generally speaking, observing where an organization spends its money and its time can give you a fairly good idea of the organization's priorities.
Today, our ward's priorities became clearer during the hour-long 5th Sunday combined RS/PH meeting presentation/orientation on (insert drum roll here): Member Care of Church Meetinghouses.
The young men joined us, as did the Primary and young women instructors. The YW were conscripted to teach Primary so all the adults could all attend this meeting.
It began with a Power Point presentation. First, the requisite joke: step-by-step instructions on how to clean the toilet using pet shampoo and the cat, signed the dog, with photos of a wet cat and a dog appearing to convulse with laughter.
The bishopric counselor giving the spiel reassured us we would not have to actually clean toilets. And also said several times this was not being done to save money (although it will).
We received copies of a 1998 letter from The First Presidency asking church members to assume more responsibilities. Attached were forms outlining the cleaning responsibilities and a sample letter describing the cleaning assignments and other families assigned to clean the same month. We'll be notified by letter when it's our turn. No word whether we'd be coordinating or duplicating efforts with McAllen 2nd ward. No snow removal, heh, heh.
After the counselor finished with more Power Point slides, there was unavoidable Q&A--why are there so few trash cans in the building? Why no changing table in the restroom closest to the Primary rooms, RS room and most of the the building's classrooms? How much notice will we get? What if we're not available for our turn?
The Facilities Management guy bore testimony that cleaning our building somehow makes it possible to build more chapels overseas, even though the church has the money to do that anyway. While he babbled about building and maintenance costs in other countries, he started an urban legend that there are more Christians in India than there are in the rest of the world combined. (So earnest and yet so wrong).
Supposedly, we have the OK to do missionary work in India (thanks to the Miracle of the Unnamed Church Bureaucrat who made this possible at GBH's request) but lack the infrastructure and the 65,000 missionaries India purportedly asked for.
I was inspired--to ask Mike to bring his Palm to church today. I played Solitaire throughout the presentation and seethed about the level of effort that clearly went into today's "Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel/Swab the Font" presentation when (just as clearly) no thought/effort went into our ward's Easter Sunday.
Administrivia: 1. Weightier Matters: 0.
Today, our ward's priorities became clearer during the hour-long 5th Sunday combined RS/PH meeting presentation/orientation on (insert drum roll here): Member Care of Church Meetinghouses.
The young men joined us, as did the Primary and young women instructors. The YW were conscripted to teach Primary so all the adults could all attend this meeting.
It began with a Power Point presentation. First, the requisite joke: step-by-step instructions on how to clean the toilet using pet shampoo and the cat, signed the dog, with photos of a wet cat and a dog appearing to convulse with laughter.
The bishopric counselor giving the spiel reassured us we would not have to actually clean toilets. And also said several times this was not being done to save money (although it will).
We received copies of a 1998 letter from The First Presidency asking church members to assume more responsibilities. Attached were forms outlining the cleaning responsibilities and a sample letter describing the cleaning assignments and other families assigned to clean the same month. We'll be notified by letter when it's our turn. No word whether we'd be coordinating or duplicating efforts with McAllen 2nd ward. No snow removal, heh, heh.
After the counselor finished with more Power Point slides, there was unavoidable Q&A--why are there so few trash cans in the building? Why no changing table in the restroom closest to the Primary rooms, RS room and most of the the building's classrooms? How much notice will we get? What if we're not available for our turn?
The Facilities Management guy bore testimony that cleaning our building somehow makes it possible to build more chapels overseas, even though the church has the money to do that anyway. While he babbled about building and maintenance costs in other countries, he started an urban legend that there are more Christians in India than there are in the rest of the world combined. (So earnest and yet so wrong).
Supposedly, we have the OK to do missionary work in India (thanks to the Miracle of the Unnamed Church Bureaucrat who made this possible at GBH's request) but lack the infrastructure and the 65,000 missionaries India purportedly asked for.
I was inspired--to ask Mike to bring his Palm to church today. I played Solitaire throughout the presentation and seethed about the level of effort that clearly went into today's "Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel/Swab the Font" presentation when (just as clearly) no thought/effort went into our ward's Easter Sunday.
Administrivia: 1. Weightier Matters: 0.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Campus Life
Verging on the end of week two. I ran and started distributing my first set of reports and met a whole bunch more people who will be involved going forward.
For a commuter school, there's a lot happening on campus. There's a list of the day's activities on the website. So far, I've swabbed my cheek and applied to be on the bone marrow donor registry. I checked out the jewelry and knife/fork/spoon combos created by one of the metalworking classes. There's an art exhibit in the Visitor's Center and an art & textile exhibit in the communications building lobby.
There's a Chuck Norris fan club. The Asian American Association was selling nachos as a fundraiser. Almost every day some club or other is selling food. Saw a posting for a SLTS meeting; that could be fun depending on which vowel one inserted. (It's an acronym for Student Life and Transition Services). I wonder if the SLTS meet at the STUN? (Student Union).
Mike and I ate lunch together than checked out the racquetball courts, thinking we could go after work a couple of days a week. At lunchtime, there wasn't a soul playing. When we went back at 5:00 pm, every court was booked 4-7:00 pm. Hoping once the new athletic center opens, the demand will shift to the new courts.
The outdoor tennis courts might be a less occupied alternative now that it's starting to heat up.
For a commuter school, there's a lot happening on campus. There's a list of the day's activities on the website. So far, I've swabbed my cheek and applied to be on the bone marrow donor registry. I checked out the jewelry and knife/fork/spoon combos created by one of the metalworking classes. There's an art exhibit in the Visitor's Center and an art & textile exhibit in the communications building lobby.
There's a Chuck Norris fan club. The Asian American Association was selling nachos as a fundraiser. Almost every day some club or other is selling food. Saw a posting for a SLTS meeting; that could be fun depending on which vowel one inserted. (It's an acronym for Student Life and Transition Services). I wonder if the SLTS meet at the STUN? (Student Union).
Mike and I ate lunch together than checked out the racquetball courts, thinking we could go after work a couple of days a week. At lunchtime, there wasn't a soul playing. When we went back at 5:00 pm, every court was booked 4-7:00 pm. Hoping once the new athletic center opens, the demand will shift to the new courts.
The outdoor tennis courts might be a less occupied alternative now that it's starting to heat up.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Still Searching
for an environmentally friendly, biodegradable (ideally compostable) reasonably priced cat litter.
Feline Pine wasn't it. The kitties used it, but didn't seem to like it. They track sawdust all over the place and fling it outside the box with their energetic digging.
So we got a box of the wheat litter that's supposed to clump hard and not work over the environment. Unclear whether it's also compostable. But that's moot because I don't like it.
True, it's more like conventional litter and does control urine odor, but it doesn't clump into a clump. It clumps into a wet mass that you have to chisel off the bottom of the cat box. And it smells like damp wheat. Definitely a turn off for the farina-lovers.
I hate the idea of going back to conventional litter, but it's either that or lint roller the cats' paws as they exit the box. Hardly a practical solution.
Feline Pine wasn't it. The kitties used it, but didn't seem to like it. They track sawdust all over the place and fling it outside the box with their energetic digging.
So we got a box of the wheat litter that's supposed to clump hard and not work over the environment. Unclear whether it's also compostable. But that's moot because I don't like it.
True, it's more like conventional litter and does control urine odor, but it doesn't clump into a clump. It clumps into a wet mass that you have to chisel off the bottom of the cat box. And it smells like damp wheat. Definitely a turn off for the farina-lovers.
I hate the idea of going back to conventional litter, but it's either that or lint roller the cats' paws as they exit the box. Hardly a practical solution.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Week One Wrap Up
My new supervisor was wise to limit how soon I met certain people involved in our operations. It was Thursday before I got to first week Overload.
That's when I met the Compliance Officer--who is, by all accounts and my experience, a nice, helpful man--who introduced me to the database and advocated we (meaning me) run and send out Fall Time and Effort certifications Friday.
My supervisor suggested a less aggressive schedule (next Friday will be fine) and we brainstormed how to distribute/circulate the certifications to get all the signatures. I played with the reports, identifying changes to the layout and adding run/due dates in hopes of making this process as painless as possible for the faculty who have to review and sign off on their research employees' time. Worked with the Compliance Officer Friday to make the changes.
I'll send an email to the certifiers letting them know to expect these reports, what they're supposed to do with them and steering them toward online Time and Effort training modules if they want a refresher. I may do some modified training materials featuring the actual reports, since no one knows what they look like and how to review/interpret the information therein.
My email is hooked up. I have my faculty/staff ID. I've already trained myself on Time and Effort reporting and read through the policies governing our area. I need to figure out the Outlook email program, the Access database and map out the logistics for the first report distribution.
Overall, I feel like I've got a pretty good handle on it.
That's when I met the Compliance Officer--who is, by all accounts and my experience, a nice, helpful man--who introduced me to the database and advocated we (meaning me) run and send out Fall Time and Effort certifications Friday.
My supervisor suggested a less aggressive schedule (next Friday will be fine) and we brainstormed how to distribute/circulate the certifications to get all the signatures. I played with the reports, identifying changes to the layout and adding run/due dates in hopes of making this process as painless as possible for the faculty who have to review and sign off on their research employees' time. Worked with the Compliance Officer Friday to make the changes.
I'll send an email to the certifiers letting them know to expect these reports, what they're supposed to do with them and steering them toward online Time and Effort training modules if they want a refresher. I may do some modified training materials featuring the actual reports, since no one knows what they look like and how to review/interpret the information therein.
My email is hooked up. I have my faculty/staff ID. I've already trained myself on Time and Effort reporting and read through the policies governing our area. I need to figure out the Outlook email program, the Access database and map out the logistics for the first report distribution.
Overall, I feel like I've got a pretty good handle on it.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
On School Shootings
I was walking through the Student Center my first day of work at UTPA when I saw CNN's early coverage of the shootings at Virginia Tech. Not knowing any details, I thought "massacre" was a strong term. Later, I was chagrined to have assumed a case of overblown media when the descriptor was all too accurate.
Every time there's a campus shooting, it takes me back to spring 1988 when a bright, talented and troubled kid brought a semi-automatic weapon on campus and took his Humanities class hostage.
I knew that gunman, Jeff Cox. He was cute, personable, a transfer student to our campus. We'd been in several drama productions together. I have pictures of us with our arms slung around each other at one of my birthday parties. (I even made out with him once in my mom's Peugeot in the In-N-Out Burger parking lot after a party. Good kisser).
Nineteen years ago, school shootings/hostage situations were uncommon. Jeff fired a few shots into the classroom walls before being wrestled to the floor and disarmed. No one was injured or killed, thankfully. The campus was pretty shaken up. Who knew this would grow into a trend?
Over the years (read: after each new campus shooting), I've wondered what happened to Jeff. A note posted on the school's alumni web page last year purportedly from Jeff apologized for his actions of April 1988 and said he's become a much better person now. He asked if anyone had contact information for one of the guidance counselors who'd helped him that day and included an email address.
I've been debating about sending him a note (assuming the address/message is legit) saying that I've thought about him over the years and was glad to hear things are better for him now than they were in April 19 years ago. Because, as we've seen this week, it could have been so much worse for everyone.
Every time there's a campus shooting, it takes me back to spring 1988 when a bright, talented and troubled kid brought a semi-automatic weapon on campus and took his Humanities class hostage.
I knew that gunman, Jeff Cox. He was cute, personable, a transfer student to our campus. We'd been in several drama productions together. I have pictures of us with our arms slung around each other at one of my birthday parties. (I even made out with him once in my mom's Peugeot in the In-N-Out Burger parking lot after a party. Good kisser).
Nineteen years ago, school shootings/hostage situations were uncommon. Jeff fired a few shots into the classroom walls before being wrestled to the floor and disarmed. No one was injured or killed, thankfully. The campus was pretty shaken up. Who knew this would grow into a trend?
Over the years (read: after each new campus shooting), I've wondered what happened to Jeff. A note posted on the school's alumni web page last year purportedly from Jeff apologized for his actions of April 1988 and said he's become a much better person now. He asked if anyone had contact information for one of the guidance counselors who'd helped him that day and included an email address.
I've been debating about sending him a note (assuming the address/message is legit) saying that I've thought about him over the years and was glad to hear things are better for him now than they were in April 19 years ago. Because, as we've seen this week, it could have been so much worse for everyone.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sock Monkey's First Day at the Office
Things went well! I was actually more overwhelmed by the 2.5 hour interview than I was the first day on the job.
I immersed myself in policy and procedure manuals and browsed through the University's website to get more familiar with the environment.
I took a tour of the 3rd floor where we'll be moving in the next month or so when the renovations are complete. Not sure where my digs will be in that space, but we'll have our own private loo!
Found out that my supervisor and I have the same birthday and three of the four of us in Research Administration have birthdays and wedding anniversaries in July. I hope we can agree on a cake flavor for future group celebrations.
Must be brief--I should be in bed already, but old habits die hard.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Got 'em in Spanish?
I got a call from the Breast Cancer Prevention Fund soliciting donations for mammograms for women who can't afford them.
A good cause, but would my donation go to someone in MY neighborhood, where the incidence of breast cancer is quite high? The solicitor said it would--they're based in Dallas. I'm not anywhere near Dallas; wouldn't I be better off donating to the American Cancer Society in my town if I want my support to stay local?
The poor girl thumbed through her script; I guess this part wasn't covered.
She asked for me using my first name and married last name--not a combo I use--so I asked where she got my number. She couldn't tell me. She said how much each mammogram cost and wanted to know how much I planned to give so she could send the "right envelope." Just send me the forms and I'll decide how much I can kick in, OK?
She offered to send me free self breast exam shower cards--did I want any? I asked if they had the cards in Spanish. Ummm, I don't know, I'll have to ask my supervisor.
I said the population here is largely Hispanic/Mexican/Spanish speaking and that's who's getting breast cancer. If their organization doesn't have resource materials in Spanish to distribute within Texas, they're doing a disservice to the women who need them most. DUH!
When the donation forms arrived a few days later, there was a note from the solicitor saying she was going to speak with HR about getting Spanish shower cards.
I'll send them a check. I'm also going to follow up on those shower cards...
A good cause, but would my donation go to someone in MY neighborhood, where the incidence of breast cancer is quite high? The solicitor said it would--they're based in Dallas. I'm not anywhere near Dallas; wouldn't I be better off donating to the American Cancer Society in my town if I want my support to stay local?
The poor girl thumbed through her script; I guess this part wasn't covered.
She asked for me using my first name and married last name--not a combo I use--so I asked where she got my number. She couldn't tell me. She said how much each mammogram cost and wanted to know how much I planned to give so she could send the "right envelope." Just send me the forms and I'll decide how much I can kick in, OK?
She offered to send me free self breast exam shower cards--did I want any? I asked if they had the cards in Spanish. Ummm, I don't know, I'll have to ask my supervisor.
I said the population here is largely Hispanic/Mexican/Spanish speaking and that's who's getting breast cancer. If their organization doesn't have resource materials in Spanish to distribute within Texas, they're doing a disservice to the women who need them most. DUH!
When the donation forms arrived a few days later, there was a note from the solicitor saying she was going to speak with HR about getting Spanish shower cards.
I'll send them a check. I'm also going to follow up on those shower cards...
Blogspit
Tried to log in and post a new entry to find The Powers moved me over to the new version of Blogger without notice!
Yes, what I need is more change and upheaval right now.
Yes, what I need is more change and upheaval right now.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Easter in the RGV, Part IV: The Jaw Dropper
I vented to the good organist (who was home sick Sunday) about the non-existent Easter in the McAllen First Ward. She's a former Episcopalian, likes good Easter programs and typically attends another church on Easter, that smart cookie.
She told me that the ward is planning an Easter program for April 15--the Sunday AFTER EASTER. She and her husband are the speakers.
There's just not a font big enough to express this, but WTF?!?
I AM APPALLED. Having an Easter service a week late is not BETTER than dissing Easter on Easter.
If I have this right, fast & testimony meeting is important and must proceed as scheduled. No matter what.
Easter is important, too, but we can just celebrate it some other Sunday when it's more convenient.
What, like it's the most significant event on the whole Christian calendar?
She told me that the ward is planning an Easter program for April 15--the Sunday AFTER EASTER. She and her husband are the speakers.
There's just not a font big enough to express this, but WTF?!?
I AM APPALLED. Having an Easter service a week late is not BETTER than dissing Easter on Easter.
If I have this right, fast & testimony meeting is important and must proceed as scheduled. No matter what.
Easter is important, too, but we can just celebrate it some other Sunday when it's more convenient.
What, like it's the most significant event on the whole Christian calendar?
Easter Feaster
We had a beautiful Easter dinner: grapefruit & avocado salad with mustard poppyseed vinaigrette and cedar plank salmon with a thyme/brown sugar/red pepper rub. And potato salad to use up some hard cooked eggs.
Alas, one of these dishes made Mike violently ill the next day. And even though we ate the same thing, I was fine.
Of course, there was a basket of goodies.
Alas, one of these dishes made Mike violently ill the next day. And even though we ate the same thing, I was fine.
Of course, there was a basket of goodies.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
There's More! Easter in the RGV Part III
If you're rolling your eyes and asking, "Girl, what is UP with the three posts about Easter? Give it a rest already," I'll understand. Nonetheless, there's still more to say about Easter in the RGV if you feel like reading further.
First: Don't go shopping during Holy Week. Every Mexican national with disposable income is in McAllen buying stuff. I spent 45 minutes in the checkout line at Ross on Good Friday afternoon wondering if Mass was anywhere near as crowded.
Second-and-harder-to-accept: the Mormons here don't do a bleeding thing to celebrate Easter and no one seems to notice or care.
Since our ward has the 1-4 pm timeslot this year, Mike and I decided to alternative services Easter morning. I'd written a Monitor column about St. Matthew's peace gardens & labyrinth and talked with the rector a couple of times, so we decided to go there for their second Easter service with music.
It was a good call. There were Easter lilies and flowers decorating the sanctuary, beautiful music, an intelligent sermon, welcoming people and--best of all--palpable Easter joy.
I had to sightread most of the hymns. I enjoyed the selections from the Book of Common Prayer and the interactive Peace part of the service, during which people greeted each other enthusiastically and wished each other peace.
The rector announced the church's upcoming Holy Smoke BBQ, which gave me the giggles. And I met the woman who planted the peace gardens who was a client of the physical therapist I worked for on whose desk I found the postcard about the labyrinth and peace gardens which is how I learned about St. Matthew's in the first place.
Several people invited us to stay for coffee after the service, but we had to dash back to make it to our ward. We should have quit while we were ahead.
The assistant organist was mutilating the opening hymn when we walked in and I made an unfortunate pew choice which put us in front of the mission president's wife who sings loudly off key, bless her heart.
Mike nudged me and whispered that there were NO Easter hymns on the program. I knew there weren't going to be any choir numbers, but no congregational hymns, either? The bishop got up and announced it was Fast & Testimony meeting. My surprise turned to dismay then to shock and disbelief and then to RAGE.
I sat there seething and wishing we hadn't come at all, since being pissed was crowding out all the good juju from St. Matthew's. So I grabbed the hymnbook and sang all the Easter hymns to myself. Meanwhile, a couple of testimony-ers mentioned Easter in passing and others not at all.
I thought about going up and bearing my own rip-roaring testimony of Easter in Pasadena Ward with resplendent choir numbers with pipe organ accompaniment and last year's program focused on the women in the Easter story. Alas, I was too PISSED OFF and didn't trust what I might say with an open mic in front of me.
Instead, I read the Easter/resurrection story from all the gospels. Finally, the bishop stood to wrap things up--and called on ME from the PULPIT to say the closing prayer! If he'd had ANY idea of the murderous anger in my heart about testimony meeting trumping EASTER, I'm sure he would have asked someone else.
But he "asked" me and I got the last word. I asked that we'd ponder and grow in our understanding of the Easter story and the risen Christ--and I worked in a little something about the women who found the tomb empty on resurrection morning.
After SS opening exercises were done, I turned to the SP and tried to get some kind of explanation, saying "I don't remember the last time Easter was on a Fast Sunday--I mean, I know it has to happen, but I can't recall the last time it did." He explained (like I was four) that last Sunday was conference, so testimony meeting got bumped back a week. No apology or acknowledgement that this completely dissed Easter.
The rest of the meetings were equally void of Easter. According to several ward members, no one gives a rip about it and the ones who do are tired of fighting to get good music onto the program or wrestle people into attending choir.
I just don't think I can let this slide without officially registering how appalled I was that THE foundational event in all of Christianity was treated like any ordinary Sunday. Makes me HOPPING MAD.
I don't know that it would do any good, but at least it will explain our absence from on any/all subsequent Easters the ward chooses not to recognize.
First: Don't go shopping during Holy Week. Every Mexican national with disposable income is in McAllen buying stuff. I spent 45 minutes in the checkout line at Ross on Good Friday afternoon wondering if Mass was anywhere near as crowded.
Second-and-harder-to-accept: the Mormons here don't do a bleeding thing to celebrate Easter and no one seems to notice or care.
Since our ward has the 1-4 pm timeslot this year, Mike and I decided to alternative services Easter morning. I'd written a Monitor column about St. Matthew's peace gardens & labyrinth and talked with the rector a couple of times, so we decided to go there for their second Easter service with music.
It was a good call. There were Easter lilies and flowers decorating the sanctuary, beautiful music, an intelligent sermon, welcoming people and--best of all--palpable Easter joy.
I had to sightread most of the hymns. I enjoyed the selections from the Book of Common Prayer and the interactive Peace part of the service, during which people greeted each other enthusiastically and wished each other peace.
The rector announced the church's upcoming Holy Smoke BBQ, which gave me the giggles. And I met the woman who planted the peace gardens who was a client of the physical therapist I worked for on whose desk I found the postcard about the labyrinth and peace gardens which is how I learned about St. Matthew's in the first place.
Several people invited us to stay for coffee after the service, but we had to dash back to make it to our ward. We should have quit while we were ahead.
The assistant organist was mutilating the opening hymn when we walked in and I made an unfortunate pew choice which put us in front of the mission president's wife who sings loudly off key, bless her heart.
Mike nudged me and whispered that there were NO Easter hymns on the program. I knew there weren't going to be any choir numbers, but no congregational hymns, either? The bishop got up and announced it was Fast & Testimony meeting. My surprise turned to dismay then to shock and disbelief and then to RAGE.
I sat there seething and wishing we hadn't come at all, since being pissed was crowding out all the good juju from St. Matthew's. So I grabbed the hymnbook and sang all the Easter hymns to myself. Meanwhile, a couple of testimony-ers mentioned Easter in passing and others not at all.
I thought about going up and bearing my own rip-roaring testimony of Easter in Pasadena Ward with resplendent choir numbers with pipe organ accompaniment and last year's program focused on the women in the Easter story. Alas, I was too PISSED OFF and didn't trust what I might say with an open mic in front of me.
Instead, I read the Easter/resurrection story from all the gospels. Finally, the bishop stood to wrap things up--and called on ME from the PULPIT to say the closing prayer! If he'd had ANY idea of the murderous anger in my heart about testimony meeting trumping EASTER, I'm sure he would have asked someone else.
But he "asked" me and I got the last word. I asked that we'd ponder and grow in our understanding of the Easter story and the risen Christ--and I worked in a little something about the women who found the tomb empty on resurrection morning.
After SS opening exercises were done, I turned to the SP and tried to get some kind of explanation, saying "I don't remember the last time Easter was on a Fast Sunday--I mean, I know it has to happen, but I can't recall the last time it did." He explained (like I was four) that last Sunday was conference, so testimony meeting got bumped back a week. No apology or acknowledgement that this completely dissed Easter.
The rest of the meetings were equally void of Easter. According to several ward members, no one gives a rip about it and the ones who do are tired of fighting to get good music onto the program or wrestle people into attending choir.
I just don't think I can let this slide without officially registering how appalled I was that THE foundational event in all of Christianity was treated like any ordinary Sunday. Makes me HOPPING MAD.
I don't know that it would do any good, but at least it will explain our absence from on any/all subsequent Easters the ward chooses not to recognize.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Easter in the RGV, Part II
After weeks of temperatures in the 80s, we're getting a drizzly, cold Easter weekend. Puts the kibosh on what I'd planned to wear tomorrow.
It also put the kibosh on our ward's Easter Picnic this evening. Instead of picnicking on blankets in the park adjacent to the church and hiding eggs outside, we retreated to the slightly warmer cultural hall for Easter festivities.
There were the requisite pastel sprinkled and bunny-adorned cupcakes, lemonade and watermelon slices but the main dish was something unexpected: Frito Pie. Cuz nothin' says Easter like chili on Fritos!
I'm sure someone could torture this dish into a spiritual object lesson: the Fritos lose their hardness when doused in chili--like hearts being softened through repentance. (Like how I put that in passive voice?)
Or Frito Pie is like our ward family: the Fritos and chili and sour cream and shredded cheese can each stand alone, but we're much stronger--and much more delicious--when we're together in the same bowl!
Considering the weather, chili was a good call regardless of whether any deeper meaning can be derived from Frito Pie.
It also put the kibosh on our ward's Easter Picnic this evening. Instead of picnicking on blankets in the park adjacent to the church and hiding eggs outside, we retreated to the slightly warmer cultural hall for Easter festivities.
There were the requisite pastel sprinkled and bunny-adorned cupcakes, lemonade and watermelon slices but the main dish was something unexpected: Frito Pie. Cuz nothin' says Easter like chili on Fritos!
I'm sure someone could torture this dish into a spiritual object lesson: the Fritos lose their hardness when doused in chili--like hearts being softened through repentance. (Like how I put that in passive voice?)
Or Frito Pie is like our ward family: the Fritos and chili and sour cream and shredded cheese can each stand alone, but we're much stronger--and much more delicious--when we're together in the same bowl!
Considering the weather, chili was a good call regardless of whether any deeper meaning can be derived from Frito Pie.
Fishing for Comments
Actually, I just wanted to see if comments are enabled on this new post, since something is awry with the Easter post.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Easter in the RGV
The only antique mall in town is closing its doors, so I went to scout for bargains. In the parking lot, a trio of women were sitting under a beach canopy with Easter wares spread out around them.
Pre-dyed and decorated Easter eggs were $4.00 for 18. There were pre-assembled Easter baskets and Easter Bunny piñatas. Because nothing captures the true spirit of Easter like beating the daylights out of the Easter Bunny, right?
For parents contemplating holiday gift fowl, Wednesday's front page story warned about the samonella danger of handling live Easter chicks. Because we can't enjoy holidays without some type of attendant scare--razor-laden apples at Halloween, the spontaneous combustion of Christmas pajamas, turkey-induced comas after Thanksgiving dinner. Watch out, that Easter chick could KILL YOU.
More intriguing, the article mentioned that a local company sells dyed Easter chicks. There was a psychedelic photo of said chicks accompanying the article. Why?!
Sadly, this will be my least musical Easter in a decade. The ward choir here pooped out after one number at Christmas. Our organist (a former Episcopalian who understands the NEED for good music) will be playing some jazzy prelude and postlude music, but that's a FAR cry from the musical feast we had every year in Pasadena Ward. We're thinking of visiting an Episcopal church in the morning to get a musical fix.
That, and we're not sure if we can get reservations this late for Easter Brunch--a Robertson family tradition.
Sigh.
Pre-dyed and decorated Easter eggs were $4.00 for 18. There were pre-assembled Easter baskets and Easter Bunny piñatas. Because nothing captures the true spirit of Easter like beating the daylights out of the Easter Bunny, right?
For parents contemplating holiday gift fowl, Wednesday's front page story warned about the samonella danger of handling live Easter chicks. Because we can't enjoy holidays without some type of attendant scare--razor-laden apples at Halloween, the spontaneous combustion of Christmas pajamas, turkey-induced comas after Thanksgiving dinner. Watch out, that Easter chick could KILL YOU.
More intriguing, the article mentioned that a local company sells dyed Easter chicks. There was a psychedelic photo of said chicks accompanying the article. Why?!
Sadly, this will be my least musical Easter in a decade. The ward choir here pooped out after one number at Christmas. Our organist (a former Episcopalian who understands the NEED for good music) will be playing some jazzy prelude and postlude music, but that's a FAR cry from the musical feast we had every year in Pasadena Ward. We're thinking of visiting an Episcopal church in the morning to get a musical fix.
That, and we're not sure if we can get reservations this late for Easter Brunch--a Robertson family tradition.
Sigh.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Please, call me Project Effort Reporting Specialist
PERS for short. UTPA extended and I accepted the offer to work in Research Administration in the above mentioned role.
I will provide oversight and act as the main contact for time/effort reporting for faculty/others working on federally-funded grants, contracts, cooperative agreements and sponsored projects.
More simply, I keep track of, assist and train faculty how to keep track of their work/progress when they're on someone else's research dime.
Mom is the litmus test of how well I explain my job description. I think she kinda got it when I told her tonight, but I may have to reiterate. Or refine the description as I figure out what I do. Gotta love those new job learning curves during which you frequently feel like you're asking every stupid question there is. :)
I start April 16. They aren't sure where I'll sit permanently, but said it may be possible for me to do some work from home. I'm planning a little celebratory shopping to supplement the work wardrobe and maybe an outing for Thai food. Mmmmm.
I will provide oversight and act as the main contact for time/effort reporting for faculty/others working on federally-funded grants, contracts, cooperative agreements and sponsored projects.
More simply, I keep track of, assist and train faculty how to keep track of their work/progress when they're on someone else's research dime.
Mom is the litmus test of how well I explain my job description. I think she kinda got it when I told her tonight, but I may have to reiterate. Or refine the description as I figure out what I do. Gotta love those new job learning curves during which you frequently feel like you're asking every stupid question there is. :)
I start April 16. They aren't sure where I'll sit permanently, but said it may be possible for me to do some work from home. I'm planning a little celebratory shopping to supplement the work wardrobe and maybe an outing for Thai food. Mmmmm.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Adios, Life of Leisure?
Came back from playing tennis to find a message on the machine from the head interviewer. A decision has been made and the rest is bogged down in personnel. I should get a call from them in the next 24 hours.
She didn't say I got the job, so perhaps I shouldn't assume. Stay Tuned; I should know more in the next few days.
She didn't say I got the job, so perhaps I shouldn't assume. Stay Tuned; I should know more in the next few days.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Gee Whiz
Apparently one--or both--of the felines in the house is annoyed and is registering said annoyance by peeing outside the box.
So far, the protest sites have included our bed (a small stain on the white comforter cover; grrr) and the guest room where we keep a litterbox so we can sequester either misbehaving kitty.
Belita gets locked up when her manic laps through the house get unnerving and PK had a time out when I hosted book group. Either one could be pissed and/or pissing.
It's hard to tell who's the culprit or what the problem is--resentment for bringing a new kitty into the house? A shared hatred of Feline Pine? Come to think of it, I've only noticed peeing outside the box after we switched over. Hmmm. Maybe I should try that clumping wheat litter.
I picked up a bottle of Nature's Miracle and saturated guest room carpet. Moved the litter box into the guest bath during the cleanup. The good thing is even the cats can't do much more damage to the guest room carpet than the previous owner's two sons did. Still, I'd prefer the kitties didn't try.
So far, the protest sites have included our bed (a small stain on the white comforter cover; grrr) and the guest room where we keep a litterbox so we can sequester either misbehaving kitty.
Belita gets locked up when her manic laps through the house get unnerving and PK had a time out when I hosted book group. Either one could be pissed and/or pissing.
It's hard to tell who's the culprit or what the problem is--resentment for bringing a new kitty into the house? A shared hatred of Feline Pine? Come to think of it, I've only noticed peeing outside the box after we switched over. Hmmm. Maybe I should try that clumping wheat litter.
I picked up a bottle of Nature's Miracle and saturated guest room carpet. Moved the litter box into the guest bath during the cleanup. The good thing is even the cats can't do much more damage to the guest room carpet than the previous owner's two sons did. Still, I'd prefer the kitties didn't try.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Blog Stew
When I don't post daily, I end up with a mishmash of subjects that I want to write about before I forget the details. Tonight before I turn in, I offer a serving of blog stew.
--No word yet on the UTPA job. From the second conversation I had with the head interviewer, I suspect they're still fine tuning some aspects of the position.
--Mike brought home 5 dozen Einstein's Bagels from his trip to St. Louis. We had to consume some ancient ice cream in order to make room in the freezer.
--I went to the newish Sephora store for makeovers with my friend, Minerva. Afterward, I introduced Minerva to Thai food. :)
--My Sephora makeup artist was/is the first gay person I've met in McAllen. Yay! He said the gay community is pretty closeted/bearded here and he was thrilled about escaping to New York in three weeks to be with his boyfriend.
--Had my first experience of commiseration with a woman from the ward. She called Saturday and vented about insensitive comments from ward people during her long illness. After recounting intimations of how proud/unforgiving/faithless she must be because she is not healed yet and that a woman who was particularly rude to her is her new VT, she burst into tears.
I confessed I had uncharitable thoughts about the RS pres and the new VT companionships she's imposed, pairing working women with SAHMs and effectively curtailing VT opps to evenings/weekends. (I also went one uncharitable step further and used a Texas accent in retelling the RS pres's more exasperating demands. Would it be a stretch to call my uncanny ability to mimic accents a spiritual gift?)
My co-conspirator said it was unrealistic to expect the RS pres to tell me what she wants when SHE doesn't know what she wants. Apparently, she tends toward grandiose but incomplete visions, leaving everyone who works with her in the same bind I'm in. It was nice to know it wasn't some failing on my part, but rather her standard M.O.
Anyway, I gave my co-conspirator a much-needed laugh and both of us felt less alone in our struggles. I'd call that win-win.
--No word yet on the UTPA job. From the second conversation I had with the head interviewer, I suspect they're still fine tuning some aspects of the position.
--Mike brought home 5 dozen Einstein's Bagels from his trip to St. Louis. We had to consume some ancient ice cream in order to make room in the freezer.
--I went to the newish Sephora store for makeovers with my friend, Minerva. Afterward, I introduced Minerva to Thai food. :)
--My Sephora makeup artist was/is the first gay person I've met in McAllen. Yay! He said the gay community is pretty closeted/bearded here and he was thrilled about escaping to New York in three weeks to be with his boyfriend.
--Had my first experience of commiseration with a woman from the ward. She called Saturday and vented about insensitive comments from ward people during her long illness. After recounting intimations of how proud/unforgiving/faithless she must be because she is not healed yet and that a woman who was particularly rude to her is her new VT, she burst into tears.
I confessed I had uncharitable thoughts about the RS pres and the new VT companionships she's imposed, pairing working women with SAHMs and effectively curtailing VT opps to evenings/weekends. (I also went one uncharitable step further and used a Texas accent in retelling the RS pres's more exasperating demands. Would it be a stretch to call my uncanny ability to mimic accents a spiritual gift?)
My co-conspirator said it was unrealistic to expect the RS pres to tell me what she wants when SHE doesn't know what she wants. Apparently, she tends toward grandiose but incomplete visions, leaving everyone who works with her in the same bind I'm in. It was nice to know it wasn't some failing on my part, but rather her standard M.O.
Anyway, I gave my co-conspirator a much-needed laugh and both of us felt less alone in our struggles. I'd call that win-win.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Threads That Bind
Regular readers have already been subjected to a couple of diatribes about the micromanaging RS pres. Of course, that won't stop me from waxing cranky about last night's presidency meeting.
We did the usual review of ward members, what direction we're going with various programs and what we'll do for our next Enrichment meeting. Then the RS pres handed us an 8-page packet of things she'd written on various Important Topics that she wanted to put into the RS Newsletter (AKA the bane of my secretarial existence).
Even though it's only been in existence for 2 issues, the RS pres says she "doesn't get much out of the newsletter" and wants to make it more Spirchul. She also wants to start up a Pursuit of Excellence program--essentially Personal Progress for grownups. Maybe it's my California Mormon upbringing, but I can't say I've had spiritual epiphanies from reading a RS newsletter or setting goals.
Anyway, RS pres laid this 8-page Manifesta on us and then started packing things up to leave without clarifying what was supposed to happen with the April newsletter.
I raised my hand grade school style to ask a few questions--what part(s) will go into our TWO PAGE newsletter? "I know you're not going to like this" she says, but she wanted to put ALL of it in there--money management, getting out of debt, food storage, preparedness. Eight pages worth.
It can't ALL fit, I say; how about using one topic each month? Nope. This is important, you can use the money information, everyone can. (Raise hand again). That's true, I say, but we have limited space in the newsletter. Her answer: move everything else to the calendar. (Raise hand) The calendar gets crowded when there are 2 activities on the same day. Again, there's only so much I can fit there.
She natters on about maybe doing a booklet (?) and I still don't understand what she wants to do about April's fetching newsletter, so I raise my hand again. We're talking about a major overhaul--and one that I'm still not clear on. What if we do April's newsletter as usual, discuss these changes in more depth and shoot for an overhauled newsletter for May?
At that point, we were interrupted by the Ed. counselor's husband and in-laws. So RS pres said we'd talk and we quickly wrapped up.
I'm sure my questions came across as combative, despite my attempts at humor. I'm not that attached to the Newsletter, but if we're going to make significant changes, I'd like to understand 1) why and 2) what "we" hope to achieve by making them.
Is it to better serve the women in the ward? Or is it to better serve the RS pres' vision? And if she can't communicate her vision clearly to me so I know what to DO, then maybe she should just do it herself.
We did the usual review of ward members, what direction we're going with various programs and what we'll do for our next Enrichment meeting. Then the RS pres handed us an 8-page packet of things she'd written on various Important Topics that she wanted to put into the RS Newsletter (AKA the bane of my secretarial existence).
Even though it's only been in existence for 2 issues, the RS pres says she "doesn't get much out of the newsletter" and wants to make it more Spirchul. She also wants to start up a Pursuit of Excellence program--essentially Personal Progress for grownups. Maybe it's my California Mormon upbringing, but I can't say I've had spiritual epiphanies from reading a RS newsletter or setting goals.
Anyway, RS pres laid this 8-page Manifesta on us and then started packing things up to leave without clarifying what was supposed to happen with the April newsletter.
I raised my hand grade school style to ask a few questions--what part(s) will go into our TWO PAGE newsletter? "I know you're not going to like this" she says, but she wanted to put ALL of it in there--money management, getting out of debt, food storage, preparedness. Eight pages worth.
It can't ALL fit, I say; how about using one topic each month? Nope. This is important, you can use the money information, everyone can. (Raise hand again). That's true, I say, but we have limited space in the newsletter. Her answer: move everything else to the calendar. (Raise hand) The calendar gets crowded when there are 2 activities on the same day. Again, there's only so much I can fit there.
She natters on about maybe doing a booklet (?) and I still don't understand what she wants to do about April's fetching newsletter, so I raise my hand again. We're talking about a major overhaul--and one that I'm still not clear on. What if we do April's newsletter as usual, discuss these changes in more depth and shoot for an overhauled newsletter for May?
At that point, we were interrupted by the Ed. counselor's husband and in-laws. So RS pres said we'd talk and we quickly wrapped up.
I'm sure my questions came across as combative, despite my attempts at humor. I'm not that attached to the Newsletter, but if we're going to make significant changes, I'd like to understand 1) why and 2) what "we" hope to achieve by making them.
Is it to better serve the women in the ward? Or is it to better serve the RS pres' vision? And if she can't communicate her vision clearly to me so I know what to DO, then maybe she should just do it herself.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Grapefruit Upside-Down Cake
Compliments to Martha Stewart for this delicious way to use a treeful of grapefruit.
Ingredients:
10 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
2 small pink grapefruit (I used 2 1/2)
1 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup milk
whipped cream (optional)
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Put 4 tablespoons butter in a 9-inch round baking pan. Place the pan in the oven long enough to melt the butter. Remove pan and scatter 1/2 cup brown sugar evenly over the melted butter.
2. With a sharp knife (serrated works best), peel the grapefruit, removing all pith and slice into sections. Arrange slices on the bottom of the pan.
3. Stir together flour, baking powder and baking soda, and all dry spices. In a separate bowl using an electric mixer (I used the KitchenAid), beat remaining 6 tablespoons of butter until creamy. Add granulated sugar and remaining 1/4 cup brown sugar and beat until well combined. Beat in eggs one at a time, then the vanilla. Alternately add dry ingredients and milk to butter mixture.
4. Pour batter over grapefruit in the pan. Bake 45 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool 5 minutes, then turn cake onto a serving plate. Serve warm or at room temperature with whipped cream if desired.
Enjoy!
Ingredients:
10 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
2 small pink grapefruit (I used 2 1/2)
1 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup milk
whipped cream (optional)
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Put 4 tablespoons butter in a 9-inch round baking pan. Place the pan in the oven long enough to melt the butter. Remove pan and scatter 1/2 cup brown sugar evenly over the melted butter.
2. With a sharp knife (serrated works best), peel the grapefruit, removing all pith and slice into sections. Arrange slices on the bottom of the pan.
3. Stir together flour, baking powder and baking soda, and all dry spices. In a separate bowl using an electric mixer (I used the KitchenAid), beat remaining 6 tablespoons of butter until creamy. Add granulated sugar and remaining 1/4 cup brown sugar and beat until well combined. Beat in eggs one at a time, then the vanilla. Alternately add dry ingredients and milk to butter mixture.
4. Pour batter over grapefruit in the pan. Bake 45 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool 5 minutes, then turn cake onto a serving plate. Serve warm or at room temperature with whipped cream if desired.
Enjoy!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Is the Front Door Red for a Reason?
Lizards hang out in our front entryway/patio. I imagine they are lured by the swarms of insects that our porch light attracts like a cheap whore.
Sometimes the lizards venture indoors. One eluded PK and scurried into the front hall closet. I figured it would find our coats and papers uninteresting and scurry back outdoors where the living is easier.
A few months ago, I saw that a lizard had met an unfortunate end on our doorstep. Its head was flattened between the bottom of the door and the door jamb. I guess it picked the wrong moment to rush the door.
The missionaries dropped by a couple of weeks ago. As they were leaving, the door didn't seem to close as easily as usual. The next morning when I went to get the mail, I left the door open a crack. When I came back from the mailbox, I saw a splotch of something where the inside edge of the door met the frame.
Closer investigation revealed another dead lizard, completely smashed by the closed door. I scraped the victim off the door frame with a copy of a Spanish newspaper the previous owners never cancelled. Poor sap. That's not a nice way to go.
Mike says he'll plaster up the cracks in the brick from whence lizards emerge. I don't begrudge them wanting to be someplace nicer, someplace cooler, but I hate that so many of them die in their attempts to cross the border.
Sometimes the lizards venture indoors. One eluded PK and scurried into the front hall closet. I figured it would find our coats and papers uninteresting and scurry back outdoors where the living is easier.
A few months ago, I saw that a lizard had met an unfortunate end on our doorstep. Its head was flattened between the bottom of the door and the door jamb. I guess it picked the wrong moment to rush the door.
The missionaries dropped by a couple of weeks ago. As they were leaving, the door didn't seem to close as easily as usual. The next morning when I went to get the mail, I left the door open a crack. When I came back from the mailbox, I saw a splotch of something where the inside edge of the door met the frame.
Closer investigation revealed another dead lizard, completely smashed by the closed door. I scraped the victim off the door frame with a copy of a Spanish newspaper the previous owners never cancelled. Poor sap. That's not a nice way to go.
Mike says he'll plaster up the cracks in the brick from whence lizards emerge. I don't begrudge them wanting to be someplace nicer, someplace cooler, but I hate that so many of them die in their attempts to cross the border.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Bearing Fruit?
Spent a couple of hours working for the physical therapist today. Earlier this week, she moved out of her dining room and into a warehouse-space-turned-treatment-facility. Half the stuff we need is still at her house, so I get to run hither to do filing and yon to enter girth measurements in the computer and assemble a chronology of before/after wound photos for a patient's doctor.
When I got home, there was a message from UTPA. Research Administration wants to talk to me about the job I applied for--Project Effort Reporting Specialist, keeping track of how the University's grant recipients and sponsored project researchers account for their time while they're on someone else's dime.
It was my second choice. Since this is the only real attention my skills have received in the flurry of applications, I suppose I should feel more excited, flattered, grateful. I'd be more excited if I knew what the job paid. Guess I'll have a chat and find out if they can afford me. ;)
When I got home, there was a message from UTPA. Research Administration wants to talk to me about the job I applied for--Project Effort Reporting Specialist, keeping track of how the University's grant recipients and sponsored project researchers account for their time while they're on someone else's dime.
It was my second choice. Since this is the only real attention my skills have received in the flurry of applications, I suppose I should feel more excited, flattered, grateful. I'd be more excited if I knew what the job paid. Guess I'll have a chat and find out if they can afford me. ;)
Thursday In Review
I had a mixed bag kind of day, but the nice parts are outglowing the annoying parts.
The folks at the newspaper want to send a photographer to the storytelling group I plan to write about. They want to do more publicity for Valley Girl--and I'm not about to object. I'm even getting comments from readers! I have to come up with an idea for next week's column. Maybe attend a Winter Texan jam session, whatever that is.
My friend, Minerva, brought her three girls over for some backyard recreation. (They also brought ice cream bars from the local Paleteria--mine was yummy coconut). Stephanie and Natalie chased the cats and fought over the swing while Minerva and I tried to have a conversation over the baby's head. I showed them our citrus grove; they liked the trees and ended up with seven grapefruit to take home.
I did some tidying around the house. While I was remaking the bed, both kitties hopped on the clean sheets before I could wrestle the duvet cover onto the comforter. Are cats genetically programmed to obstruct bedmaking?
Had 3 people show up for tonight's book group discussion of Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Dreams. Not everyone finished it, but we had a good time talking about it and future reads. I made a grapefruit upside-down cake and grapefruit juice spritzers for refreshments--trying to use up our bumper crop.
Those were the day's pleasant moments. And here are a few of the other kind.
I accidentally pulled Mike's bedside stool down on my foot while making the bed. It still hurts.
Got an email from the micromanaging RS pres, proposing onerous changes to the RS newsletter.
My new visiting teacher came 30 minutes early to book group, so we chatted while I finished the refreshments. She noticed my Housewives Tarot deck so I showed her some of the cards. She didn't find them as amusing as I do.
Will she fear for my salvation? Did she also notice the Fridge of Irreverence, displaying Sunstone memorabilia, a "Jesus Shaves" postcard and magnets saying "What would cheeses do?" and "Guess where I'm tattooed"?
The folks at the newspaper want to send a photographer to the storytelling group I plan to write about. They want to do more publicity for Valley Girl--and I'm not about to object. I'm even getting comments from readers! I have to come up with an idea for next week's column. Maybe attend a Winter Texan jam session, whatever that is.
My friend, Minerva, brought her three girls over for some backyard recreation. (They also brought ice cream bars from the local Paleteria--mine was yummy coconut). Stephanie and Natalie chased the cats and fought over the swing while Minerva and I tried to have a conversation over the baby's head. I showed them our citrus grove; they liked the trees and ended up with seven grapefruit to take home.
I did some tidying around the house. While I was remaking the bed, both kitties hopped on the clean sheets before I could wrestle the duvet cover onto the comforter. Are cats genetically programmed to obstruct bedmaking?
Had 3 people show up for tonight's book group discussion of Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Dreams. Not everyone finished it, but we had a good time talking about it and future reads. I made a grapefruit upside-down cake and grapefruit juice spritzers for refreshments--trying to use up our bumper crop.
Those were the day's pleasant moments. And here are a few of the other kind.
I accidentally pulled Mike's bedside stool down on my foot while making the bed. It still hurts.
Got an email from the micromanaging RS pres, proposing onerous changes to the RS newsletter.
My new visiting teacher came 30 minutes early to book group, so we chatted while I finished the refreshments. She noticed my Housewives Tarot deck so I showed her some of the cards. She didn't find them as amusing as I do.
Will she fear for my salvation? Did she also notice the Fridge of Irreverence, displaying Sunstone memorabilia, a "Jesus Shaves" postcard and magnets saying "What would cheeses do?" and "Guess where I'm tattooed"?
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Stop Licking Me!
I say this a lot when I'm typing up a new blog entry and PK feels he HAS to be on my lap at the exact same time. It doesn't matter what I apply--body oil, lotion, sunscreen, insect repellent: PK is all about licking it off. That is, until he gets spooked by the sound of a falling pen and scratches me bloody in an effort to get OFF my lap.
I just finished and sent this week's column about the McAllen Nature Center to The Monitor. Not 20 minutes later, I get a call from the director of Parks and Recreation who told me all sorts of interesting info on the Nature Center and its origins. Must toodle off to revise article.
Before I go, I'll post some pictures from the San Antonio trip. And nudge PK away, now that he's eyeing my lap again.
ME at the Disneyesque Riverwalk. (I've gone native, in that I've started to dress up to travel. Shoppers from Mexico make the rest of us look like slobs).
Yellow wildflowers.
Blurry purple wildflowers.
ME and Mike in front of the Alamo.
I just finished and sent this week's column about the McAllen Nature Center to The Monitor. Not 20 minutes later, I get a call from the director of Parks and Recreation who told me all sorts of interesting info on the Nature Center and its origins. Must toodle off to revise article.
Before I go, I'll post some pictures from the San Antonio trip. And nudge PK away, now that he's eyeing my lap again.
ME at the Disneyesque Riverwalk. (I've gone native, in that I've started to dress up to travel. Shoppers from Mexico make the rest of us look like slobs).
Yellow wildflowers.
Blurry purple wildflowers.
ME and Mike in front of the Alamo.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Destination: San Antonio
Mike and I hit the road Friday for San Antonio, armed with enough trip snacks for a family of eight. Alas, I forgot to tell Mike to pick up a copy of The Weekly World News--a college road trip staple. Instead, I did a dramatic reading of San Antonio history that Mike had downloaded.
We got into town around 4:00 pm, found a parking garage and headed to the Riverwalk. We took the stairs down to river level. It has a Disneyland feel--unsurprising, since the same architectural firm did a study in the 1960s for the Chamber of Commerce on the commercial development potential of the downtown river area.
We skipped the riverboat tour and squeezed through the riverside crowds for as long as we could stand it (made me claustrophobic) and cut to the stairs. Headed over to the Alamo. The entrance line was long, but moved quickly. We didn't know we could have just gone in the side door. We walked around a bit and hit the gift shop before the site closed and the park rangers started kicking everyone out.
After that, we walked around trying to find a Thai restaurant that was supposed to be close to a downtown hotel. (I scoped out some restaurant options on Chowhound, but the details were slim on this particular posting). After befuddling a couple hotel concierges, we decided opted for one of the Mexican restaurants on my list.
We strolled down St. Mary's to El Mirador. The goodness started with fresh chips and carafe of salsa--smoky and spicy and the only real rival in my affections to Tito's in L.A. Our server described the special: salmon in a white wine cream sauce with shrimp, artichoke hearts, capers and squash blossoms served on a bed of cilantro rice and roasted vegetables. Sold!
Mike ordered one of the house specials--enchiladas with green chiles, crispy taco, beans and rice and homemade tortillas. We exchanged bites. His was good; mine kicked ass.
Why have I never eaten squash blossoms before? They were amazing! While I didn't quite lick my plate it was, hands down, the best food I've had since leaving California. I wonder if there are any Zagat rated restaurants in the Rio Grande Valley? Must research...
We strolled back downtown but decided to skip the St. Patrick's Day festivities in favor of getting home at a somewhat decent hour. Over the din of Riverwalk crowds, we heard the strains of "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes. It made me think it would be an act of amazing grace if no celebrants ended up IN the river, given the lack of barriers between the drinkers and the drink.
We got into town around 4:00 pm, found a parking garage and headed to the Riverwalk. We took the stairs down to river level. It has a Disneyland feel--unsurprising, since the same architectural firm did a study in the 1960s for the Chamber of Commerce on the commercial development potential of the downtown river area.
We skipped the riverboat tour and squeezed through the riverside crowds for as long as we could stand it (made me claustrophobic) and cut to the stairs. Headed over to the Alamo. The entrance line was long, but moved quickly. We didn't know we could have just gone in the side door. We walked around a bit and hit the gift shop before the site closed and the park rangers started kicking everyone out.
After that, we walked around trying to find a Thai restaurant that was supposed to be close to a downtown hotel. (I scoped out some restaurant options on Chowhound, but the details were slim on this particular posting). After befuddling a couple hotel concierges, we decided opted for one of the Mexican restaurants on my list.
We strolled down St. Mary's to El Mirador. The goodness started with fresh chips and carafe of salsa--smoky and spicy and the only real rival in my affections to Tito's in L.A. Our server described the special: salmon in a white wine cream sauce with shrimp, artichoke hearts, capers and squash blossoms served on a bed of cilantro rice and roasted vegetables. Sold!
Mike ordered one of the house specials--enchiladas with green chiles, crispy taco, beans and rice and homemade tortillas. We exchanged bites. His was good; mine kicked ass.
Why have I never eaten squash blossoms before? They were amazing! While I didn't quite lick my plate it was, hands down, the best food I've had since leaving California. I wonder if there are any Zagat rated restaurants in the Rio Grande Valley? Must research...
We strolled back downtown but decided to skip the St. Patrick's Day festivities in favor of getting home at a somewhat decent hour. Over the din of Riverwalk crowds, we heard the strains of "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes. It made me think it would be an act of amazing grace if no celebrants ended up IN the river, given the lack of barriers between the drinkers and the drink.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Spring Break for Grownups
If I was 20 years younger and if the weather wasn't foul, I'd be at a South Padre Island beach right now.
BYU didn't have spring break or a fall break either; being done with classes mid-April was somehow supposed to compensate. When friends invited me to join them on their spring break trips to Mexico or Hawaii, I could never justify a vacation that close to finals.
I felt gypped as an undergrad. I didn't have a real fall or spring break until grad school. Fall break was earmarked for the American Academy of Religion's annual conference. That left spring break. And for the life of me, I can't recall a single memorable Spring Break event, trip or party. Not due to overindulgence, but because I don't think I went anywhere or did anything memorable.
Now we're halfway through UTPA's spring break. I went to campus to turn in a job application, chatted with Mike's colleagues, proofread another version of the Global Competencies Inventory and had a dinner break at La Casa del Taco, a notable Mexican eatery near campus. Last night, Mike worked on our taxes and we entertained the missionaries for a couple of hours.
In short, not much different than any other week. We've talked about taking a day trip Friday but haven't decided where. Monterey? San Antonio? A pilgrimage to the closest IKEA (in Houston)?
In the meantime, I have to return some overdue library books, write this week's column and head out earlier in the morning if I'm going to snag one of the famous grapefruit pies at Klement's Grove.
BYU didn't have spring break or a fall break either; being done with classes mid-April was somehow supposed to compensate. When friends invited me to join them on their spring break trips to Mexico or Hawaii, I could never justify a vacation that close to finals.
I felt gypped as an undergrad. I didn't have a real fall or spring break until grad school. Fall break was earmarked for the American Academy of Religion's annual conference. That left spring break. And for the life of me, I can't recall a single memorable Spring Break event, trip or party. Not due to overindulgence, but because I don't think I went anywhere or did anything memorable.
Now we're halfway through UTPA's spring break. I went to campus to turn in a job application, chatted with Mike's colleagues, proofread another version of the Global Competencies Inventory and had a dinner break at La Casa del Taco, a notable Mexican eatery near campus. Last night, Mike worked on our taxes and we entertained the missionaries for a couple of hours.
In short, not much different than any other week. We've talked about taking a day trip Friday but haven't decided where. Monterey? San Antonio? A pilgrimage to the closest IKEA (in Houston)?
In the meantime, I have to return some overdue library books, write this week's column and head out earlier in the morning if I'm going to snag one of the famous grapefruit pies at Klement's Grove.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
The Last Dog Tale
As Mike and I were heading out this afternoon, I saw the neighbor's dog running loose along Upas. She stopped on the front porch of her house. I walked over calling to her, but she wasn't interested in getting close.
I went inside and called Animal Control. Apparently, the magic words are "loose dog."
I called India to let her know what was happening in case the officer showed up after Mike and I left (but we ended up hanging around for a bit). I returned her container of dog food and she used it to lure the dog back into its yard just as the AC truck pulled up.
The officer was the same one I'd spoken with on AC's first visit. We confirmed that the dog had been running around the neighborhood until a few minutes before he arrived. That allowed him to seize the dog and leave a note for the neighbors instructing them to call AC to claim their pet.
India asked what happened next. The officer said they keep the dog until they hear from the owners, who can either reclaim the animal if they plan to care for it or relinquish it to AC. He assured us if the owners didn't want it or didn't respond, the dog would likely be a candidate for adoption through the Humane Society--and was not in imminent danger of being put down. I hope that's true.
It's unclear whether the dog got out by herself (both gates were closed) or if she was let loose on purpose. If it was the latter, that tees me off. But that also made it possible for AC to take action. Finally. (Sheesh!)
We're hoping this works out in the best possible way for the dog. At very least, she will be getting regular food, water and care for the immediate future.
I went inside and called Animal Control. Apparently, the magic words are "loose dog."
I called India to let her know what was happening in case the officer showed up after Mike and I left (but we ended up hanging around for a bit). I returned her container of dog food and she used it to lure the dog back into its yard just as the AC truck pulled up.
The officer was the same one I'd spoken with on AC's first visit. We confirmed that the dog had been running around the neighborhood until a few minutes before he arrived. That allowed him to seize the dog and leave a note for the neighbors instructing them to call AC to claim their pet.
India asked what happened next. The officer said they keep the dog until they hear from the owners, who can either reclaim the animal if they plan to care for it or relinquish it to AC. He assured us if the owners didn't want it or didn't respond, the dog would likely be a candidate for adoption through the Humane Society--and was not in imminent danger of being put down. I hope that's true.
It's unclear whether the dog got out by herself (both gates were closed) or if she was let loose on purpose. If it was the latter, that tees me off. But that also made it possible for AC to take action. Finally. (Sheesh!)
We're hoping this works out in the best possible way for the dog. At very least, she will be getting regular food, water and care for the immediate future.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Nothing Gussies Up the Neighborhood
Quite like a trailer parked on the front lawn.
Thanks, across-the-street house of perpetual construction. We were getting bored.
Thanks, across-the-street house of perpetual construction. We were getting bored.
What About Bob?
I went back to the salon this morning for a recut, armed with my bridal shower photo album to show David's handiwork with my long, layered pre-wedding haircut and some photos downloaded from the Internet.
I explained that the cut had proved hard to work with. The stylist got a little defensive, saying the different bang lengths were so that one part could grow out (oh, is that what we're doing?) and that the layers along the bottom were meant to go all catywampus.
I showed her the bridal shower 'do and she insisted she'd given me the same exact cut, only shorter. Sorry, I'm not buying it.
I figured a bob would be a graceful exit for everyone. Hair as straight as mine shows every mis-snip, so it was still something of a gamble. More so, since the stylist didn't wash, cut and style it--just spritzed on some water and started cutting. (That saved me $20 for a blow dry/style). I wasn't in the chair more than 20 minutes. On either visit. Doesn't artistry take longer?
Perhaps I should just plan on twice yearly visits to Pasadena for some real style and attentive, reliable service a la Bontempo.
I explained that the cut had proved hard to work with. The stylist got a little defensive, saying the different bang lengths were so that one part could grow out (oh, is that what we're doing?) and that the layers along the bottom were meant to go all catywampus.
I showed her the bridal shower 'do and she insisted she'd given me the same exact cut, only shorter. Sorry, I'm not buying it.
I figured a bob would be a graceful exit for everyone. Hair as straight as mine shows every mis-snip, so it was still something of a gamble. More so, since the stylist didn't wash, cut and style it--just spritzed on some water and started cutting. (That saved me $20 for a blow dry/style). I wasn't in the chair more than 20 minutes. On either visit. Doesn't artistry take longer?
Perhaps I should just plan on twice yearly visits to Pasadena for some real style and attentive, reliable service a la Bontempo.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Hair Splitting
I'm unimpressed with the new haircut.
The length hits at an awkward spot below my chin and above my shoulder. It's the length you hope will quickly grow out.
The stylist said, "You have a lot of bangs," and proceeded to trim the bangs closest to the front/hairline shorter and left the bangs farther back longer.
This makes them hard to style. The longer bangs don't know they're supposed to magically blend in with my longer hair, not fall forward over top of the shorter bangs like a valance.
I'm beginning to think my stylist was not the salon's expert straight hair cutter, but rather the one who had an opening in her schedule yesterday. (Alas, so trusting was I). Thus my search for a competent, trustworthy stylist in the Valley continues.
I miss David the Hair God, my Pasadena stylist for 10+ years whom I could direct to cut my hair a certain way or let him have his way with my mane and I'd always leave with a fabulous 'do. Sigh.
The length hits at an awkward spot below my chin and above my shoulder. It's the length you hope will quickly grow out.
The stylist said, "You have a lot of bangs," and proceeded to trim the bangs closest to the front/hairline shorter and left the bangs farther back longer.
This makes them hard to style. The longer bangs don't know they're supposed to magically blend in with my longer hair, not fall forward over top of the shorter bangs like a valance.
I'm beginning to think my stylist was not the salon's expert straight hair cutter, but rather the one who had an opening in her schedule yesterday. (Alas, so trusting was I). Thus my search for a competent, trustworthy stylist in the Valley continues.
I miss David the Hair God, my Pasadena stylist for 10+ years whom I could direct to cut my hair a certain way or let him have his way with my mane and I'd always leave with a fabulous 'do. Sigh.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Six Degrees
My Tuesday went like this:
Trip to the vet with Belita The assistant said the doctor was busy next door with a litter of nine puppies. Curious, I asked if I could take a look. What I saw was a Tub of Puppies: the owner had brought the whole wriggling litter in a 30-gallon Rubbermaid container. The tub of puppies cracked me up. Was not laughing so hard when Belita peed on the yoga pants I'd tossed into her carrier and I had to rinse them out in the tub.
Play Group I don't have small children, but this is my chance to hang out/chat with the young moms from church. This week, they introduced me to a woman they'd met at the library (they all go to storytime on Mondays, too) and invited to play group. She said they'd lived in Japan most recently (Mike just got back from a business trip there) and they'd lived in Los Angeles before that!! At last, someone who really knows what a head trip it is to go from LA to the Rio Grande Valley! I'm totally inviting her over for dinner!
Valley Haircut #2 My hair was way shaggy, so I used the gift certificate from the Scary Feminists to get a haircut. My stylist was also a transplant to the Valley and confirmed that 1) it's like moving to a different country and 2) it takes at least a year or more to get used to it. We had a good laugh about Valley customs while she gave me a bland slightly layered bob. At least it's not a Rachel.
Columnizing For this week's Valley Girl column, I visited the labyrinth and peace garden at St. Matthew's Episcopal Church in Edinburg. Father Bob showed me around the grounds, then introduced me to the rector. After we finished talking about the labyrinth he wanted to know how I'd gotten the blogging gig. He's a volunteer at the Humane Society (I applied to be volunteer coordinator there) and wanted to see if he could give their efforts some good press. I told him who to contact and we chatted a bit more about the spiritual/theological dimensions to caring for animals. An interesting cross-pollination of shared personal and professional interests.
Pack Rats at Work Then I raced back to McAllen to work at Mary's for a couple of hours. The woman who spearheaded the labyrinth/mural/peace garden project was one of her clients. Mary had saved a post card for several years advertising the labyrinth and we ran across it while cleaning out some boxes. Checking it out this afternoon made me late for work--but it was for a good cause all around. I'll take Mary with me the next time I go. So glad she hung onto that post card!
Peppercorny Since my day did not include a trip to the grocery store, I talked Mike into dining out. He was itching for a Red Robin peppercorn burger, but when we got there, it wasn't listed on the menu. Our server asked the kitchen if they could whip one up and they agreed. I went for the bleu cheese burger with chipotle mayo. Mmmm. For all my foodie tendencies, I do love the occasional chain restaurant slumming. That reminds me: one of the jobs I saw advertised was doing cooking demonstrations at HEB. I may give it a shot. Look out, Rachael Ray!
Trip to the vet with Belita The assistant said the doctor was busy next door with a litter of nine puppies. Curious, I asked if I could take a look. What I saw was a Tub of Puppies: the owner had brought the whole wriggling litter in a 30-gallon Rubbermaid container. The tub of puppies cracked me up. Was not laughing so hard when Belita peed on the yoga pants I'd tossed into her carrier and I had to rinse them out in the tub.
Play Group I don't have small children, but this is my chance to hang out/chat with the young moms from church. This week, they introduced me to a woman they'd met at the library (they all go to storytime on Mondays, too) and invited to play group. She said they'd lived in Japan most recently (Mike just got back from a business trip there) and they'd lived in Los Angeles before that!! At last, someone who really knows what a head trip it is to go from LA to the Rio Grande Valley! I'm totally inviting her over for dinner!
Valley Haircut #2 My hair was way shaggy, so I used the gift certificate from the Scary Feminists to get a haircut. My stylist was also a transplant to the Valley and confirmed that 1) it's like moving to a different country and 2) it takes at least a year or more to get used to it. We had a good laugh about Valley customs while she gave me a bland slightly layered bob. At least it's not a Rachel.
Columnizing For this week's Valley Girl column, I visited the labyrinth and peace garden at St. Matthew's Episcopal Church in Edinburg. Father Bob showed me around the grounds, then introduced me to the rector. After we finished talking about the labyrinth he wanted to know how I'd gotten the blogging gig. He's a volunteer at the Humane Society (I applied to be volunteer coordinator there) and wanted to see if he could give their efforts some good press. I told him who to contact and we chatted a bit more about the spiritual/theological dimensions to caring for animals. An interesting cross-pollination of shared personal and professional interests.
Pack Rats at Work Then I raced back to McAllen to work at Mary's for a couple of hours. The woman who spearheaded the labyrinth/mural/peace garden project was one of her clients. Mary had saved a post card for several years advertising the labyrinth and we ran across it while cleaning out some boxes. Checking it out this afternoon made me late for work--but it was for a good cause all around. I'll take Mary with me the next time I go. So glad she hung onto that post card!
Peppercorny Since my day did not include a trip to the grocery store, I talked Mike into dining out. He was itching for a Red Robin peppercorn burger, but when we got there, it wasn't listed on the menu. Our server asked the kitchen if they could whip one up and they agreed. I went for the bleu cheese burger with chipotle mayo. Mmmm. For all my foodie tendencies, I do love the occasional chain restaurant slumming. That reminds me: one of the jobs I saw advertised was doing cooking demonstrations at HEB. I may give it a shot. Look out, Rachael Ray!
Sunday, March 04, 2007
IT Girl
Janet tagged me ever so flatteringly with a Thinking Blogger award. I would wear it proudly if I could get the damn icon to load without messing up my entire sidebar. I'm open to technical suggestions, but will someone answer me this: will it clash with my tiara?
Normally I don't venture too far beyond my friends' blogs and Go Fug Yourself, but when I do, I tend to read these:
1. Exponent II
2. Mind on Fire
3. Pilgrimgirl
4. SunstoneBlog
5. MormonStories
You may notice a certain trend in the selections, evidence of my penchant for religious studies, religious questions and good reading material exploring the same.
If I've tagged you, you're IT! Here's what to do next:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).
And as a tribute to Janet for choosing little old me, I'll add a gratuitous cat photo. My cat P.K. looks like Pogeaux because they have the same parents. Belita pounced on P.K. immediately after I took this picture.
Normally I don't venture too far beyond my friends' blogs and Go Fug Yourself, but when I do, I tend to read these:
1. Exponent II
2. Mind on Fire
3. Pilgrimgirl
4. SunstoneBlog
5. MormonStories
You may notice a certain trend in the selections, evidence of my penchant for religious studies, religious questions and good reading material exploring the same.
If I've tagged you, you're IT! Here's what to do next:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).
And as a tribute to Janet for choosing little old me, I'll add a gratuitous cat photo. My cat P.K. looks like Pogeaux because they have the same parents. Belita pounced on P.K. immediately after I took this picture.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Dogged Pursuit
Bumped into India today, who lives in the house west of us, and described the plight of the neighbors' dog to the east.
She'd also noticed the dog's ribs and deteriorating health, but didn't know the neighbors were gone (tomorrow will be 2 weeks). Since I checked Tuesday, someone untied the dog so it's able to roam around the back yard. Thank heavens.
India called Animal Control and they said they'd send someone by. I stayed outside for a couple of hours pulling weeds in hopes of talking to the officer, but I didn't see anyone.
India got a call later, saying AC had gone by and the dog had food in its bowl. The officer described the dog's condition as "borderline" and said to call again if the dog becomes unresponsive. Otherwise, they can't/won't do anything. And after four calls, they may be getting tired of hearing about it.
I put out more water which the dog lapped up. India donated some dog food to the cause and we commiserated over the fence about how to keep the dog fed and watered until its owners come back.
India came up with this:
Duct tape, dog dish, two coat hangers and some ingenuity equals a retractable bowl, suitable for clandestine feedings.
She'd also noticed the dog's ribs and deteriorating health, but didn't know the neighbors were gone (tomorrow will be 2 weeks). Since I checked Tuesday, someone untied the dog so it's able to roam around the back yard. Thank heavens.
India called Animal Control and they said they'd send someone by. I stayed outside for a couple of hours pulling weeds in hopes of talking to the officer, but I didn't see anyone.
India got a call later, saying AC had gone by and the dog had food in its bowl. The officer described the dog's condition as "borderline" and said to call again if the dog becomes unresponsive. Otherwise, they can't/won't do anything. And after four calls, they may be getting tired of hearing about it.
I put out more water which the dog lapped up. India donated some dog food to the cause and we commiserated over the fence about how to keep the dog fed and watered until its owners come back.
India came up with this:
Duct tape, dog dish, two coat hangers and some ingenuity equals a retractable bowl, suitable for clandestine feedings.
Road Tripping
Yesterday I kept my friend Mary company on the long drive to Houston for a doctor's appointment.
I'd never been out of the Valley going northeast so it was an interesting ride--from the one lane construction luge in Edinburg to the two-lane roads on the way to Corpus Christi and Victoria to the interstate into Houston proper. The retail and the restaurants on the outskirts of Houston made me drool. (Which makes me think, Seriously, ME, you're getting all excited about driving by good retail? The answer: Yes, yes, OMG, yes!)
Mary mentioned there's a Border Patrol checkpoint in Falfurias, which is easily a 90-minute drive from the border itself. This checkpoint throws a wrench in the YW leaving the Valley for Girl's Camp. Apparently, some YW, parents or advisors aren't in the U.S. legally and can't get through the checkpoint coming or going.
This led to an interesting discussion about "We believe in being subject to the laws of the land" vs If God is no respecter of persons, does that include immigration status? And can we be united as a body of believers if some folks get bent out of shape about illegal immigrants in the ward/stake?
We got into Houston early, so we stopped for Chinese food before the Dr. appointment. After a 45-minute wait (a phenomenon not confined to the RGV), Mary was called back to wait another 45 minutes before being seen by a doctor other than the one she'd made an appointment with. The pinch-hitter was unsympathetic, unhelpful, prescribed meds Mary already tried and told her to come back in 6 months. That's all.
The palpable disappointment and frustration made the drive home seem twice as long. After we got out of the city, I offered to take the wheel. Mary was spent emotionally and physically, so it was the least I could do. We were less chatty on the way back, both from fatigue and the let-down. Once home, I posted my column and went to bed.
This morning, I got an email from Mary thanking me for going with her and apologizing for crying and being weak. I wrote back and said there was nothing to apologize for--she was just being human. Like the Kleenex commercial says, tears don't compromise strength.
I'd never been out of the Valley going northeast so it was an interesting ride--from the one lane construction luge in Edinburg to the two-lane roads on the way to Corpus Christi and Victoria to the interstate into Houston proper. The retail and the restaurants on the outskirts of Houston made me drool. (Which makes me think, Seriously, ME, you're getting all excited about driving by good retail? The answer: Yes, yes, OMG, yes!)
Mary mentioned there's a Border Patrol checkpoint in Falfurias, which is easily a 90-minute drive from the border itself. This checkpoint throws a wrench in the YW leaving the Valley for Girl's Camp. Apparently, some YW, parents or advisors aren't in the U.S. legally and can't get through the checkpoint coming or going.
This led to an interesting discussion about "We believe in being subject to the laws of the land" vs If God is no respecter of persons, does that include immigration status? And can we be united as a body of believers if some folks get bent out of shape about illegal immigrants in the ward/stake?
We got into Houston early, so we stopped for Chinese food before the Dr. appointment. After a 45-minute wait (a phenomenon not confined to the RGV), Mary was called back to wait another 45 minutes before being seen by a doctor other than the one she'd made an appointment with. The pinch-hitter was unsympathetic, unhelpful, prescribed meds Mary already tried and told her to come back in 6 months. That's all.
The palpable disappointment and frustration made the drive home seem twice as long. After we got out of the city, I offered to take the wheel. Mary was spent emotionally and physically, so it was the least I could do. We were less chatty on the way back, both from fatigue and the let-down. Once home, I posted my column and went to bed.
This morning, I got an email from Mary thanking me for going with her and apologizing for crying and being weak. I wrote back and said there was nothing to apologize for--she was just being human. Like the Kleenex commercial says, tears don't compromise strength.
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