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.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
