Got sick a week ago with a nasty GI bug. Had to cancel a speaking appearance at WSU's Diversity Conference--sad about that. But was too sick to commit to being away from a loo for an hour to be part of the panel discussion.
When Mike took me to urgent care Saturday, I directed him to the one I've been to before. I stared blearily at their pharmacy window when I saw the Altius sticker--our old insurance. I say to Mike, I don't know if they take our new insurance. Turns out they didn't and we ended up trekking to North Ogden to another urgent care.
Didn't see the clinic's front entrance and ended up running through a gauntlet of cheery wellness fair people at the back door. Goodie bag? No. Snack? No. Did we want to hear about their OMG, NO! I'm barely mobile and worried I'm gonna shit myself, so no, I'm not interested in your promotions and balloons and whatnot.
I described my symptoms to the Dr--onset, duration, etc. He prodded, sent someone in to take blood. He couldn't tell if what I had was food borne, bacterial, or viral without the blood work, but he did say that since my left side was more tender, I might want to get checked out for diverticulitis.
AWESOME. My grandma and 70-something year old mom had/have that.
After I was feeling more human, I called urgent care to ask about my second round of test results and if the nice weekend Dr could refer me to a gastroenterologist for follow up. "What kind of Dr is that?" said the young-sounding nitwit on the phone. I wasn't hopeful she'd actually pass on my request, since the Dr I saw was now on a 3-week trip to Europe. And my test results: normal, she said.
I did get a call back later that evening (!) and was informed that I have to be completely over whatever bug I had and wait another 6-8 weeks after that to do any follow up on the diverticulitis. And if I need a colonoscopy, the prep is cleaning out my bowels. That was so fun when nature/Mexican food did it, I can't wait to do it again!
So I have that to look forward to--and someday, possibly, the return of my appetite.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Sunday, October 03, 2010
Spot On, Pissed Off
A few weeks ago, I noticed what looked kind of like a pee spot on the dresser where we keep bed linens. On Friday I finally investigated more closely and found yes, it was urine, and cleaned it up.
Fast forward to Sunday afternoon: Mike comes upstairs to vacuum. I moved a couple of things on the floor so he could maneuver better. That's when I noticed a chess board leaning against the room divider we use to hide the washer/dryer had streaks on it--like it had been peed on from above and the liquid ran down and pooled at the bottom. Sure enough!
I start looking around the upstairs and find that Luther has apparently been relieving himself all.over.the.upstairs. Pee tracks on the washer, with more pee dried in the drawer under the washer and tray that the washer sits in. Pee stains on my filing cabinet, the bottom of one of Mike's bookshelves, and one a handful of books. Pee stains on the faux bricks underneath the cast iron stove/gas log heater. More pee by the stereo and evidence of pee on our collection of records, still trussed in plastic wrap from the move. And loads of dried pee under the AC unit, where the plastic face/filter from the defunct AC unit was resting against the wall. The favorite spot, I guess. I ran out of Nature's Miracle before I was able to treat them all.
Six peed-on spots--that we know of. And Friday, I discovered one of the dogs had SHAT in the living room after my morning workout and before I came downstairs for lunch. Again, probably Luther since I saw him sniffing the area and there's a size differential between his and Libby's, um, output.
WTF?!?
I'm flabbergasted. Not only at how much pee there was to clean up, but also at how long this appears to have been happening.
I was kinda freaking out and voiced my frustration and exasperation to Mike when apparently he doesn't like my tone and said so. I go to wash my hands and he tells me to come back to where he is. Since this sounds more like an order than an invitation, I say I'm going to go wash THE URINE off my hands. This gets me another "I don't like how you're talking to me." Mike repeats this after everything I say until I finally stop talking.
When I come out of the bathroom, he's sitting on the futon. I sit by him and say, "I'm sorry. What was it you wanted to tell me?" He mumbles something. I asked for a repeat. "I don't remember what it was now," he said slightly more audibly. I sat there for a couple of minutes waiting to see if he'd remember or elaborate. Nada. So I walked over to my desk and Googled "why is my dog peeing in the house?"
Even housebroken dogs can start peeing in the house--out of distress or insecurity. One site I read said that bringing a new dog into the home can cause the other dog to start marking territory--just to prove that the turf is REALLY HIS, despite the interloper.
We got Libby in March...so that's about one pee spot a month--IF we've found them all. I'm almost scared to investigate further downstairs.
To be really effective at deterring, you have to catch the dog in the act. Yeah, RIGHT. I was working from home Friday and didn't "catch" Luther shitting in the house; how are we supposed to do that when we have JOBS and can't be at home 24/7 to monitor toileting?
Anyway, Mike went out and bought a couple of big jugs of Nature's Miracle. I thanked him, but he's still not verbally interacting with me. So after liberally sploshing NM over the known trouble spots and blogging about the whole, ever-growing mess, I MAY venture downstairs to see if I've been forgiven or not.
Fast forward to Sunday afternoon: Mike comes upstairs to vacuum. I moved a couple of things on the floor so he could maneuver better. That's when I noticed a chess board leaning against the room divider we use to hide the washer/dryer had streaks on it--like it had been peed on from above and the liquid ran down and pooled at the bottom. Sure enough!
I start looking around the upstairs and find that Luther has apparently been relieving himself all.over.the.upstairs. Pee tracks on the washer, with more pee dried in the drawer under the washer and tray that the washer sits in. Pee stains on my filing cabinet, the bottom of one of Mike's bookshelves, and one a handful of books. Pee stains on the faux bricks underneath the cast iron stove/gas log heater. More pee by the stereo and evidence of pee on our collection of records, still trussed in plastic wrap from the move. And loads of dried pee under the AC unit, where the plastic face/filter from the defunct AC unit was resting against the wall. The favorite spot, I guess. I ran out of Nature's Miracle before I was able to treat them all.
Six peed-on spots--that we know of. And Friday, I discovered one of the dogs had SHAT in the living room after my morning workout and before I came downstairs for lunch. Again, probably Luther since I saw him sniffing the area and there's a size differential between his and Libby's, um, output.
WTF?!?
I'm flabbergasted. Not only at how much pee there was to clean up, but also at how long this appears to have been happening.
I was kinda freaking out and voiced my frustration and exasperation to Mike when apparently he doesn't like my tone and said so. I go to wash my hands and he tells me to come back to where he is. Since this sounds more like an order than an invitation, I say I'm going to go wash THE URINE off my hands. This gets me another "I don't like how you're talking to me." Mike repeats this after everything I say until I finally stop talking.
When I come out of the bathroom, he's sitting on the futon. I sit by him and say, "I'm sorry. What was it you wanted to tell me?" He mumbles something. I asked for a repeat. "I don't remember what it was now," he said slightly more audibly. I sat there for a couple of minutes waiting to see if he'd remember or elaborate. Nada. So I walked over to my desk and Googled "why is my dog peeing in the house?"
Even housebroken dogs can start peeing in the house--out of distress or insecurity. One site I read said that bringing a new dog into the home can cause the other dog to start marking territory--just to prove that the turf is REALLY HIS, despite the interloper.
We got Libby in March...so that's about one pee spot a month--IF we've found them all. I'm almost scared to investigate further downstairs.
To be really effective at deterring, you have to catch the dog in the act. Yeah, RIGHT. I was working from home Friday and didn't "catch" Luther shitting in the house; how are we supposed to do that when we have JOBS and can't be at home 24/7 to monitor toileting?
Anyway, Mike went out and bought a couple of big jugs of Nature's Miracle. I thanked him, but he's still not verbally interacting with me. So after liberally sploshing NM over the known trouble spots and blogging about the whole, ever-growing mess, I MAY venture downstairs to see if I've been forgiven or not.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Would it kill you to call first?
A couple of church ladies dropped by our house tonight. Mike had on more clothing than I did, so the door answering fell to him. I hid in the kitchen wondering who on earth would be ringing our doorbell at 8:30 pm on a Sunday.
Mike let them in. As he hustled the barking dogs out the back door, he asked what I wanted to do.
When our surprise guests showed up, I was wearing my bathrobe. Only my bathrobe. Not exactly attire for a social call.
I told Mike I didn't want to talk to them. I hoped they weren't far enough in the house to see me in the kitchen silently wishing them gone.
I overheard them chatting with Mike about the house and joking about "not telling" me about the plate of brownies they'd brought. Finally, they left.
I don't know what makes Mormons so mannerless. If they were dropping by because they were unable to reach me by phone, that's one thing. More often than not, there's no courtesy call preceding the drop-in visit. People just show up and expect that you'll be happy to see them, no matter how ill-timed or unannounced the visit. And don't think bringing brownies gets you off the hook; it's still rude.
When they interrupt my lazy evening of cuddling with mi esposo in my bathrobe and making an apple crisp between new episodes True Blood and Mad Men, don't assume I'll be happy about it.
Mike let them in. As he hustled the barking dogs out the back door, he asked what I wanted to do.
When our surprise guests showed up, I was wearing my bathrobe. Only my bathrobe. Not exactly attire for a social call.
I told Mike I didn't want to talk to them. I hoped they weren't far enough in the house to see me in the kitchen silently wishing them gone.
I overheard them chatting with Mike about the house and joking about "not telling" me about the plate of brownies they'd brought. Finally, they left.
I don't know what makes Mormons so mannerless. If they were dropping by because they were unable to reach me by phone, that's one thing. More often than not, there's no courtesy call preceding the drop-in visit. People just show up and expect that you'll be happy to see them, no matter how ill-timed or unannounced the visit. And don't think bringing brownies gets you off the hook; it's still rude.
When they interrupt my lazy evening of cuddling with mi esposo in my bathrobe and making an apple crisp between new episodes True Blood and Mad Men, don't assume I'll be happy about it.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Well, someone had to do it.
A week off wasn't really enough down time after the August Symposium, so I worked from home* on Monday. (* = in this instance, I lolled around in my PJs all day, caught up on recreational blog reading, and played lots of solitaire).
I arrived at the office Tuesday morning, unpacked my gear, and tackled the most pressing post-symposium tasks. About an hour later, I headed to the loo.
The normally-white toilet seat wasn't. That's weird, I thought. Looked further and saw evidence of a gastric explosion elsewhere. Yetch. I fled to the upstairs restroom to take care of nature's call.
Afterward, I asked the office manager what had happened to the downstairs loo? She said a constituent had come in Monday to make a purchase and abruptly disappeared into the restroom for a long time. There was a fierce stench and when the constituent finally emerged, the person left the office in haste.
The office manager apparently closed the restroom door and told Mike and others in the office Monday that they might want to use the upstairs loo instead--and said she forgot all about it until I asked. Convenient.
I set to work cleaning the toilet seat, the toilet front/base, toilet bowl, and floors. The constituent had clearly done some work, too, as evidenced by the wet mop and used paper towels. But there was more to clean before I would be willing to use this loo myself or make it available to the public.
As I was scrubbing, I recalled a friend's blog post wherein she put an odious service task into perspective by calling it "cleaning for Jesus." You can read her story here: http://mamaheather.blogspot.com/2008/07/service-with-smile.html
That recollection shifted my view of the task: I was scrubbing up remnants of an epic gastric blow for Jesus. It wasn't fun, but it was a task that needed to be done and it appeared I was the only one who would step up and do it.
It was also an exercise in compassion. Who among us hasn't been far away from their own toilet in a moment of gastric distress? It's bad enough when you're home and much worse to have happen in public--much less in the presence of people who know you.
In any case, I'm armed with a mantra that helps me serve others a little more gamely than I would otherwise. Still, I hope "cleaning for Jesus" is NOT a mantra I'll have to use again soon.
I arrived at the office Tuesday morning, unpacked my gear, and tackled the most pressing post-symposium tasks. About an hour later, I headed to the loo.
The normally-white toilet seat wasn't. That's weird, I thought. Looked further and saw evidence of a gastric explosion elsewhere. Yetch. I fled to the upstairs restroom to take care of nature's call.
Afterward, I asked the office manager what had happened to the downstairs loo? She said a constituent had come in Monday to make a purchase and abruptly disappeared into the restroom for a long time. There was a fierce stench and when the constituent finally emerged, the person left the office in haste.
The office manager apparently closed the restroom door and told Mike and others in the office Monday that they might want to use the upstairs loo instead--and said she forgot all about it until I asked. Convenient.
I set to work cleaning the toilet seat, the toilet front/base, toilet bowl, and floors. The constituent had clearly done some work, too, as evidenced by the wet mop and used paper towels. But there was more to clean before I would be willing to use this loo myself or make it available to the public.
As I was scrubbing, I recalled a friend's blog post wherein she put an odious service task into perspective by calling it "cleaning for Jesus." You can read her story here: http://mamaheather.blogspot.com/2008/07/service-with-smile.html
That recollection shifted my view of the task: I was scrubbing up remnants of an epic gastric blow for Jesus. It wasn't fun, but it was a task that needed to be done and it appeared I was the only one who would step up and do it.
It was also an exercise in compassion. Who among us hasn't been far away from their own toilet in a moment of gastric distress? It's bad enough when you're home and much worse to have happen in public--much less in the presence of people who know you.
In any case, I'm armed with a mantra that helps me serve others a little more gamely than I would otherwise. Still, I hope "cleaning for Jesus" is NOT a mantra I'll have to use again soon.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Got the shivers
A couple of weeks ago, I had a vivid dream that a black guy burst into my workplace, came barreling into my office, started pounding on me, and tried to steal my laptop. It was alarming enough that I woke up with the physical reactions one might expect had the scenario actually happened--breathing heavy, fists clenched, prepared to defend myself, and thinking neener neener, my laptop has Lo-Jack.
Flash forward to today: my co-worker had locked the front door a few minutes early. Right afterward, there was some knocking and so she went to open the door.
In walks a black guy with a small gas can, saying his car had stopped in front of our building and could he use the phone to call a friend? My co-worker obliged. He said he worked "down there" and could walk to work from here, but wanted to make a call.
Meanwhile, I'm in my office about coming out of my skin, wondering if my vivid dream is going to play out while I'm awake?
I didn't want to seem too interested in what was happening in the next room, in case my fear was palpable.
Curiously, the guy didn't tell his friend exactly where he was--just gave him the street name, nor did he ask what our address was while he was on the call.
When he hung up, he said he was going to walk down to the 7-11. My co-worker walked him to the front door and locked up after him, noting that he put his gas can in the trunk. (Not aware there's a Chevron two blocks north of the 7-11?)
I was irrationally glad when he left. And then I felt a follow-up jolt of liberal guilt for being all wigged out about a black guy seeking help in a rainstorm.
I've read Gavin de Becker's book, The Gift of Fear, which describes how our instinctual fears can protect us when we pay attention to creeped out feelings, the odd request, the out-of-place stranger, the story that doesn't add up.
Maybe I'm extra-paranoid given the many office break-ins before we had security doors/bars and an alarm installed. Heck, I got spooked last night by a box elder bug flying past my head and later by the printer doing one of its loud, clacking, random fire-ups while I was in the loo. It DID sound suspiciously like someone was trying to get in the building.
Anyway, I was weirded out enough that I'm not sticking around. I'm only staying long enough to post this before going home where I have TWO BARKY DOGS to protect me.
Flash forward to today: my co-worker had locked the front door a few minutes early. Right afterward, there was some knocking and so she went to open the door.
In walks a black guy with a small gas can, saying his car had stopped in front of our building and could he use the phone to call a friend? My co-worker obliged. He said he worked "down there" and could walk to work from here, but wanted to make a call.
Meanwhile, I'm in my office about coming out of my skin, wondering if my vivid dream is going to play out while I'm awake?
I didn't want to seem too interested in what was happening in the next room, in case my fear was palpable.
Curiously, the guy didn't tell his friend exactly where he was--just gave him the street name, nor did he ask what our address was while he was on the call.
When he hung up, he said he was going to walk down to the 7-11. My co-worker walked him to the front door and locked up after him, noting that he put his gas can in the trunk. (Not aware there's a Chevron two blocks north of the 7-11?)
I was irrationally glad when he left. And then I felt a follow-up jolt of liberal guilt for being all wigged out about a black guy seeking help in a rainstorm.
I've read Gavin de Becker's book, The Gift of Fear, which describes how our instinctual fears can protect us when we pay attention to creeped out feelings, the odd request, the out-of-place stranger, the story that doesn't add up.
Maybe I'm extra-paranoid given the many office break-ins before we had security doors/bars and an alarm installed. Heck, I got spooked last night by a box elder bug flying past my head and later by the printer doing one of its loud, clacking, random fire-ups while I was in the loo. It DID sound suspiciously like someone was trying to get in the building.
Anyway, I was weirded out enough that I'm not sticking around. I'm only staying long enough to post this before going home where I have TWO BARKY DOGS to protect me.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
KAPOW.
In a session this morning, our counselor said something that I immediately, painfully recognized as an old, deep core issue of mine--one that shows up daily but that I've avoided naming with such clarity or working on.
After the initial WHOA/OMG moment, I acknowledged yes, that is my issue. It's been with me a long time. I fight a daily battle with it. It's always around, the endless loop of hypercritical thoughts that I try and often fail to push away and that sometimes sends me careening over the edge.
I turned to my husband and partner of 3 1/2 years and said this is my issue. He's seen symptoms of it, but I've never really identified it to or with him. He didn't know it was there or how much of a grip it has on me or that it was undergirding some of the trouble spots in our relationship. On some level, I knew but it had never roiled to the surface with such painful, inescapable clarity.
He was concerned, confused. "You're amazing," he said. "How can this be your issue?"
I'm not sure. I do know that I have to tackle this NOW. No more hiding. It's time to work through it. We talked about ways Mike can help when the issue shows up now that we both know it's there and are aware of some of the shapes it takes.
On the way to the car after the session, I thanked Mike for listening and being supportive. I said that was a HUGE admission/acknowledgment for me. It was scary and painful to name my issue out loud. I felt naked--and not good naked. Exposed.
We drove most of the way to Salt Lake in silence. I was still marveling and in awe of what happened. Seeing the issue clearly--THAT clearly--for the first time and recognizing that it's time to work on it.
I turned to Mike and said "OMG, I still can't believe what happened. That was HUGE! And there's no going back now that it's out in the open. Not that I want to go back; it's simply IMPOSSIBLE to go back now."
Later, I imagined my former therapist and teacher, Lee Gibson, encouraging me to work this issue, to get really CLEAR about it, and saying with a chuckle, "That's your homework, kiddo. This issue can repress you or empower you. Decide which it's going to be and get to work."
Even though someone else did the facilitating this morning, I'm pretty sure Lee had a hand in it somehow. Point taken, Big Guy. I'm on it.
After the initial WHOA/OMG moment, I acknowledged yes, that is my issue. It's been with me a long time. I fight a daily battle with it. It's always around, the endless loop of hypercritical thoughts that I try and often fail to push away and that sometimes sends me careening over the edge.
I turned to my husband and partner of 3 1/2 years and said this is my issue. He's seen symptoms of it, but I've never really identified it to or with him. He didn't know it was there or how much of a grip it has on me or that it was undergirding some of the trouble spots in our relationship. On some level, I knew but it had never roiled to the surface with such painful, inescapable clarity.
He was concerned, confused. "You're amazing," he said. "How can this be your issue?"
I'm not sure. I do know that I have to tackle this NOW. No more hiding. It's time to work through it. We talked about ways Mike can help when the issue shows up now that we both know it's there and are aware of some of the shapes it takes.
On the way to the car after the session, I thanked Mike for listening and being supportive. I said that was a HUGE admission/acknowledgment for me. It was scary and painful to name my issue out loud. I felt naked--and not good naked. Exposed.
We drove most of the way to Salt Lake in silence. I was still marveling and in awe of what happened. Seeing the issue clearly--THAT clearly--for the first time and recognizing that it's time to work on it.
I turned to Mike and said "OMG, I still can't believe what happened. That was HUGE! And there's no going back now that it's out in the open. Not that I want to go back; it's simply IMPOSSIBLE to go back now."
Later, I imagined my former therapist and teacher, Lee Gibson, encouraging me to work this issue, to get really CLEAR about it, and saying with a chuckle, "That's your homework, kiddo. This issue can repress you or empower you. Decide which it's going to be and get to work."
Even though someone else did the facilitating this morning, I'm pretty sure Lee had a hand in it somehow. Point taken, Big Guy. I'm on it.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
2010, Let Me Count The Ways You Suck
Can I get a 2010 do-over?
We're what, barely six weeks in and it's been shitstorm after bloody, freaking shitstorm.
Jan 1-2, marital spat.
Jan 5, test results confirm we're reproductively challenged.
Jan 6, my mom's dear friend, Nancy Wright, lost her battle with cancer.
Jan 7, witnessed a kid urinating on our driveway/neighboring office building.
Jan 9, day-long board meeting. AZ weather and visiting friends were pluses.
Jan 10, I started getting sick.
Jan 11, diagnosis--bronchitis. Nasty cough and 103 degree fever at its worst.
Jan 11-18, illin'. Too sick to travel to Nancy's memorial service in California.
Jan 19, first day back at the office, still dragging.
Jan 20, second kid uses office driveway as urinal. Buddy up with West High security.
Jan 22-24, first good thing--a half-anniversary trip to Las Vegas.
Jan 29, dinner with friends, then a late night trip to Idaho to help w/family crisis.
Jan 31, long night, little sleep, much stress = illness returns. Same weekend, baby nephew gets sick.
Feb 2, Baby Alex admitted to the hospital. I visit dr again and get 2nd Rx.
Feb 3, the only day I make it to the office.
Feb 4, Alex home from the hospital, but his health problems are serious and far from over. :(
Feb 5, appointment with urologist who outlines our options for reproducing. Gives us a Guide to Understanding Fertility Problems comic book. Unfunniest comic book EVER.
Feb 5-7, slept through everything except the Superbowl. Found out we will no longer be teaching Sunday School. Good timing for a break.
Feb 8, worried about PK. He's been listless and not his usual self since we got back from Idaho.
Feb 9, called the vet this morning. Brought PK in. Got him into the carrier without yowl or protest. They made me leave while they drew blood. The vet came in a few minutes later, said his kidneys are failing, and gently started talking about quality of life--which means The End is near. I started crying before he was done. Managed to mop up before the techs came in to show me how to insert the IV.
I cried all the way home. Left a weepy voice mail for Mike. Cried on the phone to my mom. Gave PK anti-nausea meds and tried to feed him the prescription food. He ate some, but threw everything up later.
Now I'm looking over the computer at him curled up on the carpet; he keeps shifting to find a comfortable position. Ignoring work. Wondering how I'll get used to the idea of putting him down and adjusting to his absence.
We're what, barely six weeks in and it's been shitstorm after bloody, freaking shitstorm.
Jan 1-2, marital spat.
Jan 5, test results confirm we're reproductively challenged.
Jan 6, my mom's dear friend, Nancy Wright, lost her battle with cancer.
Jan 7, witnessed a kid urinating on our driveway/neighboring office building.
Jan 9, day-long board meeting. AZ weather and visiting friends were pluses.
Jan 10, I started getting sick.
Jan 11, diagnosis--bronchitis. Nasty cough and 103 degree fever at its worst.
Jan 11-18, illin'. Too sick to travel to Nancy's memorial service in California.
Jan 19, first day back at the office, still dragging.
Jan 20, second kid uses office driveway as urinal. Buddy up with West High security.
Jan 22-24, first good thing--a half-anniversary trip to Las Vegas.
Jan 29, dinner with friends, then a late night trip to Idaho to help w/family crisis.
Jan 31, long night, little sleep, much stress = illness returns. Same weekend, baby nephew gets sick.
Feb 2, Baby Alex admitted to the hospital. I visit dr again and get 2nd Rx.
Feb 3, the only day I make it to the office.
Feb 4, Alex home from the hospital, but his health problems are serious and far from over. :(
Feb 5, appointment with urologist who outlines our options for reproducing. Gives us a Guide to Understanding Fertility Problems comic book. Unfunniest comic book EVER.
Feb 5-7, slept through everything except the Superbowl. Found out we will no longer be teaching Sunday School. Good timing for a break.
Feb 8, worried about PK. He's been listless and not his usual self since we got back from Idaho.
Feb 9, called the vet this morning. Brought PK in. Got him into the carrier without yowl or protest. They made me leave while they drew blood. The vet came in a few minutes later, said his kidneys are failing, and gently started talking about quality of life--which means The End is near. I started crying before he was done. Managed to mop up before the techs came in to show me how to insert the IV.
I cried all the way home. Left a weepy voice mail for Mike. Cried on the phone to my mom. Gave PK anti-nausea meds and tried to feed him the prescription food. He ate some, but threw everything up later.
Now I'm looking over the computer at him curled up on the carpet; he keeps shifting to find a comfortable position. Ignoring work. Wondering how I'll get used to the idea of putting him down and adjusting to his absence.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
The Joy Thing
A FB friend posted a December 1 status update saying he was going to say one thing he was joyful about every day in December.
It sounds like a nice exercise, steering one's thoughts toward joy daily. I could use some of that.
And yet, I'd rather write about things that I feel joy about HERE instead of on FB. Can't quite explain why. Maybe because FB is SO public and I'd rather share things that bring me joy with a more intimate group.
We'll see how far I get; after all, I said I was going to blog every day in November.
What brought me joy today: my mug of Good Earth herbal tea with vanilla soy milk swirling therein. I love pouring a slow stream of soy milk/cream/milk into a cup of tea and watching as it clouds up from the bottom and burbles to the top and eventually permeates the whole cup.
It also ties in with good tea times with girlfriends--and guy friends. The last time I saw Lee Gibson, we did a session and afterward went to tea at The Sussex Teapot. When Lee moved his office to Garden Grove, a tea shop within walking distance helped ease the transition.
It sounds like a nice exercise, steering one's thoughts toward joy daily. I could use some of that.
And yet, I'd rather write about things that I feel joy about HERE instead of on FB. Can't quite explain why. Maybe because FB is SO public and I'd rather share things that bring me joy with a more intimate group.
We'll see how far I get; after all, I said I was going to blog every day in November.
What brought me joy today: my mug of Good Earth herbal tea with vanilla soy milk swirling therein. I love pouring a slow stream of soy milk/cream/milk into a cup of tea and watching as it clouds up from the bottom and burbles to the top and eventually permeates the whole cup.
It also ties in with good tea times with girlfriends--and guy friends. The last time I saw Lee Gibson, we did a session and afterward went to tea at The Sussex Teapot. When Lee moved his office to Garden Grove, a tea shop within walking distance helped ease the transition.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Ida-ho!
We're packed up and on the road. Will dine with in-laws in Idaho.
It's a three-ish hour drive, but I'm sure it will seem longer. Why, you ask? Because the dog is with us and he has gas.
It's a three-ish hour drive, but I'm sure it will seem longer. Why, you ask? Because the dog is with us and he has gas.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Feeling much better, thank you
Yesterday, Mike and I went to a counseling appointment in the morning and texted back and forth during the day.
I skipped work, talked to my mom, went to acupuncture, spent some time with a great friend who fed me, listened to me vent, and offered some helpful observations and a new tool to play with.
When I got back to Ogden, Mike was home and we talked about how we feel about each other and wanting to really work on the trouble spots in our relationship. Hugs and tears all around. There's still a lot of work ahead for both of us and we're committed to doing it.
Will be going to Idaho for Thanksgiving as planned. Just found out my MIL Sue was in the hospital overnight for a heart problem, but she's being discharged this afternoon and will go home where we'll take care of her (instead of the other way around).
Thanks again for your words of support. Rough patches in relationships are tough and it's nice to have supportive friends when the road gets bumpy.
I skipped work, talked to my mom, went to acupuncture, spent some time with a great friend who fed me, listened to me vent, and offered some helpful observations and a new tool to play with.
When I got back to Ogden, Mike was home and we talked about how we feel about each other and wanting to really work on the trouble spots in our relationship. Hugs and tears all around. There's still a lot of work ahead for both of us and we're committed to doing it.
Will be going to Idaho for Thanksgiving as planned. Just found out my MIL Sue was in the hospital overnight for a heart problem, but she's being discharged this afternoon and will go home where we'll take care of her (instead of the other way around).
Thanks again for your words of support. Rough patches in relationships are tough and it's nice to have supportive friends when the road gets bumpy.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Broken
Long argument today. Said lots of regretable things. Feeling like setting things right is all but impossible. Eyes nearly swollen shut from hours of crying. Going to bed alone because Mike packed a bag and left, saying he was tired of getting the shit kicked out of him (his descriptor for any disagreement between us).
I'm sure he feels justified for leaving. He interprets virtually everything I say as an attack--regardless of subject matter. He's tired of living like this. I'm tired of having an emotionally checked out husband; it's like being single again.
And I feel like I have no one to talk to. I suspect that the friends I've confided in are tired of hearing about our marital problems and wonder why I just don't get out already. I didn't get through to either of the two therapists I called tonight for emotional triage. My mom is dealing with news that her best friend's cancer has recurred, so I don't want to wallop her with more bad news.
I'm hoping sleep will bring at least some temporary relief.
I'm sure he feels justified for leaving. He interprets virtually everything I say as an attack--regardless of subject matter. He's tired of living like this. I'm tired of having an emotionally checked out husband; it's like being single again.
And I feel like I have no one to talk to. I suspect that the friends I've confided in are tired of hearing about our marital problems and wonder why I just don't get out already. I didn't get through to either of the two therapists I called tonight for emotional triage. My mom is dealing with news that her best friend's cancer has recurred, so I don't want to wallop her with more bad news.
I'm hoping sleep will bring at least some temporary relief.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Stupid Effing Cancer, Part Deux
My mom called this morning to let me know that one of her oldest/dearest friends just found out that her cancer had metastasized. Nancy been treated for breast cancer last year, got through the treatments fine and we were all hoping she was out of the woods.
What sad, sad news to hear otherwise.
Apparently, the cancer has spread to her spine and has been causing her a lot of pain lately. It's too early to know what her doctors plan to do, treatment-wise.
Nancy and my mom met and became friends more than 30 years ago. Nancy's daughters are the same age as my brother and I and we all attended grammar school at San Gabriel Christian School. As kids, we slumber partied and celebrated birthdays together and ran around each other's houses. We also introduced Nancy and the kids to Mormonism and they joined the church.
When Nancy remarried and moved, the kids saw a little less of each other, but our moms stayed in touch. My mom and Nancy saw each other through some particularly challenging years and experiences. Eventually, Nancy moved back and my mom helped get her a job in the volunteer program in my old school district; when my mom retired, Nancy took over running the program and did a lot of great things.
In the past few months, I've reconnected with Nancy's daughters, Jamie and Kristi via FaceBook. A few years back, I happened to be in California at the same time Jamie was and got to participate in her oldest child's baptism. It was pretty amazing to see how her family has grown and think back to when we were friends that age.
So add another name to the list of people I love who were/are afflicted with cancer. Most recently, that's been Lee Gibson, Chester Papiewski, and now Nancy W.
Cancer sucks. Grieving is hard. I've been crying at my desk for the past hour or so. I still well up thinking about or mentioning Lee Gibson. My heart hurts; it hasn't had a chance to recover between blows/new cancer diagnoses. Stupid fucking cancer.
(And a nod to Shirley Mott, my former YW leader and ward stalwart whose memorial service is tomorrow. She and her husband, Ray, were one of the backbone couples in the old Rosemead ward).
What sad, sad news to hear otherwise.
Apparently, the cancer has spread to her spine and has been causing her a lot of pain lately. It's too early to know what her doctors plan to do, treatment-wise.
Nancy and my mom met and became friends more than 30 years ago. Nancy's daughters are the same age as my brother and I and we all attended grammar school at San Gabriel Christian School. As kids, we slumber partied and celebrated birthdays together and ran around each other's houses. We also introduced Nancy and the kids to Mormonism and they joined the church.
When Nancy remarried and moved, the kids saw a little less of each other, but our moms stayed in touch. My mom and Nancy saw each other through some particularly challenging years and experiences. Eventually, Nancy moved back and my mom helped get her a job in the volunteer program in my old school district; when my mom retired, Nancy took over running the program and did a lot of great things.
In the past few months, I've reconnected with Nancy's daughters, Jamie and Kristi via FaceBook. A few years back, I happened to be in California at the same time Jamie was and got to participate in her oldest child's baptism. It was pretty amazing to see how her family has grown and think back to when we were friends that age.
So add another name to the list of people I love who were/are afflicted with cancer. Most recently, that's been Lee Gibson, Chester Papiewski, and now Nancy W.
Cancer sucks. Grieving is hard. I've been crying at my desk for the past hour or so. I still well up thinking about or mentioning Lee Gibson. My heart hurts; it hasn't had a chance to recover between blows/new cancer diagnoses. Stupid fucking cancer.
(And a nod to Shirley Mott, my former YW leader and ward stalwart whose memorial service is tomorrow. She and her husband, Ray, were one of the backbone couples in the old Rosemead ward).
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Yeah, write.
So I've missed a week of writing. Good thing I'm not attempting that write-a-novel-in-November thing some of my friends are doing. But I'll do a recap of the past week, as it is somewhat novel-like in having some dramatic twists and turns.
Thursday 11/12
The day Mike and I depart for Sunstone Northwest in Seattle. Though he gets home late and we leave three hours later than planned, I do not get all bent out of shape.
We only got as far as La Grande, OR that night. Was a bit more perturbed that Mike left the car idling for 45 minutes at a truck stop while he tried to track down a place to stay on my iPhone. Checked in, applied pajamas, read some Sarah Vowell, and fell asleep.
Friday 11/13
Found the "continental breakfast" in the hotel left much to be desired. Four kinds of donuts, two kinds of bagels, OJ, apple juice, coffee, tea. I grabbed a bagel and some cream cheese, poured an OJ and brewed myself a Tazo tea. Made the mistake of using the powdered creamer--yetch.
Long, quiet drive. Snowed in all the passes between Pendleton and Seattle, yet when we got to the city, it was sunny, clear and gorgeous.
Checked into hotel, ate dinner at Duke's (famous clam chowders), picked up some snack at Trader Joe's, and drove to Wendy's house for a pre-symposium social.
Saturday 11/14
Sunstone Northwest! Got to the venue a little late because Mike missed a turn and we ended up on a highway into downtown with no opportunity to turn around. Just the thing to kick off the morning. At venue, set up chairs, tables, AV stuff, books, and readied for the hordes.
Symposium went well overall--good speakers, a nice mix of topics, decent audience.
The venue was cold all day; someone forgot to override the weekend AWAY settings for the heat during the day. And the venue booker "forgot" that we paid extra to have the venue until 7:00 pm and booked another group to come in at 6:00 pm. That group arrived at 5:15 pm, thinking they had the venue starting at 5:30 pm. Fun to have a rugby team milling in the hallways waiting for us to wrap up.
After party at Molly's was nice--good pizza and conversation. Back at hotel by 10:00 pm. I took a hot bath and blissed out until Mike came in asking if I wanted some ice cream; this disoriented me. I couldn't get back to drowsy after that, so I jammified and went to bed.
Sunday 11/15
Up somewhat early because we had to drive the whole way back in one day. This hotel's breakfast had more options--cereal, milk, pastries, instant oatmeal, fresh fruit. Hit the road; much more snow had fallen and there were travel advisories in effect.
I took over driving and ended up with just enough gas to get to La Grande again, at which time we discovered messages on our phones from Mike's mom saying Mike's oldest sister was missing. Car gone, dogs gone, no one had seen her since Friday. Worrisome. We call to get the scoop. BIL Matt had broken into Jan's house to get an idea of where she'd gone.
We get back on the road with this sobering news. About an hour later, MIL Sue calls to say Jan showed up at Sunday dinner late; she'd been doing paperwork at the Rexburg office (after telling family that she wasn't working weekends there anymore). All is swell.
I sleep through more of the drive; stop in Twin Falls for gas and end up having Wendy's for dinner. Too much effort to scout out non-fast-food options. Arrived home shortly after midnight.
Monday 11/16
We had an 8:00 am appointment, which was the reason for the hurried trip home. I rolled out of bed and put clothes on. Picked up the dog afterward and I went home and just vegged all day. Eventually showered and caught up on shows via On Demand.
Tuesday 11/17
Last lecture of our fall series: Mormon-watcher Jan Shipps lectured at the SLC Main Library on religious studies and the tools this field brings to the study of Mormonism. Met some interesting folks and enjoyed the evening. And WHEW--nothing left but the office Christmas party in 3 weeks.
Wednesday 11/18
Found that Jan's lecture had been written up in Mormon Times--a nice surprise. Trying to cross some things off my to do list, but not feeling very motivated to do anything. Catching up on my blog reading (two speakers from Seattle posted their remarks on BCC) and writing before hopping on the freeway home.
Biggest decision ahead: stop at Costco in Bountiful or in Ogden? And what friend to call on the drive home?
Thursday 11/12
The day Mike and I depart for Sunstone Northwest in Seattle. Though he gets home late and we leave three hours later than planned, I do not get all bent out of shape.
We only got as far as La Grande, OR that night. Was a bit more perturbed that Mike left the car idling for 45 minutes at a truck stop while he tried to track down a place to stay on my iPhone. Checked in, applied pajamas, read some Sarah Vowell, and fell asleep.
Friday 11/13
Found the "continental breakfast" in the hotel left much to be desired. Four kinds of donuts, two kinds of bagels, OJ, apple juice, coffee, tea. I grabbed a bagel and some cream cheese, poured an OJ and brewed myself a Tazo tea. Made the mistake of using the powdered creamer--yetch.
Long, quiet drive. Snowed in all the passes between Pendleton and Seattle, yet when we got to the city, it was sunny, clear and gorgeous.
Checked into hotel, ate dinner at Duke's (famous clam chowders), picked up some snack at Trader Joe's, and drove to Wendy's house for a pre-symposium social.
Saturday 11/14
Sunstone Northwest! Got to the venue a little late because Mike missed a turn and we ended up on a highway into downtown with no opportunity to turn around. Just the thing to kick off the morning. At venue, set up chairs, tables, AV stuff, books, and readied for the hordes.
Symposium went well overall--good speakers, a nice mix of topics, decent audience.
The venue was cold all day; someone forgot to override the weekend AWAY settings for the heat during the day. And the venue booker "forgot" that we paid extra to have the venue until 7:00 pm and booked another group to come in at 6:00 pm. That group arrived at 5:15 pm, thinking they had the venue starting at 5:30 pm. Fun to have a rugby team milling in the hallways waiting for us to wrap up.
After party at Molly's was nice--good pizza and conversation. Back at hotel by 10:00 pm. I took a hot bath and blissed out until Mike came in asking if I wanted some ice cream; this disoriented me. I couldn't get back to drowsy after that, so I jammified and went to bed.
Sunday 11/15
Up somewhat early because we had to drive the whole way back in one day. This hotel's breakfast had more options--cereal, milk, pastries, instant oatmeal, fresh fruit. Hit the road; much more snow had fallen and there were travel advisories in effect.
I took over driving and ended up with just enough gas to get to La Grande again, at which time we discovered messages on our phones from Mike's mom saying Mike's oldest sister was missing. Car gone, dogs gone, no one had seen her since Friday. Worrisome. We call to get the scoop. BIL Matt had broken into Jan's house to get an idea of where she'd gone.
We get back on the road with this sobering news. About an hour later, MIL Sue calls to say Jan showed up at Sunday dinner late; she'd been doing paperwork at the Rexburg office (after telling family that she wasn't working weekends there anymore). All is swell.
I sleep through more of the drive; stop in Twin Falls for gas and end up having Wendy's for dinner. Too much effort to scout out non-fast-food options. Arrived home shortly after midnight.
Monday 11/16
We had an 8:00 am appointment, which was the reason for the hurried trip home. I rolled out of bed and put clothes on. Picked up the dog afterward and I went home and just vegged all day. Eventually showered and caught up on shows via On Demand.
Tuesday 11/17
Last lecture of our fall series: Mormon-watcher Jan Shipps lectured at the SLC Main Library on religious studies and the tools this field brings to the study of Mormonism. Met some interesting folks and enjoyed the evening. And WHEW--nothing left but the office Christmas party in 3 weeks.
Wednesday 11/18
Found that Jan's lecture had been written up in Mormon Times--a nice surprise. Trying to cross some things off my to do list, but not feeling very motivated to do anything. Catching up on my blog reading (two speakers from Seattle posted their remarks on BCC) and writing before hopping on the freeway home.
Biggest decision ahead: stop at Costco in Bountiful or in Ogden? And what friend to call on the drive home?
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
You want a glass or a bottle of whine?
I've been so overwhelmed leading up to this weekend's symposium in Seattle, I forgot completely just 'til this moment about getting cash out of Sunstone's account to take with us--to make change, etc.
All the banks are closed because it's Veteran's Day. And I'm not coming to the office tomorrow at all. Which means any cash we take/use at the symposium is coming out of our personal accounts.
Whyyyy didn't I remember sooooooooonerrr? Waaaaaaahhh!
All the banks are closed because it's Veteran's Day. And I'm not coming to the office tomorrow at all. Which means any cash we take/use at the symposium is coming out of our personal accounts.
Whyyyy didn't I remember sooooooooonerrr? Waaaaaaahhh!
It's called SAVE AS!
I work with an office manager who started her working career back when telephone numbers had words in them and the typewriter was as fancy as office equipment got.
She's S-L-O-W-L-Y adopted to more modern equipment like computers and email, but still hasn't mastered things like formatting (emails and documents often have crazyass spacing) or using computers to do repetitive tasks more efficiently (she draws out the SLC symposium schedule on legal paper with a ruler until I intervened and did it in Excel).
Several times over the past year, she's lost work on documents because she doesn't remember to rename and save attachments to her computer. She opens them up, works on them, and saves them (she thinks) but once she closes them, they're gone forever in the ether of temp files and whatever gobbledygook name/code they got when she opened them.
So this morning, we had yet another tutorial on SAVE AS. I stressed again that this is the FIRST THING she needs to do after opening an attachement. Save the document to the hard drive or desktop--wherever you'll be able to find it again--and rename it if you're adding stuff/tracking chances, etc. This goes for Excel and Word attachments. If you want the document and the work you did on it to exist later, you need to Save As.
I hope I sounded more patient than I felt whilst tutoring. I swear it seems like she's hearing this for the first time ever, even though this is probably the fourth or fifth time.
She's S-L-O-W-L-Y adopted to more modern equipment like computers and email, but still hasn't mastered things like formatting (emails and documents often have crazyass spacing) or using computers to do repetitive tasks more efficiently (she draws out the SLC symposium schedule on legal paper with a ruler until I intervened and did it in Excel).
Several times over the past year, she's lost work on documents because she doesn't remember to rename and save attachments to her computer. She opens them up, works on them, and saves them (she thinks) but once she closes them, they're gone forever in the ether of temp files and whatever gobbledygook name/code they got when she opened them.
So this morning, we had yet another tutorial on SAVE AS. I stressed again that this is the FIRST THING she needs to do after opening an attachement. Save the document to the hard drive or desktop--wherever you'll be able to find it again--and rename it if you're adding stuff/tracking chances, etc. This goes for Excel and Word attachments. If you want the document and the work you did on it to exist later, you need to Save As.
I hope I sounded more patient than I felt whilst tutoring. I swear it seems like she's hearing this for the first time ever, even though this is probably the fourth or fifth time.
Monday, November 09, 2009
In which I ignore comon sense
Watched Food, Inc. last night and was pretty grossed out.
My dad and I drove through a cattle feed lot in Texas that was so big we literally could not see where it ended. From far away, I thought it was a car junkyard. Then we got up close and saw that it was not junk cars, but thousands of cows milling around. And the stench--WOW.
Nevertheless, I stopped at Crown Burger on the way back from an errand to Benchmark Books. Cheeseburger + fries + fry sauce = one full and slightly queasy stomach.
Whither all the locally-sourced, minimally-processed, fresh food restaurants in SLC?
My dad and I drove through a cattle feed lot in Texas that was so big we literally could not see where it ended. From far away, I thought it was a car junkyard. Then we got up close and saw that it was not junk cars, but thousands of cows milling around. And the stench--WOW.
Nevertheless, I stopped at Crown Burger on the way back from an errand to Benchmark Books. Cheeseburger + fries + fry sauce = one full and slightly queasy stomach.
Whither all the locally-sourced, minimally-processed, fresh food restaurants in SLC?
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Missed a day, but have plenty of post fodder
I spent Thursday and Friday on the campus of Utah Valley University at a conference on Mormon outmigration and pursuit of education.
It was a pretty interesting conference, headlined by the work of Wesley and Marian Johnson who interviewed hundreds of Mormons, many of whom left Utah to pursue educations elsewhere.
In the crowd of attendees Thursday, there was a striking older woman who caught my attention. She had on an elegant two-piece yellow dress with a gored skirt, carried a fabulous beaded purse, had a broach pinned to her collar, and had on a lovely straw hat with a silk rose on the brim. Hard to miss.
I saw her again at the reception before the final evening session at BYU Library and went up and complimented her on her amazing style. We introduced ourselves and walked into library auditorium while she told me more about herself. She introduced me to her husband and said "You must sit with us!" and said we'd need to go up front because she'd forgotten her hearing aids. I happily obliged.
Throughout the lecture, she leaned whispered asides to me; she's a costume designer and told me the approximate year a photo was taken based on the subject's facial hair or the color of the woman's dress. She was also related to a couple of the outmigrants being discussed and was long-time friends of the Johnsons and others who had presented on the conference program. It was quite interesting to have her as a seatmate.
When the presenter finished and entertained questions from the audience, my seatmate noted that many of the men who left Utah to get educations or who settled outside of Utah for work often left behind families in Utah or weren't as able to participate in family life because of school or work. (She has heard similar complaints from some women she visit teaches who feel isolated or neglected by their busy husbands--kind of like the old adage "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy"). Given the long separations, how could these men or their wives be happy about living arrangements that precluded intimacy and sex?
Well, that pretty much stumped the presenter.
He stammered an answer, indicating that there were divorces and unhappy families under those circumstances. He quickly looked around for another raised hand/question so we wouldn't end with a sex question. (At the Lord's University--gasp!)
After the last question and closing prayer, my seatmate said it was lovely to meet me (likewise!), collected her husband, and breezed away homeward. I giggled with the conference organizers about her question and the difficulty of obtaining posthumous data on historical figures' sex lives.
It was one of the funnest--and funniest--parts of the conference.
It was a pretty interesting conference, headlined by the work of Wesley and Marian Johnson who interviewed hundreds of Mormons, many of whom left Utah to pursue educations elsewhere.
In the crowd of attendees Thursday, there was a striking older woman who caught my attention. She had on an elegant two-piece yellow dress with a gored skirt, carried a fabulous beaded purse, had a broach pinned to her collar, and had on a lovely straw hat with a silk rose on the brim. Hard to miss.
I saw her again at the reception before the final evening session at BYU Library and went up and complimented her on her amazing style. We introduced ourselves and walked into library auditorium while she told me more about herself. She introduced me to her husband and said "You must sit with us!" and said we'd need to go up front because she'd forgotten her hearing aids. I happily obliged.
Throughout the lecture, she leaned whispered asides to me; she's a costume designer and told me the approximate year a photo was taken based on the subject's facial hair or the color of the woman's dress. She was also related to a couple of the outmigrants being discussed and was long-time friends of the Johnsons and others who had presented on the conference program. It was quite interesting to have her as a seatmate.
When the presenter finished and entertained questions from the audience, my seatmate noted that many of the men who left Utah to get educations or who settled outside of Utah for work often left behind families in Utah or weren't as able to participate in family life because of school or work. (She has heard similar complaints from some women she visit teaches who feel isolated or neglected by their busy husbands--kind of like the old adage "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy"). Given the long separations, how could these men or their wives be happy about living arrangements that precluded intimacy and sex?
Well, that pretty much stumped the presenter.
He stammered an answer, indicating that there were divorces and unhappy families under those circumstances. He quickly looked around for another raised hand/question so we wouldn't end with a sex question. (At the Lord's University--gasp!)
After the last question and closing prayer, my seatmate said it was lovely to meet me (likewise!), collected her husband, and breezed away homeward. I giggled with the conference organizers about her question and the difficulty of obtaining posthumous data on historical figures' sex lives.
It was one of the funnest--and funniest--parts of the conference.
Friday, November 06, 2009
Today's news
In Provo/Orem for a conference on outmigration from Utah. Ate at an awesome pizza place. Stayed up late talking to friends. Going to bed now. Oh, and I sprouted a zit on my forhead so large it makes me look like I have one of those Cromagnun (sp?) man ridges--but only above my right eyebrow.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Please do the impossible some more.
The short version is my "dream job" isn't dreamy.
While there are aspects of it I still enjoy, they are far outnumbered by the times I have to surmount Amazonian obstacles, make do without sufficient resources, and perform tasks that the guy the board fired last year used to do because they still have to be done by SOMEONE.
At the moment, the finance committee is putting together the year-end fundraising appeal--the one that needs to bring in enough $$$ to keep us open through the end of the year.
The letter is still being revised. The donation form/premiums doesn't exist on paper yet. And the schedule on which the board expects the staff to print, fold, assemble, label, stamp, and mail this puppy out is beyond unrealistic. By November 10? Riiight.
This is the most demanding week left this year. I'll be out of the office at a conference Thursday & Friday of this week--and gone Thursday and Friday of next week to run a regional symposium in Seattle. There's major symposium prep work yet to do. Do I forgo the outreach aspects of my job to do the board's bidding instead?
Success also depends on whether we can line up volunteers to help. Without existing documents or a mailing list, it's hard to say exactly how much help we'll need or when.
It's times like this that make those late-night ads for truck driving school sound rather appealing.
While there are aspects of it I still enjoy, they are far outnumbered by the times I have to surmount Amazonian obstacles, make do without sufficient resources, and perform tasks that the guy the board fired last year used to do because they still have to be done by SOMEONE.
At the moment, the finance committee is putting together the year-end fundraising appeal--the one that needs to bring in enough $$$ to keep us open through the end of the year.
The letter is still being revised. The donation form/premiums doesn't exist on paper yet. And the schedule on which the board expects the staff to print, fold, assemble, label, stamp, and mail this puppy out is beyond unrealistic. By November 10? Riiight.
This is the most demanding week left this year. I'll be out of the office at a conference Thursday & Friday of this week--and gone Thursday and Friday of next week to run a regional symposium in Seattle. There's major symposium prep work yet to do. Do I forgo the outreach aspects of my job to do the board's bidding instead?
Success also depends on whether we can line up volunteers to help. Without existing documents or a mailing list, it's hard to say exactly how much help we'll need or when.
It's times like this that make those late-night ads for truck driving school sound rather appealing.
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