I have a lot on my mind this morning. Here's a breakdown of my last 15 hours:
8 pm-- eating dinner with several girlfriends at one of their houses, the subject of religion comes up, and one of them looks directly at me, the girl who has suddenly gone quiet, and says, "So what are you?" As if that's an easy question to answer, like I can give one word (Presbyterian, Methodist, something) and have this question go away. But I'm truthful to myself and say the word that I then have to spend 10 minutes explaining while I get looks of disdain and confusion and replies of "well I figure it's better to believe than not believe, since I have a choice" (you're so not getting it, I think). Agnostic is my reply. Nothing, the meaning.
9:30 pm-- sitting on the couch after dinner, my inquisitor having already left to go take care of her babies and husband who can't be without her for longer than a couple hours, I check the weather on my phone and notice I have three emails, all voicemail-to-text emails from my coworker's wife to my boss (I get his emails too). She sounds... desperate. Something has happened. I call my boss, no answer, so I call his partner, who is crying. Dead. My coworker is dead. He was playing tennis, had a massive heart attack, and they couldn't revive him.
10 pm-- I'm finally together enough to have left my friend's house and call my husband, who is at a bar with his buddies. I meet him there. I can't bring myself to order a drink, because the only drink I can think of is my coworker's favorite, a salty dog, and I hate grapefruit juice. But to drink anything else seems wrong.
11 pm-- Finally in bed, I start sobbing. Why am I sobbing? Where did he go keeps playing in my mind, and I think about my grandfather and my aunt and the people I know and loved that are gone, but gone where? Husband rubs my back and comforts me, and I feel stupid because it's a loss for me but no great loss, and I'm mad at myself for thinking about the money the company is saving not having him (he was expensive) and how we didn't really need him anyway so this saves us the trouble of the phase-out we were about to do with him, and I fall asleep thinking about what a horrible person I am.
4 am-- A bad dream where I was at a funeral and people were whispering that the departed went to Hell, and I found myself believing it and being scared even though I don't believe in Hell, and I can't reconcile it all and wake up confused and very hot. I have been grinding my teeth, I can tell, and have a hard time moving my neck as I get up to get some water. Luckily it doesn't take too long to fall back to sleep.
6:50 am-- My alarms sounds and rips me from another uncomfortable dream. This time I'm at a doctor's office getting a vaccination, but for some reason the shot has to go in my lip, and it's bloody and gross, like a collagen injection gone wrong. Getting up and out of bed is even harder than it was at 4 am.
8:30 am-- Now at work, I stand in the hallway whispering with my boss, his partner, and our bookkeeper. Who knows? Who doesn't know yet? We need to make an announcement.
9 am-- Everyone is gathered now, my boss starts to weep, I cry, everyone cries. Again I feel like I'm crying over a bad dream, spilled milk. Nothing seems real. It's more like shock than grief. Who am I to grieve anyway, I think. I'm just a coworker, a coworker conspiring against him until his last minutes. "He was a nice guy, a caring guy," everyone says. He was, and I know I will miss our non-work conversations. Sniffles, and we go back to our desks, hearts heavy.
11 am-- The insurance agent has been called, our clients have been contacted, we've had a meeting about gathering up his projects. We're going to be ok, we all know it, but it's so quiet in here I can't stand it anymore. I make myself a massage appointment at 5:30 this afternoon. I make plans for Thai for dinner and Subway for lunch. Anything to take my mind off of it. Then I start this post because maybe, maybe if I get these thoughts out of my head I can have some peace. I'm not a terrible person. We all have crazy thoughts at crazy times. He was a funny, warm, engaging, and dedicated guy who will be missed severely by his friends and family and everyone here too. It's still not real, though, and I keep expecting my phone to ring for my daily check-in call. It probably won't be real til Monday when our extended management board gets together and he is glaringly absent.
12 noon-- Post done. I have to get out of here.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
sharing of pain/rules and regulations/the choice
1.
On occasion, I come across someone I want to collect. It could be a friend, a coworker, random acquaintance, a one-time interaction, a person passed on the street, or someone I have never met. There will be something about this person that makes me believe they belong in my life, something that draws me to them, leads me to want to keep them always. Attitude is a big draw-- I'm pulled toward people with a laid-back, calm, positive outlook on life, the kind of people that could weather a storm and come out on the other side with a determined smile. I also tend to feel a pull toward independent types, the ones that walk or talk or dress or act in an original way, not affected or fake, but just fully themselves. Another draw, I have discovered, seems to be common pain, crippling pain, like a migraine. People who have true migraines know the meaning of hurt, and when we find someone else who shares this, we tend to want to swap and compare sympathy, tips, and war stories, but we also feel drawn to keep these in a special place in our hearts and minds. I recently discovered that John Mayer, the musician, has a type of migraine similar to mine-- with aura, brought on by weather changes-- and though I have always enjoyed his music, I now feel a kind of kinship that I didn't think was really possible with someone I don't actually know. I feel like we should be friends on that basis alone. Because of our shared pain, a pain that no one else can really understand, I'd like to add him to my collection of similar souls.
2.
People need rules to survive, not to mention succeed. How many times and what type of food to eat every day. Share. Bathe frequently. How to tie your shoes. Look before you cross the street. Etc. It makes sense, then, that at work most people need rules and regulations to follow to ensure that they meet the goals and objectives of the company. Unfortunately, we've been lackadaisical thus far in creating these processes for people, relying solely on good will and trust for work to be done. No longer. Without rules, people get lazy. Apparently most people, if they don't think anyone's watching, will test the boundaries, and when they don't get in trouble, they stop work altogether. We tried to motivate by inspiration, saying Look! We'll be a great company, we'll all have great success if we work hard together, but for most people, all they really care about is the paycheck. This is simply a bump in a long road, not a lifetime commitment like it is for those of us who started it. If we want them to succeed, we must give them the means. The means can also cause failure, which for some of them may be more likely. This is my life lately.
3.
A month or so ago, I made a conscious choice to be happy. I looked despair and frustration and worry straight in the face, and I said no. I forced a smile on my face and added a bounce to my step, and after a couple minutes, I felt a release. I wondered why I was ever unhappy in the first place. Now when I feel myself brooding, that process of choosing to be happy takes a lot less time. I remember that it's possible, and a contented, peaceful feeling spreads over me. It's almost like knowing that I have a choice whether or not to be happy makes me happy in itself, and thus the choice is made for me. I suppose it sounds too good to be true, that the secret to happiness is just to choose it. The first couple of times there was more of a process, a train of thought I had to follow, about how all the terrible things happening were, in a grand view, not that terrible, and even if they were, there was nothing I could do to fix them. All I can change is my reaction to them. I choose my reaction now, and my reaction is to smile, laugh knowing that this too will pass, and move on to better thoughts. It's a trick I want to teach every unhappy person I know, but unfortunately it seems too many people are making conscious choices for unhappiness. I would worry about them... but I choose not to.
On occasion, I come across someone I want to collect. It could be a friend, a coworker, random acquaintance, a one-time interaction, a person passed on the street, or someone I have never met. There will be something about this person that makes me believe they belong in my life, something that draws me to them, leads me to want to keep them always. Attitude is a big draw-- I'm pulled toward people with a laid-back, calm, positive outlook on life, the kind of people that could weather a storm and come out on the other side with a determined smile. I also tend to feel a pull toward independent types, the ones that walk or talk or dress or act in an original way, not affected or fake, but just fully themselves. Another draw, I have discovered, seems to be common pain, crippling pain, like a migraine. People who have true migraines know the meaning of hurt, and when we find someone else who shares this, we tend to want to swap and compare sympathy, tips, and war stories, but we also feel drawn to keep these in a special place in our hearts and minds. I recently discovered that John Mayer, the musician, has a type of migraine similar to mine-- with aura, brought on by weather changes-- and though I have always enjoyed his music, I now feel a kind of kinship that I didn't think was really possible with someone I don't actually know. I feel like we should be friends on that basis alone. Because of our shared pain, a pain that no one else can really understand, I'd like to add him to my collection of similar souls.
2.
People need rules to survive, not to mention succeed. How many times and what type of food to eat every day. Share. Bathe frequently. How to tie your shoes. Look before you cross the street. Etc. It makes sense, then, that at work most people need rules and regulations to follow to ensure that they meet the goals and objectives of the company. Unfortunately, we've been lackadaisical thus far in creating these processes for people, relying solely on good will and trust for work to be done. No longer. Without rules, people get lazy. Apparently most people, if they don't think anyone's watching, will test the boundaries, and when they don't get in trouble, they stop work altogether. We tried to motivate by inspiration, saying Look! We'll be a great company, we'll all have great success if we work hard together, but for most people, all they really care about is the paycheck. This is simply a bump in a long road, not a lifetime commitment like it is for those of us who started it. If we want them to succeed, we must give them the means. The means can also cause failure, which for some of them may be more likely. This is my life lately.
3.
A month or so ago, I made a conscious choice to be happy. I looked despair and frustration and worry straight in the face, and I said no. I forced a smile on my face and added a bounce to my step, and after a couple minutes, I felt a release. I wondered why I was ever unhappy in the first place. Now when I feel myself brooding, that process of choosing to be happy takes a lot less time. I remember that it's possible, and a contented, peaceful feeling spreads over me. It's almost like knowing that I have a choice whether or not to be happy makes me happy in itself, and thus the choice is made for me. I suppose it sounds too good to be true, that the secret to happiness is just to choose it. The first couple of times there was more of a process, a train of thought I had to follow, about how all the terrible things happening were, in a grand view, not that terrible, and even if they were, there was nothing I could do to fix them. All I can change is my reaction to them. I choose my reaction now, and my reaction is to smile, laugh knowing that this too will pass, and move on to better thoughts. It's a trick I want to teach every unhappy person I know, but unfortunately it seems too many people are making conscious choices for unhappiness. I would worry about them... but I choose not to.
Friday, February 18, 2011
follow up
There's a line that I've formed somewhere in some sand, a line that once crossed can not be uncrossed. I never know what will cause someone to trip over or even run past that line, but once it's done no one can undo it, make that feeling go away, not them and not even me, no matter how quickly they come back to my side and stay there. It's like a stain that won't fade, even with the strongest bleach.
You have to do something pretty drastic to be marked like this. For one girl, it was getting so drunk that I had to carry her around all night, she stole something from a bar, and then she yelled at me. For one guy, it was returning a dog he had adopted from the shelter because of an issue that would have been easily trained away. For my brother, it took years worth of mental abuse. For the latest additions, it was being so dumb as to fall into bed with a coworker when you know one of you is married, then gossip about it at work.
It's a loss of respect, I suppose. I hold people to a high standard, but it's nothing I don't ask of myself. Once it's lost, I tend to hold people at a distance, sometimes a larger distance than others, but I never fully let down my guard and open up again. It's been years since some of these transgressions, but I still feel it, that steeling of my heart when their name is mentioned or I see their face. I'm usually very normal and casual with them, though I'm sure they can sense my hesitancy, at least in part.
So what if lots of people cheat on their spouses. I expect more from the people that I allow into my life and my heart. If you make a promise, you keep it. If you know someone else has made a promise, you don't help them break it. If you love someone, you treat them with honesty and respect. Am I really asking too much of people?
You have to do something pretty drastic to be marked like this. For one girl, it was getting so drunk that I had to carry her around all night, she stole something from a bar, and then she yelled at me. For one guy, it was returning a dog he had adopted from the shelter because of an issue that would have been easily trained away. For my brother, it took years worth of mental abuse. For the latest additions, it was being so dumb as to fall into bed with a coworker when you know one of you is married, then gossip about it at work.
It's a loss of respect, I suppose. I hold people to a high standard, but it's nothing I don't ask of myself. Once it's lost, I tend to hold people at a distance, sometimes a larger distance than others, but I never fully let down my guard and open up again. It's been years since some of these transgressions, but I still feel it, that steeling of my heart when their name is mentioned or I see their face. I'm usually very normal and casual with them, though I'm sure they can sense my hesitancy, at least in part.
So what if lots of people cheat on their spouses. I expect more from the people that I allow into my life and my heart. If you make a promise, you keep it. If you know someone else has made a promise, you don't help them break it. If you love someone, you treat them with honesty and respect. Am I really asking too much of people?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
people never cease to amaze me
I just found out from my boss that two of my coworkers slept together just after one of them returned from their honeymoon. These are supposed to be adults, managers, competent human beings. To make it worse, one of them told one of the people they "manage" and now they gossip about it all day. No wonder their department has been suffering. I am so wide-eyed with shock right now. It's amazing what people will do to each other and themselves. And I get to clean up the professional mess left in their wake.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine ramblings
I signed on today with no real thought as to what I would write, just that I wanted to write something. Before I clicked the "new post" button, I noticed this will supposedly be my 300th post. I feel like I should make it a special one, then, with some sort of well-prepared, engaging prose. But there are several things working against me, and I feel certain I will dissolve into rambling shortly.
First, my pupils have totally taken over my irises. It's like someone injected black ink into my eyeballs, making them look like cartoon versions of the real thing, all black and white, no spotted brown-green to be seen. I look high. I'm not, I'm just dialated. I had my yearly eye exam this morning.
It's a good thing it's only a yearly exam. $680. I'm trying to imagine all the fun things I could do with $680 but it just makes me sick to my stomach. This does cover the exam, a year's worth of contacts, and a new pair of glasses (I haven't gotten new frames in three years). But when the nurse looked up at me over her rimless specs and exhaled the total at me, in a low whistle, I could no longer tell if it was the lack of being able to see clearly or the number that made me feel like vomiting and passing out all at once. I dumbly handed her my debit card. I was already playing out the phone call to my husband to explain why I spent that huge amount, but I couldn't come up with a good explanation even for myself, other than needing to see. Is needing to see worth $700? I suppose so.
Of course we can cover it, as long as no one spends any other money today or tomorrow until our paychecks are in. But I should have given her my credit card, just in case. I don't like having under $200 in the account, which is where we currently stand. It makes me nervous.
We have no Valentine's plans, thank goodness. We had brunch together yesterday instead, and when we left the bakery/cafe, they had a plate of freshly made red velvet cupcakes for sale, and we took 2 for after dinner tonight. It's a normal day other than the cupcakes (and the $700 bomb)-- work, gym, cook dinner, tv, and sleep. In the middle of all that, of course, is taking care of our puppies.
My parents lost their black lab a couple months ago. I suppose she was "mine" too. We got her as a puppy when I was 13. She was 15 this year, and her arthritis and old heart finally caught up to her. What a sweetheart, totally irreplaceable, my old Sammy girl. They still have two-- Beau, the clueless and laughable chocolate lab/great dane mix, about 8 years old, and Daisy, the lover and protector, a 2-year-old bassett hound mix. When I was a kid, we had Maxie, the first canine love of my life, a gray miniature schanuzer. She was super scary smart, loyal, and a big lap baby. She passed right before I left for college. My parents have always wanted another schnauzer but for a long time resisted because Maxie was such a one-of-a-kind dog. They are now thinking they may want to give it a go, but they're going to adopt from the shelter, which means it may be a mix, and they want to get an older dog, at least a full year.
When my husband comments on our dog's behavior (when they are bad, they are "my" dogs, not his), I can point to my parents to see where my affinity for having a houseful of furry creatures was born. They are such a comfort and bring so much joy. I am a huge proponent of adoption over buying pets, though. Unless you're showing, breeding (and they do that just fine on their own, not sure why they need our help), or maybe have a severe allergy, there is absolutely no reason to go after a "pure-bred" dog. In fact, mixes tend to have fewer health problems as a general rule. Maxie, a pure-bred, had some kind of weird itchy skin condition all her life, started having seizures at middle age, and went blind before she passed, all known issues with miniature schnauzers. Bub, on the other hand, my little terrier terror, had a luxating patella (his kneecap shifted) at age 7, but it was quickly fixed, and now he's fine. He's almost 9. Beau, other than eating strange things and making himself sick, which is attributable only to his lack of common sense and not breeding as there are many dumb pure-breds out there too, hasn't had any health problems. For a dog his size and his age, that's saying something.
The most important consideration for me, though, is the overpopulation of pets in our country. It depresses me to see the amount of animals that filter in and out of our local shelter every year-- people abandon their supposedly beloved pets every day. But they also never spay or neuter them, they jump fences and climb walls, and have millions of unneeded puppies and kittens every year, that the owners then just drop at the shelter, like a bag of unwanted old clothes. Add to that the cruel and idiotic puppy mill owners who breed, breed, breed the same female over and over again until the puppies hardly have a chance, born with weird defects and abnormalities. But they're sold to unsuspecting and equally idiotic buyers.
Bottom line-- if you want a pure-bred, for whatever reason, first try a rescue group. Every breed has them. Second, find a licensed breeder, check out their facilities, and even check their BBB rating. Do your due diligence. If you just want a dog that will love you and be your friend, go to the shelter, pick out a couple you like, ask lots of questions, play with them, take them for a walk, and take one home with you. They'll already be spayed or neutered and will probably be up to date on vaccinations too. You can't ask for much more than that.
This post turned into what I thought it would-- rambling. Please excuse typos, since I still can't see. I hope everyone is having a wonderful Valentine's day.
First, my pupils have totally taken over my irises. It's like someone injected black ink into my eyeballs, making them look like cartoon versions of the real thing, all black and white, no spotted brown-green to be seen. I look high. I'm not, I'm just dialated. I had my yearly eye exam this morning.
It's a good thing it's only a yearly exam. $680. I'm trying to imagine all the fun things I could do with $680 but it just makes me sick to my stomach. This does cover the exam, a year's worth of contacts, and a new pair of glasses (I haven't gotten new frames in three years). But when the nurse looked up at me over her rimless specs and exhaled the total at me, in a low whistle, I could no longer tell if it was the lack of being able to see clearly or the number that made me feel like vomiting and passing out all at once. I dumbly handed her my debit card. I was already playing out the phone call to my husband to explain why I spent that huge amount, but I couldn't come up with a good explanation even for myself, other than needing to see. Is needing to see worth $700? I suppose so.
Of course we can cover it, as long as no one spends any other money today or tomorrow until our paychecks are in. But I should have given her my credit card, just in case. I don't like having under $200 in the account, which is where we currently stand. It makes me nervous.
We have no Valentine's plans, thank goodness. We had brunch together yesterday instead, and when we left the bakery/cafe, they had a plate of freshly made red velvet cupcakes for sale, and we took 2 for after dinner tonight. It's a normal day other than the cupcakes (and the $700 bomb)-- work, gym, cook dinner, tv, and sleep. In the middle of all that, of course, is taking care of our puppies.
My parents lost their black lab a couple months ago. I suppose she was "mine" too. We got her as a puppy when I was 13. She was 15 this year, and her arthritis and old heart finally caught up to her. What a sweetheart, totally irreplaceable, my old Sammy girl. They still have two-- Beau, the clueless and laughable chocolate lab/great dane mix, about 8 years old, and Daisy, the lover and protector, a 2-year-old bassett hound mix. When I was a kid, we had Maxie, the first canine love of my life, a gray miniature schanuzer. She was super scary smart, loyal, and a big lap baby. She passed right before I left for college. My parents have always wanted another schnauzer but for a long time resisted because Maxie was such a one-of-a-kind dog. They are now thinking they may want to give it a go, but they're going to adopt from the shelter, which means it may be a mix, and they want to get an older dog, at least a full year.
When my husband comments on our dog's behavior (when they are bad, they are "my" dogs, not his), I can point to my parents to see where my affinity for having a houseful of furry creatures was born. They are such a comfort and bring so much joy. I am a huge proponent of adoption over buying pets, though. Unless you're showing, breeding (and they do that just fine on their own, not sure why they need our help), or maybe have a severe allergy, there is absolutely no reason to go after a "pure-bred" dog. In fact, mixes tend to have fewer health problems as a general rule. Maxie, a pure-bred, had some kind of weird itchy skin condition all her life, started having seizures at middle age, and went blind before she passed, all known issues with miniature schnauzers. Bub, on the other hand, my little terrier terror, had a luxating patella (his kneecap shifted) at age 7, but it was quickly fixed, and now he's fine. He's almost 9. Beau, other than eating strange things and making himself sick, which is attributable only to his lack of common sense and not breeding as there are many dumb pure-breds out there too, hasn't had any health problems. For a dog his size and his age, that's saying something.
The most important consideration for me, though, is the overpopulation of pets in our country. It depresses me to see the amount of animals that filter in and out of our local shelter every year-- people abandon their supposedly beloved pets every day. But they also never spay or neuter them, they jump fences and climb walls, and have millions of unneeded puppies and kittens every year, that the owners then just drop at the shelter, like a bag of unwanted old clothes. Add to that the cruel and idiotic puppy mill owners who breed, breed, breed the same female over and over again until the puppies hardly have a chance, born with weird defects and abnormalities. But they're sold to unsuspecting and equally idiotic buyers.
Bottom line-- if you want a pure-bred, for whatever reason, first try a rescue group. Every breed has them. Second, find a licensed breeder, check out their facilities, and even check their BBB rating. Do your due diligence. If you just want a dog that will love you and be your friend, go to the shelter, pick out a couple you like, ask lots of questions, play with them, take them for a walk, and take one home with you. They'll already be spayed or neutered and will probably be up to date on vaccinations too. You can't ask for much more than that.
This post turned into what I thought it would-- rambling. Please excuse typos, since I still can't see. I hope everyone is having a wonderful Valentine's day.
Friday, February 4, 2011
circles
Boone's circling again, chasing that mean ol' tail. You can tell when he's full of puppy spunk because he starts to put his butt into things, like Bub's face, my knee, anything that looks like it might play with him. He doesn't know his own strength though, in typical puppy fashion, and he's sat on poor Bub's head more than once. What Bub must think of us, having brought this crazy wild creature into our home. The tail is the last resort-- if no one else will play, there's always the trusty tail. It never goes away or says no, no.
I'm sitting at the gray formica kitchen counter (I hate it, I crave solid surface) waiting on a text from my husband. He should be leaving work right now, on his way to the gym, but we were invited to dinner with friends. Mexican. Although not really "Mexican," more a conglomeration of Mexican, Texan, and general Southeastern cuisine. In the Southeast, Mexican restaurants have a white cheese dip made from Asadero cheese that is so much tastier-- salty, naturally spicy, rich-- than other quesos. Oh, how I pined for that when we were living in London.
I hear a ripping noise and look over at Boone, now too near my couch. For a second I think he's tearing into my Granny's blue and pink handmade quilt, but no, he's got his rope toy laid in the floor, pulling strands between his teeth. This one has lasted a surprisingly long time-- a whole week now, and it's probably still got a week left in it. I've attracted his attention now, by coming over to look, and he wants to play. A couple tugs and he gets that "gotta go" look on his face, and it's out the back door. I wouldn't mind except it's pouring out, again, sleet and rain, which means I'll have to dry him off, again, in a few minutes, and with all that wound-up energy he thinks the towel is the most fun game ever. The goal? Leaving me as dirty as he was when he scratched at the door.
Phone rings. He had a late customer and is finishing up the paperwork. He sounds tired, haggard, worn down. He needs a new job, one that he loves. We used to say at least this one pays the bills, but with the downturn in sales, it's just barely doing that. But we're frugal. Even Mexican is only $20, and we need some socializing. Boone needs some socializing too. Maybe a walk in the park tomorrow, on my much-needed day off. That is if it's not still raining. Otherwise it'll just be tail-chasing on the rug.
I'm sitting at the gray formica kitchen counter (I hate it, I crave solid surface) waiting on a text from my husband. He should be leaving work right now, on his way to the gym, but we were invited to dinner with friends. Mexican. Although not really "Mexican," more a conglomeration of Mexican, Texan, and general Southeastern cuisine. In the Southeast, Mexican restaurants have a white cheese dip made from Asadero cheese that is so much tastier-- salty, naturally spicy, rich-- than other quesos. Oh, how I pined for that when we were living in London.
I hear a ripping noise and look over at Boone, now too near my couch. For a second I think he's tearing into my Granny's blue and pink handmade quilt, but no, he's got his rope toy laid in the floor, pulling strands between his teeth. This one has lasted a surprisingly long time-- a whole week now, and it's probably still got a week left in it. I've attracted his attention now, by coming over to look, and he wants to play. A couple tugs and he gets that "gotta go" look on his face, and it's out the back door. I wouldn't mind except it's pouring out, again, sleet and rain, which means I'll have to dry him off, again, in a few minutes, and with all that wound-up energy he thinks the towel is the most fun game ever. The goal? Leaving me as dirty as he was when he scratched at the door.
Phone rings. He had a late customer and is finishing up the paperwork. He sounds tired, haggard, worn down. He needs a new job, one that he loves. We used to say at least this one pays the bills, but with the downturn in sales, it's just barely doing that. But we're frugal. Even Mexican is only $20, and we need some socializing. Boone needs some socializing too. Maybe a walk in the park tomorrow, on my much-needed day off. That is if it's not still raining. Otherwise it'll just be tail-chasing on the rug.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
sweet vices
Apparently I can no longer function without coffee in the morning.
I blame it on my husband-- he bent to my whim and bought me a Keurig coffee maker for Christmas. I suppose I did twist his arm pretty hard, ohhing and ahhing every time the commercial came on tv. To be able to make one cup at a time (because we never needed more than two on a random Sunday), to have all those different flavors and brews there waiting, trying something new every time....
I do love coffee. I fell in love with it when we were living in London; the stuff over there in Europe, like most everything else, is so much better. So much more real and natural and flavorful. Why do Americans water down and pasteurize and muck up everything? Don't even mention American cheese to me. I'll take a French brie or an English Roquefort any day. And bread? We make "Wonder;" they make fresh loafs of ciabatta and foccacia and rye. The saddest part is that most Americans have no idea what they're missing.
There's a coffee shop on Charing Cross Road down near Leicester Square in London, Caffe Vergnano 1882. It's been almost 5 years, but in my mind's eye I could lead you there, down the windy road, past the Tesco, several theaters, and used book stores. You can smell it as you walk, the bitter richness of coffee mixed with the sweet smell of chocolate and cream. They pour their brews into large glass mugs or squat ceramic cups, an inch of froth on the top of each, from the giant chrome dome-shaped brewer on their counter. Order a mocha or a hot chocolate and they stencil 1882 in chocolate powder across the foam. What I wouldn't give for one of those right now.
I started ordering my coffee black then and continue to drink it black even though until my Keurig I couldn't find a decent tasting coffee to save my life. Even the Starbucks over there tasted better than anything you can get here, or so I thought. The Keurig has reminded me what good coffee should taste like-- rich, strong, slightly bitter but also smooth, smoky or chocolaty depending on the brew. Today I had a Kona extra-bold blend, which was very smooth and light, lighter than what I would usually pick, but good for a change. My favorites so far have been the Green Mountain French Roast and the Caribou Mahogany. I'm almost out and plan on shopping for some more varieties tonight.
The last few days I have been tired at work after lunch, and I think it's because I was refraining from a cup of coffee in the morning. Today I had a cup and am feeling much more awake. I'm torn between worrying that I should cut back (I don't like to be on anything, from caffeine to alcohol to medicine-- it's a control issue) and thinking that I don't allow myself much, so I should at least allow myself to indulge in one relatively harmless thing I enjoy-- a good, rich, dark cup of black coffee.
I blame it on my husband-- he bent to my whim and bought me a Keurig coffee maker for Christmas. I suppose I did twist his arm pretty hard, ohhing and ahhing every time the commercial came on tv. To be able to make one cup at a time (because we never needed more than two on a random Sunday), to have all those different flavors and brews there waiting, trying something new every time....
I do love coffee. I fell in love with it when we were living in London; the stuff over there in Europe, like most everything else, is so much better. So much more real and natural and flavorful. Why do Americans water down and pasteurize and muck up everything? Don't even mention American cheese to me. I'll take a French brie or an English Roquefort any day. And bread? We make "Wonder;" they make fresh loafs of ciabatta and foccacia and rye. The saddest part is that most Americans have no idea what they're missing.
There's a coffee shop on Charing Cross Road down near Leicester Square in London, Caffe Vergnano 1882. It's been almost 5 years, but in my mind's eye I could lead you there, down the windy road, past the Tesco, several theaters, and used book stores. You can smell it as you walk, the bitter richness of coffee mixed with the sweet smell of chocolate and cream. They pour their brews into large glass mugs or squat ceramic cups, an inch of froth on the top of each, from the giant chrome dome-shaped brewer on their counter. Order a mocha or a hot chocolate and they stencil 1882 in chocolate powder across the foam. What I wouldn't give for one of those right now.
I started ordering my coffee black then and continue to drink it black even though until my Keurig I couldn't find a decent tasting coffee to save my life. Even the Starbucks over there tasted better than anything you can get here, or so I thought. The Keurig has reminded me what good coffee should taste like-- rich, strong, slightly bitter but also smooth, smoky or chocolaty depending on the brew. Today I had a Kona extra-bold blend, which was very smooth and light, lighter than what I would usually pick, but good for a change. My favorites so far have been the Green Mountain French Roast and the Caribou Mahogany. I'm almost out and plan on shopping for some more varieties tonight.
The last few days I have been tired at work after lunch, and I think it's because I was refraining from a cup of coffee in the morning. Today I had a cup and am feeling much more awake. I'm torn between worrying that I should cut back (I don't like to be on anything, from caffeine to alcohol to medicine-- it's a control issue) and thinking that I don't allow myself much, so I should at least allow myself to indulge in one relatively harmless thing I enjoy-- a good, rich, dark cup of black coffee.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
weekend
I bought my dad a grateful journal for Christmas as a stocking stuffer. My mom told me that she's seen him with it a couple times. I'm hoping that he's actually writing; it would do him so much good. He also found an old diet cookbook while cleaning out my grandmother's kitchen, one devoted solely to eating to improve your serotonin levels. He's been on an SSRI for years and recently his doctor told him that his medicine is helping him to gain weight as it increases his desire for sweets and simple carbs. He's near 300 pounds now. So this cookbook has become his new Bible. He spent all weekend telling me about it and about how he's already lost 2 pounds and thinks this will not only help him lose weight but also improve his serotonin naturally. Here's hoping.
I was in a bad mood last night, but I chose to be happy. I forced a smile onto my face, I skipped to the door to let the dogs out, I hummed a tune, and I planned a good meal for my husband (shrimp paella). At first I felt stupid and unnatural, but then I forgot I was forcing myself and was just happy. It was a revelation. I'm forcing myself again now. If it wasn't for this migraine I've been fighting for three days, it would be working a lot more quickly.
We had more snow over the weekend here than we've had in 20-something years. Over 6 inches on Sunday night, and it still hasn't melted. I worked from home on Monday, but I took some time to go outside and play with my husband and my dogs. Here are some pictures:
I was in a bad mood last night, but I chose to be happy. I forced a smile onto my face, I skipped to the door to let the dogs out, I hummed a tune, and I planned a good meal for my husband (shrimp paella). At first I felt stupid and unnatural, but then I forgot I was forcing myself and was just happy. It was a revelation. I'm forcing myself again now. If it wasn't for this migraine I've been fighting for three days, it would be working a lot more quickly.
We had more snow over the weekend here than we've had in 20-something years. Over 6 inches on Sunday night, and it still hasn't melted. I worked from home on Monday, but I took some time to go outside and play with my husband and my dogs. Here are some pictures:
Thursday, January 6, 2011
distant as the milky way
I woke up in a terrible mood. I've been grinding my teeth at night (I do that when I'm stressed; the last time I was doing it this badly was when we were living in London, barely scraping by financially, I was neck-deep in my graduate dissertation, and my grandfather was back in the States dying of cancer). This type of clenching and grinding eventually works its way down my neck and into my shoulders. My teeth feel misaligned already, and I'm just waiting for the morning that I wake up and can't turn my head. It's happened before, I feel certain it will happen again. Only a matter of time.
I digress.
So I woke up in pain, again, and when my iPhone alarm went off, I noticed I had several unread emails from overnight. One of these was from a particularly angry customer. I spent the rest of the morning agonizing over having to once again come to work and fight these uphill battles, extinguishing fires only to turn around and find more, no rest or respite from the war.
I'm thankful for music today, for the healing and uplifting power it has. Stevie Wonder sang My Cherie Amour over the radio waves just for me this morning, and one can't help but feel happy listening to that song. It encouraged me to keep the good feeling going, so I put on a song that always gives me energy to face anything-- American Girl by the Heartbreakers. By the time it was over, I was at the office, had finished my cup of coffee, and was feeling much better. Well, minus the teeth.
My husband got his Christmas bonus today, finally. We had started to get worried though the boss kept promising it was coming. Enough to cover the windshield we had to buy when mine got cracked by a rouge rock, and no less than last year's bonus, but not enough to make either of us jump for joy. His pay is mostly commission based, and though when he started he was making a good amount, he actually pulled in less than me this year. I'm grateful that even though we're pulling in a good $15k less than we were two years ago, we're still able to live a steady and pretty comfortable life. Thank goodness for our levelheadedness.
But seeing how little we're making also brought to mind all the less stressful jobs we could be doing for the same amount of money. He could be working at his favorite upscale men's clothing store (the man is a clothes horse, so good at dressing others, and he loved working there in college though that was only part-time), and I could be working at a local art gallery. We would both be on the town square, we could eat lunch together, people in town would see us around and think "where do I know them from..." the way we do with people we think of as town characters, or townies, and we would be more fulfilled and less stressed. Alas, neither of those places is hiring, just like everywhere else, and even if they were, I highly doubt that it would be as perfect as I imagine. No where is. Not to mention how painful the ripping off of my current job band aid would be. Ouch.
I have a favorite massage therapist in town, and I need to get in to see him. His next appointment outside my work hours isn't until Tuesday, though. He's gotten too popular. I guess I should have kept my mouth shut about him. But I am glad to see he's succeeding and thankful that at least someone is doing well in this economy. I wonder if I called him if he could sneak me in. I guess it's worth a try.
I digress.
So I woke up in pain, again, and when my iPhone alarm went off, I noticed I had several unread emails from overnight. One of these was from a particularly angry customer. I spent the rest of the morning agonizing over having to once again come to work and fight these uphill battles, extinguishing fires only to turn around and find more, no rest or respite from the war.
I'm thankful for music today, for the healing and uplifting power it has. Stevie Wonder sang My Cherie Amour over the radio waves just for me this morning, and one can't help but feel happy listening to that song. It encouraged me to keep the good feeling going, so I put on a song that always gives me energy to face anything-- American Girl by the Heartbreakers. By the time it was over, I was at the office, had finished my cup of coffee, and was feeling much better. Well, minus the teeth.
My husband got his Christmas bonus today, finally. We had started to get worried though the boss kept promising it was coming. Enough to cover the windshield we had to buy when mine got cracked by a rouge rock, and no less than last year's bonus, but not enough to make either of us jump for joy. His pay is mostly commission based, and though when he started he was making a good amount, he actually pulled in less than me this year. I'm grateful that even though we're pulling in a good $15k less than we were two years ago, we're still able to live a steady and pretty comfortable life. Thank goodness for our levelheadedness.
But seeing how little we're making also brought to mind all the less stressful jobs we could be doing for the same amount of money. He could be working at his favorite upscale men's clothing store (the man is a clothes horse, so good at dressing others, and he loved working there in college though that was only part-time), and I could be working at a local art gallery. We would both be on the town square, we could eat lunch together, people in town would see us around and think "where do I know them from..." the way we do with people we think of as town characters, or townies, and we would be more fulfilled and less stressed. Alas, neither of those places is hiring, just like everywhere else, and even if they were, I highly doubt that it would be as perfect as I imagine. No where is. Not to mention how painful the ripping off of my current job band aid would be. Ouch.
I have a favorite massage therapist in town, and I need to get in to see him. His next appointment outside my work hours isn't until Tuesday, though. He's gotten too popular. I guess I should have kept my mouth shut about him. But I am glad to see he's succeeding and thankful that at least someone is doing well in this economy. I wonder if I called him if he could sneak me in. I guess it's worth a try.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
I've decided I need to pick the grateful posts back up. I can't commit to a day. I may not even make it to this once a week. They probably won't always be in the same format either. These thoughts are always in mind even if they're not on "paper" here, but the act of putting them down in writing does my soul good. And with the end of the year quickly approaching, I feel it's best to end on a high note.
There seems to be a lot circling lately, like something big is coming. The universe seems to be preparing me for something. I have no idea what; I can't even point to exactly what I mean. Maybe it's just a feeling or an intuition. Maybe it's that I feel a need for a change. Something has to give sometime.
I'm tired of talking about and thinking about work. When I was young, I thought I'd make something big out of myself, that I'd become a magazine editor and create beautiful pages, or that I'd write awe-inspiring articles for some big newspaper. Life took such a toll on me, between my family's problems and the pressure I put on myself, that I gave up trying. I took the easy way out, the art history route, that required no more than me putting my nose in a book and visiting quiet, peaceful museums. The thought of it now lulls me into a peaceful state. I fought so hard for so much of my early life, fought for myself and for women and for animals, fought against people who'd rather I didn't exist, who'd rather continue to step on me and those I stood for on their way up, that eventually I did feel trampled and squashed. So I gave up and retreated into myself. I see it now, though at the time I thought I was just doing what was best for me. I guess it was what was best for me, but I feel like I also cheated myself out of what could have been an amazing, if trying and stressful, life.
The annoying part is that despite me running from positions of power, they somehow keep getting thrust upon me. This office looks to me for guidance now, and I feel no more suited to that than I would to swimming in the Olympics or figuring complex math equations. I'm out of place. I'm torn as well, because I feel cheated, like if I was going to be this stressed out, it could have at least been for something that I cared about, some cause or career that I wanted, rather than one I fell into unintentionally. And if a stressful yet worthy career was something I wanted to avoid, why can't I actually do that and find something peaceful that I can do?
It's not that I don't care about my work. I care about the people here and about making this work so we all succeed, so we can make enough money to do the fun things in life without worrying about paying bills, so that we can make a difference in the lives of our customers. But running a company is stressful, and our customers half the time are jerks. I keep coming back because of my coworkers, because I care about them. If it wasn't for them, I would have been gone a long time ago. I am grateful for them. I'm also grateful for the lessons this job has taught me, like management skills, communication skills (HR will do that, quick), patience, and even more empathy and understanding, though I thought I had no more room left for that.
I'm grateful for this trying and stressful year. It didn't kill me, so it must have made me stronger.
There seems to be a lot circling lately, like something big is coming. The universe seems to be preparing me for something. I have no idea what; I can't even point to exactly what I mean. Maybe it's just a feeling or an intuition. Maybe it's that I feel a need for a change. Something has to give sometime.
I'm tired of talking about and thinking about work. When I was young, I thought I'd make something big out of myself, that I'd become a magazine editor and create beautiful pages, or that I'd write awe-inspiring articles for some big newspaper. Life took such a toll on me, between my family's problems and the pressure I put on myself, that I gave up trying. I took the easy way out, the art history route, that required no more than me putting my nose in a book and visiting quiet, peaceful museums. The thought of it now lulls me into a peaceful state. I fought so hard for so much of my early life, fought for myself and for women and for animals, fought against people who'd rather I didn't exist, who'd rather continue to step on me and those I stood for on their way up, that eventually I did feel trampled and squashed. So I gave up and retreated into myself. I see it now, though at the time I thought I was just doing what was best for me. I guess it was what was best for me, but I feel like I also cheated myself out of what could have been an amazing, if trying and stressful, life.
The annoying part is that despite me running from positions of power, they somehow keep getting thrust upon me. This office looks to me for guidance now, and I feel no more suited to that than I would to swimming in the Olympics or figuring complex math equations. I'm out of place. I'm torn as well, because I feel cheated, like if I was going to be this stressed out, it could have at least been for something that I cared about, some cause or career that I wanted, rather than one I fell into unintentionally. And if a stressful yet worthy career was something I wanted to avoid, why can't I actually do that and find something peaceful that I can do?
It's not that I don't care about my work. I care about the people here and about making this work so we all succeed, so we can make enough money to do the fun things in life without worrying about paying bills, so that we can make a difference in the lives of our customers. But running a company is stressful, and our customers half the time are jerks. I keep coming back because of my coworkers, because I care about them. If it wasn't for them, I would have been gone a long time ago. I am grateful for them. I'm also grateful for the lessons this job has taught me, like management skills, communication skills (HR will do that, quick), patience, and even more empathy and understanding, though I thought I had no more room left for that.
I'm grateful for this trying and stressful year. It didn't kill me, so it must have made me stronger.
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