Falling back in time

There are things that will suddenly throw me back in time. A certain scent, maybe the feel of the weather that morning, maybe seeing something I haven't stumble upon for a while, all these things play at my subconscious. Maybe it's that, after a bit more than a year of so many changes, I am now looking at the anniversary of these events. Some were small at the time, but have become important; some were important at that moment and remain that way. Some were pieces of a larger puzzle that is still coming together.

It's not deja vu. No, these are actual memories, coming back to remind me. There is no vagueness about what I am feeling when this rush of emotional memory comes over me. It is there, so very real. My mind is throwing me around in time, pushing me towards the past for a short while.

I both love and somewhat dread these moments. I feel these moments so deeply, I may even gasp. When I feel those emotions, my mind adds to the memory, once I have allowed it to enter. ("Wasn't it colder that night?" it whispers. "No, that happened one street over," it may remind me.) Many of these memories are good things, but they're also reminders that I've moved on. There may be reminders in my path, but I am still going forward.

Do you get these moments? Are you ever overwhelmed by memory? I think have had more lately because of all of the changes this past year. When you live in the same place for six years, you can't remember when it was that certain moments occurred: was it a year ago? Four? There have been many springs, many falls, it's hard to remember which holiday it was. But last year at this time, I was living somewhere else (although in the same neighborhood). It's still fairly close, still clear. My life was at a different place. And when I walk to work these days, past the places I've been passing this year, spring in the air again, the sun rising earlier and earlier, I get this rush of the feelings from last year. They're good but I remember wondering, what's up ahead? How will the story turn out? Will everything be alright?

Everything is alright. The story is still unfolding. The path ahead looks amazing, but it will probably be even better than I could imagine. Isn't that just the best?!

Close your eyes

I'm not so tough. I like to think I am. I like to think that I am self-contained, that I don't need to know what you think. But I do care, probably more than I should. I am thinking about this as I prepare to send some of my writing off in a competition. I will be judged. No, I remind myself, this bit of writing will be judged. I will still be me; I will be fine. But the writing, yes, will be read and evaluated.

I have been surrounded by so much support. I am so thankful for that. I wouldn't have even gotten to this point without the encouragement and positive thoughts. This is a gift and I know it. I treasure it.

But I am fearing the "thanks for playing" letter. Or, even worse, the silence. (Oh, I hate the silence. "Did you read it?" I wonder. Is it so bad you want to pretend it's not even there? I try not to think that.) Maybe you've been busy (I hope.) Maybe someone decided to submit an old Salinger story that he wrote with Updike back in the day. Yeah, that must be it; no way to compete with that.

I need to be brave and just do it. I am amazed by those who submit all the time. Those who take their words and put it out there: here you go; tell me what you think. That is a place I am not at just yet. But I am here: ready to close my eyes and jump.

The blank page

I suppose that it's not really a page nor is it truly blank. After all, there's all these formatting tools, the buttons that allow one to publish, to delete, to start over. (Don't we wish we had these for all parts of our lives? Wouldn't those be useful tools? But that's not what today's post is about.) Today I am thinking about writing. What I need to do to get those words on the paper (or the electrons rearranged in cyberspace, as it were.)

Clearly, I am not the most dedicated blogger. I have had periods that I've forced myself to write in the blog, which has been good for me, but lately I am blogging when I feel the need and/or desire. Sometimes it's just a matter of having the time and a subject at hand, so I go at it. I do feel like I'm ignoring the blog somewhat these days. That isn't to say I haven't been writing. In fact, I've been writing more than ever these past few months. Just not here. I've been keeping a journal, writing letters and notes, writing fiction even. And let's not forget that I get my paycheck from being a writer.

I read this today: "It is so easy to be virtuous, to be perfect, upon paper." It's from the book I'm reading for book club ("Deerbrook"). Frankly, I find that to be the opposite. Perfection on paper is so difficult. The words can be arranged in so many ways, and, even if you think you may have it right, then they can be interpretted so many more ways, ways the writer never intended. ("When I said that I love chocolate pudding, this didn't mean that I didn't like the pie that was served at dinner last night!") And virtue, well, I'm not even sure how that can be put on paper and not in the mind of the reader. Can a writer really defend her own virtue if the reader doesn't believe in it?

I find I struggle with the starting of any document. I might have a bit of an idea but sometimes it's hard to determine the best way to get to it. Do I jump right in or do I let it unfold? How long do I leave the reader hanging, wondering what the point of all of this could be? Sometimes I don't even have an idea, just an itch to write. Sometimes I just have to dive in and hope the words flow and come together and make something.

Finishing is difficult as well. Not so much with the blog posts, but with other things. Does it need another edit? Do I need to expand here? Do I go on too long over here? Is this story making any sense to another but me? No, seriously, I probably need to edit it again. Well, maybe it's over-edited now. How do you know?

Writing still scares me and thrills me. I feel like it's a new room that I'm still exploring. I want to get better at it, I want to develop my voice. I want to be ready to fill the blank page.

OMG! 4COL, YMMV. (LOL)

I went to a concert the other night. It was an excellent concert in a lovely venue: not boring at all. But, as it happens these days, I made an observation that makes me feel like I should have my grey hair up in a bun, one hand on my cane, the other cletched in a fist as a shake it, hollering, "These kids todays! Get off of my lawn!" Because, seriously, can't you put away the phone for the three hours during a concert?

Seriously, why all the texting at a concert?

When I was a kid, we didn't have all these fancy devices to keep in touch with everyone constantly. When we went to a concert, we kind of had to pay attention to the guys on stage and/or the people we came with. That was it. You were stuck with those choices, not that this was a bad thing. There's nothing wrong with waiting until the next day to call your best friend and tell her all about the awesome concert you saw last night. Why must you tell someone right that very minute you are at a concert? Are we tweeting the concert? Does your immediate opinion matter that much? And, please, if you must text, please, please turn off your screen light, because those flashes of light are just damn annoying.

And maybe it's none of my business, but when there is a very clear announcement informing you that photography is not allowed, and then, the minute the lights come down, there is a row of folks in front of you lifting their cell phones and snapping away, why don't the ushers do anything aout it? It just annoys the crap out of me. You're in Row Z! Seriously, if you need a picture of the band playing, there are hundreds of them on-line, most much closer and better quality than you could every hope to get. Just put the phone away and enjoy yourself for a few minutes.

Hey baby, are you free tonight?

During the past week, all that snow from those storms last month really started melting. And that was when I discovered my formerly-always-been-dry basement wasn't always so very dry. Not that there was a lot of water, but just enough to make a path of the carpet damp. Not a huge issue but an issue that was going to have to be addressed.

And a couple days after that, it was obvious that the previous owners had cats.

Clearly, the carpet had to go. As soon as possible. The phone calls to the contractors began. Here's the thing with contractors. Remember how when you were in your 20s and there was this completely hot guy that you were just hoping and praying would ask you out. And if he did call you, you'd be ready whenever he wanted you. Pick you up in an hour? Sure, you'd be there. 10 o'clock at night at that place across town? Let me grab my purse. When you're a homeowner, contractors are That Guy. He's got one appointment this week between noon and 1: you'll drop everything to be there. Although, in all fairness, these contractors have come through for me. A swear, two minutes after he hauled away the carpet, the house already smelled better. (If he's smart, he'll hold on to that carpet and, if someone's not paying him on time, just threaten to leave it in their house.)

When these things happen, you just have to be grateful when things get back to normal. I was so happy when my house stopped smelling like cat pee. It just smells like my house again! And now I get to trust a guy who's real name is Stony to keep my basement dry.

Keep calm and carry on

The tests are back and all is (basically) well. This is good news. I still have a cough and have to see a pulmonary guy, but nothing serious. I have some small nodules and some scar tissue on my lungs, but these things show up on these sorts of scans, nothing to worry about. I'm probably more relieved than I am willing to admit.

I know I made a big deal about all of this, especially in my head, as I am prone to do, but there was always this nagging voice pointing out that some people do have bad things happen. Sometimes that weird thing on the x-ray that's probably nothing turns out to be something.

As I was in the CT machine, I was thinking to myself that this could be one of those before and after moments. I felt it was important to remember all of the details: going in and out of the machine, the little cartoon faces that light up to tell you when to hold your breath, when to breath again, that soothing male voice, counting down. I was thinking, "Today I am 'normal'; maybe tomorrow I'll have something."

I know I did a lot of worry for nothing, that there are people getting these scans who have obvious masses on their x-rays or can barely breathe. I can't imagine how terrifying that must be. I'm sure they are hoping that maybe that first x-ray was wrong, maybe the tech spilled something on it. They hope that it could at least be something they could fight, something that could be held at bay for a few years.

Luckily, now I'm off to less scary types of testing: blowing in tubes, a scratch here and there. I know that some day I will be faced with the bad results from a test. I'm just glad that today wasn't that day.

Abnormal

The doctor says that I have a "prominence in [my] hilum on the left side." I'm not sure what this means. He says that it's probably nothing, maybe just the way I'm built. He wants me to get another test done. He tells me I shouldn't be worried, but, of course, I am. If you want to convince me that it's nothing, don't send me for more tests. I asked him to spell "hilum" (I can hear him thinking, "oh no, not the internet" over the phone.) I am shaking and crying a little bit. How can I not worry? He tells me that they didn't see any mass, that that's when I should worry. He tries to assure me with logic, but logic isn't going to win right now.

When I get off the phone, I'm crying. I don't want to be crying and worrying, but here I am. I'm mad at myself, upset that I'm so weak, so reactive. I google, as one does. Everything matches what the doctor says but that word, it does show up now and then. I need to stop researching. I guess I'm looking for that site that will say, "It's never cancer; it's never anything bad. In fact, people who have these usually go on to win the lottery and retire in France. And you're pretty." I do not find that site.

Everyone around me is supportive, echoing what the doctor said. Reminding me that the doctor said not to worry. Not telling me that this is silliness, overreacting to one x-ray. I appreciate it all so much. I keep telling myself that it's nothing. I have nothing to worry about. "But..." that voice in my head whispers (shouts!) Shut up, voice. I have too much to do. But then I wonder: am I coughing more today? Is that a new pain in my chest?

For now, I've made my follow-up appointment and I am trying to put it out of my head until then. I'm sure it will be fine, but, yes, I'm also sure I'll be worrying some.

A rip in the very fabric of time and space

Honestly, the only thing that makes sense to me is that I have a black hole. Wait, let me back up for a minute. Lately, I have noticed that things are disappearing from my house. Not major things, not even particularly valuable things, but, yeah, things seem to *poof* just disappear. Okay, I'll admit it, I may not be the most organized person in the world. I do have a tendency to "pile" things. But, seriously, some of this stuff has just disappeared.

Currently missing is some stationary I recently bought (oh, it's so cute, with little Chinese figures on it), a beige sweater (and I looked good in it), and this purse I use for traveling (it's the perfect size and has a million little pockets -- so useful on trips). And these are just the things I know about. I'm sure if I ever find this black hole, I'll also find a few pairs of sunglasses, tape, and an umbrella.

I also think the black hole likes to play with me. The other day I lost a book of stamps. I know I had them around a few days earlier and I looked and looked for them. Could not find them anywhere. And then a couple of days ago: oh, look, there they are. And I wasn't even looking for them. The black hole also loves to play the battery switch game: you know this one. It takes all the AA batteries but leaves behind a bunch of AAA's. But then you go to the store, buy the AA's, look in the battery drawer and you have a pile of AA's but no AAA's. Why am I hearing laughing?

Oh, black hole, please return the purse and the stationary. I'll let you keep the sweater and the sunglasses.

Every day you see one more card

We've all been there: the waiting room of the doctor's office. And, look, I totally understand that emergencies happen, that sometimes there needs to be a patient squeezed into an already booked-up day. I get it. And I really don't mind a reasonable wait. I have my book, I'll be okay. But if you're running more than an hour behind, you got to call the patients with the later appointments and tell them, hey, you can come in a little late. Or maybe reschedule.

Yesterday I had a doctor's appointment. I was there early, as I was a new patient and was told to be there 15 minutes early. I had filled out the paperwork they sent me ahead of time. I took note of the signs that made it clear: (a) you sure as hell better cancel at least 24 hours ahead of time or they will charge you for the appointment and (b) you better not use your cell phone, eat, or drink in the waiting room. So, I pulled out my book and started to wait. And wait. Now, I just want to point out that no one said anything about the doctor running behind or anything like that. Nope. Not a word. After 45 minutes, I asked about what was going on. Maybe they forgot me or something. I had seen a couple of people come in after me that were already called back. No, they didn't forget me, sorry, the doctor is running behind. How far behind? "We're doing our best." Is that really the answer to the question?

After over an hour, they ask me if I'm willing to go to another doctor in the practice, because the guy I was supposed to see was still not available. So, let me get this straight, he's over an hour behind already and it's not like it's going to be soon, so that means he's got to be about an hour and a half behind schedule. At least. And no one could bother to tell me? And I can't use my cell phone to call someone in case I actually had plans or something. (By the way, I did use my cell phone because they can suck it!)

Like I said, I understand emergencies, that sort of thing. But I have a cell phone and you have the number: call me and say, hey, we're running behind. I can come in a half hour late. Or, if nothing else, tell me when I check in, so I'm not getting more and more pissed off as I wait and wait and have no idea what's going on. My time is valuable as well. I'm there because I'm sick. Just give me a little bit of respect.

I'm not sure why it's so acceptable for doctors to get away with this sort of behavior. I'm sure if I showed up an hour late, they would be, well, you missed your appointment. Sorry about that. And, oh, yeah, you still owe us the copay.

Maybe next time, I'll charge them my hourly rate. (Oh, that sounds dirty!)

Snow Day!

You may not have heard, but the Washington, DC, area is getting a little bit of snow. This past round has actually been two storms: one that started on Friday and one that's going on now. I'm nervous about the sheer amount of snow (can my roof really hold all that?), but there is an upside: snow days!

They sent us home early on Friday, and I'm willing to bet we're not going back in until Friday at the soonest. If we get Friday off, with President's Day weekend, this may be the longest stretch I've had off work in over seven years. Nice! I like my job and all, but the break has been very good. We had enough warning with these storms (props to the forecasters who have been spot on this winter!) so that we could stock up on everything we need and hunker down. We just hope that the power, internet, and cable (in that order) hold up through all of this.

So with all this time off, have a done a thorough house-cleaning, organized all my receipts, wrote (and edited) another novel? No. Frankly, haven't done too much of anything, but that's alright. These are bonus days. Days that I can just let happen. Yesterday there was a lull between the storms, so we used it as an excuse to just go for a walk. (A side note: the grocery store was more picked-over than I had even seen. I wanted to get some potatoes and there weren't any. None! No potatoes!) Today I took advantage of the tv reception we had this morning to watch mindless shows. Now that the snow's piled up, I'll have to rely on DVDs.

Well, I better post this before we lose the internet as well. It's going to be a while, digging out of all of this. If you have snow days, I hope you're enjoying them. Be safe and stay warm.

Letter to a Seventh Grade Teacher

Dear Mr. Mills,

I'm not sure if you'll remember me but I sure as heck remember you. You weren't my homeroom teacher, but you taught me science, math, and reading -- was it just a coincidence that these were my favorite subjects? But seventh grade, well, that wasn't a great year for me. In fact, I kind of hated it. But you were a bright spot in the year. Your classes were interesting and fun. I remember learning so much in your classes: the names of all the bones, geometry, that "a lot" is two words, the words to "You're so Vain." Looking back on it, it seems like the things I learned in your classes are things that I'm using all the time.

I remember that you used to let Wendy and me hang out and talk with you before school started. You probably got stuck listening to a lot of conversations about Nadia Comaneci (who I was completely obsessed with that year) and "Laverne and Shirley", but you never acted like we were boring kids. You'd actually talk to us. Ask us questions about ourselves.

At the end of the school year you signed my "autograph book" (I think we all got these cheap, little books at the end of the year to collect our classmates thoughts about us. You know, a lot of "2 good 2 be 4 gotten.") I don't remember exactly what you wrote, but you tried to encourage me. You told me that you thought everything would be alright, that I had talents and a bright future ahead. I remember at the time not quite believing it, but I was glad that you wrote it.

Anyway, I wanted to write and you and tell you that I turned out okay. Better than okay, actually. I'll always remember how you encouraged me. When I tried to reinvent myself in the 8th grade, I had the words you wrote to push me along. It probably wasn't much to you, but it meant the world to me. It was the first step to the rest of my life. And you helped give me the confidence to take those steps.

What I really want to say is: thank you. You probably didn't hear that enough, especially from a bunch of 7th graders. I know it's late in coming, I know you probably won't read this, but thank you, anyway.

So, Mr. Mills, wherever you are: thank you. So very much.

The unknown future rolls toward us

I am trying to get ready to step into the darkness. I am gathering writing together to be submitted into a contest. I am preparing to be judged. And it is really scaring me.

The thing is, I really feel I need to take this step. Please don't give me the argument that I am just writing for myself. Sure, on some level that's true. But if it were really true, well, I'd be keeping a diary, with a request that it be destroyed if something were to happen to me. The fact is I'm writing this blog: I want readers. But I want happy, friendly readers. Readers that just tell me how funny and brilliant I am.

But that's the easy way, isn't it? Now is the time for me to put it out there, at least at some level. It's time to scrape together some pieces that are inside of me, put them on paper, and hand them over to a stranger and say, "well, what do you think?" It's a bit like falling in love: you have to put yourself out there and hope that the other person won't reject it. And, like falling in love, I have to know that no matter what happens, I'll be alright. That I'll be a bit richer for the experience.

This modern world

As most of you know, I'm on Facebook. And like most of us on Facebook, you have a variety of "friends": you have your close friends, you have your family (Hi Mom!), you have work friends, college buddies, those friends of friends. I try to keep my number of friends reasonable, to people I actually communicate with now and again. Usually when I friend someone (funny how "friend" became a verb), there's that brief burst of communication when we first make contact ("Hey, tell me about your life!"), a few back and forth emails, but then you just watch the status updates. If something major happens, well, you might post something on their wall or send them an email. That's all you need, that's all you expect.

A while ago I friended a guy from high school. He was a senior when I was a freshman. He was always friendly, always funny. I remember him as this positive force. Just the kind of guy you always felt you could go to if you needed someone.

Shortly after I friended him, we did the email exchange and these were just some of the sweetest emails you'd ever read. He told me about how happy he was with his life. When he described his girlfriend, it was with so much love. And he was a great friend to have on Facebook: good status updates, no invites to join "Farmtown" or whatever ridiculous game was popular that month. So, although we weren't close in high school, I was glad I put out that friend invite and he accepted.

A few months ago I noticed that he hadn't had any updates for a while. I didn't think much of it. These things happen; people fall off of Facebook. But just out of curiosity, I stopped by his page, and there was a notice from his girlfriend: he had passed away suddenly about a month before.

I was shocked. I didn't even know how to react. Do I cry? Do I cry over someone I haven't seen in over 25 years? A few emails, that's all we exchanged, but this really hit me. I suppose this is part of this modern life: the death of a Facebook friend. I'm glad his page still exists. I know that one day it will be gone, and it will hit me again, the day I notice it's gone.

Will this be how we learn our friends are gone? My parents read the obituary pages, but I don't. I don't read the local papers; I don't know anyone who does -- how would I know if something happened to that buddy from college? I don't know if I like this modern world. Not for this.

John, you are missed.

Get out the fork

This is a follow-up to the 5-year plan post as well as a bit of a response to Vaguery (hey, shout out!)

I am realizing that, as important it is to plan, it is also important to actual do. Not to say to go in without a goal (that would be silly), but maybe to stop having goals so far away that they feel like they'll never arrive. Or at least, not to have them as the only goals.

I need short-term goals. The goals I can achieve in a few months, or, at the most, less than a year. These are the scary ones. If I have something that occurs 5 years away and a year goes by where I didn't get any closer, whatever -- I still have 4 more years to get it done. If I set a 3-month goal, while it's a "smaller" goal, those 3 months go fast. So, if I plan to "write a book" in 5 years, no problem; if I have to produce 50 pages of writing by the end of April: gulp!

I've always been an "eating-the-elephant" kind of gal. You know, one bite at a time. I need to break down my projects into the bites. I get overwhelmed too easily. Although I think I'm better at breaking down the goals at work; I probably give work goals too much importance. I need to tell myself that my personal goals, my life, is really just as important. Maybe even more important. I have spent too much time over the past few weeks thinking about planning, about doing. I need to start chewing. Because that elephant, she ain't getting any smaller.

Like the French philosopher RuPaul said, "Girl, you better work."

2015

I have been thinking about 5-year plans. Anyone who's every had a job in business or a bigger company knows about 5-year plans. Now, I think that 5-year plans at work are a joke. Let me clarify: it's good to have a 5-year plan for your career; it's stupid to share them at work.

Okay, here are the problems I have with the work 5-year plan:

1) You pretty much have to always lie. After all, what are your options:

(a) I want the same job (which will be interpretted as, "I have no ambition.")

(b) I want *your* job (which, of course, is threatening to some managers.)

(c) I want a completely different job (which comes down to, "then why are you here?")

(d) I want to be retired (see "c")

(e) Anything but this (once again, see "c")

(f) Seriously, I have no idea (which is interpretted as being without direction.)

So what you have to submit is a version of "I want a slightly better job than what I have now (which conveys a certain amount of ambition but not enough to be threatening to you, oh manager of mine)." Ideally, you should need a small amount of training that you can do without interferring with your current workload.

2) You may be held to it. Let's say you think you might want to get additional training, like a degree or something along those lines. Maybe you think you'd like to get your MBA. So, you put it on your 5-year plan. And maybe you take a course at night (or on-line or whatever) and you know what? It's just taking too much time from your *life*. You'd rather go out and watch bad movies with your friends. Or play Mafia Wars on Facebook. Or whatever. Just not work on a degree. But then it's two years later and you're being asked by your manager what the progress is. And you have to say, oh, nothing. Bad employee!

Or maybe you think you want to be a manager, but then after you learn a bit more, you decide that you don't. Or the other way around: you never thought you wanted to be a manager, but later you think you might. People sometimes change their minds. It's alright most of the time. But you sure as hell don't want HR or your manager to pull out some plan you had 4 years ago and hold you to it.

3) You have to share it. And you don't know who will eventually get it either. Are you working for the same person you were 5 years ago? With the same management structure? The same company goals? The same job title? I doubt it. You could have a 5-year plan that involves a lot of training because your current boss is into that, but then you get switch to someone who views it as a waste of time, and then they might hold it against you. "Don't you already know how to do your job?" You never know how someone else might interpret what you wrote for another audience.

I'm actually a fan of a person having a 5-year plan. But it should be yours and private and flexible. Do you think that my current 5-year plan matches my plan from 5 years ago? Do you think I'm where I thought I'd be, where I'd hoped I'd be (well, actually, I'm probably not too far off, but that's another story)?

If I sat down and wrote a 5-year plan for myself, a real one, it wouldn't be working my way up the workplace ladder. No way. It would involve wiring maybe a novel and travel to fun places and walks with wonderful people and great conversation and flexible time and self-exploration (oh, get your mind out of the gutter), but not hopes and dreams of becoming a principal writer and managing a small group of project-related junior level writers (which is what I'd put if I was submitting one to HR).

Submit your 5-year plan below:

A couple of rants for ya'!

Rant 1: Carry-on baggage. First off, why, exactly, do the airlines charge for baggage you check but not for the baggage you carry on? The weight is the weight. Just put it in the price of the ticket. Or, if you don't want to do that because otherwise folks will be bringing on body bags of stuff, just charge by the total weight. Put it all on the scale, purses, laptops, the whole bunch, and charge, I don't know, 10 cents a pound. Done. And why not encourage people to check the bags. Really, how much more pleasant would flying be if you didn't have to fight for overhead space with that business guy who is shoving a garment bag, a suitcase, a computer, and his coat in the space above you? Charge for carry-on, I say. Especially with all this extra security nonsense.

Rant 2: Mariah Carey. I don't know if you heard about this, but she won this acting award at the Palm Spring International Film Festival and she got a little kooky with her speech. Now, I haven't actually seen it, but I've read about it and it seems she was a little excited/drunk/rambling. But, you know what, who cares? She was obviously thrilled to have won the award and for once it's kind of nice to have someone who is just babbling instead of thanking their damn agent and press manager. Wasn't she supposed to be over about 5 years ago? I remember when her label bought her out and her career was supposedly done, I told someone that I wish I could buy stock in her, because I knew she'd be back. (I'm not Mariah Carey fan, but she's got pipes and she knows what the people want.) So, shut up Sean Penn and the press, and let the woman enjoy herself.

Rant 3: Woman and sleep. So, there's this whole thing on the Huffington Post about women not getting enough sleep and that's the hot new year's resolution. The New York Times then did a story on it saying that women didn't get enough sleep because they're expected to do more than men. To which a number of men wrote back and basically said, well, that's because women are stupid. (See, we're stupid because we choose to do housework and have babies and pick partners that don't help us enough.) Yeah, there's no pressure from society to do most of the housework and take care of the kids. None at all. And if you don't believe that, do this experiment: watch television commercials for an hour. Just flip around. Count the number of men doing the cleaning, watching the kids. Sorry, no credit for the guy screwing up the cleaning, so the wife has to shake her head (with a smile) and show him how it's done. Yeah, that's all stupid women coming up with the conclusion that they should do the housework.

And you got me wanting you

As I poured sugar on my cookie sandwich (the key ingredients are white bread and brown sugar) with my side of mashed potatoes and rice, I realized that, yes, I have let carbs (along with an extra few pounds) back into my life. And I'd love to say that I have the self-control to cut back or limit the carbs, but I always find that if I open the door a crack, eventually I'm back to the old habits.

I hate that my personality is such that it's all or none, but, especially with food, it seems that all or nothing works the best for me. So, as of today, it's good-bye to the carbs for a bit.

I have a time limit in mind. I'm keeping it to myself, but I figure I have a fighting chance if I can see an end. Then, I'll go from there, taking "vacations" or whatever will work for a while. But, for now, good-bye delicious Snowballs and Jo-Jos.

The Journal of Helene Berr

Recently I finished "The Journal of Helene Berr". Who was Helene Berr? She was a Jewish student in Paris during World War II. Anne Frank 2? No, she didn't go into hiding, and, well, unlike "The Diary of Anne Frank", this wasn't very good. (and God makes another mark in the "Hell" column.) Let me defend that statement. This is a journal, kept mostly for herself, so there are passages where it's just a cryptic statement about her day (I just opened the book randomly and there was one: "I received two postcards today." Nothing more. I don't want to read that. It's filler. It adds nothing.)

I completely blame the editors and publisher. The part of the book that is the journal is less than 250 pages, fairly large type, with plenty of spaces. A good portion of it is just day-to-day, described in a way that requires you to have a reasonable amount of knowledge of what went on in WWII, as well as a willingness to not care about who was whom throughout the journal. They had a choice: (a) edit it down and make it a one of those long, interesting articles in "The New Yorker", (b) do the work and give us lots of footnotes, explain who there people were, what happened to them, give us the complete story, or (c) (lazy choice) throw it together and just go with it because there are enough fans of Anne Frank that would read this book without the work. They chose (c).

There are some beautiful parts. There is a section on the anxiety of writing, when she realizes that others might read this, that really touched me. "There is the considerable repugnance I feel at thinking of myself as 'someone who writes', because for me, perhaps mistakenly, writing implies a split personality, probably a loss of spontaneity, and an abdication (but maybe these are prejudices)." This is lovely and touches me, but there isn't enough of it (which goes back to the idea of this as an article rather than an entire book.)

It is interesting to read it, knowing what happens. Knowing what was actually going on. At one point her father gets arrested and they are sure that the Germans will be fair. (When the family is asked to send along warm clothing, there is a part of you, while reading it, is thinking, "oh no." Surprisingly, he actually is released, only to be arrested again later.)

She doesn't survive. This isn't really a spoiler as it's on the back cover. She dies 5 days before the camp is liberated.

I guess if you're a real geek about this sort of thing, you should read it. Maybe get a used copy or something. Read the background information that (for whatever random reason) they put at the end first. Seriously, that's where they explain the organizations that she's a member of, why her dad gets released, etc. Oh, those editors.

And it poured sweet and clear

Today I wished someone happy new year and they said that they hoped next year would be better. And I started thinking about my 2009. Do I want next year to be better? And after thinking about it for a bit, the answer is no. No way. Because although it's been a year of crazy highs and lows, I know that this is what I want. I want to look back and think, holy crap, a lot went on there! And, you know what? Most of it was good stuff!

Sure, there are things I never want to go through again. There are things I'd like to take back, things I'd change. There were periods I thought I'd explode due to stress. There were times I wish I could have just hit fast forward. But I'd go through it all again for the rest of this year. Because the good stuff, it was really good.

This year was technicolor. This year was an adventure. This year was more interesting than I'd ever hope, usually in a good way. I learned so many things about what I could do. I look back on this year and I'm pretty impressed about everything I did (if I do say so myself). And you know the best part? Most of it is just the start of better things to come! Isn't that exciting?

Of course, you always hope the next year is better than the previous year. How could you not? But this was a damn good year, challenges and all. I'm tempted to go back and read my postings from last year at this time, but that would be a cheat. I know it's better now. My life is richer right now. And I'm crying tears of happy right this very minute.

Happy New Year!

Not very Christmas-y

Warning: this is not a Christmas post. Of course, it wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for Christmas travel, but if you want heartwarming today, well, come back some other time. It's a minor, bitchy story of bad service and wrong answers.

Wednesday I drove up from Maryland to the parents' in Ohio. I wanted to get about half way before I grabbed lunch (I left after a half day of work) and also wanted to avoid the crazy in Breezewood. I dive down the PA turnpike a while and get to a stop about 50 miles later. I'd like to point out that this travel day was December 23, a day one would expect a lot of folks on the road, right? I'd also like to point out that I did not get off the turnpike, I stopped at one of those places that are meant for travelers to quickly get in and out. So, fast service is not asking too much, is it? Now, I'll admit, I picked the Chili's-to-go, which I knew probably wasn't going to be as quick as the hot dog place, but still. In a rest stop, not the sit down experience.

There are three of us in line. One cashier. Okay, still not a huge deal. But then there's an order up and she has to leave the register with a tray full of food and find the people who ordered it and deliver it to the table. So, no cashier. Now, I see a couple of workers off to the side, running in and out (one an older woman). But no one to cover the register. Eventually, the cashier is done delivering and comes back. When I finally go to place my order, I asked her if there was anyone else working the register and she told me the other girl was on break, do I want to talk to the manager? And she goes to leave and maybe if I wasn't tired and cranky and had been stuck in traffic I would have said, no, that's alright, but I let her get the manager. And out steps this older woman, who I had noticed hadn't been helping earlier.

I swear, I kind of just want to defend the poor girl behind the register (who was great, if the CEO of Chili's is reading this.) So I asked the manager (Joan, by the way, CEO) why there wasn't anyone else working on this obviously busy travel day. Okay, let's role play. You are the manager of a Chili's in the middle of Pennsylvania that probably gets crazy-busy about four times a year. What is the correct response:

1) I don't make the schedule.

2) This isn't the busiest day; the day before Thanksgiving is.

3) Didn't you see the line?

4) I apologize for the wait. We'll have to be more careful when we make the schedule for these busier days. (or something along those lines.)

Apparently, if you're Joan, all answers but 4) are correct. And, oh Joan, you picked the wrong chick to pull out the ornery on. (By the way, I'd like to point out that after I talked to Joan, suddenly she decided that helping out behind the register would be a good idea, so I must have been on to something.)

I understand that it must have been a crazy day. I also understand that if they were understaffed (which they were), there's not a lot you can do at that point. But if a customer wants to talk to you, at least pretend to be nice. Yeah, I'm probably not going to be back anytime soon, but that's part of being a manager. Just be a little bit nice, don't make it worse.

There was no god in that Chili's that night.