47 posts tagged “life”

You would think I'd had enough adventure for the whole weekend by the time I posted yesterday, given that a new computer and a crusty-toed chatty lady had already entered my life all before early afternoon. But no, the day was just getting started.

After doing my first Vox post on the new PC, I started putzing around with the new computer, exploring all the features and getting acquainted with WIndows VIsta. Lee went outside to work on his shed. Normally, when he's out there I remember to go out and bring him a fresh glass of ice water or something now and then. He gets thirsty working in the Swamp-Ass season, and doesn't like to trek dirt, sawdust or grass (depending on what he's playing with) into the house. So when I heard a knock at the door, I just assumed he was thirsty and didn't want to come in.

But then something just stopped me cold. There was an urgency in the knock ... something that made my heart jump up in my chest. So I ran outside instead. Lee was standing there, holding one hand in the other. Both hands were covered with blood, and the red stuff had dripped down his arm and all over the deck.

Without thinking, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hands, and when we got all the blood off we realized the culprit, while a deep and nasty-looking cut on his thumb, wasn't quite as bad as all the blood would make it seem. We were able to stop the bleeding in a few minutes, and try as I might I couldn't get him to go for stitches so I bandaged up his wounded thumb, did my damndest to convince him to call it a day and stop working in the yard (an attempt which failed, I might add ... he's SUCH a boy that way).

When it was all over, I realized I was shaking like a leaf and ready to burst into tears. The aftershock was so bad I had to sit down until my legs quit shaking, and the whole thing ended with him asking ME if I was okay, even though I wasn't the formerly bloody and now bandaged one. I started bawling and he hugged me and asked what was wrong and I explained the best I could. There had just been SO much blood, his hands had been covered in it, that when I couldn't see what was wrong I was pretty damn close to sure he'd cut off a finger or something. I can't remember being that scared in a long, long time. It had looked like scene from a horror movie or a Stephen King novel for a few minutes, and when it was over I completely freaked out.

So after that misadventure, we decided to go check out a new wings and beer restaurant that just opened nearby with my parents and niece. We had LOTS of family bonding time. The place was pure chaos. It wasn't that busy, just a few tables, but the waitresses were all kinds of confused. They were bringing everyone the wrong food. We got a chicken sandwich we hadn't ordered, and didn't get mine and Lee's wings until everyone else's food was gone. Luckily, the servings were big enough that we all ate Mom and Dad's wings and got full, so we just had ours boxed up for us all to snack on later.

And while we were waiting, my Dad pulled out his horseshoe. I've said before that everyone who knows him says he's got one up his butt, and he proved it yet again. He played Keno to occupy himself while we were waiting around, and won $1,800.

 I inherited a lot from my Dad. I got his freak magnitude and his love of listening to people tell tales. I got his intolerance of heat and his love of fall and winter. I got his laugh and his sense of humor.

But I didn't get the horseshoe. Sometimes I think if I did, I'd never have to work again!

I meant to blog yesterday, because blogging is good for the soul and all that. But I never did. In fact, I didn't do much of anything at all. That's because:

- I began my monthly five days of It-Ain't-So-Great-To-Be-A-Chick time. You know, cramps, backaches and general blah-itude.
- I had what seems to have turned out to be either allergies or the most short-lived head cold ever. Stuffy nose, runny eyes, heavy head, sneeziness, and major case of the "duhs."
- It was TRUE swamp-ass outside.

In case you were wondering, the combination of having your period, a head-cold thing and swamp-ass weather is sort of like a reminder to be good or you'll go to hell - and by the way, THIS is what hell feels like.

I was glad when bedtime rolled around so I could write yesterday off.

I did manage to drag my butt out to buy coffee and coffee creamer, because coffee and coffee creamer are not luxuries or wants, but must-haves in my house. And I swear, someone was trying to tell me to cut back on the caffeine or something. I went into the nearby convenience store. This store always sold the International Delight creamers, which Lee and I both love. They stopped about a year ago, and we were quite pouty about it, because that meant we had to go to a real grocery store and stand in a real grocery store line just to get creamer. But they recently started selling them again, so I went there yesterday for my White Chocolate fix.

I grabbed the creamer and went in search of coffee. None. Well, there was decaf, but decaf doesn't count. I decided to get the creamer anyway, and got in line. When I got up to the register, the clerk takes my creamer and starts trying to scan it, and it won't go through. "Why won't this work," she yells over to the other clerk after the third or fourth try.

The other clerk comes over, stares at my creamer like it is some sort of illegal substance, and says "Hey! We don't sell that!"

It takes me a minute of stunned disbelief to realize what's going on. Even when they stopped selling the creamer, they kept bottles of it in their takeout coffee station for customers to use when they made their cups o' java. The clerks apparently don't know they're carrying the stuff for sale again, and think I just grabbed one from their coffee station and tried to buy it. Like I would pay top dollar for used creamer.

While all this is going through my head, the clerk is looking at me like I'm a creamer-grabbing piece of bug shit. I'm hot. I'm crampy. I'm stuffy and sneezy. I'm achy. And I want my creamer. So I smile and say "if you don't sell it, then why is it in your fridge, Einstein?"

Really, I'm not usually that mean. But I did get my damn creamer.

Today I am working at a frenzied pace to get caught up enough to have my long weekend. I'm in serious need of these four days off, for sure. I plan to spend them working on the spare room, swimming, computer shopping, reading, and avoiding the swamp-ass weather at all costs unless I'm floating on a raft in a pool.

Happy Thursday! Being computerless at home has me woefully behind, but I'm reading as I can and thinking of all of you! Unless I'm fortunate enough to actually fix my computer situation at home this weekend, I probably won't be updating again until Tuesday, so happy weekends to all too!

- Friday ended up being one of those "it rains-it stops- it rains- it stops" days. Lee and I were undecided about the fireworks, but decided to brave them anyway at the last minute, since we were already out. We had a nice time just sitting with the hatch popped open in the back of the van eating our munchies and people-watching. The fireworks themselves ended up being sort of secondary. Oh, and it poured.

- Speaking of the people-watching, I know we can't all be brain surgeons. But really, if you ever need reminding that people are strange, go check out a fireworks show. Lee and I realized pretty quickly while we were watching the antics going on around us that we seemed to be a lot more worried about kids with fire-workish toys catching themselves on fire than the parents of said kids. We were also amazed by the family who parked across from us. The man pretty much slept in the passenger seat the whole time. The woman was dressed like a hooker, with her boobs ready to topple out of her tube top and her pants so tight I swore we were gonna see ass by the end of the night. She was wearing heels from hell - to see fireworks in the rain. She yelled at her kids when they wanted to walk to the concession stand for drinks, because she couldn't wobble that far in her heels and the guy was pretty much comatose in his seat. Someone came around selling those glo-necklaces, and she bought one for herself but none for her kids. Then when the rain REALLY started falling, she made the kids get back in their truck with the snoring dude and she stood outside by herself watching the fireworks under a dainty little umbrella.

Yep, people are strange.

- On Friday before we went out, I took Vin's cage outside for a good hosing. I was also washing his bedding, so afterwards I had the cage sitting out in the kitchen (which is where the washer is - my house is VERY itty bitty and doesn't have anything even close to a laundry room). I realized I hadn't heard Sly running around being destructo-kitty for a while, and went in search of him. I found him in Vin's cage, sort of half hanging in the weasel hammock. It was one of those damn-it-where's-the-camera moments.

- Saturday was my friends' surprise party. It started pretty early in the day, and continued late into the afternoon. My friend is a twin, so it was a party for both her and her sister. She burst into tears when she walked in the door, and her sister practically bounced up and down with joy. That's how it was all day. My friend has a very bittersweet reaction to these kinds of events ever since losing her husband, which I can totally understand. I did end up meeting some members of her family who have a daughter who is transferring to the college where I work, and promised to try to help them out with the process.

- Saturday was rather swamp-ass, so when we'd get tired of sitting out on the deck being hot and sticky, we'd retreat into my friend's room and flop on her bed - a bunch of women sprawled out and worshipping her ceiling fan. Her dog, the most adorable little floppy furball ever and named Gizmo, joined us. Giz is the sweetest and most spoiled dog ever. Her niece told us that my friend gets up each morning and makes him scrambled eggs with cheese and pepper. One morning when the niece had spent the night, my friend slept in and the niece decided to make Giz his breakfast. Giz turned his nose up, because she made the eggs without the cheese and pepper. She also said he gets his water bowl propped up ON the bed at night, so he can sleep there and not have to jump down if he gets thirsty.

I told my friend that in my next life, I want to come back as her dog.

- Saturday night another girlfriend, Zen, and I went up to my parents' pub for a while. We were treated to one of the newer regulars describing in great detail, complete with a one-man stage act without a stage, his battles with the day-after-drinking shits. It was really disgusting, but kind of sickly funny. I told him he needed to go into stand-up. Andrew Dice Clay has nothing on him. I also found myself getting really irritated with another of the regulars. She went into histrionics over the fact that some guy who isn't usually in the bar had guessed her age at 35. She IS 35. As I'm creeping up on my 38th and pretty much totally okay with that, I found this just butt-stupid.

- Sunday I went with Zen to the store where I bought all my new clothes last week. She hasn't had much success finding stuff she likes lately, so I was hoping she'd strike gold too. She didn't buy anything, but I walked out with another new shirt, an anklet and a pair of flip-flops. 

Must. Stop. Shopping. Now.

- Sunday afternoon my mom had my aunt and cousin over for a cookout, so Lee, Zen and I went to the Parental Abode too. It was warm outside, but the pool was ice-cold. We went for a swim anyway. My aunt and cousin commented on how brave I was for just getting in and going underwater right away. I explained that with Lee, I had two choices. Get in and get myself soaked and frozen, or have him PUT me in.

"He's an asshole like that," Mom agreed. "But a GOOD asshole."

In my family, that's a ringing term of endorsement, and I think it made him happy.

And now it is Monday, and the work-wheels spin again. How did that happen so fast??  

Last night, I dropped the cap to my bottle of iced tea and before I could pick it up, Sylvester pounced it. He found this thing more entertaining than any cat toy we've ever gotten him. Guess I figured out one more way to cut corners with the rising costs of groceries and gas, huh?

Anyway, he was having so much fun whapping this thing around the house that I let him keep it. But later, when Lee had gone to bed and I was still reading, I realized he'd gotten pretty darn loud with it - scooting it across the floor and clanging it into walls. Lee's a light sleeper, so the next time Sly got near me with his bottle-cap toy I swooped it up and put it in the pocket of my jammies. Yeah, I know, how lazy can you get? But I was in the middle of a really good chapter.

Anyway, I forgot all about it and went to bed. And then, I kept "dreaming" all night that something was poking me in the hip. I pulled a muscle a while back that still aggravates me now and then, so I just assumed it was acting up again. I woke up this morning with a little round bruise on my hip, and a bottle cap in my pocket.

Why yes, I AM a dumbass.

It was a miserably hot day here today, so I found all sorts of indoor chores to avoid going out in the heat, even though the fridge is empty and was practically crying for me to take a trip to the grocery store. Lee was braver and did a boatload of yard work.

And now, I'm freshly showered and contemplating making a pot of coffee. The boys in my house are all snoozing. Vin is curled in his hammock, Lee is crashed out in bed for a nap after a swamp-ass hot day of yardwork

The Vinster's under his blankie, and you can't see much more than a covered lump. No real photo op there. I'd take a picture of Lee, but he'd get me back. No one likes to have their picture taken when they're sleeping. He did that to me once, when I was in one of those deep, dreamy sleeps that just might involve drooling a little. I'm a little gunshy with the camera after that, knowing that revenge is sweet

But Sylvester, on the other hand, is fair game:

SlySnoozing 001

He's crashed out on a tiger blanket in our old recliner. I guess he's showing the Big Cats who the real king of this jungle is, huh?

Heading out to the pub a bit later (its one of those days where I won't brave the swamp-ass weather in the daytime, but will venture out at night - I sometimes feel like a vampire in the summer) to hang out with my mom and perhaps my friend Sully. Tomorrow we plan to tackle the grocery store (or so we say anyway) and then hit the pool, which is the only place I AM guaranteed to go when the Swampass Season arrives.

Wouldn't it be awesome to just be a cat, snoozing away the hottest days in air conditioning and nary an errand to run, and finding yourself amazed for hours by a bottle cap?  

Even though I've posted little bits of this and that this week, I feel like I've been mostly MIA. There's been a lot going on at work - politics and budget stuff - that has had my head spinning. And just the day-to-day stuff, too, like trying to spend a little less time at the computer and a little more time moving around to keep my butt from growing.

Last night before bed, I sat down to read a little of The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon and ended up finishing the whole thing. It's a short read for a Stephen King book - less than 300 pages. And a very good read at that.

As I read, I realized what it is that keeps me from being able to put King's novels down. It isn't the suspense or the horror or even the weird and outlandish nature of some of the things he imagines and creates. Lots of writers do that and do it well. It is the genuine affection he has for his characters, even when they're flawed and broken. They aren't just the people there for the scary thing to mess with so the horror story can happen. They are so funny and quirky and flawed and brilliant and stupid and mean and kind and messed up and getting it back together that they're real.

That's the writer I want to be. But first, I'm gonna have a weekend. And then figure out how to handle all this work stuff.

Happy weekend to all of you too!

I was tagged for this meme, which has been making the rounds here in Vox, by Marlen . I did a very similar meme a long, long time ago, but it doesn’t hurt to do it again!

1. What was I doing 10 years ago?

In a few years, I will have been blogging long enough that I can actually go back through archives to check myself on questions like this. But I’m not quite there yet, so let’s hope I’ve had enough coffee that the memory is working!

I had been married about 2 and a half years. In my mind, if I thought about it at all, divorce was something other people did, and it would never happen to me. We had bought our first home a little more than a year before, the house I’m in now, and we were pretty happy here. I had a happy, healthy dog (who died at 14 of heart failure a few years later), a cat, and several ferrets, including my Weazter who in a few years would become the “miracle weasel” who astonished both us and our vet by surviving all sorts of medical issues. We had neighbors we referred to as “The Asscrack Family” in the house where Tom and Caroline now live. My husband ran the restaurant in the bar my father owned, which is not the same bar he owns now. My friends and I spent a lot of time there, especially when football season rolled around and the Steelers Fan Club kicked into high gear.

I was working at the same university I am at today, but in a much different job. I was a transfer evaluator, which meant I spent my days reviewing courses students had taken at other colleges and determining if and how they’d apply to their degree. I remember thinking the system I was working with to do this was outdated and way too manual, and wishing someone would change it. Ten years later, I am that someone, as it is one of the things being totally revamped by the project I am on today.

2. What are 5 things on my to-do list today:

I am off today – this is one of the summer “mental health days” I put in for a while back. So this is a far from typical Monday to-do list for me, and includes:

- Read one of my new books

- Catch up on what my blog friends have been doing over the weekend

- Do extra stretching and aerobic exercise

- Take a swim with Lee if it isn’t still cloudy and stormy when he gets off work

- Try a little fiction writing even though I still feel like I have a case of “writer’s constipation.”

3. Three snacks I enjoy:

- Snowballs (especially spearmint or cinnamon) with gooey marshmallow topping

- Mint-chocolate-chip ice cream

- Disgustingly loaded nachos

4. Things I would do if I were a billionaire:

- Quit work and devote full-time effort to writing

- Have Lee and my closest friends also quit their jobs and pursue their various interests

- Go back to school for a master’s in literature and/or creative writing

- Pay off all my family’s debt, including my own

- Both volunteer and give to charities, particularly those aiding the homeless

- Make sure my niece could go to the college of her choice one day and never worry about educational expenses

- Start a grant fund that allowed people to give up time-and-soul-sucking jobs for an established period of time to pursue their dream work or creative ambitions. I truly believe the world would be a much better place with if there were more opportunities for non-well-to-do people to focus on their heart’s work rather than just eek out livings to keep roofs over their heads. People work harder and give back more to society when they are doing what fulfills them, and act out in anger and frustration much less. I spend a lot of time thinking about the paintings never painted, books never written, shops never opened, acts of kindness never enacted and inventions never invented because truly gifted people are mired in just trying to get by.

- Finish all our dream renovations to our home and yard

- Have a cozy beach house and a boat

- Travel the world with Lee and my closest friends, since we’d all quit our jobs and could do so!

5. Places I have lived:

Although I moved quite a bit in my teens and twenties, I’ve always lived within the same 15-mile radius. Within the Baltimore region, I’ve lived in Lansdowne, Arbutus, Fell’s Point and Canton.

6. Jobs I have had:

- Clerk at a video store (I am probably still traumatized by this job since it isn't always a good thing to know your neighbors' and friends' parents' taste in X-rated movies!)

- Clean-up and shampoo girl at a hair salon (a high school job given to me by one of my parents friends so that I could start saving for college)

- Receptionist in a career center

- Clerk at a novelty shop (think Spencer’s)

- Clerk at a photo shop (the only job I ever lost due to total irresponsibility - I didn't show up for work the day after my 21st birthday because I was so hungover I couldn't lift my head off a pillow without barfing)

- Editor of my college newspaper

- Short biography writer for a small publishing company

- Camp counselor for an overnight program at a science museum

- Job placement coordinator at a culinary college

- transfer evaluator, schedule of classes coordinator, advisor, assistant registrar, systems developer, project lead and associate director at my current job, depending on the year!

I think just about all of my Vox neighbors have been tagged, but if you haven't and you want to play along, you're it!  

I’ve had the same morning ritual at work for years now. The first thing I do when I get to campus is swing by the coffee shop in the Commons and get me a cuppa to start my day. I get a large steaming cup of “signature blend” or sometimes vanilla or hazelnut, or crème brulee if they have it, and I’m on my way.

The same woman has worked the morning shift there for, it seems, as long as I’ve had this ritual. She is always warm and perky and friendly. Since she’s such a talker, I know that she generally has to get to work by 6 a.m. to get everything set up for when those of us who think we’re the campus early birds (we got nothin’ on her!) start straggling in looking for our caffeine fixes. She loves the Ravens and is always eager to talk about them, what she did over the weekend, and her boyfriend.

Although I’ve become an early riser out of necessity, I’m not very social in the morning. I tend to prefer to start my days quietly, and ease into dealing with others at work. But in spite of that side of my nature, I always look forward to buying my coffee from her. She’s just one of those “ray of sunshine” people.

She also knows all the regulars and jabs at them good-naturedly. She’s got a little inside joke for everyone. Most of the students on campus don’t come to coffee shop until long after I’ve gone on about my day, but those that do find that she remembers what their majors are or that they were studying for some big exam the last time she spoke to them, and she always asks how they did.

The campus maintenance crew is always there in the morning, too. One of them is seriously into politics, and he thinks along the same bleeding-heart liberal lines as myself, only even more extremely. We commiserate over the cream and sugar. Another is a die-hard Steelers fan. He wears his Steelers jacket long after it has gotten far too hot outside for any coat at all, because he can’t stand being without it. He wears black and gold shoes, too. We cheerfully talk football long into the off-season, and the coffee shop clerk jumps in to tease us about not showing the Ravens more love.

These are my morning rituals. I may not look forward to going to work, but I do enjoy those few minutes with these people, in this place that smells like coffee and muffins.

Yesterday, as I was paying for my coffee, the clerk told me that her “last day” would be July 2^nd. She’s not leaving the university, but the contract for our current food service provider ended this spring and a new one has come in. They’re making major changes, and shutting down most of the shops and counters this summer to do renovations and start anew. So they’re moving her up into the lunchroom for the remainder of the summer.

The coffee shop will not reopen in the fall, at least not as it is. The new company is bringing in chains, a Dunkin Donuts and a Starbucks and Chick Filet.

I’m a little sad. Don’t get me wrong. I love me some Starbucks coffee, and Dunkin’s java too. I’m going to be waging a mental war in my brain each morning about which one I’m in the mood for that day.

But somehow, I have a feeling that it won’t be quite the same. The unique, small-town, “our corner of the world” feel the current coffee shop has early in the morning will be lost in that “just another link in the chain stores across America” feel of a Dunkin’s or a Starbucks.

Change is inevitable, and usually brings with it some combination of good and bad. This will be no different. But when she told me that yesterday, I looked around and realized just how much I appreciate that place, the early morning crew, and our predictable conversations.

And I wondered why I didn’t appreciate them quite so much until I realized they were going away.

Note: This isn't the type of entry I usually post in Vox. But I wrote it for my private journal this morning and for some reason decided to put it here too. I guess now and then, even in my "happy place" blog, I need to give a glimpse of the other sides of me. I've toned it down a little here - I tend to go *f-word* happy in the journal where I'm a bit more raw, but here it is just the same. Sorry if I come off as a whiny wanna-be Hemingway.

-----

So, last fall I entered 3 writing contests, which also sort of doubled up as submitting work for publication, since the outcome of “winning” was also getting published.

I wrote a while back that I took second place in one of those contests. I was soundly rejected by the other, as expected. My piece wasn’t their style and probably not up to par with their standards, either. They’re all, I dunno … literary.

I never heard a thing from the third one, even though the deadline had long passed. I figured that meant I hadn’t gotten anywhere, was a little disappointed, told myself I had no right to be disappointed since I’ve never submitted anything but articles to anyone anywhere before now. For an aspiring writer of any kind, submitting things to three places and getting accepted and paid by one isn’t bad. It’s pretty good, even.

But this week, I got an email from the editor of the third one – the one I’d written off as another rejection. I didn’t place in the contest. But they do want to publish my work in the anthology that comes out of the contest – and pay me for it. Not a huge amount - $100.00. But still, we’re talking about a piece that took me about 3 hours to compose, and that wasn’t something I researched or agonized over. It was just one of those wonderful “sit down and let words flow” experiences.

So, I got something for two out of three. It ain’t perfect. I wasn’t “discovered” and I’m sure not the next big thing. But dammit. That’s a record that’s full of promise and potential and validation of my talent. It is the closest thing to proof that I have what it takes that I’ve ever received.

Yet, I haven’t written a thing since I played around with those contests last fall. Oh, I’ve blogged and journaled my butt off. That’s easy. I can do it when I am braindead and exhausted, when I am not quite awake at 5 am or ready to collapse after a 12-hour workday. I can do it when I am simultaneously making project deadline updates or compiling task lists for work in my head. Blogging is a multi-taskable venture.

You can’t – or at least *I* can’t, write good fiction or nonfiction that way. I’ve tried, on and off. But I’m always such a lump of anxiety and frustration about WORK that I haven’t gotten anywhere with it for a long time. When I write “for real,” I have to be in a zone where the rest of the world disappears for a while. And I have completely lost my ability to cocoon myself that way, even for short stretches of time, ever since the project went haywire. The pressures of my job come crashing in without fail whenever I try to go to my creative place. I end up beating myself up because something for the job is behind and I should be doing that instead. When I try to turn it off, I end up writing drivel. So I give up. 

I am giving them the best of me for a paycheck. And leaving nothing left over for myself and my dreams. And I’m so caught up in it and trapped that I sure as hell don’t know what to do about it. Or, I do know what to do about it, but am far too scared. I’m so overwhelmed with it that I can’t even clean out my own brain.  

And really, it is so discouraging. I feel like I have “wasted potential” slapped right in the center of my forehead. I’m traveling full speed ahead down the road to “could have been” because I’m not strong or good enough to do BOTH (write and work the way I have to work) and I can’t stop working or figure out a way to do work that is less stressful, time-consuming and life-sucking and still keep my home and my necessities.

These are the days that I wish I had the body and free-spiritedness of a stripper. I mean, who am I to think that kind of work is selling your soul and your dignity when I do the same damn thing with my clothes on every workday? And I do it for 10-12 hours instead of just dancing a set.

That email should have made me happy. And it did. But it was also a big flashing sign that said “see what you could be, with more time and effort.” If I don’t get tough enough to do both (maybe 6 hours of sleep a night isn’t as important as I think?) or brave enough to walk away from guaranteed money, I am going to be one of those people who says they could have been a contender.

In some ways, knowing you COULDN’T have been one is easier. At least you don’t feel like you wasted yourself.

I hate money. I hate always struggling with it and bowing to it and needing it. I hate that I am not serene and accepting and loving enough to stop feeling bitter because I’m surrounded by those who just HAVE it, who don’t struggle for it and sacrifice their gifts and passions, but live lives of leisure or relative leisure and still never have to worry about where a bill or a new shirt is coming from.

I do what I do, and Lee does what he does, and we still struggle. We're putting off our (relatively low-cost) home improvements yet again and can't afford a new phone for him even though his is broken if we also want new brakes for the van, and we will take no real summer vacation because we have to pay an increase in property taxes. We work ourselves to the bone and give up our passions, and for WHAT? But knowing it is as hard as it is now to stay afloat makes it far too frightening to take the dive into leaving what I do for a smaller paycheck so that I can try to chase a dream. 

Why is life this way?   

Much of my journaling over the last 3 years has been about growth and major life changes. Changes in my circumstance, attitude, plans, reality and career came fast and furious for a while there.

These days, with the exception of the ever-changing landscape at work, things have mellowed out quite a bit. But change is still everywhere, all the time, and you notice it even more when you have a chance to catch your breath and observe it.

Like this:

Me In The Yard

Lee took this picture of the tree in our front yard just a few weeks ago. It was much thicker and fuller and grown last summer, but we cut it back because a large portion of the leaves had grown in brown and sickly-looking. Cutting it back was our attempt at saving it. And so far, that attempt seems to be working:

Our Miracle Tree

A few weeks of springlike weather, including lots of rain, makes a big difference!

And then, of course, there are changes in the animal life around here. Remember this, from sometime in April?

Baby Sly 3

That little ball of fur now looks like this:

Sly Hanging Out

Sometimes, change is overwhelming and scary. But sometimes, it is just plain beautiful.

So, one of the things I dislike most about work is the whole notion of being "stuck" at a particular place for a defined period of time. I'm not lazy - I just like to do things accordingly to my own schedule. Let me figure out the whens and wheres sometimes and you'll get 12 hours of work out of me. Put me in a box and I tend to be climbing walls after 8.

It goes back to that whole P-ness thing I wrote about a few days ago. I'm a critter who thrives on flexibility. I just ran into an old friend who told me he's gotten his employer to let him work at home 2 days a week now, and I was practically drooling with jealousy while we talked.

All that is just to say that yesterday was a beautiful spring day here in Baltimore. It was warm and sunny with clear blue skies and a very slight breeze that made the trees sway just a bit. It was short sleeves and no jacket and you'll be warm, but not roasting, kind of weather. We get far too few of those days around here - maybe a few week's worth in April and May and then again in October and November. The rest tend to be hot, cold or rainy.

So I got to work and I realized the thought of spending this entire rare, gorgeous day at my desk was making me downright sad. Up on deck first thing in the morning was a 2-hour meeting with a small group of us from the project. I'd scheduled this particular session, and I THOUGHT I'd booked us a conference room, but I'd forgotten. I swear, I didn't plan it that way. There were too many of us to meet in the project office I share with someone else, unless we wanted to sit on each other's laps, and the rooms had all been taken by people who were smart enough to schedule them. So we got creative and decided to meet outside.

We found an open outdoor table near the little cafe where I grab my coffee in the morning. Our meeting was to go through descriptions of over 100 reports we use and determine the best way to re-create them in the new system we're bringing up. I seriously underbooked our time when I thought we could do this in 2 hours. We ended up needing 4. But miraculously, none of us had anything else scheduled until later in the afternoon, so we just stayed there, stopping now and then to grab coffees or food.

The sun gradually rose in the sky. The day grew brighter and the air warmer. There were no walls or flourescent lights. We heard snippets of funny conversations as students or other staff strolled by. We looked up now and then at a canopy of leaves and we breathed in fresh air. And still, we worked our bums off.

It was wonderful.

One of the guys who was in this meeting is a consultant from Florida. He commutes to Maryland and stays here 4 days a week to be on our project. He has told me over and over again that "our weather sucks." He's used to heat and sunshine and surfing. He chuckles over what the rest of us consider "warm."

At one point, he laughed as he looked around yesterday. This kind of weather brings out lots of arms and legs that have been buried under cold-weather clothes for a long time. He said "Man, ya'll have the whitest white people I've ever seen!" I looked down at my own pale arms, knowing I was one of them.

Fast-forward to late afternoon. He and I were standing in our lobby with another co-worker, waiting for the elevator. I was chatting with the other co-worker when suddenly he burst out laughing. I looked down, and saw that the way I was carrying my meeting materials had pushed the sleeve of my left arm a bit - just enough so that you could see the glaring line where the sunburn I'd managed to get from our day of working outdoors ended.

I looked like I spent the day driving to the beach with one arm hanging out the window. The other is still perfectly pale, because I was sitting in a spot that was half in the sun and half in the shade. I'm a human checkerboard, or maybe a tie-dye shirt. Usually I try to even myself out when I sit outdoors, but you don't really think about that kind of stuff when you're in "work-mode." And you definitely don't remember to bring sunscreen to a day-drone office job.

"Damn," I joked. "I'm always telling my boyfriend and my family how friggin' hard my job is. How am I going to get them to believe me if I leave work all pale and come home with a sunburn?"

But today, as I sit here looking down at my one sun-kissed arm, which is already turning from red to brown, it makes me happy. Office drones aren't supposed to get a tan until they get a long sunny weekend or a beach vacation. We're supposed to be pale, flourescent-lit, bleary-eyed lab rats who blink when we step outside. That's the price we pay for a paycheck.

And we all know I just LOVE bucking the system, even if all I have to show for it is a lopsided tan.