A Gift's background story

Giving gifts to certain members of my family is a bit challenging.
For example, my mother pretty much buys anything and everything she wants.
So when it comes time to find something thoughtful to give her, she's already done all of the thinking and the buying.

Thus, I had to reach waaaaaaay back into the past to find something for her.
*insert time machine sound effects here*

Back in the 80s, when I was a pup, we did some camping as a family.
With regularity, my family hauled out the old pop-up camper into the woods and various recreational areas of my home and surrounding states.
On one of these camping/fishing trips, we had our usual day of everyone split into various groups, doing their own thing. My grandfather had decided to go fishing alone that late afternoon near dusk. He was late returning for supper around the highly weathered picnic table and fire circle. We were all commenting that he had better return with a net full of fish, as we had held up the evening meal for him. He did return with a net full....but not of fish....instead, he had stumbled across a patch of morels. Unable to resist these tasty little rarities, he wandered into the woods of the state park and found more. He kept up the hunt until he had a whole huge fishing net full of them.

And with that, morel hunting became the family occupation for the rest of the trip. It was unusual for my mother and father to choose an activity where they spent time together, but they decided to try their hand at finding morels. I joined them. And we began our quest so hopeful. but our hopes were dashed.

The only thing we did find: one jack-in-the-pulpit. It's the only time I've ever actually seen one live in the wild. My mother was entranced. She, displaying her shopping prowess, HAD to have it. So, she began to look for something she could use to dig it up. My father discouraged her. "It'll never work" and "It'll just die if you do get it dug up" and "Isn't it illegal to take stuff out of the state park?"
So, my mother, disappointingly left behind this little gem.

Fast forward 30 years.
Since my father's passing two years ago, she's been into gardening big time. It's practically an illness. There are flowers of all sorts, lawn furniture, and small sculptures scattered about the two acres of yard. She even changes some of them seasonally (although this time of year, Iowa winters aren't conducive to gardening).
Basically, I got her something that she probably forgot she ever wanted. For one of the flowerbeds, I found her a little garden sculpture in the shape of Jack-in-the-Pulpit...for her to have always.
And dammit, if she already has one, next year, she gets McDonald's gift certificates.

Shiny happy notions

I realize that many of my blog-posts are angst filled, stressed-out rants or deeply introspective nonsense that probably makes everyone think I'm on the path to a Sylvia Plath fate.

Today, I am not going to post angst or stress.....which does not mean that life is super-smooth and perfect.
Nah.
It just means that I am going to concentrate on all of these great little things......let's make a list.

1) While I have a christmas tree covered with sparkly and fancy decorations (and a few amusing ones too.....like santa and all the reindeer crammed into a phone booth)....this year I'm more in love with the little trees that I've been calling "My seven dollars of awesome". One is a Charlie-Brown-esque tiny live potted tree and the other a miniature LED light up number.

2) The kid is getting harder to shop for, but some of his presents benefit me as well....like, say, Season 6 of Doctor Who.....plus it gives me an excuse to buy silly things like a TARDIS cookie jar that has sound effects.

3) I love that I can put "Christmastime is here" on constant repeat and not have to make up excuses.....like I do the rest of the year.

4) changing the lyrics to other well known Christmas tunes to suit the juvenile sense of humor that I share with my 11-Year-Old son.

4) Everything is pretty. If it's not, just put a bow on it and it becomes pretty.

5) Treats from the kitchen that I know are good enough to disburse and watch other people enjoy: Fudge. Pineapple bread pudding. Cookies.

6) Charity toy drives, angel trees, food drives.....watching the faces of the 'givers' as they drop off the treasures is probably just as awesome as watching the faces of the 'receivers' when they get the goodies.

7) The Shoebox section of Christmas cards. The kid and I laugh like loons and cause a general disturbance.

Navigating uncharted water

I haven't written much anywhere lately because, quite frankly, I've been a bit freaked out. I've had to spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to navigate a situation that is leaving me second-guessing absolutely every step I take.

I'm not going to go into too much detail about the specifics of the situation except to say it involves my son and his father and things getting out of hand.

My gut reaction is to "rescue" my son and to take a rusty saw blade to his father's anatomy.
But I can't live in gut reaction, even though I want to so very badly.
The rescue.....I've been going back and forth on this one, beating myself up, second-guessing my second guesses (third/fourth guessing?) A part of me realizes that the kid has to learn how to deal with some things on his own.....can't hide behind mom forever. But, an equally loud part of me says "he's a kid. Be the adult. Intervene."
And intervene, I have, but not quite as voraciously as I am tempted to do. Intervening must be done cautiously when one is dealing with a master manipulator. While I am tempted to go 'balls to the wall', and yank the kid out of there, I'm also keenly aware that Mr. Wonderful has ego issues. These ego issues generally result in him punishing the kid unfairly because of me and then twisting it up and blaming the kid (and the kid has enough guilt and angst to last to college). But, unless I can get my son away from his father completely (which, I know I can't....and perhaps even shouldn't since a kid needs his dad) then I have to be very careful in how I proceed.
SO I'm tripping the light fantastic on this very fine line of "Am I doing enough? Am I doing too much?". I hate every second of it.

And no matter what I do, I'll always think I should've done more or maybe done less or at least done differently. (and the manipulator knows how to work that against me, that bastard shitface fuckwit).

Nothing about this is straightforward. I just hope, beyond all hope, that I don't break the kid.

What we do here.

Work.
They don't call it work because it's fun. If it was fun, they'd say "have a nice day at fun today."
No.. Not fun. Work.
Now I'm not saying work can't be fun. I'm also not saying work isn't rewarding.
But honestly, take an inventory. If you had enough money to live comfortably so that you didn't have to do whatever thing it is you do to earn a paycheck, would you still do the work?
If the answer is yes, stop reading now. We congratulate you on your fabulous life and wish you all the best
If the answer is no, read on fellow traveler.

I fall in the "no" camp.
I wouldn't do what I do if there was no paycheck attached. It's not that this is some sort of slave labor. Far from it. It's not that my health is endangered or I feel
So what is it we do here?
Well....it's this. We, me and my people, we see how things are done.
We think, "gee, that's taking the long way home. I think I can figure a way to do it better. Be more efficient. "
Sometimes, that involves technology.
We, me and my people, are middle men. We hear what the business needs and we work with hard core technicians to make magic in that box on the flow chart that I like to call ATAMO (and than a miracle occurred).
And for me, the reward in this process, aside from the paycheck, is knowing that I automated the dotting of the I or the crossing of the T....or perhaps no automation but just getting rid of superfluous steps, consolidating efforts, what have you.
Knowing that I made it better......that's my reward. I don't want sparkly certificates or accolades. however, you want to bump up the numbers on my annual income? Gladly, I'll accept it.

I'm not a glory-monger. Never have been.
And I'm not a PR chick.
The whole title of this blog is "flying below radar".....I work that way too. I'll make your life easier, you just leave me alone and let me do it.

But it seems in corporate-land, unless you're willing to shout your accomplishments from the tallest tower and polish up some glossy powerpoint presentations for executives, you haven't done your job.

I.
Hate.
That.
Garbage.

And it is indeed garbage. It didn't get anything done except make some manager feel better. Sure, i can whip up some charts and graphs and B.S. statistics about what we've done and make it sound like we've built hoover dam when it in truth it was more like a beaver dam. And when we build Hoover dam and nobody notices except for those in the trenches, well that's just fine with me because the trench-dwellers and I know that their job is now easier.

I detest horse and pony shows. I'm here to actually raise the animal, not pose for pictures.
SO, I'm hoping that in the coming weeks, all of this nonsense attention crap that has everyone falling over themselves will just ....evaporate....so that i can get back to doing what I do.

Revelations from a sick-bed

This flu/pneumonia/plague virus I've been incubating for weeks will not go away completely. I spent two weekends sleeping and watching marathons of Doctor Who and the Gilmore Girls with the odd episode of True Blood sprinkled in. During the week, i tried to work but it was such a joke since I had little energy and no focus and couldn't talk on conference calls. The 'inability to talk' has been nearly catastrophic for my work. It seems that finally my voice is coming back. At first, I could make words, but sounded like I had a four-pack a day cigarette habit. My voice seems to be fairly normal now with the sporadic gravel tossed in for a fun reminder.
For a while, I lost my appetite. It is back again and everything tastes good and sounds good and there's a possibility I may eat this blog.....but not the whole blog. Now I become full so quickly that I can't finish a meal.
But, yes, it seems I'm improving.

All of this sickness has put a few things in perspective.
When my dad was ill with emphysema (as a result of smoking menthols for 40 years), he rarely complained. Talking took too much effort. So instead, he just disappeared. I noticed that he didn't eat much, and when I asked about it, he said it made him really tired to eat. I didn't get that. Until now.
I'm sure my lung capacity during this flu was not nearly as devastated as his was, but now, I have a taste of what he went through. When I had to focus on breathing.....when eating had no reward and just made me tired......when the act of talking at all was just too taxing: all I wanted was to retreat. I didn't want people around or to have to focus.

I'm sure breathing will be another thing I take for granted, and soon. But for a few brief days, I couldn't even get enough air to make a sneeze. Coughing was suffocating. There's a Bareilles song I love that has this soul-aching lyric: "All I have, all I need, is the air that I would kill to breathe." Never did those words ring more literal than these past weeks.

I'm not one to wallow in sickness or look for sympathy or pity. The world does not stop just because I don't have enough energy to function. I tried to keep on keeping on during all of this, but I'd be a total liar if I said it was easy. And I'd also be a liar if I said I didn't want more help during that time. My isolation wasn't just because I was sick, but more because I don't really have any local people on whom I can rely. It was a bit jarring (and quite telling) when I realized that someone I trusted looked to me for help with silly errands (which I did not oblige) when I was barely able to function.

So, during this time of unfortunate flu, I realized what I really need vs. things I want. I expect some life changes will come as a result....although I'm not ready to go into detail on them just yet.

And last, but certainly not least of the revelations: I am so dependent on my voice. When one works remotely, the phone line is how working relationships are built. I honestly think that the communication isn't just the words but how they are said, and that my voice, for whatever reason of tone or pitch or accent or something, has some sort of appeal to some people. Colleagues have made remarks about it over the years, but one I remember in particular said that he felt my successes were directly related to my 'soft-spoken tenacity' (which I think makes my Native-American name "stubborn with a whisper").
It's not something I work to achieve or into which I put special effort. I just talk how I talk. Except that for about two-three weeks, I couldn't talk. And when I could, it was not like usual. The impact was obvious. It was commented on constantly. My inability to communicate the way I wanted, especially during an executive high-focus on some of my work, was so debilitating. Nobody wanted to interact, and yet there were things to be done. I felt like a leper that wandered into the market place for basic necessities.
Of course, it was a flu virus, so I'm not really sure there's any action I can take from this except perhaps to consume more lemon-honey-tea.

The main conclusion is that I am grateful for my voice when it works properly, and I need to not lose sight of that gratitude. It is important to not take the most basic things for granted: like breathing and the taste of food and actual hunger and to go 24-hours straight without a fever. Maybe I needed a kick to remind me of that.

Perspectives refreshed. Rebooted. Off we go again.

Receptionists are not babysitters

Against my better judgment, I had to run my son to the dentist yesterday. He's been battling flu symptoms for a couple of weeks, and while he is much better, he's still not 100%.
Around noon, his father surprised me with the news of the dental-hygenist appointment, which last week I had requested he reschedule. He did not.
While that is an interesting blog subject regarding manipulative control freaks whose self-esteem issues require them to be endlessly self-centered, I'll save that for another day.

Today, the irksome things began with the father's 'demand' that I just "Drop the boy off at the office..." and he'd "pick him up later."
Uh, no.
Just no.
He's an 11 year old kid. You don't just drop him off at some medical office or facility and expect that other people are going to look after him if something unplanned happens....even if he has an appointment.
It is not okay to make a dental hygenist, medical receptionist, or other non-childcare professionals responsible for watching your kid because you just don't want to wait around or have errands to run.

Which brings me to the next irksome thing: this small dentist office has an even smaller waiting room. When we arrived, there was an enormous jogging stroller....you know the type with the gigantic rugged tires.....taking up most of the free space. In that stroller was a sleeping child, probably 2-3 years old. Beside that stroller were two other kids, that I would guess were about five and seven.
There was no adult with them.
The adult, it seems, was back in the dental chair and emerged later, quickly gathering up her gaggle and quietly exiting. They were pretty good kids, yes and were mostly focused on some video devices they had. But when did this become acceptable?
Now I know somebody out there is going to be pissed that I feel this way, but I'm just going to say it: the receptionist at a medical office or styling salon or any other place that has a receptionist is not your babysitter.
The people sitting in the lobby do not want to be responsible for your kids either, even if the kids are angels, even if they have hand-held electronic game systems to entertain them. And even though times are hard, it STILL should not be acceptable to dump your kids in a waiting room and 'get back to them later'.
It. Is. Just. Not. Okay.

Which is why I waited at the office while my son was there, even though his father believes in the drop-off. It is absolutely poor-form to just expect other people to be responsible for your kids without making arrangements. From my perspective as a mom, I certainly would feel like an irresponsible parent if I expected others to even know how to act in my child's best interest if the unexpected occurred. Yes, there will be an age at which I can comfortably 'drop my child off', but eleven isn't it....and this day was a case in point.
As I suspected, the boy was not enough recovered from his flu to undergo a dental cleaning, and I had to be there to make the final call AND to take him home when the appointment was shorter than planned.

Dinner, math, and relationship

I was recently out to dinner at a moderately nice restaurant. I was seated at close proximity to a couple that were obviously on a first date. We were so close, it was impossible to not hear the conversation, as much as I tried not to....okay, so I tried not to AT FIRST.
After a while, it was interesting....the speculation.

I suppose the writer in me wants to know how it's going to 'turn out'.
He, the khaki clad corporate guy with a scruffy beard trying to brag about his investments and his camping/fishing hobby.
She, the pretty blonde with an edgy, almost gruff voice trying to sell him on how great it was when she was decades younger, driving a motorcycle and being in the military. As she continued to talk about herself, it seemed she was intentionally sabotaging the date.....making her life sound like she had just walked off the set of Jerry Springer.

Obviously, they were both a bit out of their element.....she probably seeking stability and he wanting to try something a bit wilder.
She spent much of the rest of the meal looking bored. I could feel their awkward silences at my table....so awkward that I struck up a ridiculous conversation with my waitress just to give them something to hear other than the shuffling of their meals on their plates.

Yeah, I don't think it was really going to work out for them.
Or maybe they'll give it a go and try to be different and realize...nah...bad idea....OR not? Good idea? Different enough from what they've known to want to make things work?
Who knows. Maybe they view awkward silence as foreplay (for what's it worth, I do not.)

The real question in my mind: how does it work out for anyone?
I guess I have not yet discovered my magical equation that defines the acceptable relationship parameters around 'different' and 'same'.
The struggle for me is that it's not a finite point. Some days, all I want is different.....I want the discovery, the newness, the excitement and challenge of learning how to be with someone unlike me. Some days, all I want is same....the comfort of not having to work at it....of knowing that if I relax for a minute, my world will not be turned on its ear.

I suppose if I knew how to navigate that, my life would be different. But, even at the ripe old age of not yet 40, I'm still learning relationship algebra.