Raining Money

Maybe my "good deed" bought me some peace in my office.

Today, I stopped by a local charity to drop off a donation.  When I got out of my car, there was a dollar bill in front of their door.  I picked it up, and handed it, along with my donation, to their employee. She thought perhaps someone might come back by their office to claim it. I said "maybe it's raining money and that's the first drop."

Then, as I went back to my car, there were TWO more dollars in the parking lot.  I walked around a bit to see if there were more, and took the two more dollars into the charity.  I was the only person in the parking lot at that time . . . and the office next door to them was closed.

It really was raining money.

The employee, as I left a second time, quipped that she was impressed that I immediately thought to give them the money rather than keep it . . . after all, it was in the parking lot, not in their building.

It never occurred to me to keep it.

Later, there seemed to be calm in my office. I'm hoping the lull in drama was bought with that automatic instinct to give found money away.

Never Poke a Sleeping Bear

I had a professor write this on the board, prior to the final, once.  Apparently, at 3am while grading term papers, he got poked.  A student wrote a rant about how much he hated the class, how it was a pain in his ass that he had a term paper due right before finals, and other critiques of the professor's fitness to continue breathing.  I'm sure the paper would have provoked at any time of the day, it was just the student's bad luck that it was 3am.

I've moaned about my abandonment by ESK.  Then, we hired her replacement.  We will soon be rehiring her replacement.

The Replacement's downfall has been an interesting example of how people can be their own worst enemy.  Also, how once a pattern of behavior is created, how difficult it is to break it.

To be fair, I hired The Replacement knowing that she had the reputation of being "difficult."  Silly me . . . I thought I could over come her prickliness with my charm and monkey fun.  Nope.

She refuses to be a good colleague.  When I pointed out that she needed to work harder to "fit in" with the staff, she took that to mean that she must stomp up the hall and bark "good morning" to each of us and flee before we can even return the greeting.  She seems to have created rules for our office and insists on abiding by them.  (I have told staff that they schedule their time off, just let me know your plans and if there is some task you'll need another employee to assist with in your absence.  She insists on sending me painfully formal emails requesting permission to take an hour here, and hour and a half there, of vacation leave.  Always adding in that if I will not grant her permission, please name the time and date on which I wish her to come work that tiny increment of time.)  A friend would call it being "maliciously obedient."

Today, I  had planned on treating my staff to a "fire drill" which would give them a bonus hour off just before the holiday.  Today was selected because it is one of the few days she planned to work the same schedule as the rest of us, and I felt it wasn't fair to all the staff when she was working such a very different schedule.  But, then she came in 15 minutes "early" but stayed in the work room, playing on her phone, until the "official start of her work day (8-4).  It annoyed me to the point I seriously considered cancelling the fire drill.  Lucky for everyone else, I decided to go ahead with it anyway.  Miracles of miracles, she suddenly dropped the snotty tone from her voice.  I know it is temporary.  But, we're basking in it for the moment.

I'm pretty sure this is karmic payback for being smug about how "girl games" don't infect my office like I hear about in other places of business.  I'm firing her next week.  Soon, calm will be restored.

Damn it

I woke up in the middle of the night to discover the scar from the most recent surgery had opened up and oozing all over the place.  I jumped in the shower to clean off and drove myself to the emergency department.

Another CAT SCAN, and another ambulance ride to a big, university associated hospital.

However, this time, the "surgery" was so minor they did it in my room and with just localized numbing agents.  It does seem a tad cruel that you have a sore, tender spot and they want to insert a needle (and a big one at that) multiple times in just that spot.  But, it did the trick because I didn't even feel any of the actual cutting.

There is talk of sending me home tomorrow. And, in between baggies of meds being dripped into my arm, they are disconnecting me so I can move about on my own.

But, again with the drama and the hospital.

You'd think karma would have moved on after I popped a tire driving into a parking lot in a city 100 miles from home yesterday.  Stupid karma.

The dance I dance

with karma.  It's little things that remind me not to get too cocky.

Last night, after spending the afternoon in the office, acting like a normal working person, I was singing along to music, badly, and preparing dinner.  I even felt like life had finally returned to normal.  It felt good.

I was preparing the makings of Cobb Salad, including making the dressing.  I just love the feeling of accomplishment of making a perfect vinaigrette.

And then Karma reminded me that I shouldn't get so cocky.  I did something I don't think I've ever done before.  I burned the garlic/parm toasts.  BURNED them while crumbling blue cheese.  Sigh.  Luckily, I had plenty of ingredients so I could remake them . . . this time, paying close attention to what I was doing.

Now, if I could get over this snotty nose I've picked up just as I'm ready to get back to my normal life . . . although I guess you could argue that a runny, snotty nose is normal for me.  I'm a snot monkey.  sigh.

And the chef laughed, and laughed

I assume that what he was doing from the kitchen.

Tonight, I was having dinner with my travel companions at an Italianish restaurant.  First off, my impression of Bostonian food is that it lacks the flavor punch of southern food.  They are more restrained with the garlic and red pepper.  (Ethnic foods aside, of course.  We had some marvelous food at an Afghanistani restaurant the other night.)  Secondly, this place seems to think fairly highly of itself, but when is all is said and done, it is a hotel restaurant.

The restaurant was running a special promotion of "all you can eat pasta" for folks running the marathon tomorrow.  The menu said the first portion would be large and followed with as many smaller portions as the diner would like to eat.  The portion that arrived (for my companions) was no bigger than the pasta portions we experienced two nights ago.  And, the waiter failed to return to our table until sufficient time had passed that it was no longer worth it to attempt a second portion.

I bucked the trend at my table and ordered a special salad.  The description included bib lettuce, pulled chicken, something I'm unfamiliar with, and poached egg.  I received a bowl of fresh, tender lettuces.  In one area of the bowl, there was a small pile of filaments of very crispy items and in another area of the bowl, there was a smear of egg yolk.  I figured out that the dainty, crispy bits were the finest shreds of chicken that had been fried until crunchy.

I couldn't decide if the chef was too clever for his own good . . . or if he'd finally gone mad trying to create something cutting edge . . . or he assumed some yokel was trying to pretend to be sophisticated enough to think it was fancy food extraordinaire?  I suspect he was laughing at me (or anyone else was making him work beyond throwing sauce on pasta).

Or, perhaps karma was having a laugh at me, again, for turning my nose up at the chain restaurants at the mall across the street.

Wardrobe changes

Karma has truly had it's way with me.  Some time ago, I made the snarky remark on facebook about how that day I'd joined the "people of wal-mart."  I was sick, but had to make a run to the store for yet more kitty litter. (You would not believe how many tons of kitty litter my household runs through a week.)

So, in sloppy knit pants and a sweatshirt, to Wal-Mart I went.  And, I didn't care if I ended up as an example of the ruin of western civilization.

Then, the last three months happened.  I have lived in sloppy knit pants for the last 3 plus months.  (Granted, most of that time I didn't manage to leave the house.)  There were a few days before the first surgery when I was able to wear something human.  And, now, this week, we are finally in pants that button again.

Good one Karma . . . I'll be more careful with my hyperbole in the future.  Oh, and I learned something about not making too many assumptions about people who wander the planet in pajama pants.  Lesson learned.

The old woman is laughing at me now

When we were in NOLA recently, I had "crispy goat" at my favorite restaurant.  I'd had the crispy goat on a salad before, but this was served with curried lentils and a salad of cukes/'maters/mint.  It was fantastic.  Possibly one of the top meals I've ever had.

Tonight, I'm attempting to recreate curried lentils.  I sauteed a finely chopped carrot and half a sweet onion.  Then added the curry powder a friend brought me from Germany last summer.  Then added lentils and a little rice and a quart of veggie broth.  Oh, and several grinds of a spice blend I bought in NOLA called Pirate's Bite . . . a very very hot blend of peppers.

I love the smell of curry.  I'm pretty sure I could make a perfume of it and wear it happily.  I might spend too much time licking my own wrists . . . but I'd smell good.

And, I know the old woman is laughing at me.  I seem to recall being served lentils at her table and comparing them to the waste of small rodents.  I'm pretty sure she's loving this form of revenge.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

I don't know if this is a flaw or compassion, but I find myself sugar coating a lot.

Example:  recently the freeloader mama cat had a litter of kittens.  She is the worst kitty mama we have ever encountered.  She is just not cut out for motherhood.  And, if we could catch her, we'd get her fixed.  She had 5 kittens.  All beautiful variations of black and white.  We knew one died pretty quickly.  Then she started moving them around.  She will typically leave one behind when she moves them.  Late last week, I observed that she'd moved them, and abandoned the ones that were left to die.  Later that day, I did observe that they had all died, but their little bodies were inaccessible for me to retrieve to bury.

Since then, Phenom has been looking for the kittens.  Phenom thinks she might have moved them under the house in the rain.  I'm playing along, because I don't want the Phenom to be sad/angry over their fate.

Example:  I have a good friend who has struggled for years with mental illness.  He suffers from physical ailments that contribute, some.  Recently, my friend has fallen back into the pit.  I'm not sure how much I'm sugar-coating his situation . . . or am I just being kind?

And, when all else fails, I'm not afraid to use manipulation.

It's a tangled web.

Peaceful barter

One of the things that brings me absolute joy is bartering and bargaining.  Generally, Phenom will retreat and behave as if I'm some wacked out stranger until my deal is struck.  Then, all the sudden I'm a genius.

I've struck a bargain with my yoga teacher.

I made her a bunch of eye pillows (they are actually pretty cool with little pillow cases she can remove to launder).  And she's gonna trade me some yoga sessions.

I love it.

Good Monkey Deed

We had a wonderful, relaxing, drunken, full-bellied trip to the beach this weekend.  And, I even managed to earn a karma point.

We'd been walking on the beach with one of our friends.  As we came up from the sand and surf, we decided to stop by the bird sanctuary and look at the pelicans and owls being rehabilitated.  As we approached, there was a small family walking back from their day on the beach.  One of the toddlers was tired and wanted to be carried home.  The mother was also tired, and I imagine didn't want a cold, wet, sticky child attached to her.  They were at a stand-off.  Toddler didn't want to prove he COULD walk and mom just wanted to get home and get the wet clothes off.  Toddler was threatening to melt down.  Mom was using her best please-don't-melt-down-see-everything-is-okay voice.

I turned and asked the child "do you want to see the ducks?"  The child was a tad surprised, and I, with spirit squad enthusiasm offered again.  He took off trotting towards me.  I offered to hoist him up to look over the fence, when his mother was able to scoop him up.  We pointed at the owls and the pelicans, and the family of ducks.  And, then the mother turned to walk away (still holding a now happy, distracted child) and mouthed "thank you" at me.

I figure I earned another drink with that one, don't you?

Surprise!

I feel like I'm in some pretty cool, Portland themed pay-it-forward.  Today, in the mail, I received a package from someone in New Jersey.  At first, I assumed it was one of the several travel books I've signed up for through various tourist sites.  But, the New Jersey address kinda threw me.  I mean, who would think that the Portland tourism board would outsource their mailings to New Jersey?

And, when I opened it, it was a copy of Portlandia, A Guide for Visitors.  I love the show.  I'm hoping that the show is based on actual people who can be found in and around Portland.  But, I have no idea who sent me the book.  Well, there is a return address label.  But it isn't anyone I can recall actually knowing off the top of my head.

So, my imagination is in high gear.  Is this a cult recruitment tool?  Will Portland proselytizers show up on my doorstep, soon, to discuss with me the benefits of accepting Portland into my life?  Is this someone who knows someone who heard I was going to Portland?  Or is there a branch of Anonymous who monitors folks who register for the tourist books and sends out Portlandia?

It's pretty cool.  Getting a treatsky in the mail, totally unexpected, is the kind of thing that makes you think the world isn't half bad . . . and maybe I should give Portland a chance, eh?

Anyway, THANKS Judy from New Jersey!

Lessons

Earlier this week, I found myself left in charge of a small child for a brief period of time.  I know . . . blows my mind too!   Since I didn't have much time to corrupt the young mind, I resorted to the same sort of manipulation advertisers use. 

While the child ran around the auditorium, squealing happily, I kept saying over and over again "Rameses is my home boy."  (Said child's mother attended the rival school.)  Another "adult" in the room picked up on my tactic and started saying "Wa Hoo Wa." 

Now, all we have to do is wait for the child to start repeating those phrases at home.  And, mom will have learned her lesson about leaving a monkey as the designated "adult" with her child.  Heh.

Karma Points

You know who has a serious bank of karma points?  Phenom.

Saturday, we're in the kitchen with our weekend guest and the doorbell rings.  Phenom answers it, and comes back to the kitchen with a box of warm krispy kreme donuts.

And, then the Phenom explains that just on Friday, he was thinking how much he really would like donuts, and the VERY NEXT MORNING they are brought to our door.

I need to get him to buy a few lotto tickets.

One of those "ask forgiveness" situations?

One of the first, fundamental, lessons I learned about being human is that sometimes it is better to ask forgiveness than permission.  Generally, I think that any situation covered by this rule is probably something you ought to think twice about in the first place. 

But.  There is always a but, right?

Last month, my backwards little community finally started curbside recycling.  I've been sorting trash like a champ since.  Last pick up, we actually filled our 96 gallon recycling container.  I was so proud, even if I didn't get an award.

Phenom thinks I'm obsessed with recycling.  On one hand, there seem to be some items, like copy paper, that he thinks it is unreasonable to recycle, but on the other, he is more than happy to leave all the cat food cans for me to peel the labels and wash out. 

This weekend, after making my first Saturday morning visit to our tailgate farmer's market (WOOT), I was making a big ol' salad with all the fresh veggies when I thought to myself . . . I wonder what Phenom would say/do if I got a composter?  We throw out so much in the way of compostables.  It would be nice to have my own organic compost for the garden. 

Perhaps if one follows me home from work one day, we can keep it?

Drama Karma

You know that completely helpless feeling of knowing someone you care for deeply is about to do something completely foolhardy and with life-altering results and you can't do any thing about it?  Well, you could, but it would require you to violate your own personal rules of conduct and ethics and would most likely make the situation a whole lot worse any way?  Yeah.  That.

At least, none of the dramas in my life are my own.

The Friendly Thing To Do

With a fair amount of sadness, I am preparing to attend the memorial service of my dear friend who passed away, suddenly, earlier this month.  In the first several days after his death, I checked his facebook page (and that of his mother's) several times a day.  Seeing the messages of condolence trickle in made me feel better that others were grieving the loss of our friend.  Some folks posted memories, others posted pictures.  Probably one of the best things about our electronic world is how memorials can be created for all to see and share.

One aspect of our early days, my friend and I, was our exposure to the Friends (or Quakers) as a religion.  His was much more formal than mine, but there was enough to set us apart from our peers and bind us together.  He returned to the practice as an adult.  My local Friends meeting is more oriented towards anti-war activism, a cause I believe in but isn't really what I need for spiritual retreat.  His memorial will be in the style of the Friends.

Everyone will have their opportunity to share a memory, words of calm and peace, poetry, music, or what moves them in the moment.  I expect it will be an afternoon both laughter and tears.

I've made a hotel reservation so I can spend the night.  I don't want to be rushed as I grieve and say good bye. But, I've also let my friend's mother know I have an extra bed if someone else needs a place to stay in order to attend.  I'm pretty sure my friend would approve.  And, selfishly, I really want as many people as possible to take the time to attend.  I want his mother, his wife, his children to know that we share their grief, that he won't be forgotten, and that we are a community for them.

Reflecting

I'll confess something I bet you didn't know about me.  I tend to obsess.  I like to be generous with myself and say that it's my control-freak nature that likes my life to be neat and orderly.  (I said my life. . . not my home.)   I am just arrogant enough to think that I'm smart enough that I can reason through pretty much any difficulty I have in life.  Or, smart enough to know when to ask for help.  (Sadly, I'm also pretty stubborn and even when I know I ought to ask for help, I'm still likely to wait long past when it would have been most helpful to make such requests.)  The thing is, as much as I hate it, much of life cannot be reasoned out.  No amount of thinking or manipulating or pouting can make the universe bend to your will. 

I think the less generous characterization is that I hold a grudge like no body's business and I whine, a lot.

The last couple of years have been difficult, and largely beyond my control.  Sigh, lovely control.

But, at the same time, there have been real bright spots.  And, more often than not, I am reminded that I have some really wonderful friends.  People who will jump up to offer help.  Humans who have tolerated my whining.  People who are polite enough to act like they are laughing with me, rather than at me.  Folks who have been more than generous with me. 

I do appreciate it.  And, I will try, in the coming year, to focus more on what I have than what I cannot control.

Be Generous

It is the holiday time again. Along with planning parties, family events, huge meals, and the whatnot, how about including an act of generosity, too?

I know there are lots of folks with their hands out, and it's really easy to get pulled into stories about bad charities or people who hop from charity to charity. (Thank you facebook for making everyone just a bit more cynical about charities . . . and most folks looking for food boxes at the holidays aren't driving to the food bank in a 50K car.)

But, you can find a variety of ways to help out . . . and you can tailor your generosity to an issue near and dear to your heart. Did you have a grandmother who spent her final days at home with hospice care? What about adopting another hospice family and providing a homemade meal for them while they face the end of a loved one's life? Were you a kid who learned respect on the basketball court of your local Y? How about donating new basketballs, footballs, baseballs, and what-have-you to your local youth shelter? Look around your community, I promise there are many different ways to contribute without just giving a check.

This week, our company is encouraging our employees to support a local group of kids' holiday meal. These kids all come from a school that is like 110% free lunches. The local college is preparing a holiday meal to serve to the kids. They have asked for donations of food. I'm making a couple chocolate cakes. ESK is making a crazy amount of mashed potatoes. I have also pulled some homemade stock out of the freezer and will make gravy for ESK's potatoes.

Now, go be generous in your own special way!

I hate it when that happens

This is the rare and exotic 3-footed cat. Phenom and I cannot agree on her name. I call her Peg, for obvious reasons. Phenom calls her Tufts for the little sprigs of hair on the tops of her ears. She is a constant begger. At meal time, she would try every trick she could come up with to get to our plates. Shaking, and squirting, her with the squirt bottle did nothing to convince her to stop. Finally, we have had to resort to putting her in "time out" or the bathroom. As I dished up dinner, Phenom would whisk her into the bathroom because it was just too miserable to try to eat with her around. After a year and a half, she finally learned. She learned that she'll get treats when I'm in the kitchen, but not while we're eating. She was stubborn, but finally she could be left out during meal times.

That was until a couple of weeks ago. While I was off seeing my boys (Tony and Eric), Phenom fed her half of his chicken from his dinner plate. SPOILED her in the truest sense of the world. Because now she is back to attacking our dinner plates from any angle she can manage. And, she's back to being put in time out during meals.

I was getting to be the "responsible" parent by pointing out how Phenom's folly has translated into Peg being put back in her behavior. Everytime we put Peg back in the bathroom, I have loudly explained to her that it's Phenom's fault.

Then, this weekend, I killed my status as the responsible parent. I let Everest stay in the bedroom all day on Saturday. I shouldn't have. Everest now believes he should be in the bedroom all the time. And, at 3am this morning, he spent 30 minutes banging on the bedroom door. And again at 6am. And, at 8:30. And, then I let him stay in the bedroom all day today too.

Not only do I lose all credibility as the adult in our house, but I'll have many more nights of being awakened by an angry small cat banging non-stop on the door. sigh.

Sweet Story

Remember this one? It has now been named "Mickey Mittens" and is the full time buddy of a nice widow. One of the reasons Mickey Mitten's new family is smitten with him is because of the perfect little M on his forehead.

Today, his new buddy took him for his second round of kitten shots. The vet told her this story. She says that a tabby cat crawled into the manger with the baby Jesus to keep him warm. At this act of selflessness, Mary touched the cat on the forehead to bless it, and now only perfect tabby cats have the M marking.

Mickey Mitten's new buddy is the daughter of a minister and she lives in a parsonage. This story was absolutely the icing on the cake for an already close bond.

While Mickey Mittens was in our house, he took a liking to a beanie baby cow. I sent it along with him when he went to his home. I'm told he now "skateboards" on the cow . . . running and sliding across the floor on the cow. He also snuggles it when he sleeps. He has recently figured out how to climb up on his Buddy's bed and is so pleased with his trick, that he'll jump around until he falls off the bed.

He has also doubled in size from 1 pound to 2 pounds in 3 weeks, but still isn't quite as big as his cow. I suspect that Phenom was right when observing that I gave away a perfect cat. But, Mickey Mittens gets to be totally spoiled and the center of attention where he is now.