Thursday, May 31, 2007
the eight ball
OK - so I think that the cubical job is stability, but it's also a way to sabotage the chance to get back to a career that stalled out a few years back. I've got to buck up and walk away from the cubical - even though I actually love it there; good people, data analysis, computers. No real risk of making anyone angry or disappointed....hmm. It really is time to get back in front of the eight-ball. Art, collaboration, risk, travel, and I can even go for bike rides in the morning because most people in this business don't get themselves started until 10:00am. ....and so it begins, tomorrow.
Monday, May 28, 2007
The Bike - Part Three
If "the bike" doesn't make you role your eyes and groan, then you should refer to my blog entries of April 27 "I'm OK with that" and May 4th "Remember the bike?"
On Friday last I loaded the "soon-to-be-X husband's girlfriend's hand-me-down not fancy bike" onto the rack on the back of my car. Then I went one better, I loaded my" soon-be-ex-husband's hand-me-down bike" onto the car as well. So with these two bikes strapped precariously onto my station wagon I raced down to the helpful bike shop in Claremont NH. The highway was fine, but just as I left the highway and slowed down, one side of the rack collapsed and I looked in the rear view mirror to see the bikes dangling by the skinny little stretchy cord as I continued across the "narrow bridge". IN that split second I really hoped that they both fell into the river. If I had a picture it would be better, but oh how I would have loved to share that story. They didn't. I made it across, got out, reset the rack, and carried on.
The bike shop was having a swap. I didn't intend to return to my garage with either of those bikes, ever. I unloaded them, I asked the guy (Bob) what he thought I could expect for them ($50 each) and said, "Great, let's find me a bike Bob." He took me downstairs, we spent a terrific 15 minutes educating me on hybrids, comfort bikes, road bikes, and wimp bikes, also known as "old lady bikes". He brought a blue and silver Trek Hybrid up and set the seat to the right height, and off I went (yes I was wearing a helmet). Let me take a moment to explain the depth of my epiphany as I toddled out of the parking lot. I have NEVER, never ever, ever ridden a bike that was the right size. I have never ridden a bike with shocks, I have never ridden a new bike. I have never been so happy. After only five minutes I returned to Bob and said "That will do just fine." He convinced me try at least one other bike, but confided that he was pretty sure that Blue and Silver was the right bike for me.
As part of the chit-chat that happens nervously when a stranger is trying to check the height of your bike seat, I might have told Bob about the origin of the other two bikes. He got very serious, he looked right at me and said "Oh, you need this bike, and you need to trick it out with whatever you want." That sounded good. I limited myself to a rack, new peddles, and a water bottle holder, but Bob was sweet, and I think he was moved by my story, so he gave me a great break on the cost.
Now gas is up to 3.00/gallon, Blue and Silver is coming home tomorrow, and I intend to ride like the wind.
As they say in the movies "Drive Louise, just drive!"
On Friday last I loaded the "soon-to-be-X husband's girlfriend's hand-me-down not fancy bike" onto the rack on the back of my car. Then I went one better, I loaded my" soon-be-ex-husband's hand-me-down bike" onto the car as well. So with these two bikes strapped precariously onto my station wagon I raced down to the helpful bike shop in Claremont NH. The highway was fine, but just as I left the highway and slowed down, one side of the rack collapsed and I looked in the rear view mirror to see the bikes dangling by the skinny little stretchy cord as I continued across the "narrow bridge". IN that split second I really hoped that they both fell into the river. If I had a picture it would be better, but oh how I would have loved to share that story. They didn't. I made it across, got out, reset the rack, and carried on.
The bike shop was having a swap. I didn't intend to return to my garage with either of those bikes, ever. I unloaded them, I asked the guy (Bob) what he thought I could expect for them ($50 each) and said, "Great, let's find me a bike Bob." He took me downstairs, we spent a terrific 15 minutes educating me on hybrids, comfort bikes, road bikes, and wimp bikes, also known as "old lady bikes". He brought a blue and silver Trek Hybrid up and set the seat to the right height, and off I went (yes I was wearing a helmet). Let me take a moment to explain the depth of my epiphany as I toddled out of the parking lot. I have NEVER, never ever, ever ridden a bike that was the right size. I have never ridden a bike with shocks, I have never ridden a new bike. I have never been so happy. After only five minutes I returned to Bob and said "That will do just fine." He convinced me try at least one other bike, but confided that he was pretty sure that Blue and Silver was the right bike for me.
As part of the chit-chat that happens nervously when a stranger is trying to check the height of your bike seat, I might have told Bob about the origin of the other two bikes. He got very serious, he looked right at me and said "Oh, you need this bike, and you need to trick it out with whatever you want." That sounded good. I limited myself to a rack, new peddles, and a water bottle holder, but Bob was sweet, and I think he was moved by my story, so he gave me a great break on the cost.
Now gas is up to 3.00/gallon, Blue and Silver is coming home tomorrow, and I intend to ride like the wind.
As they say in the movies "Drive Louise, just drive!"
add weed whacking to the list
And so my 60 hours of solitude have come to an end. I'm back home with daughters shouting for glasses of water, or ice cubes, and kittens climbing painfully up my legs, and laundry screaming to be folded. It's been wonderful to escape; and it's wonderful to return.
The drive up 89 though NH and into Vermont with the rolling green hills, the silhouetted grey blue mountains, the red tail hawks and "moose crossing" signs, make the end of any vacation a little easier to handle.
The s2bx is off to France tomorrow, (pronounced Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaance). He admonished me for telling people that he was going to France. I must admit that it never occurred to me that this should be a secret. It was not out of any ill intent that I told every single solitary mutual friend that we have that he was going to France with his girlfriend. I mean - it's no secret, right? However, I will also admit, it buys me a whole lot of "understanding" from our friends and neighbors.
It is a nice prospect, these next 8 days with him out of the country. He tries to be helpful. It's just that it inevitably makes me a little stressed. Tonight I asked him where the oil was for the weed-whacker. I got a 20 minute "explanation" of how complex and special the weed-whacker was. It was followed by advice on what parts of the yard would be better mowed, or whacked. I smiled and nodded, and thought "international flight leaving tomorrow, then I can weed whack all I want!"
The drive up 89 though NH and into Vermont with the rolling green hills, the silhouetted grey blue mountains, the red tail hawks and "moose crossing" signs, make the end of any vacation a little easier to handle.
The s2bx is off to France tomorrow, (pronounced Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaance). He admonished me for telling people that he was going to France. I must admit that it never occurred to me that this should be a secret. It was not out of any ill intent that I told every single solitary mutual friend that we have that he was going to France with his girlfriend. I mean - it's no secret, right? However, I will also admit, it buys me a whole lot of "understanding" from our friends and neighbors.
It is a nice prospect, these next 8 days with him out of the country. He tries to be helpful. It's just that it inevitably makes me a little stressed. Tonight I asked him where the oil was for the weed-whacker. I got a 20 minute "explanation" of how complex and special the weed-whacker was. It was followed by advice on what parts of the yard would be better mowed, or whacked. I smiled and nodded, and thought "international flight leaving tomorrow, then I can weed whack all I want!"
Sunday, May 27, 2007
"Adriane!!"
It's cold. It's nice. I like it. The breeze is chilly and cleansing. I thought that I had figured out the coffee maker. Apparently not. The joyful taste of yesterday's coffee, has been left behind. I actually dumped the first pot , it was that bad. Now I'm struggling through the revised version. Nothing like the magical brew my hosts usually make. Same machine, same beans, hmmm....what is it about getting to the know the quirks of one's own machine?
The dog that I am spending the weekend with? She is such a pleasure. She is snugly, all 75 pounds of Pit/Lab mix. She thinks that she should be a lap dog, but she has very bony elbows! This morning, the dog and I were still sleeping at 9:45 am when I was woken up by the sounds of Rocky Balboa out my window. It was full on "Adriane !" accent and attitude. He was not pleased that his friend was still asleep and hadn't left the door unlocked. He carried on an entire conversation, playing both parts, arguing with his sleeping friend about just how many bars they had or hadn't gone to the night before. I do know that the Philly accent and the Gloucester accent are not the same. I suspect that is was that special, strained, guttural execution that marked the similarity between the neighbor and Stallone. The joy of it all was that I didn't have to get up. I could lay there and listen, drift back to sleep for a little longer myself, and then get up when I was good and ready for coffee..unfortunately, note above, not a good reason to get up today.
The dog that I am spending the weekend with? She is such a pleasure. She is snugly, all 75 pounds of Pit/Lab mix. She thinks that she should be a lap dog, but she has very bony elbows! This morning, the dog and I were still sleeping at 9:45 am when I was woken up by the sounds of Rocky Balboa out my window. It was full on "Adriane !" accent and attitude. He was not pleased that his friend was still asleep and hadn't left the door unlocked. He carried on an entire conversation, playing both parts, arguing with his sleeping friend about just how many bars they had or hadn't gone to the night before. I do know that the Philly accent and the Gloucester accent are not the same. I suspect that is was that special, strained, guttural execution that marked the similarity between the neighbor and Stallone. The joy of it all was that I didn't have to get up. I could lay there and listen, drift back to sleep for a little longer myself, and then get up when I was good and ready for coffee..unfortunately, note above, not a good reason to get up today.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
free and easy
A person can't live on Honey Bunches of Oats alone. Well, that is unless she's house/dog sitting near the beach and still hasn't gotten dressed and is on her fourth large ice coffee. Yes, this means life is VERY good! The house for which I am sitting is the home of excellent home brewers with great taste in music. (The dog is pretty amazing too.) So, good beer, good coffee, good music, no appointments, nobody asking me to drive them anywhere, and a full box of Honey Bunches of Oats!
The only objective for the next three days is to conquer three rather intimidating writing projects, so you may have guessed that blog writing is a distraction from the assigned task. I bet I'll be back quite a few times this Memorial day weekend.
May all your grills be hot, your beer cold, and your smiles free and easy.
The only objective for the next three days is to conquer three rather intimidating writing projects, so you may have guessed that blog writing is a distraction from the assigned task. I bet I'll be back quite a few times this Memorial day weekend.
May all your grills be hot, your beer cold, and your smiles free and easy.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
friends say the darndest things
This is what Rose says about the s2bx:
"Just because you read a Cookbook, doesn't mean you know how to cook." Rose
Inspired by:
"Apes read Nitche, they just don't understand it." Fish Called Wanda
"Just because you read a Cookbook, doesn't mean you know how to cook." Rose
Inspired by:
"Apes read Nitche, they just don't understand it." Fish Called Wanda
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
cheeseburgers will follow
I played guitar in the dark, looking at the moon. I made cheeseburgers for dinner and they didn't suck. You see, for 15 years I've not been allowed to make the cheeseburgers. I willingly bought into the theory that I was incapable of cooking a meal. It was presented in such a way that it seemed moot to endure the learning curve. So I accept the assessment of failure and stand back. That's changed now. I've learned that I have to learn. I've learned that it's OK to NOT actually be perfect the first time. As a result, in the 5 months since my separation, I have actually learned to make cheeseburgers. They didn't suck. My kids ate them, I even enjoyed mine. This may seem small, but it's not.
We went to couples therapy today. It was amusing. I've been veiled and obtuse about details of my daily life. So I will try not to seem like a soap opera weekly update. The fact is, I've accepted a pretty spectacular, and risky job. It allows my career to pick up where it left off 12 years ago. Today my s2bx said "I'm happy for you because now I don't have to feel guilty about having a job I like." I thought maybe he just didn't see how that sounded, but he reiterated the sentiment three or four times, finally summarizing his thoughts with "I couldn't allow myself to be really happy when I thought you were just muddling through." Hmm. It's possible that all those years of "It's OK that you can't cook cheeseburgers, because I'll just take care of it." should have clued me in.
My friends; new ones, old ones, from bizarre corners of the world and right next door, have allowed me to recognize that I am, quite simply, perfectly capable of being happy. I don't need permission to feel good or make mistakes (because I have made some, and I plan to make more). There are some things I could use some work on: taking the time to put moisturizer on my feet so they don't feel like sand paper, acknowledging when the "check engine" light goes on in the car, and cleaning the litter boxes everyday. If I can work on those, then the cheeseburgers will follow.
We went to couples therapy today. It was amusing. I've been veiled and obtuse about details of my daily life. So I will try not to seem like a soap opera weekly update. The fact is, I've accepted a pretty spectacular, and risky job. It allows my career to pick up where it left off 12 years ago. Today my s2bx said "I'm happy for you because now I don't have to feel guilty about having a job I like." I thought maybe he just didn't see how that sounded, but he reiterated the sentiment three or four times, finally summarizing his thoughts with "I couldn't allow myself to be really happy when I thought you were just muddling through." Hmm. It's possible that all those years of "It's OK that you can't cook cheeseburgers, because I'll just take care of it." should have clued me in.
My friends; new ones, old ones, from bizarre corners of the world and right next door, have allowed me to recognize that I am, quite simply, perfectly capable of being happy. I don't need permission to feel good or make mistakes (because I have made some, and I plan to make more). There are some things I could use some work on: taking the time to put moisturizer on my feet so they don't feel like sand paper, acknowledging when the "check engine" light goes on in the car, and cleaning the litter boxes everyday. If I can work on those, then the cheeseburgers will follow.
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