I continue to impress the people in the world around me with my thorough knowledge of pop culture, and I owe it all to Nintendo Wii. Without Wii and its assortment of games, I not would know the words to any Katy Perry songs. I would not know how awesome I am at dancing to Anita Ward's "Ring My Bell." My skills at defeating all the odds to be super champion of MarioKart would still be undiscovered.
To be clear, I am not openly declaring myself to be the champion of all Wii games ever made. But I am pretty good at some of them. Maybe not Call of Duty or Raving Rabbids, but maybe someday. Actually, combat games are never going to go well for me, so let's just forget about those. I get too disoriented and just start shooting everything. Never a good sign.
Now to totally change subjects! Tonight I am going to a wedding. It should be fun, but wearing a dress is always a little bit scary for me. Why is that?
Well.
When I was a child, we were a regular church-going family. Every Sunday, rain or shine, we were up earlier than is decent for a weekend, freshly scrubbed, dressed to the nines and expected to sit nicely in a pew and attend Sunday School.
Most of this routine was not bothersome to me, but the part where we were "dressed to the nines" always caused some consternation. At least for me.
First of all, the prerequisite item of clothing to be considered "dressed up" is right there in the title: a dress. I did not hate dresses. I was actually somewhat ambivalent towards them. Sure I wore them on occasion in my daily rotation, but I wasn't the kind of girl who insisted on them (or against them).
Next, when wearing a dress, at least back in the 1980's, the ensemble could not be considered truly worthy of a formal occasion unless tights were worn underneath. This served multiple purposes. First, we lived in Minnesota and sometimes the weather was inclement. Tights provided added protection for the legs from the elements and sometimes additional warmth. Second, modesty is sometimes an issue for children as they are prone to climbing, running and jumping all over the place regardless of what they are wearing. Underwear may come into view at some point, and this simply is not acceptable in public, especially at God's house.
Now that you know why I wore tights, I will tell you why I hated wearing them. There is some inherent flaw in the design of tights, likely due to the fact that they encapsulate the feet as well as the legs and have a tendency to take a downward dragging direction in the course of movement while wearing them. This sometimes leads to one's mother stopping to hike them up, often in an obvious and slightly embarrassing manner. The top of the tights also have an odd propensity to "roll." As in rolling down. As in eventually rolling off. This problem is uncomfortable and even more embarrassing to remedy.
The final piece of dress up that was required were "nice shoes." While children's fashion has now evolved to include much more stylish and comfortable varieties of footwear, during the 80's in rural MN, there were far few options. Buster Brown Shoes were the haute couture items du jour. Mine were usually black flats with some sort of dressy punch out design on the toes and featured buckles. They were not wildly uncomfortable, but they were extremely cumbersome to put on and remove. Also, they were quite slippery on all surfaces, but apparently snow boots and/or Care Bear Velcro sneakers were not acceptable alternatives.
Now that I am older and have more control over my wardrobe, things are different. When I wear dresses, I do not wear tights, or even panty hose if I can avoid it. I also have a wider variety of shoes, some with buckles, but mostly with a heel. I have now achieved some degree of master over buckles, but I have to admit that most of my dress shoes are slip-ons.
Unfortunately, I still must contend with the sometimes inclement weather of Minnesota. For this reason, I rarely wear dresses after October or before May. As it is August, tonight I will be going without tights and wearing heels. With buckles. I hope this means that they will stay on securely as I intend to use some of my new-found Wii dancing skills to impress at the wedding reception. Wish me luck.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Taking a break
As is often the case, my gas tank is perilously near empty. It used to happen that my father would graciously utilize my vehicle to run his weekly Saturday morning errands, after which he would fill up the tank for me. Those days appear to be over.
I exit the building and dart across the parking lot to my waiting oven-like car. I would prefer to stroll leisurely as it is a nice day, but I am on a mission and time is of the essence.
In order to avoid being stranded on the side of the road during my lunch break, I make a pit stop at my local Petro Pad. Pay-at-the-Pump has made my life so much easier, and I ponder this as I stand and wait for the tank to fill with regular unleaded gasoline.
When the pump shuts off, I carefully remove the nozzle so as not to squander any precious and overpriced liquid petroleum. After my receipt is in hand, I depart. The whole transaction has taken less than five minutes. Perfect.
Today is my lucky day; all the stoplights are timed in my favor. Before I know it, I am on the freeway on the way to my mission's destination: my house. In good traffic, this journey takes about 15-20 minutes. Traffic is good today.
I arrive in my neighborhood and wonder at the lush beauty of August in Minnesota after a good season of rainfall. Unfortunately, I do not have time to stop and smell the grass in front of my house for too long. I push the button for my garage door to open and drive in.
After fumbling for my keys for what feels like several minutes, I am finally in the house. I consult my list of tasks. First is "dog meds." This is because today is Lena's day for Heartguard and Frontline. Like an absent-minded fool I neglected to take these with me before I left. I grab these quickly as I have made a point to keep them in a central location to avoid 30 minutes of hunting through cupboards and closets.
Second on my list is "scarves." In my rush to depart on Tuesday, I was not able to locate the black shawl/scarve that my mother asked to borrow for a wedding on Friday. In the meantime, I have thought of another potential hiding place for this item, and I go to find it. Eureka. I make a split second decison to grab a pink and blue pashmina for myself. Time is of the essence, you know.
Third on my list is "mail." As this is located outside the house at the end of my street, I opt to move this to the bottom of the list and move on to the next item: "chocolate." My mother picked up some wonderful confections from DB Infusions of Madison, WI last weekend, and I need to have them with me so that they don't go bad before I get home this weekend. Into the bag they go.
There is nothing else left on the list except for the mail, so I grab my bag and head out the door. I briefly ponder whether it would be more efficient to walk to the mailbox or drive. I decide to walk. As usual, my mailbox lock fights the insertion of the key with extreme valor, but I prevail. It is only a matter of time before the tide turns against me, but for today, I am victorious.
Thankfully, the piece of important mail I seek is NOT in the pile. Oh well, you can't win them all. I walk back to the house, throw all my listed items in the car, and back out of the garage. Absently I push the button to remotely close the garage. As I drive out through the neighborhood, I pause in a brief panic to try and remember if I closed the garage. I consider looping back, but this would take too long and traffic on the return voyage can be unpredictable. If someone wants to steal my old bike and the foosball table, oh well.
Sadly, the lights are not in my favor on this leg of my journey. People are driving like slow-witted dust mops, and I grow impatient. After what feels like two hours (but is only 10 minutes) I am back on the freeway. I drive over the speed limit, but within the threshhold for tolerance. I breeze into the parking lot just in the nick of time to find the my parking space is still available. It's a small victory, but it pleases me.
I march back into the office and return to my desk, slightly out of breath, but ready to resume working.
Mission accomplished.
I exit the building and dart across the parking lot to my waiting oven-like car. I would prefer to stroll leisurely as it is a nice day, but I am on a mission and time is of the essence.
In order to avoid being stranded on the side of the road during my lunch break, I make a pit stop at my local Petro Pad. Pay-at-the-Pump has made my life so much easier, and I ponder this as I stand and wait for the tank to fill with regular unleaded gasoline.
When the pump shuts off, I carefully remove the nozzle so as not to squander any precious and overpriced liquid petroleum. After my receipt is in hand, I depart. The whole transaction has taken less than five minutes. Perfect.
Today is my lucky day; all the stoplights are timed in my favor. Before I know it, I am on the freeway on the way to my mission's destination: my house. In good traffic, this journey takes about 15-20 minutes. Traffic is good today.
I arrive in my neighborhood and wonder at the lush beauty of August in Minnesota after a good season of rainfall. Unfortunately, I do not have time to stop and smell the grass in front of my house for too long. I push the button for my garage door to open and drive in.
After fumbling for my keys for what feels like several minutes, I am finally in the house. I consult my list of tasks. First is "dog meds." This is because today is Lena's day for Heartguard and Frontline. Like an absent-minded fool I neglected to take these with me before I left. I grab these quickly as I have made a point to keep them in a central location to avoid 30 minutes of hunting through cupboards and closets.
Second on my list is "scarves." In my rush to depart on Tuesday, I was not able to locate the black shawl/scarve that my mother asked to borrow for a wedding on Friday. In the meantime, I have thought of another potential hiding place for this item, and I go to find it. Eureka. I make a split second decison to grab a pink and blue pashmina for myself. Time is of the essence, you know.
Third on my list is "mail." As this is located outside the house at the end of my street, I opt to move this to the bottom of the list and move on to the next item: "chocolate." My mother picked up some wonderful confections from DB Infusions of Madison, WI last weekend, and I need to have them with me so that they don't go bad before I get home this weekend. Into the bag they go.
There is nothing else left on the list except for the mail, so I grab my bag and head out the door. I briefly ponder whether it would be more efficient to walk to the mailbox or drive. I decide to walk. As usual, my mailbox lock fights the insertion of the key with extreme valor, but I prevail. It is only a matter of time before the tide turns against me, but for today, I am victorious.
Thankfully, the piece of important mail I seek is NOT in the pile. Oh well, you can't win them all. I walk back to the house, throw all my listed items in the car, and back out of the garage. Absently I push the button to remotely close the garage. As I drive out through the neighborhood, I pause in a brief panic to try and remember if I closed the garage. I consider looping back, but this would take too long and traffic on the return voyage can be unpredictable. If someone wants to steal my old bike and the foosball table, oh well.
Sadly, the lights are not in my favor on this leg of my journey. People are driving like slow-witted dust mops, and I grow impatient. After what feels like two hours (but is only 10 minutes) I am back on the freeway. I drive over the speed limit, but within the threshhold for tolerance. I breeze into the parking lot just in the nick of time to find the my parking space is still available. It's a small victory, but it pleases me.
I march back into the office and return to my desk, slightly out of breath, but ready to resume working.
Mission accomplished.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Does anyone have any mango habanero hot sauce for me?
They say that variety is the spice of life. Does this phrase make any sense to you? It really does not work for me. I mean, I like spicy food as much as the next guy, but can one really liken it to something as generic as “variety?” Maybe I am being too literal. Hm.
Readers, I know I say this a lot, but I am so ready for a new direction in my life. Mainly, I am referring to my career. If you can call it that.
Is the work that I do challenging? Not very. Is it rewarding? Not at all. Essentially, the only redeeming quality it has is that it provides me with monetary compensation that allows the other areas of my life not to fall into arrears. But is that really enough?
“Sure,” you say, “for goodness’ sake, Megan, just be happy that you have a job!”
Yes. I am indeed happy to have a job in the most basic sense. Then why I am I daily tested not to just turn heel and walk out the door?
I am not going to be one of those people who blame all their issues on other people. If I learned nothing from Stephen Covey, it is that no one can make me feel or react a certain way. Sure, maybe sometimes their intentions are to generate a specific result, but ultimately, I should be in control of my own expressions and emotions.
That said, I recognize that the best way to remedy the daily feelings of frustration may be to remove myself from them. Please believe that I am trying my best to do so. Unfortunately, that process is not moving as quickly as I had hoped.
You may recall that I had a goal of finding a new job by the end of summer. So far, that has not materialized. As always, there are a few hopeful possibilities in the works, but alas, the process of job hunting is never quick and easy. If only I possessed all of the experience, education and qualities that were required of every job I found interesting. But the applicant pool is deep, it appears. I am not the only one out there looking for greater career fulfillment.
The funny thing is, if you were to come to my parents’ house and hang out with us, you would find that both of my parents are singing a similar tune. To be clear, my mother is working for a coffee shop chain and doesn’t “need” to work, but she would like to line up a “real” job before she quits. Understandable.
My father is a different story. For all of my life, my father has worked a full-time, 9 to 5, business-suit required job. He has done a wonderful job providing for his family, but he always made sure that his free time was spent with us as well. It’s hard to beat my dad.
He started his career in the field of accounting. Not the most glamorous, but well-suited to his aptitudes and tendency towards fiscal conservation. A little later in life (in his 30’s), he made a career switch to financial work in the health care field. While this proved to be more monetarily rewarding, the stress level of dealing with health care professionals is a bit higher. He is 56 years old and not quite at retirement age, but I think that he would retire if he knew that he could. My mom likes to joke that now it is her turn to get the high-paying job and my dad to stay home with the “kids” (a.k.a. their two Jack Russell Terriers). Maybe this will happen. We’ll see.
My well-thought out solution to all of our assorted job-related ennui is to think of a business plan that utilizes all of our advanced degrees and work experience, quit our jobs and go into business for ourselves. Unfortunately, a business that incorporates finance, health care administration, counseling, coffee preparation and library science does not immediately come to mind. I suppose we could convince my brother to bring on his veterinary skills, but still.
So until someone comes up with this miraculous business plan, I will stay put and continue my search. It may lead me to take the desperate leap back into retail, but at least it would be something new, right? Maybe that is what they mean by “variety.”
Readers, I know I say this a lot, but I am so ready for a new direction in my life. Mainly, I am referring to my career. If you can call it that.
Is the work that I do challenging? Not very. Is it rewarding? Not at all. Essentially, the only redeeming quality it has is that it provides me with monetary compensation that allows the other areas of my life not to fall into arrears. But is that really enough?
“Sure,” you say, “for goodness’ sake, Megan, just be happy that you have a job!”
Yes. I am indeed happy to have a job in the most basic sense. Then why I am I daily tested not to just turn heel and walk out the door?
I am not going to be one of those people who blame all their issues on other people. If I learned nothing from Stephen Covey, it is that no one can make me feel or react a certain way. Sure, maybe sometimes their intentions are to generate a specific result, but ultimately, I should be in control of my own expressions and emotions.
That said, I recognize that the best way to remedy the daily feelings of frustration may be to remove myself from them. Please believe that I am trying my best to do so. Unfortunately, that process is not moving as quickly as I had hoped.
You may recall that I had a goal of finding a new job by the end of summer. So far, that has not materialized. As always, there are a few hopeful possibilities in the works, but alas, the process of job hunting is never quick and easy. If only I possessed all of the experience, education and qualities that were required of every job I found interesting. But the applicant pool is deep, it appears. I am not the only one out there looking for greater career fulfillment.
The funny thing is, if you were to come to my parents’ house and hang out with us, you would find that both of my parents are singing a similar tune. To be clear, my mother is working for a coffee shop chain and doesn’t “need” to work, but she would like to line up a “real” job before she quits. Understandable.
My father is a different story. For all of my life, my father has worked a full-time, 9 to 5, business-suit required job. He has done a wonderful job providing for his family, but he always made sure that his free time was spent with us as well. It’s hard to beat my dad.
He started his career in the field of accounting. Not the most glamorous, but well-suited to his aptitudes and tendency towards fiscal conservation. A little later in life (in his 30’s), he made a career switch to financial work in the health care field. While this proved to be more monetarily rewarding, the stress level of dealing with health care professionals is a bit higher. He is 56 years old and not quite at retirement age, but I think that he would retire if he knew that he could. My mom likes to joke that now it is her turn to get the high-paying job and my dad to stay home with the “kids” (a.k.a. their two Jack Russell Terriers). Maybe this will happen. We’ll see.
My well-thought out solution to all of our assorted job-related ennui is to think of a business plan that utilizes all of our advanced degrees and work experience, quit our jobs and go into business for ourselves. Unfortunately, a business that incorporates finance, health care administration, counseling, coffee preparation and library science does not immediately come to mind. I suppose we could convince my brother to bring on his veterinary skills, but still.
So until someone comes up with this miraculous business plan, I will stay put and continue my search. It may lead me to take the desperate leap back into retail, but at least it would be something new, right? Maybe that is what they mean by “variety.”
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Lena Speaks
I apologize for my absence. Please know that I started several entries only to be sidetracked by things like life. And sleep.
So in my stead, Lena will be composing this blog entry.
Howdy, Humans! This is Lena Bernice, canine extraordinaire. After all those nights trying to distract Megan from her blog to pay attention to meeeee by dramatically throwing myself across the glowing shiny box that she stares at for way more time than should be necessary, I am finally in CHARGE.
It's been a big week for me. Honestly, it's been a big year for me, but you probably know all about that already. Actually, time is really non-linear to me, so I don't think in terms of weeks, months, days, years, and so on. I am pretty much an "in the moment" kind of gal. But for you guys, I will stretch my powers of memory.
Last week I had a bit of tummy troubles. To be fair, Megan had them first. But because my spoken language skills are a bit lacking, I was not able to tell anyone what was really wrong.
Megan did not seem too thrilled with the fluid that kept coming out of my mouth and landing on her bed and floor. Next thing I knew, we were in the travel machine and when I was released, we were at my favorite place. The place where Pippi and Thor live: the Happy Place. The place where I am free to dig up worms and cover myself with their scent.
Unfortunately, we did not stay here long. After I deposited some more mouth fluid on the floor, I went back into the travel machine. We went to a place that smelled like fear. They poked and prodded me on a shiny table. Then... horrors... Megan LEFT me!
It felt like forever, but in the meantime, I made new friends. It is amazing what some tail wagging can do for you in a joint like that.
Megan came back and we went back to the Happy Place. People came and went, as is their custom, but Pippi, Thor and I did not care. We went about our business, sleeping, eating, chasing, barking, hunting and mulching without a care in the world.
On what Megan says is "Friday," I had to make another trip to a different building that smelled and sounded like torture and fear. This time, I must have managed to scare them off because all they did was poke me with a couple of strange objects and we were free to go. I did feel a little sore afterwards, but I kept the humans from touching the soreness by growling and screeching like a wounded Tyrannosaurus Rex. Megan said I sounded like a gremlin. Whatever that is.
Not too long after this, I noticed that Megan and the human she calls "Dad" were acting strangely. Next thing I knew, they were forcing us all into our Garments of Forced Direction and attaching our tethers. Pippi, Thor and I are always a bit leery of this action as it can have results of varying appeal.
In this case, it meant that we were all going into a travel machine with Megan and "Dad." Megan sat in the front near the large circle, but "Dad" sat in the seat with us. Pippi sat on top of "Dad," but Thor and I laid down on the seat and tried to nap.
After what felt like an eternity, the travel machine stopped. This is my cue to bark as loud and as viciously as possible to ward off any potential predators that may want to ambush us. It usually works quite well.
We spent a lot of time getting in and out of the travel machine. Sometimes we got out and went into familiar buildings. One of them smelled really interesting. Apparently the smell was not as appealing to Megan and "Dad" as they did not wish to stay there long.
I did get to see two of my favorite people: Ben and Joe. They are always very nice and play with me and pet me. There are two "cats" in their house. I would like to know them better, but they are a bit standoffish. They are not fans of butt sniffing. Go figure.
Finally, the travel machine brought us back to the Happy Place. We did some running and rolling, but we were tired. If you can believe it, Megan and I got back into the travel machine and ended up back at home.
Clearly, we were both pooped. Megan tried to tap on the glowing shiny box to work on this blog, but her eyes kept glazing over. We gave in and went to bed.
In the morning, we went outside wearing the Garment of Forced Direction and the tether and paraded around the neighborhood. We then returned to the house where I breakfasted and then watched Megan "get ready" with what I hoped was a mournful gaze. Instead of letting me have free run of the house when she finally abandoned me, she asked me to return to my KENNEL.
I suffered this indignity only because I know that it enables me to receive copious amounts of crunchy snacks.
When she returned after what felt like ETERNITY, we went for our afternoon parade. After coming home and dining, Megan disappeared into the smelly dark room where the travel machine lives and came back with a LARGE object.
Once it was on the floor, I examined it. It appeared to be a larger version of my kennel. Just to be sure, I went in as Megan requested and was rewarded with crunchy snacks. My incarceration was short-lived, but I fear that there may be extended stays in my future. On the plus side, the ceiling of this k-word is higher and the floor is bigger. I can stretch out in there and do a little jig if I so please (and I do).
What will the future bring? I hardly know. If I had to guess, there will be more parading and eventually we will (hopefully) return to the Happy Place. This new k-word along with all the newly washed sheets and carpets are really cramping my scent. I need to roll in some worms.
So in my stead, Lena will be composing this blog entry.
Howdy, Humans! This is Lena Bernice, canine extraordinaire. After all those nights trying to distract Megan from her blog to pay attention to meeeee by dramatically throwing myself across the glowing shiny box that she stares at for way more time than should be necessary, I am finally in CHARGE.
It's been a big week for me. Honestly, it's been a big year for me, but you probably know all about that already. Actually, time is really non-linear to me, so I don't think in terms of weeks, months, days, years, and so on. I am pretty much an "in the moment" kind of gal. But for you guys, I will stretch my powers of memory.
Last week I had a bit of tummy troubles. To be fair, Megan had them first. But because my spoken language skills are a bit lacking, I was not able to tell anyone what was really wrong.
Megan did not seem too thrilled with the fluid that kept coming out of my mouth and landing on her bed and floor. Next thing I knew, we were in the travel machine and when I was released, we were at my favorite place. The place where Pippi and Thor live: the Happy Place. The place where I am free to dig up worms and cover myself with their scent.
Unfortunately, we did not stay here long. After I deposited some more mouth fluid on the floor, I went back into the travel machine. We went to a place that smelled like fear. They poked and prodded me on a shiny table. Then... horrors... Megan LEFT me!
It felt like forever, but in the meantime, I made new friends. It is amazing what some tail wagging can do for you in a joint like that.
Megan came back and we went back to the Happy Place. People came and went, as is their custom, but Pippi, Thor and I did not care. We went about our business, sleeping, eating, chasing, barking, hunting and mulching without a care in the world.
On what Megan says is "Friday," I had to make another trip to a different building that smelled and sounded like torture and fear. This time, I must have managed to scare them off because all they did was poke me with a couple of strange objects and we were free to go. I did feel a little sore afterwards, but I kept the humans from touching the soreness by growling and screeching like a wounded Tyrannosaurus Rex. Megan said I sounded like a gremlin. Whatever that is.
Not too long after this, I noticed that Megan and the human she calls "Dad" were acting strangely. Next thing I knew, they were forcing us all into our Garments of Forced Direction and attaching our tethers. Pippi, Thor and I are always a bit leery of this action as it can have results of varying appeal.
In this case, it meant that we were all going into a travel machine with Megan and "Dad." Megan sat in the front near the large circle, but "Dad" sat in the seat with us. Pippi sat on top of "Dad," but Thor and I laid down on the seat and tried to nap.
After what felt like an eternity, the travel machine stopped. This is my cue to bark as loud and as viciously as possible to ward off any potential predators that may want to ambush us. It usually works quite well.
We spent a lot of time getting in and out of the travel machine. Sometimes we got out and went into familiar buildings. One of them smelled really interesting. Apparently the smell was not as appealing to Megan and "Dad" as they did not wish to stay there long.
I did get to see two of my favorite people: Ben and Joe. They are always very nice and play with me and pet me. There are two "cats" in their house. I would like to know them better, but they are a bit standoffish. They are not fans of butt sniffing. Go figure.
Finally, the travel machine brought us back to the Happy Place. We did some running and rolling, but we were tired. If you can believe it, Megan and I got back into the travel machine and ended up back at home.
Clearly, we were both pooped. Megan tried to tap on the glowing shiny box to work on this blog, but her eyes kept glazing over. We gave in and went to bed.
In the morning, we went outside wearing the Garment of Forced Direction and the tether and paraded around the neighborhood. We then returned to the house where I breakfasted and then watched Megan "get ready" with what I hoped was a mournful gaze. Instead of letting me have free run of the house when she finally abandoned me, she asked me to return to my KENNEL.
I suffered this indignity only because I know that it enables me to receive copious amounts of crunchy snacks.
When she returned after what felt like ETERNITY, we went for our afternoon parade. After coming home and dining, Megan disappeared into the smelly dark room where the travel machine lives and came back with a LARGE object.
Once it was on the floor, I examined it. It appeared to be a larger version of my kennel. Just to be sure, I went in as Megan requested and was rewarded with crunchy snacks. My incarceration was short-lived, but I fear that there may be extended stays in my future. On the plus side, the ceiling of this k-word is higher and the floor is bigger. I can stretch out in there and do a little jig if I so please (and I do).
What will the future bring? I hardly know. If I had to guess, there will be more parading and eventually we will (hopefully) return to the Happy Place. This new k-word along with all the newly washed sheets and carpets are really cramping my scent. I need to roll in some worms.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Nursery Rhymes
Francis or Franklin
OK, so that last entry was a bit lethargic. I need to get snappier. What is wrong with me???
Maybe it is due to the fact that I did not have espresso today. Just two cups of the violently disgusting brew of toad droppings that is the coffee provided by my employer. They mean well. We used to get Starbucks. I don't know who angered the office manager to the point that we had to switch to "Rainy Day Blend," but I apologize on their behalf. Seriously. "Rainy Day Blend?" What a way to start the day.
I know that I have done it before, but this weekend I will be tempting fate and spending three days alone with three small hyperactive dogs. One is mine, who incidentally is recovering well after her dramatic day in the hospital. Although I am not a wildly social person, I have been making small attempts to reach out. So far, I have had no affirmative responses. Most people are going out of town.
Speaking of the hospital, it sounds like my grandfather is in one now as well. Poor guy has been having some problems lately and being the true passive-aggressive Norwegian that he is, he hasn't wanted to complain, but it has become blatantly obvious that all is not well in his world.
This is my only living grandparent, and he just turned 85. While his health has not always been perfect, there is really no reason to suspect that he will not make it to 90. Just not in his current independent living situation.
Getting old is not easy, no matter what age you are. Suddenly finding that you can no longer do certain things and that you may have to become dependent on the kindness of health care staff to accomplish basic daily rituals cannot be appealing. Thankfully, my grandfather is a social guy and I think that he actually likes the attention of the nursing staff. Especially if they are cute girls.
Of course, he has also been known to attempt to play yenta for me. Several years ago, during an extended hospitalization, I came to visit him. After initial pleasantries were exchanged, he informed me that he had found me a nice young doctor to marry. Thankfully, there was never a chance for introduction, but it was interesting to learn that my grandfather may be just as anxious to see me married as my mother. Especially as this is my father's father.
Please keep in mind that this is the man who found great amusement in passing me false information about seemingly insignificant facts for his own amusement. The most memorable of these instances happened when I was quite small.
As a child, I was consumed with knowing minute and strange details about my friends and family. You could say I was obsessed with trivial facts. For example, I had a big interest in middle names. After my first day of preschool, I came home and recited the first and middle names of every single classmate.
Naturally, I made inquiries to family members as well. I remember distinctly asking my grandfather about his middle name, and he informed me that it was Francis. As a trusting child, I saw no reason to suspect otherwise.
Fast forward to my teens. I don't know how it came up. Perhaps it was on a document or maybe someone mentioned it in conversation. Either way, it was pointed out that his middle name was Franklin. I was completely caught off guard. I questioned the source and tried to insist that he told he it was Francis. True, the two names are not wildly different, but I knew what I knew.
Turns out, he lied to me on purpose as part of a joke. A joke that only he knew about. A joke that would only reach its punchline many years later and likely not when he was present. You may think that his sense of humor must be a bit off. You may be right.
Part of being in a family is knowing what makes everyone else "tick." For all is bizarre ideas, my grandfather knew at my young age what sort of thing would work on me and my own idiosyncrasies. He was right; it really did irritate me when I learned I had been duped.
I wish that I could say this was the only time he did this to me, but that would be a lie. My gullibility has been the source for much amusement over the years, and even my own father has taken to participating on occasion.
I really do hope that he recovers to trick me again in the future. I need someone to remind me that I do not have all the facts yet.
Maybe it is due to the fact that I did not have espresso today. Just two cups of the violently disgusting brew of toad droppings that is the coffee provided by my employer. They mean well. We used to get Starbucks. I don't know who angered the office manager to the point that we had to switch to "Rainy Day Blend," but I apologize on their behalf. Seriously. "Rainy Day Blend?" What a way to start the day.
I know that I have done it before, but this weekend I will be tempting fate and spending three days alone with three small hyperactive dogs. One is mine, who incidentally is recovering well after her dramatic day in the hospital. Although I am not a wildly social person, I have been making small attempts to reach out. So far, I have had no affirmative responses. Most people are going out of town.
Speaking of the hospital, it sounds like my grandfather is in one now as well. Poor guy has been having some problems lately and being the true passive-aggressive Norwegian that he is, he hasn't wanted to complain, but it has become blatantly obvious that all is not well in his world.
This is my only living grandparent, and he just turned 85. While his health has not always been perfect, there is really no reason to suspect that he will not make it to 90. Just not in his current independent living situation.
Getting old is not easy, no matter what age you are. Suddenly finding that you can no longer do certain things and that you may have to become dependent on the kindness of health care staff to accomplish basic daily rituals cannot be appealing. Thankfully, my grandfather is a social guy and I think that he actually likes the attention of the nursing staff. Especially if they are cute girls.
Of course, he has also been known to attempt to play yenta for me. Several years ago, during an extended hospitalization, I came to visit him. After initial pleasantries were exchanged, he informed me that he had found me a nice young doctor to marry. Thankfully, there was never a chance for introduction, but it was interesting to learn that my grandfather may be just as anxious to see me married as my mother. Especially as this is my father's father.
Please keep in mind that this is the man who found great amusement in passing me false information about seemingly insignificant facts for his own amusement. The most memorable of these instances happened when I was quite small.
As a child, I was consumed with knowing minute and strange details about my friends and family. You could say I was obsessed with trivial facts. For example, I had a big interest in middle names. After my first day of preschool, I came home and recited the first and middle names of every single classmate.
Naturally, I made inquiries to family members as well. I remember distinctly asking my grandfather about his middle name, and he informed me that it was Francis. As a trusting child, I saw no reason to suspect otherwise.
Fast forward to my teens. I don't know how it came up. Perhaps it was on a document or maybe someone mentioned it in conversation. Either way, it was pointed out that his middle name was Franklin. I was completely caught off guard. I questioned the source and tried to insist that he told he it was Francis. True, the two names are not wildly different, but I knew what I knew.
Turns out, he lied to me on purpose as part of a joke. A joke that only he knew about. A joke that would only reach its punchline many years later and likely not when he was present. You may think that his sense of humor must be a bit off. You may be right.
Part of being in a family is knowing what makes everyone else "tick." For all is bizarre ideas, my grandfather knew at my young age what sort of thing would work on me and my own idiosyncrasies. He was right; it really did irritate me when I learned I had been duped.
I wish that I could say this was the only time he did this to me, but that would be a lie. My gullibility has been the source for much amusement over the years, and even my own father has taken to participating on occasion.
I really do hope that he recovers to trick me again in the future. I need someone to remind me that I do not have all the facts yet.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Open to suggestion
It is always nice to get a long email from an old friend. For those of you who don't know me personally, the fact that I tend to be a bit verbose in written form belies a certain aspect of my verbal communication preferences. Essentially, I hate spending a lot of time on the phone. Generally, anyway.
Today I received an email message from a good friend who lives too far away from me to see on a regular basis. It was nice; but it made me start to think about things that I have been trying to ignore for the present.
Essentially, at some point I need to decide what I am going to do. About what? My life.
I am definitely open to suggestion, but I would prefer that the ideas fall into the line of the MLIS degree that I shall soon possess.
Don't get me wrong, I realize that almost everybody goes through this sort of crisis every once in a while. Being on break does strange things to a person's mind.
Today I received an email message from a good friend who lives too far away from me to see on a regular basis. It was nice; but it made me start to think about things that I have been trying to ignore for the present.
Essentially, at some point I need to decide what I am going to do. About what? My life.
I am definitely open to suggestion, but I would prefer that the ideas fall into the line of the MLIS degree that I shall soon possess.
Don't get me wrong, I realize that almost everybody goes through this sort of crisis every once in a while. Being on break does strange things to a person's mind.
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