Paws for Reflection

What Friends Are For...

Most who know me are aware that things are not going quite so hot right now - and that the current state of my life, were it a TV show, would put most debacle-ridden reality programs to shame.  However, there is always a silver lining, and the hard times that have come recently have made me aware more than ever of the linings that shine in my dark clouds - I have never been more aware of how blessed I am to be surrounded by good friends and good people.

I try as much as possible to be a healthy individual - I feed my mind every day, I try to feed my body as healthily as possible (damn you, O Maker of Delicious and Crunchy Cheetos), and I feed my soul as often as I can.  Several years ago I went through a "cleansing" - I took a good hard look at the people that I called friend, and I made a list of those who made my life a brighter place, and a list of those that drained my energy, but with whom I had kept ties for reasons of family, obligation, habit, what have you. I ended up sitting down with the "drainers", and asking them to help me be more positive - some of them made a sincere effort, and we remain close.  Some did not, and I let the ties be severed. 

Amazingly, it made a difference.  I am always wary of "Dr. Phil" type solutions - I find most of them are simplistic and very difficult to maintain while living a normal life - but this one worked for me.  I found that I had outgrown, or perhaps more accurately grown in a different direction, than some of the people in my circle, and it was time to part ways.  I made a choice to surround myself with people that supported and contributed to the positive life I was trying to build, and I have never regretted it. 

I tell you all that to tell you this: While I have known for some time that I am surrounded by people whose presence in my life is a gift, I have never truly appreciated their value until now. 

It seems lately as if every aspect of my life, from family to work to the house, etc., has reached the intersection of crisis - and that all of them are in the process of simultaneous implosion.  I'm not usually a person who has trouble coping, but lately I am feeling more than a teeny bit overwhelmed. 

I have also never been a person who reaches out - I am extremely independent, to a fault usually, and hate to rely on anyone.  Lately, though, I have been reaching out - talking to friends about my frustrations, about my fears, about my hopes - seeking advice, seeking feedback, seeking words of support or even a smack upside the head to snap me out of it. 

I have been astonished, no - ASTOUNDED, at how well I have been received.  I have had every friend that I sought out willingly give me an ear, lend me a hand, and give me very well-thought out and timely advice.  I have found that at the end of every rope I reach, instead of tying a noose, there has been a friend there lending a hand in helping me tie things all back together. 

For those of you that are a friend - I am more grateful than words can say.  I hope one day to be able to return the favor.

For those of you that don't know me, appreciate your friends, and never underestimate the power you can have to change someone's life - what may seem like something trivial to you can be worldchanging to someone else. 

(And on a side note, I'd like to send a shout out to my girl Dora, who listens amazingly well, and has developed her own sign language to let me know when I'm being a bore, and need to snap out of it.  It's amazing what kind of reality check a 120lb dog learning to "play dead" on her own while you talk will give you...)

And You Wonder Why I Think He's Crazy...

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but over the last few months our boy Homer Jess has developed the very strange habit of going out into the yard in the wee hours of the morning and howling his fool head off.  We've been working on the "in out in out, JEEBUS DOG - IN OR OUT!" habit for a while, and he's gotten better, but I think the colder temperatures of winter may have sent a part of his brain into hibernation.

For WEEKS I couldn't figure out what was going on - I would only stand there at the back door, hunched against the draft and freezing, waiting with one eye grumpily half open so I could let him in when he finished his business and go back to my nice, warm bed. You can't really blame me, I don't think, for going from sleepy to grumpy in 3.2 seconds when he started to howl at 2.30 am, and I will tell you from experience that not only does the "HEY HEY HEY - CUT IT OUT!" method of admonishment not work on dogs, your neighbors won't appreciate it either.  Not that they appreciate the howling, but when you add cranky swearing to that in the wee dark hours of the morning, expect to have love notes left in your mailbox.  If your neighbors are Italian, you may even receive a pony part or two.

So anyway, I finally saw the light one day about a week and a half ago - I was out on the porch enjoying some unseasonably warm weather, when all of a sudden Homer began running (yes, RUNNING) back and forth the yard, head thrown back, howling for all he was worth.  You'd think they'd just announced a free for all on poodles, he was so excited. Back and forth, back and forth, aaaaaahooouuuuuu!  I was like... what... in... the... hell..... HOMER!

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears that I live in the flight path for the airport, and my brave, sweet, adventurous Homer Jess has a deep and abiding passion for...airplanes. Yup, that's right, this little earthbound dog who was abandoned as a pup in the woods sings his little heart out every time a jet passes overhead.  Not helicopters, not single engines or fixed wing aircraft, but the big, honkin', "Land 'em in the Hudson" jet airplanes.

   

I'm not sure whether his howling is the canine version of "Mine, mine, mine!" - if he is warning them off "his" territory - if he is beseeching them to come back and save him from a life of ear rubs, slipcovered couches and Cheetos - or if he simply hears a different frequency than I do and he is trying to converse... it could happen.

After all, Dora "talks" to a stuffed lobster all the time...also at 2.30 am. Coincidence??? Hmmm....

 

I think not.

So, there you have it.  The late night (or early morning, whichever) howl fest has been found out - the culprit identified, the neighbors awakened.  Homer and I are now negotiating over how badly he wants to live to see 3 am on a regular basis, and thus far, he's winning. 

I am definitely not at my best when roused in the wee hours of dawn, and he's got a heart shaped nose in his arsenal.  I really sometimes wish he wasn't one of the cutest damn dogs on the planet, although I'm sure my neighbors have a differing opinion.

They just don't see what I see.

One of Those Info Thingys....

We all know the ones... chain letters from friends... emails that ask stupid questions and demand stupid answers.  I got tagged for one the other day, and I liked it because it was open-ended.  You could write about anything.  How hard can writing 25 things about YOURSELF be?  Shockingly difficult, as it turns out... 

Here goes:

Rules:
Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

1. I did the short form (16) of this list a few months ago, and most of the things on that list still hold true. Except for the getting arrested thing.  That was totally BS and just to see if you were paying attention.

2. Hubris is definitely my downfall. I am learning more and more as I grow older to be humble, but it's probably one of the hardest things that I've ever done. Good thing I'm great at it. ;-)

3. Every so often, at completely random intervals, I become hyperaware of how short life really is, and I get the feeling that I will not live to grow old. This could be because my life thread is naturally short, or because I will eventually piss someone off enough to kill me.

4. If I could have anything I wanted, with money as no object, I would travel the entire world, living out of one suitcase and interacting with the locals.  I want to collect experiences like others collect stamps, and I want the tapestry of my life to be brilliant and complex when it is finally done. Knowing me, it will be a giant, colorful, complex cartoon that is borderline pornographic.

5. I'm not a fan of the ocean, and I have a phobia of dark water, but the whale-watching experiences I had on the Bahia de Banderas were some of the most powerful experiences in my life.  The sense of majesty and connectedness was totally unexpected, and a gift.  I have the tour crew to thank for it, and I am unexpectedly grateful (mostly because they remembered my name and didn't throw me off the boat.)

6. I struggle, every day, to find a balance between being good and being real. I hope to get better as I age and grow. Failing any progress there, I hope to just get rich.

7. I love cheetos. I know that they're bad for me, and that if I eat enough I will probably glow in the dark, but there's a primal satisfaction that licking the orange off my fingers gives me, even if they do stay orange for days.

8. I treat my dogs like my children, except for the whole making them go to public school thing.

9. I know a lot of people.  Like, several hundred people that I keep in contact with on a semi-regular basis.  I like to think having this many people to connect with helps to keep me growing as a person.  I may be fooling myself, and it could just mean that I'm incredibly shallow.  Did I mention that they're all really hot?

10. I have a love hate relationship with Washington DC.  I hate that I live here, and I would love to leave.  Or is it that I love to live here, and I would hate to leave?  God, I'm so confused.  It's almost like being married all over again.

11. I really, really, really like funky knee socks.  I hate the ones with the separate toes - they do not, contrary to advertising, make you feel like a ninja.

12. I'm a fantastic gourmet cook, and you'll probably never eat anything fancy at my house.  I won't cook anything super complex unless it's for a dozen or more people - anything less is too much work for too little output.

13. On the other hand, I'm a less fantastic but much more prolific baker, and you'll probably at some point get my hot water chocolate cake, chocolate amaretto cheesecake, or homemade pear tarts if you like to eat sweets.

14. I have songs in at least 6 languages on my iPod.  I can only speak 3 of the languages fluently, but I can phonetically mimic the rest so well you'd never know I have absolutely not one single clue what I'm singing about.  Habibiiiiii.......

15. This list is getting ridonkulously long. Are we there yet?

16. I have a mouth like a sailor.  I try to fight the profanity, and then I drive in rush hour. 

17. I had an experiment a few years ago where I didn't swear at all for a month, and used polysyllabic words in place of profanity to express myself.  It made everybody around me uncomfortable, and I got a lot of blank looks.  Really, you'd be surprised how many people don't know what serendipitous, simulacrum or bifurcate mean.  So, now I just go with "fuck it."

18. I love love love love Scrabble.  Nobody who knows me will play with me.  And yes, "yurt" is a word.

19. My favorite card game is Pinochle.  I'm not very good at it, but my cousin Bryan is a master.  I don't know enough people in DC that know how to play to hold a game, so I get in my licks when I go home for the holidays.

20. I love to drive.  I love to drive fast - this has resulted in many many love notes from the police, which require monetary reciprocation.  I also love to drive competitively, which may be why I like to drive in DC.  This has resulted in many, many dings to my poor, poor Tangerina.  The car scene in "The Italian Job" was totally based on my driving.

21. My car is named Tangerina.  One of my best friends (Hi Obay!) named her after a night of many, many, many gin and tonics.  I am grateful she is named something I can pronounce even when I am sober.

22. I have been lucky enough to have two fabulous long term relationships so far.  Even luckier that one of them ended well enough for us to still be good friends. I hope to have more in the future, although advances in anti-psychotic medications are significantly narrowing my dating pool.  

23. I dye my hair.  Since I founded my own company and began working for myself, I tend to stay within the normal color ranges, but I really quite miss when I had blue hair, even with the Smurf jokes.

24. I'm quite crafty.  I don't spend much time crafting these days, although I wish I had the time, but most people would be shocked to know that I crochet, metalcraft, and scrapbook. Booya.

25. I am astonishingly relieved that I am at the end of the list.  I had no idea it would be so difficult to find 25 things to say - who knew I was so simple?

The Price of Nice

Sometimes I feel like the love child of Rodney Dangerfield and the Rolling Stones - not only can I get no respect, I can't get no satisfaction.

I recently had a very disheartening conversation - after a long, tough week - that, instead of helping me resolve some of the issues I've been having within the fire department only succeeded in bringing my feelings of disgust and disillusionment to all new levels. There were a lot of things that were said that were disheartening, disappointing, and downright ill conceived and better left unsaid - but like in every worldview-changing conversation, there was what I like to call a Defining Moment. The defining moment last night was when one of the senior officers in our department, a man with decades of service under his belt, looked me in the eye and told me that he felt I should be a "kinder, gentler, nicer person."

Huh. Let's take a look at what that means. (Definitions provided by my favorite book ever - Merriam Webster's dictionary at www.m-w.com)

Kinder - of a sympathetic or helpful nature.  I don't have much sympathy, but I have plenty of empathy, and I've never failed to offer help or refused those who ask.  Ever.

Gentler - free from harshness, sternness, or violence.  You've kind of got me there.  I may at times be construed as harsh, as I don't believe in prevarication or artifice, but I would never consider myself to be stern, or particularly violent with anything other than my vocabulary.

Nicer - showing fastidious or finicky tastes : particular : exacting in requirements or standards.  Interesting that this definition comes before the ones that imply docility or virtue.  I think that I am VERY exacting in my requirements and standards, and particularly fastidious in most things I do. 

So, after I thought about it for a while, and failed to see how I lacked any of these qualities, I decided that what he must have meant is that he wants me to be more OBEDIENT. Interestingly enough, if you look obedient up in a thesaurus, this is what you get:

amenable, compliant, conformable, docile, acquiescent, agreeable, amiable, obliging, decorous, disciplined, mannerly, controllable, governable, manageable, gentle, meek, mild

Yeah, I'm pretty sure he meant obedient.  Who likes someone who points out your flaws, even when it's meant to help you grow?

{A side note for those just tuning in... that conversation pissed me off in the most incredible way - AND I AM STILL ANGRY.}

When did we become a people so focused on façade that we failed to see beneath the surface? I don't think that anyone should be a jerk just for the sake of being a jerk, but when did we become so shallow that a person's value is completely dependent on how they are perceived, instead of on who they are and what they do?  I may be barking up the completely wrong tree, and my people-value priorities may be completely fucked up, but I will judge you on the quality of your soul, not the prettiness of your paper wrapping.

After all, Ted Bundy was an awfully charming guy. 

Always had a friendly word for people. 

Described as a "very nice man" by most of the people he came in contact with.

He killed and raped 35 women and played sexual games with their corpses. 

I'm so tired of people epitomizing "nice". Nice is overrated.  Nice is overvalued.  Nice is how they describe the Stepford Wives.  Nice doesn't get things done.

Don't just take my word for it  - here's a small excerpt from a book called Don't be Nice, Be Real by Kelly Bryson.  Check it out:

The Price of Nice

Here are just a few of the costs:
1. Always being nice prevents people around you from receiving congruent feedback that would stimulate their growth. (By growth I mean gaining knowledge of oneself and others.)

2. "Nice" people often react with pain if anyone around them expresses uncomfortable feelings. They get angry, thinking others should have to be nice too. Or they feel hurt and confused if someone does not appreciate their niceness. Others often sense this and avoid giving them congruent feedback thereby effectively blocking the nice person’s emotional growth.

3. With “nice” people you never know where you really stand. The nice person allows others to accidentally oppress them. The “nice” person might be resenting you just for talking to them, because really they are needing to pee. But instead of saying so, they stand there nodding and smiling, with legs tightly crossed, pretending to listen (lights are on but nobody’s home).

4. You never know with a nice person if the relationship would survive a conflict or angry confrontation. This uncertainty of course greatly limits the depths of intimacy possible.

5. Do you really trust a “nice” person to back you up if confrontation were really needed?

6. Often people in relationship with nice people turn their irritation toward themselves because it is so confusing how they could be so upset with someone so “nice.” In intimate relationships this leads to guilt, self hate and depression.

7. “Nice” people frequently keep all the anger in until they find a safe place to dump it, i.e., a child, a federal building to blow up, a helpless dependent mate. (Timothy McVeigh, the suspect in the Oklahoma City bombing is described by acquaintances as a very, very nice guy, who would give you the shirt off his back.) Success in keeping the anger in will often manifest as psychosomatic illnesses (ulcers, back problems, heart disease, etc.).

So, really, it's important that I be NICER? 

I'll tell you what - I'm not malicious, I'm not spiteful, I'm not mean. I tell it like I see it, and I don't ever say anything just to be hurtful - I try and ensure that everything I say has a purpose.  I go out of my way to help those that need it, and I don't judge people - ever.  I'm definitely not the "nicest" person on the block - I've got a reputation for saying things that people don't want to hear - even if they need to.  I've found, however, that denying ugliness exists doesn't ever make it go away, and most of the time the longer something is ignored, the uglier it grows.  I prefer to nip it in the bud- I'm much better equipped to deal with a snowball than an avalanche. 

Sure, I can work on being more user friendly. Sure, I can work on trying to clean up my language. We all can use improvement - and that's a good thing, I think.  If everybody was perfect, I can't imagine that the world would be very interesting. 

But to the officer that missed all of my good points and made me feel like a jerk - I'll work on being nicer. You work on learning how to be a leader and how to talk to people constructively.  Hopefully one day we'll both be able to meet in the middle and acknowledge each other's strengths.  Failing that, maybe we'll just agree to disagree.

Today is a Good Day.

The last few days have been trying - a 48 hour shift at the Fire Department, which though spent in good company, was interminably long - and a water disaster in the house that now requires me to shell out a good bit of money to repair water damaged ceilings, fixtures and hastens the renovation of my bathroom.  They say these things come in threes...if so, YIKES.

However, today was good day - shockingly so, and completely unexpectedly. 

I got a phone call today, from an old, old friend.  We had talked, he and I, at great length and heatedly, during the months of the Presidential campaign.  We have known each other since we were children, and had used the comfort of that familiarity to bond together on some things, and vehemently disagree on others.  He had called me, distraught, when Hillary dropped from the race. 

Angry, disillusioned, feeling betrayed by his party and frightened of the things he had heard, he told me that he was going to vote for John McCain.  I was floored - here is a person who has been a staunch Democrat his whole life - who would be personally and adversely affected by the policies of a McCain administration, even more so than he had been by Bush. 

Don't misunderstand me - I have many, many friends who reside on the Republican side of the political line, many who are Democrats, and quite a few more who don't bother with politics at all.  I respect everyone's right to choose who they vote for, and as I like to vote without anger and recrimination from those I call friend, I extend that same attitude to others.  So, it wasn't that I was angry or disgusted that he was choosing to vote Republican, it was that I was shocked he would take so drastic a step from what I had always thought to be his beliefs.  Then, to my horror, he called me a few weeks after his McCain declaration, this time to tell me that he had decided not to vote at all. 

As I have said before, I define myself in large part through my service to my community, and to my country.  I am a public servant, and if I am lucky I shall remain so for the entirety of my life.   I take very seriously my responsibilities as a citizen, and I feel that one of my primary duties as a citizen is to vote, as it is the duty of every citizen and the price that a democracy demands.  (The prime benefit of voting, of course, is that I have free reign to bitch about whoever wins the office - since I had a voice in the process that put them there.)  I was horrified to hear that he was not going to vote - to me it was almost as if he was renouncing his citizenship. 

I spent hours over the following days on the phone with him, talking about the issues, discussing the candidates, sharing with him my hopes for the future and listening to his dreams of what a more perfect America should be.  I tried very hard not to influence his choices with my own opinion - and I ended every conversation with an admonition - 'I don't care who you vote for, as long as you vote."

Well, he did.  To this day, I don't know who he voted for, and I don't care - it's not my business - but I am overjoyed that he made it to the polls, and added his voice to the vote. 

He called me today, after the inauguration speech, to thank me.  I wasn't sure, at first, what he was talking about, but he said that he wanted to thank me, for not giving up, and for making him listen, when his anger and his bitterness might have shut his ears.  He isn't any more sure than any of us that things are going to get better, but he is able to listen now, and to hope, and to participate.  He is a participating citizen of a country that is learning how to adapt to meet the challenges that are coming, and it is incredibly rewarding that I had a part in helping him get there. 

So, today is a good day.  I can only hope that there are many more good days to come - I will continue to give of myself, as long as I am able, in the hopes that I can help those who in turn will help others, perpetuating a cycle that never ends.

Where's the Beef?

It's been a tumultuous few days here - I'm sure that those of you that are local and have watched the news have heard about the current scandal in my county - the dissolution of one of our volunteer fire departments by the County Board of Supervisors.  There have been reports, rumors, town hall-type meetings and tears, tidbits on the news and phone calls from concerned citizens. What a mess.

There have been rumors for years about the goings-on at the station that was dissolved - but rumors are nothing new.  Enclose any group of people in a limited amount of space for a long time, constrain their ability to leave, and I guarantee you that there will be rumor, and gossip, and conversation that ventures well into the realm of conjecture - that's human nature.  Short of imposing a ban on talking or requiring everyone in the fire service to take a vow of silence, there's not too much that you can do about it either - it's just something that comes with the territory that we try and keep productive.

 

I don't mean to denigrate or single out the fire service - far from it.  Every profession does it - the water cooler is not an urban legend, and every organization has one.

EVERYONE TALKS.

There are those who talk for the noise or because they love the sound of their own voice.  Those that talk and snipe and make commentary at inappropriate times and have nothing positive to say. Those that sit back and listen and comment once they've digested everything.  Those that focus on solving the problem and try to highlight the positives of any situation. 

You know the talkers - you're related to them, you work with them, you stand in line behind them at the grocery store and you sit next to them on the Metro. You see them in the mirror.  It's human nature - we're social creatures - pack animals in the most basic sense - and we love to jabber.

The challenge is to keep it productive - keep it positive - keep it as close to factual as possible.  Sometimes, no lie, this is only possible using the following method:

 

It's pretty hard to talk shit when you're unconscious.

As you might have guessed, since the dissolution of one of volunteer companies yesterday the rumor mill has been operating on hyperspeed.  I'm kind of surprised that the county hasn't levitated right of the map with all of the buzz in play right now.  In all seriousness, that the station was being investigated is no great surprise. The findings from the audit report weren't even a surprise. Many of the recommendations for fixing the perceived problems even make quite a bit of sense, and there are plenty of tidbits that are "good business sense" that we can use to improve our own operations - though we were in no way involved in the mess of that department.  Though the emotions are running high right now, everyone is on the defensive and there is plenty of talk about dirty tactics and hidden agendas - all of that may or may not be true, but my issue with the whole situation is a bit different.  My issue is respect. 

There is not enough space, not enough time, and not enough energy left in my body to go into the whole situation in detail, but let's suffice it to say that if the manner in which this whole process was conducted was conveyed correctly to me - there is a serious lack of respect in this county.

I understand that the chief of the investigated station has been called onto the carpet, and I understand that there is grave concern with his judgment on certain matters not involving the public - but his station was staffed, his people responded, and he still served his county for many, many years.  I could be totally wrong, but I was told tonight that he had 50 years in as a volunteer - that's a hell of a long time, and regardless of his current situation, should get the man respect. 

There is talk of the intent to take the county to an all-paid system similar to Fairfax County, and people fear that we will be relegated to "second-class citizens" in our own county.  I've got news for you - we're not very respected now, and there are some factions that already consider us to be second class.  I'm not pointing fingers, and I'm not naming names, but whichever side of the line you stand on, whether it be paid or volunteer, you have fans and detractors on both sides.  Again, it's a lack of respect. 

I also think that we've forgotten what we're all here for - I've said it before, and I'll say it again - our first and most important priority is always going to be the care of our communities.  We are here, whether we are paid to be here or giving of our time from the goodness of our hearts, to serve our community - it is our obligation, it is our duty, and it is our privilege to be able to put on a uniform and serve the needs of the people we live amongst.  The public doesn't see the pay stubs that some of us take home.  The public doesn't care how many hours a year we dedicate to the ambulance or the fire truck in addition to our full time jobs and our kids and our families. 

They don't care why we do what we do, or what side of the line we're on - only that we come when they call us, and that we help them when they have no one else to ask.

There's a lot of anger tonight on the volunteer side, and there's a growing fear for the future of the fire service in our county, but most of all there's a sense of bewilderment - how did this happen?  When did we, as volunteers, become a burden - instead of a partner?  How can you look at us and not see the value in the support that we give, the enormous amount of time that we provide, or the effort we invest in our community?  Why is the question on the table "How can we remove or marginalize the volunteers?" instead of "How can we ALL learn to work more effectively together so that we can best service our community?" 

Here's my newsflash for the evening:

NEITHER SIDE IS PERFECT.  Even better - NEITHER SIDE WILL EVER BE PERFECT.

At the end of the day, I would love to say that we are working towards a day when we will no longer be needed, but that's just not the case.  Terrible things will always happen - people will get hurt, buildings will burn, and people will pick up the phone and call us and hope that we can save them. 

And we will do our best - always.

It's our choice, now, our opportunity - in this moment - to define what our best will be.  Will it be both sides of the equation working together - actively, productively, willingly?  Or will it be a united front that shows on the surface but covers a seething mass of conflict and secret ill-will?

I have a very good reason for wanting the emergency services in this county to be as cohesive and whole as they can be.  He's 5, has an incredible talent for finding trouble, and doesn't like sauce on his pasta.  He also likes crayons better than markers, adores his Aunt Mel (smart kid!), and has several medical issues - the least of which is severe asthma.  He's beautiful (he looks just like me!)...

...and for now he's ok, but I may have to call 911 someday and depend on those who answer to save my nephew's life.  I want those who answer to have dedicated all of their time and energy to ensuring that they are the best, not worrying about petty power struggles or using their energy to feed the "us vs. them" mentality.  We are all here for the same purpose, and it's not to advance an agenda, or own the most equipment, or even to run the most calls.

We're here for the people of our communities, and they are counting on us.

It's time to get our heads in the game.

New Year's Resolutions...

I gave up making New Year's resolutions a long time ago - I didn't like being the jerk in the gym that hogged up the equipment for the whole month of January, then February 1st faded out, never to be seen again (until the following January's resolutions were made).  This year I broke my own rule, though, and made a resolution to get more fit. 

I'd like to be healthier, I'd like to be thinner, and I'd like to be able to walk up three flights of stairs carrying groceries without feeling my muscles start to tremble and sweat form on my back.

I figured I'd get the pups involved - I don't belong to a gym anymore, I can't afford to join one, and the pups both love to go on walks - it should be easy as pie to get a little more exercise in my day with those two pulling me all over creation, right?

Somehow I forgot about winter.  Somehow I forgot that it's 20 degrees outside, with frost on the car, wind that cuts like a knife, and every little particle of moisture in my lungs freezing with every inhaled breath.

Well, that's OK, it's still a good idea - the cold will force us to walk more briskly - more cardio! We'll get fitter, faster! What do you say, pup o' mine?  Wanna go for a walk?

 

*sigh* We're doomed.  I'm going to drive to the store and buy Cheetos.  At least I'll have to walk down the aisle to get them.

Life is Short...Share the Couch.

I like to think that I am a person that values life and works pretty hard at keeping it fun.  I get up every day and try to greet the day with a positive attitude and stay thankful for all of the blessings that I have in my life.  It doesn't always work - sometimes I get up, scare myself in the mirror with my anti-gravity hairdo, and refuse to open my eyes or turn my frown upside down until after I've had at least two cups of coffee.  >-<  But I try. 

Being a volunteer in the fire department, believe it or not, helps to keep me sane and in touch with life.  It keeps me cognizant of how many things I have to be thankful for, when I am called upon to help those who have little, of how valuable my health and my sanity are, when I am called to help those who lack them, and it keeps me grateful for the gift of life, when I am confronted with those who are losing or who have lost the fight. 

There is nothing so terrifying as being one of the few holding the line against the dark - of being the one kneeling on the asphalt, among the glass, and trying to stem the flow of someone's lifeblood seeping through your fingers - pleading, exhorting, encouraging, railing at them to hold on.  You meet this person's eyes - knowing that sometimes they see you, and look to you to make everything OK, clinging with desperate strength - and sometimes, the worst times, they do not, and their glassy stare makes your heart sink in your chest even as your hands are busy putting as much of them back together as fast as you can in a desperate effort to change their fate. 

And sometimes you do - and the reward is unimaginable.  Sometimes, you get the chance to shake a hand that was covered in blood and cold to the touch the last time you held it.  Sometimes you get a hug from someone who couldn't move at your first meeting, because they were trapped or hurt or unconscious. Sometimes, you get to hear a "thank you" from someone, and it sounds all the sweeter because they couldn't speak when last you saw them.  That - that possibility of shaking that hand, or getting that hug from a stranger who after everything is not really a stranger, or hearing that "thank you" and knowing that it's meant from the bottom of their hearts - that is what makes it all worthwhile.  That is what keeps you going, kneeling on the ground at 3 am in the winter, waiting to hear the helicopter.  And it's worth it.

I'm a little introspective today.  Our community lost a young girl yesterday, the victim of a terrible accident that cut her life short much too young.  We won't have the opportunity to try and change her fate, and she has lost the fight to live her life to the fullest extent. I think of all the things she could have done with her life - the strides she might have made, the worlds she might have changed, the future that shined so brightly for her that now shines not at all - and I am angry, and I am saddened, and I am afraid. 

I am angry that this child lost her life - and for nothing.  A senseless, pointless, empty sacrifice - a victim of an accident that might have been avoided or a cruel twist of chance at the whim of Fate.  I am saddened that all of her potential was lost - she could have been a world leader who brokered peace, the scientist who cured cancer, or a mother with little ones that had her eyes and their father's nose.  All of those roads now end in front of a headstone inscribed with dates that are much too close together.  But most of all, I am afraid.  I am afraid that this could be my story, or the story of someone I love.  We could all, any one of us, be struck down at any moment, with no warning, with no recourse, and with no regard or respect for all that we might have been. That scares me. No, that TERRIFIES me.

But I am contrary by nature, and so I become ever more determined to live every day with vigor. To grasp the gift of life that is given to me with both hands, and to drag every second of joy out of it that I possibly can.  I intend to leave nail marks when it is at last taken from me.  I intend to leave heel marks in the street, where I put my whole weight against the pull and refused to follow into the dark.  I will laugh, and I will love, I will give affection freely and I will eat a second donut for breakfast, then curse myself when I am on the treadmill trying to work it off.  I will sometimes wake up early with a smile for the day, and I will sometimes hit the snooze button three or four times and dream of throwing my alarm clock out the window. I will appreciate my family, miss them when I am away, humor them when we disagree, and know that they have my back even when we are brawling in the driveway. I will love on my pups, take care of all their needs, curse the dog hair that shows up on my clothes 3,000 miles from home, and remind them frequently that life is short - share the couch.

Verizon and Their Monkey Nuts...

Sorry guys, no cute pictures today of my pups, or funny anecdotes about foreign countries.  Today I'm going to share my pain and disgust with you - the pain that comes when you let a dependence on technology creep into your life, and my disgust when I realize how much we've let our humanity seep away, bit by bit.  It's going to be a long post - fair warning - so you may want to grab a drink and settle in.

Today was a bit of a cluster.  I have a big job coming up on Friday, and about a million and three things to do in the meantime, so I didn't have time for today's catastrophe, but ain't that always the case? To give you a bit of prefacing information - I have been having enough technology problems over the last 6 weeks (and problems of magnitude, no less) that it has been suggested I seek out the gypsy who has obviously cursed me and make amends.  I think I've mentioned this before, but she struck again this morning, so bear with me.

The count is currently one dead Seagate backup drive (Seagate customer service blows, btw - I'm almost three weeks into waiting for their "48 hour warranty response"), one dead Cavalry 2TB RAID backup system, one dead Western digital drive, and 2 dead laptops, one of which has been resurrected and is basically functional but doomed.  We're not even going to go into dead cameras, because I'll end up under the bed, sobbing.

So, that's pretty much all the technology I own, all of it was fairly new, and none of it can I afford to replace.  I can't even afford (or find!) the cables to get the data off the drives I (think I) managed to salvage.  So when I got up and prepared for part one of my phone deposition this morning (my old boss is getting sued), and my Blackberry Storm zapped and completely died, to say I was not amused would be the understatement of the century. 

You could say I was astounded, and be fairly accurate.  You could say I was astonished, and be pretty close to right.  You could say I stood there like an idiot for about 4 whole minutes simply staring at the device in my hand in a state of, "Are you fucking KIDDING ME?" and you would be bulls eye dead on target.  I literally hit the state of disbelief, took a left, and decided to stay for a while.

But, in my typical carry-on fashion, I called in to the lawyer, explained about my phone, and geared up for a visit to the Verizon store.  The lawyer, bless his heart, was super genial, said he'd be there all day, and wished me luck in the "black hole" of the Verizon Store. Peachy.

Let me just tell you that my visit this morning to Verizon Store #02451 provoked quite a bit of thought.  On their best day, when everything goes smoothly, the Verizon customer service experience is a little bit like having thin bamboo slivers tapped in under your fingernails, then having your hands dipped in lemon juice and rinsed with salt water.  Today wasn't one of their best days.

Four employees on the floor.  Four customers in the store.  You'd think we'd all be out of there in a jiff, but you'd be wrong.  There was one woman helping us, three of us in line.  Luckily, I knew the procedure, and had signed in upon entering the store.  The poor woman in front of me wasn't so lucky, and we had been in line over twenty minutes when she finally got up to the front and tried to pay her bill, only to be told that she had to go sign in in the front and get to the back of the line. As you can imagine, that didn't go over well.  I told the Verizon person that I was OK with her helping the poor woman, though she had called my name as next in queue, as did the woman behind me.  No go - the Verizon rep sent her away to sign in.  Unsurprisingly, the woman chose not to sign in, and instead left the store.

Thought Provoked:  When did process become so important, and service so automated, that you are willing to sacrifice customer goodwill to preserve a queue? It would have cost the Verizon rep nothing to help the woman, who was obviously upset, and she had the permission of the only other two individuals who would have possibly objected.  And yet, not only did she send the woman away, she did so with no apology, no visible remorse, and an attitude of irritation. I hope to God that woman took her cell phone bill right over to T-Mobile or AT&T and got some humanity served up with her new cell phone provider's plan. 

So now it's my turn, and the woman asks me what my problem is.  Seriously.  Not, "how can I help you" - but "what is my problem."  Oh, we could be here for a while. I explain to her that my Storm is dead, and she tells me that she can't help me because they don't have any in the store.  Um. Nice try, but I called Verizon corporate on my way over, and they checked your stock.  I'd like a new phone please.  

She walks away.  

Uh, ok.  Should I wait?  Are you going to check? Are you flipping me off?  Did I just cause you to quit and vow never to work within the telecommunications industry ever again, sparking a fantastic career in fast food service?  Who knows?  So, since she's got my old phone, I wait.  And wait.  And wait, for what seems like forever.  In reality, it's only about 10 minutes, but holy cow when you've got nothing to do, no cell phone, and are trapped in a store with plenty of things for sale but nothing you need to buy, ten minutes is a loooong time. 

LO and behold, sweet baby Jesus at 8 lbs and 5 ounces, here she comes lackadaisically strolling back with a brand new Storm in the box.  She must have been manufacturing it in the back, and that's what took her so long. Since they didn't have any. She tells me it will take a half an hour to set it up, and calls the next person in line.

Uh, ok.  I guess I'll wait over here (though I don't see how you're going to set up my phone when you're helping someone else...but OK, I'll play along).  I also was a bit peeved that she kept addressing me as "Meldy."  I entered my last name in the system.  You have my account in front of you, with my last name on it.  If you can't be bothered to address me by my last name out of respect, could you at least not completely mangle my first name? I know that this is petty, but it's a matter of respect - something that was in extremely short supply at Verizon this morning.

So I sit in the front of the store, and settle back for some people watching. AND HOW.  I learned alot this morning - the biggest lesson was that I learned how little Verizon actually cares about the people who sendtheir money to the big red checkmark. 

The first big wake up call came when an older Hispanic gentleman came in and tried to report his phone stolen.  He wanted to cut off his service until he could afford to buy a new phone - in effect, put his phone bill on hold.  There was a teeny bit of a language barrier, but not much, and the manager did suspend his account.  The fun came when she explained to him that suspending his account did nothing more than prevent the person who stole the phone from making calls - he was still responsible for the charges on the phone, still responsible for paying the monthly bill, and they would still charge him for his plan.  There was no compassionin the manager's voice - not one drop.  She didn't offer to waive the monthly bill for 30 days and charge a simple maintenance fee - she didn't talk to him about low cost phones (and maybe waive the activation fee), nothing.  She simply told him he could pay his regular bill (but not have a phone, so pay for having nothing, basically) , or he could pay an early termination fee of $175.  OUCH. The gentleman got so frustrated after going back and forth with her for easily 15 minutes that he simply canceled his service and left. 

What I found so disturbing about all this is that the entire time this exchange was happening, a Verizon sales agent was standing on the other side of the counter, behind the Hispanic gentleman, laughing and rolling his eyes.  He glanced over at me several times as if to share the joke, but I don't think he appreciated the fact that I wasn't laughing - at all.

I think this is something we unconsciously do as human beings - we are so uncomfortable with other people's misfortune that the majority of us look for humor.  We look for something to laugh at, so that we can distance ourselves from their circumstance, and have a solid wall of "glad that's not me!" in between us. 

Case in point - I ran a call at the fire department several months ago for a woman that was sick - she called 911 because she had a fever and was nauseous. We showed up, the medic and the ambulance both, and found that the woman was indeed quite ill - her fever was fairly high, she'd been sick for about a week, and she smelled of vomit and unwashed body odor, indicating that it had been a few days since she'd been able to pull herself together.  This woman stands out in my mind because we walked into a house that was almost squalid, it was so dirty, and she had SEVEN children under the age of 10.  We cared for her, got her straightened out, and got family members involved to care for her.

The minute we all convened back at the station - the jokes came out.  We joked about disinfecting our equipment - we joked about the doritos ground into the carpet - we joked about the sandwiches on the counter that looked as if they might get up and walk on their own.

My friend Shawn was riding in the captain's buggy that day, and had not gone on the call, but we included him in the jokes after giving him a brief rundown of what we found on the call. Do you know what his reaction was? He didn't even crack a smile, but looked at all of us, and said "It's obvious she needs help.  Did any of you offer to help her?  Did any of you offer to come back off duty and vacuum her carpet?  Feed her kids?  Clean her kitchen? Let me know her address and I'll swing by tomorrow to see if she needs anything and if she feels better."

I have never felt so small as I did in that moment.

I didn't even realize until he said something that my compassion had taken a backseat to my discomfort at her circumstances, or that my humanity had been overwritten by ridicule.  It was a big wake up moment for me, one I have tried very hard not to lose, and one that I wish I could have passed on to the Verizon store clerk today who found such humor in an old man who couldn't afford to replace his phone.

I eventually got my phone back from the Customer Service Agent Who Couldn't - although she "couldn't" get any of my contacts, "couldn't" sync my phonebook or calendar (though I saw the phone work in the machine) and couldn't switch out the memory cards, until I showed her how.  And wouldn't you know that my backup for my phonebook is on the drive that died?  It's been interesting today to relive what life was like before caller ID - every phone call is a surprise caller.

Anyway, I could go on for days, but at the end of the day - it's the little, human things that count.  Addressing a stranger with a "Mr." or "Ms." and their last name out of respect.  Not making light of someone in circumstances more unfortunate than yours.  Being willing to help a stranger who needs it, without them having to ask.  And most importantly, and for me this is the hardest one of all, not losing that human compassion that makes us care about the well being of those around us, whether we know them or not.  I know that there are days when I need it badly, and I'd like to be able to say that I've done unto others as I'd have them do unto me, and have it be true.

È Finito La Musica...

If I’d known ahead of time that leaving Mexico would be such a debacle, I’d have tried much harder to stay much longer.

Our stay at the Westin Club Regina wasn’t the greatest (OK – not even close), but a week at the beach, even if you have to stay in a grass roof shack, is still better than a week at home in 26 degree weather.  I will say that had the weather not been gorgeous and the tours stupendous, the crappy rooms and less than stellar property would have been much more irksome.  In the end, though, even though they made us check out at 10 am and hang in the lobby with our luggage for a few hours, the trip to Mexico was still a blast.

I had originally thought that the day was going to go well, though every indication was to the contrary.  I woke up at 6.45 am due to the noise from the staff cleaning the pool – UGH.  That’s ok though – silver lining is that the alarm clock had been set wrong by my overtired brain the night before – better to get up too early than too late, right?  No problem – I’m up, I’ll pack and get everything ready.  I make coffee – the coffee maker has an identity crisis and brews espresso.  Ok – no worries – I’ll microwave some water and dilute it.  I pack everything up except what I’m going to wear, and take a shower.  I go to get dressed, and realize that I packed ALL of my underwear. Not caring to go commando for the next 18 hours and two countries, I discover that my underwear is at the BOTTOM of the last suitcase I check. Hey, at least I have some that are clean!

But whatever, I got it together - we checked out, we made our way to the airport.  And when I say "made it to the airport", what I mean is: "barely survived the ride in an automobile obviously driven by someone hopped up on amphetamines."  I don't know how many of you have had the pleasure of foreign cab rides, but they are usually a thrill a minute.  Don't get me wrong - I'm not a white knuckle rider by any stretch of the imagination, and behind the wheel I have often been accused of trying to Mario Andretti every square inch of asphalt under my wheels.  However - however - however - I R-E-S-P-E-C-T the Lug Nut Rule.  (Lug nuts are what hold your tires on your rims, and the rules of the road are that he who has the most lug nuts, and thus the biggest tires, rules.)  Our driver this morning held a different opinion entirely, viewed every stop sign we passed as "stoptional", and yielded only reluctantly and at the very last second to some very large vehicles.  I felt certain we'd be sheared in half before ever arriving at the airport.  I don't think Mom breathed once on the entire ride.

The fact that we arrived at the airport in approximately 34.6 seconds from our hotel made me doubly glad that we arrived to the longest lines we'd ever seen, an hour and 20 minute wait to get our boarding passes, and a plane that was delayed for 3 hours.  Considering we only had an hour layover in Dallas, the day was already looking like one for the history books.

Really, it was just a ploy to get us to explore the new and improved PV airport - they have done a TON of work since we last came through, and the whole place is now a shopper's paradise.  We stopped and had lunch, and I tried to take a picture of a FANTASTIC mural on the wall - but got reprimanded by security, while a guy stood 10 feet from me, snapping away on his instant camera.  I must have a sign - "I <3 authority!"  But I was sneakier than they thought, and at full zoom from our lunch table, managed to get a crappy picture that in no way demonstrates the awesomeness of the artwork. So there.

 

I did manage to get a cool shot of the Absolut display - they put out a bottle for the holidays that had a red sequined sheath that zippered up the back.  Too cool.  I haven't seen these in the States, but I hang out in bars, not in liquor stores, so it's entirely possible I missed them.  I might have missed them consciously though - I can only imagine the coordination nightmare one might face trying to extract the bottle from it's sleeve in a state of intense inebriation...not pretty, although an effective way to prevent excessive consumption. After a good number of drinks, anything requiring my thumbs to work in conjunction with the rest of my fingers is strictly off my list of things to do.  

 

So, the new PV airport is nice.  I got both new issues of Nat'l Geographic and NG Traveler for less than they cost in the States (irony), and found a new pottery artist that I can in no way, shape or form afford, but whose work I really like - Cristina Riveroll.

 

She's got this gorgeously organic pottery that kind of reminds me of coral pieces - the ones that wash up on shore - but it's almost translucently fragile, so wafer thin as to look like paper that she molded into these wonderfully odd shapes.  As my boy Scooby Doo would say - I rike it... I rike it rots.

AND THANK GOD I ENJOYED MY STAY IN THE PV AIRPORT, cause DFW (Dallas Fort Worth, to you non-cowboys and girls) was a cluster wrapped in a debacle and tied off in a fat disaster bow. 

We ended up on the 8 pm flight out of DFW, since our plane was so late from PV, and the lovely lovely agent Sue in PV moved us to the 8pm no charge, AND upgraded us to first class.  We like Sue, she's money. Except that our flight coming in was made to taxi, then had a 15 min gate hold, so we landed at 7.48 for an 8 pm departing flight, and still had to go through security, baggage claim, rechecking the luggage, and then customs, and THEN on to the next terminal over on the train.  Oh. Mah. Goodness.

Yes, kids, we pulled an OJ.  Flat out, shirt tails flapping, taking off our shoes and hopping through the sensors all at the same time flat out run across the airport.  To the three guys that let us in front of them at the security checkpoint - you all are gentlemen.  We wouldn't have made it without your generosity.  To the lovely lady in customs who told everyone in front that we were in a hurry and cleared the path - you're a gem and I hope you win the lottery.  You deserve it.  To the completely uninterested Federal agent who was holding a conversation with a fellow agent over the wall and took 6 minutes to look at our passports, even when we told you we had 30 seconds to catch our connecting flight - I'm pretty sure there's a voodoo doll somewhere in the world with your picture tacked on it's face.  No thanks for you. And lastly, to the lovely, lovely, supercalifragilisticexpialidociosly delicious Alecia and Jenny and the captain of our flight - thanks very  much for bringing the jetway BACK TO THE PLANE so that we could get on.  I've never seen that done before, and I am pretty sure I will be eternally grateful that you performed miracles so that we didn't have to sleep on the airport floor.

Yeah, that's how it happened.  OJ sprint aside, Mom lost her passport somewhere along the way - neither of us noticed it fall out, and we got to the gate after the doors were closed, the plane sealed up, and the people all ready to go. Mom, me, Dan the Marine, and Fletcher the MPD cop - about to be stranded.  Alecia called the captain, he gave her the no go, and we had already started the reticketing process for the morning flight and were making plans to go out drinking with our two new handsome friends when the magic phone rang, and the captain changed his mind.  I love a man who's flexible.

WEEEEEE-HAW! (As they say in Dallas.)

Our frenzied boarding down a partially retracted walkway into a plane with everyone else on board already belted was followed by the loveliest sight I have seen in a long time...an aerial view of Dallas Fort Worth from the window of a seat in first class. Succulent and delicious.

 

Thankfully, the flight home was largely uneventful, with only minor turbulence, an incredibly irritated stewardess (sorry, doll, but we made the flight! YAY!) and a complete hard drive failure of my mom's brand new laptop with all of our vacation pictures on it.  *sigh*  By the time we got into DCA and down to the baggage area, I didn't even care that our bags hadn't made the flight with us.  I'm home, we filed a claim to have the bags delivered (18 hours later and they're still not here) and I've almost got the laptop back to where I can recover data.  Life is good.

SO - it's been a busy week, with a tumultuous ending, but we're home, we're safe, and my puppies' tails haven't stopped wagging yet. In a way, I'm kind of glad that everything eventually comes to an end, otherwise there'd be no room for new beginnings, right?