She lives!

Apparently pregnancy completely deletes my creative writing inclinations and abilities. Zoe Jeanne was born October 9, 2009... and is currently sleeping in her bassinet at my side.

Other than work-related reports and a few posts on Ravelry.com, I haven't written a thing since April. This will also be the first year I'm not even starting NaNo, though I am on maternity leave until December. Still, Zoe is not so much for leaving me chunks of time to write, and I'm already sleep-deprived because of the whole night feeding thing.

Anyway, just checking in to note that I am alive and kicking. I think I might try to revive the blog a bit more, if only to get back in the habit of writing regularly. Somehow Facebook updates don't fill quite the same niche. ;-)

Two months later...

Yeah, I dunno what happened to March and most of (okay, all of) April either.

I'm still here, still ticking along. Signed up for another week-long travel event at the end on June - but it's for a workshop I really wanted to attend, and it is only one trip, not four all squished together. It should be fine, I'm sure.

And if not, at least it will be interesting.

Also, it will be an important test run for the possible Salt Lake City trip in August. Jay has a conference there, and I would really like to accompany him, but not really sure how it's going to feel like traveling at that stage.

Anywho... I have actualy work to do today, so I better get to it.

February Shmebruary, and a note to male students

So I'm still not really back in the habit of regular posting yet. Who knows if I ever will be. I had a five day travel to Florida for a conference experience, quickly followed by rehearsals and then a performance of the Vagina Monologues, then poker night. By the time we got home on Friday the 13th, I was shaking so bad I was just about literally crying for sleep.

And this week I've been pretty lame. Had another late night on Tuesday, hosting an event to talk with students about advising at the college, and since then have just been coasting toward the weekend. Next week the students are all gone for winter break, and I am heading south to NYC to check in with my sisters. Yay!

Of course, then I get back from that and leave for another (more local) two day conference down in Nashua, NH (starts on my birthday, thanks a lot), but Jay will be at another conference in Massachusetts that weekend, so it's not like we would be enjoying the time together in any case. I get home from that on the 7th though, and then on the 10th, I leave for another conference in Saratoga Springs - where I will actually be presenting. Ack.

So, pretty much what I'm saying here is that the scarcity of posting looks like it won't let up for a while yet.

But you're used to it now, I'm sure. Heh heh.

And finally, a note to the college men who come to my office:

Please bathe. Regularly. With soap.

I will be more likely to spend lots of time with you and help out and let you use my computer if you don't smell like someone who has been sleeping in their own stench for weeks at a time.

If you smell like sour funk, don't be surprised when I suggest that you go look up the information about the college you might want to transfer to in your own room, and then come back when you have something more concrete. And after you have bathed.

That is all.

Bawk bawk

Sometimes I forget that seemingly normal people often have deep wells of The Crazy hiding inside. And I've been trying to limit my consumption of The Crazy, so...

I waited until said coworker was occupied and spoke directly to the student organizer.

"Hey, I was just browsing the website last night and, gosh, I think the rules must have changed since X last checked them, because..."

Wimpy, but effective. And didn't have to absorb any Crazy. Yet.

Pants on Fire

Or maybe not...

I think I just caught a coworker in a blatent lie that affects another former coworker.

But maybe she just has poor reading comprehension?

What to do, what to do?

Would feel better if I didn't suspect confrontation will end badly for me.

Don't want her to think I was checking up on her, even though I totally was.

Maybe I will wait a day and mention the "updated" rules to the organizer directly.

Hmm.

Milovan Loves You

In fact, I think Milovan loved just about everyone except his "wife, that bitch."

I met Milovan when I worked at the large, downtown hotel in Salt Lake City. I was one of the guest services managers, and he was one of the bellmen, and I have to say that I never did quite get a handle on him.

What I know is this.

He grew up in Croatia, got married there, had a daughter. During the conflict in the area, he moved with his family to Germany for a few years until he was able to bring them to the United States. At the time I knew him, his daughter was about 13 years old, and had thankfully not inherited her father's looks. I met her once or twice - slim, blond, blue-eyed, no obvious deformities - pretty, but not shockingly so. Milovan, god bless him, would not have been out of place in a line of gargoyles.

I know he had done construction work in Germany, but he told me he much preferred working at the hotel and for one of the local airport shuttle companies in Salt Lake. Because the hotel we both worked at had a contract with the shuttle, and Milovan worked a double shift most days, I saw quite a bit of him.

He always greeted me (sometimes many time throughout the shift) with "Heeeey, Kate. Milovan loves you." Which, despite being mildly creepy, was also very hard to resist because of his general good nature, and fact that he greeted most of the women who worked there in a similar fashion. I should probably add that not all of them found it as amusing as I did.

He was never inappropriate - and was in fact very generous with time and favors (like driving me home when my car was out of commission), without ever implying that he expected anything in return.

All the same, I have to say that I was never tempted to dig much past the surface. I liked working with Milovan, and enjoyed his unique outlook and interactions, but I had the sense that if I looked more closely, I would find things I didn't want to know. And when I left the hotel in the Spring of 2003, I heard my last ever "Heeey, Kate. Milovan loves you."

Nonetheless, I don't think I'll ever forget it.

Glenn

I realized the only way I'm going to actually write these things that I want to write is to not worry about any sort of order and just throw them out as they occur to me.

So, Glenn.

I moved to Grand Canyon, Arizona in May 1999. I moved there because I no longer wanted to live in Pittsburgh near my parents. Also, I fell deeply deeply in love with the Southwest United States on a family road trip in 1995. The hot, dry air, the subtle colors of the rocks and sand, the surprisingly varied plants - from Ponderosa Pine to short and spiky yucca. And the Grand Canyon herself... The Canyon seemed like a religion to me. You know, a religion that wouldn't make me want to beat my head against the wall or go out a shoot someone. A pretty damn rare and special kind of religion.

Sadly, I've never been especially good with religion, and I never quite made it into the ranks of the True Believers, which is partly why I left the Grand Canyon in May 2001. But that's not really relevant to this little essay which I'm pretending is about someone I once knew who made a lasting impression on me.

So. Glenn. Glenn was one of the leads (like a supervisor) at the Bright Angel Transportation Desk (the BAT desk - hah). Unlike the myriad employees of the concessionaire who sported name tags proclaiming origins of "Iowa", "Indiana", "Pennsylvania", or "France", Glenn's read "Arizona", though to be more precise, it could have just as easily read "Navajo Nation". And also unlike the mostly transient employee base, Glenn, like many of the other Navajo employees, were much more permanent residents and workers.

When I started working at BA Trans, Glenn had been there for five years. He'd been in the park for 10. This in a place where the average length of employment ran about 2 months. He didn't speak to me. He rarely made eye contact when he did speak in his low and steady, nearly-monotone voice, and he said the most appalling things to the guests. At least, as far as I was concerned.

One morning, a couple approached the desk and asked if the weather was going to hold for their overnight mule trip to Phantom Ranch. "Let me consult my crystal ball," Glenn replied. The thing I heard him say most often was, "Ma'am (or sir), you need to calm down. I'm trying to help you." As part of my training, I went on that particular overnight trip and had to listen to this couple complain about how rude Glenn had been to them.

Of course, after 2 years of dealing with similar questions, I couldn't believe how calm he managed to remain. We never had a close friendship, but I know we appreciated each other's competence at the job. Most likely because competence was in ridiculously short supply.

If you listened carefully, you might have realized that the man had a wicked sense of understated humor, and that he always called 'em like he saw 'em. He would not hesitate to tell you if he thought you were wrong, or being an idiot. He was never late for a shift (shockingly rare trait in the staff there) and he never made any of the tragic mistakes that some of the other leads did (like overbooking or letting guests with questionable English skills go on the mule trip). Of course, by the time I got there, he had spent five years at the job, so maybe his mistakes had been ironed out by then. I do know that while guests complained about his rude treatment (as they perceived it), they never complained that he gave them incorrect information. I saw him spend hours at a time trying to help visitors with travel problems or reservation difficulties. He wasn't perky about it, but he really would do everything in his power to solve a problem.

And even though, when a mutual friend and former coworker stopped in for a visit at the Canyon (yes, Glenn's still there), Glenn claimed not to remember who I was, I still remember him fondly, with just a tinge of exasperation.

Interlude

I'm strangely proud of this one:

17 As a 1930s wife, I am Very Poor (Failure) Take the test!

78 As a 1930s husband, I am Very Superior Take the test!

Not that I needed this quiz to tell me any of that. Heh.

Mikey

Yeah, I don't know what happened to April, either.

So... moving on.

I worked with Mike at the grill in our college dining services. He was a full-timer, I worked about 10 hours a week as a freshman, and later closer to 20 hours a week as the student area manager my senior year.

Mike was a little nutty - suffered from major depressive issues - had been a roadie with different bands in the 80s and was married with three kids when I knew him in the 90s. I would guess his age at 37 or 38 when we first met. He also had a band of his own and on a few occasions they played at different frat parties on campus.

From the beginning, I was one of the few students who could manage Mike and his moodiness. (The gifts of growing up with an alcoholic parent? I don't know.) On the good days we would play practical jokes on each other, or do stuff that would have gotten us fired in another situation. On bad days I would tease him and be silly until he rose out of the funk a bit.

Once he threw a wad of raw hamburger at me. In retaliation I pretended to slit his throat with the bread knife I was using at the time, only to reverse it at the last second and run the dull edge across his neck. We would put on finger condoms (for food service workers who have a cut on a finger), blow them up and then shoot them at each other. (Seriously amusing in case you've never tried it.) On a couple other occasions, one of the other student workers and I put all the grill tools in a pan of water and then stuck it in the freezer for Mikey to discover in the morning. He acted pissed, but you could tell he loved the attention.

After I graduated, Mikey fell apart just a little bit more - left the grill that he had made popular, moved to another work area, got divorced, and so on. Until I moved to Vermont, I would get a phone call from him every six months or so just to catch up... Not to say that his collapse had anything to do with me, but I was not hearing good things after I left.

In one phone call from him, maybe 3 years after I graduated, he told me about giving his wife a diamond ring for their anniversary. He said he surprised her with it and her reaction made him think about me. (yes, creepy, I agree) A year or so after that, when they split up (she left him for someone else) he told me that she had always been jealous of me and "ha ha" wasn't that ridiculous.

Yeah. So I'm a little more cautious in the relationships I have with people at work now.

It's been a while, and last I heard, Mikey had all three of his kids living with him and was dating a woman he had known for years, and all seemed to be on the way up. I hope things worked out with them and that they're happy together.

Ruth

We'll start relatively early I suppose, with a person I met in the summer of 1993.

That summer I finished my second year of CIT (Counselor-in-training) at Camp Henry Kaufmann in Ligoneer, PA (not far from Johnstown). The camp has since been sold out of the Council because it was too big, too old, and in need of too much repair for the Council to maintain. Plus, before the rezoning, it was technically outside of the Pittsburgh-based Council's territory. Now, of course, it's smack in the middle, but hey - what can you do?

Anyway. Ruth was from England, one of the counselors brought in from overseas every year, and she quickly got tagged with the camp name "Doc", for reasons I hope should be obvious. For whatever reason, she and I really hit it off. I spent the last week of the program in her unit, assisting her and the other counselor ("Chatterbox") with programming and whatnot. I recall that I was put in charge of the All-Camp skit.

For anyone not familiar with All-Camp, aka - just about anyone reading this, it took place on the final night of the 3, 4, or 5 day session, and all ten units in camp would bring their groups down to the Maple Ridge field and put on a little skit or show. Each session had a theme (fairytales, cartoons, christmas, talent show, etc) and the skits were supposed to have some relation to both the camp and the theme. The productions varied - sometimes the counselors would write the skit or song, sometimes the scouts would, sometimes the troop leaders would take charge. It depended a lot on how many days the group was in camp, how old the girls were, and how pushy or confident the leaders were.

I don't particularly remember what our skit was that night, though I want to say it was "Snow White and the Eleven Dwarves", a production that also featured Goldilocks and the Five Bears and Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Elephant. What I do remember quite clearly is that after spending the week with Doc, I had developed a freakishly good English accent and that when I opened my mouth that night to introduce our group, I did the whole thing in Brit-speak. God, the rest of camp teased me about that for days.

Ruth and I kept in touch for a few years, but this was before email was universal, and I'm not sure whether or not she ever got my last letter, because I never got a response. I remember that I loved her address - Rose Cottage - even though I don't remember the town it was in. The last I heard from her was in 1997 or so, I think. I remember that she always talked about her boyfriend Alan. I wonder if they stayed together.

I don't know where she is or what she's doing, but she's definitely a character who made her mark on me. I hope she's well and occasionally thinks of me as I do her.

Oops

I lost track of the date.

So.

All's well with my dad - his doctor and therapy crew keep yelling at him to slow down and not puch himself so hard. He's still got some weakness in his right hand and he says his signature might never be the same, but other than that, he seems to be doing pretty well. Driving my mother batty, in any case, so that seems about back to normal.

I survived February with friends visiting, a conference in Nashua, four twelve-hour work days in a row, and throwing my back out so badly the pain is still lingering even now -- two weeks later.

Anyway, I don't really have time right now to write the post I wanted to write, so I'll just tell you what I intend for the rest of the month. I've lived in a few interesting places, worked a range of different jobs - many with a constantly rotating cast of characters. So my plan for March (and possibly beyond) is to memorialize some of the more colorful or influential individuals who have crossed my path over the last 14 years.

Almost

Regular blogging to resume March 1st.

ping

Yes, still alive.

Remaining on hiatus for now...

I still cruise all my links though, so I am "around" if not active.

Baby-in-law

My father-in-law and his wife just welcomed baby Lily into the world on Saturday. Good timing! A day later and there would have been some really interesting driving conditions on the way to the birthing center.

Next week we'll be heading down to Jersey to scope out the newest addition to the family. Apparently she is "pretty cute" according to her dad.

Bombs Away

I got to talk to my dad last night. He's doing a lot better - much more coherent than when I spoke to him on Saturday (they think the stroke started about the time I called). He estimates that his right leg is operating at about 90% of the norm, but his right arm and hand are giving him trouble. He claims they're only 50% operational, but mom says he's exaggerating.

The most assuring part of the conversation - he half-dropped two F-bombs when talking about staying in the hospital (they're moving him to the physical therapy unit today or tomorrow) until he can make and fist and pick things up with his right hand again. Probably an extra week.

Cleo (the family dog who is really my dad's dog because she loves him with enthusiastic and unwavering devotion) must be absolutely depressed from missing her favorite person. She can usually sense him from blocks away and starts tearing around the house, pausing only occasionally to leap up on the couch to stare out the front window before repeating the circuit.

In any case, I feel much reassured today.

Mostly well?

So Dad had a minor stroke on Saturday evening, but they caught it quickly and were able to give him whatever drugs they have that are supposed to prevent longterm damage. He's got some weakness in his right arm, but is doing much better, apparently.

Mom keeps telling us all not to worry, not to try to come in, but what I think she fails to get is that we wouldn't be coming to keep Dad company (because he hates anyone to see him when he's not 100%) but to keep each other company.

I'm sure everything will be fine.

I'm just going to keep repeating that.

All's well

Dad finally went in for his bypass surgery - double bypass instead of the single that we expected - but he's doing well and will soon be driving all the nurses in the cardiac care unit completely insane. Mom is hoping they keep him in until Tuesday, but Dad want to be home for his birthday... He turns 70 on Saturday. Knowing my dad, he'll be home sooner rather than later.

In house-related news, we still haven't seen our furniture - the sofa and loveseat that were left behind at the factory by mistake (f**kers) - but we should have Internet access at home in two weeks. I had hoped for sooner, but apparently, despite what the provider told me, the guy who does the actual installation in our area does not work on Saturdays, so we have to wait until Jay can stay home on a week day.

Anyway, in light of the first paragraph, the gripes of the second are pretty damn minor, so I'm just gonna get back to work now and count my blessings, eh?

Disney whooped my ass

Went to Disney with my family - Jay, the parents, brother, 2 sisters, niece. 8 people in two rooms. Crowded, but mostly good. Disney designs the rooms so you don't really want to spend much time in them anyway. The better to spend money elsewhere in the parks, of course...

Magic Kingdom was lame as usual - could have skipped it happily. MGM isn't my favorite either - but the live car stunt show was pretty damn awesome. Animal Kingdom was really nice... and one of my favorite new phrases came from the Maharajah's Jungle Trek. (But is it bigger than a bat penis?) Epcot was the coolest, of course. Our favorite was "Turtle Talk with Crush" - animated, interactive show with the sea turtle from Finding Nemo - they load the front of the room with little kids and then ask them questions that Crush responds to. Hi-lar-i-ous.

Little kid: Um um um why was the um fish afraid of the turtle?
Crush: I dunno little dude, why *was* the fish afraid of the turtle?
LK: Because, um, da fish was um um um afraid of the fish!

Little kid jokes... so funny because they make absolutely no sense.

Went back to the show twice.

Food was pretty good, too. Fulton's Crab House - tasty tasty seafood. Rainforest Cafe - not anyone's favorite, but the only place we could get a reservation for 8 on Thanksgiving. In Epcot we had Morrocan take-away for lunch, ate at the Japanese steakhouse for dinner, and had tirimisu and torta di ciocolata for dessert in Italy.

Drank too much (always happens around my brother) and slept too little. Wouldn't want to do it again any time soon, but enjoyed the time in the sun with the family.

Should have internet access at home starting next week (if the satellite installation guys can make it on Saturday), so things might actually pick up around here again.

61 months and counting

So.

Drive-by posting ahead:

Been doing this blog for much longer than I ever anticipated.

Still have lots to say.

Some might even be interesting.

Putting a lot of my creative energy into work these days.

Still no Internet at home.

But many good intentions and things to write about.

Might pick up again sometime soon.

Probably going to be quiet until we ransom our souls to the satellite internet providers though.

Sigh.

.....

Busy being appalled

Trying to formulate a reasonable response. Just not sure there is one...

Seen on a student's facebook page: "I'd never hit a woman, but I'd smack a bitch."

Seen in my alma mater's student paper: "Feminists need to choose: chivalry or equality."