Minor Revisions

Love...

2012-02-15T06:06:00.002-06:00

How does one who is chronically single make Valentine's Day more fun?

I'm actually not sure, but I can tell you what made yesterday work for me.

Booked a hotel. In Venice. Where I'll holiday for a weekend in March. (!!!!!)
Made what could have been my biggest presentation in Industry. (And my voice only shook with nervousness a little!) While being projected on large screens globally from a local auditorium.
Started to plan Paris, elsewhere in Italy and UK travel. Again - so, SO excited about this. It's been far too long since I've flitted off to Europe.
Made a mental note to ask Jane where she teaches as I think I'll end up spending a day in the vicinity.
Changed into new, super-soft sleepy pants upon returning home. And a too-large shirt that doesn't match them. Because nobody was going to see them and I was just going to sleep. But I get to dream about professional goodness!

Soft Skills

2012-02-10T17:45:00.002-06:00

"Hello," we said in unison and wearing our friendliest smiles. Adam complimented her outfit while I cocked my head slightly in order to be adorable. And we politely requested a favor, made some requisite promises and set off 2 minutes later, goal attained. He put his hand behind him, palm up, as he walked back to his desk and I grinned as I tapped it with my fingers.

In truth, we often share gestures of victory within my group - we have little real power so we resort to charm and owed favors and pity when necessary to achieve that moment's aim. And it comes naturally to me much of the time. Few people actively dislike me (and I just avoid them) so I'm often able to finagle.

It wasn't until today - when I saw someone do every single thing wrong - that I made note of some important characteristics of a good meeting. (Note that we've already covered content.)

"Katie," a colleague said when I answered the phone. "I just got your meeting notification - what's this about?"

"Ah," I replied slowly, trying to think. "I've been working with a couple of scientists and they asked if they could show off their work. You know, since you're new and important?"

He laughed and my lips curved as his acceptance notification appeared in my inbox. "I appreciate it," I offered. "They're good guys and it's interesting work and they wanted your thoughts on current status and next steps. Should be painless."

It was not painless.

1. Arrive on time.

I came to their offices 5 minutes before our scheduled time and escorted them to our assigned conference room. Upon our guest's arrival, we had connected laptop to projector and reviewed the goals of the meeting.

Before beginning, we'd done everything right.

2. Be briefly social.

I once was the recipient of a presentation where the speaker - a lovely older man - had notes on a yellow legal pad. The first line - scrawled in pencil - said "thank them for time." I found it adorable.

I was there to perform introductions at today's meeting so that part was easy. I asked about my colleague's week and offered my sympathy that he was stuffy and battling a cold. The scientists, though, immediately jumped into their science without offering the proper introductions and background. In Industry, it's much like I remember my post-doc.

Example: "I'm Katie and I work for Adam, doing my job. I've been in this role over 3 years and have been working on this particular project for the last 3 months. I thought we'd walk through some background information before I get to my specific question/request unless you had another idea?"

3. Make eye contact.

This may be a pet peeve, but it freaks me out when people don't look up. I've learned it sometimes cultural or just a personal habit to not stare at the person across from you. But it engages your audience - especially when it's an audience of 1 person - and gives you insight into their reactions. Both are critically important.

You want 1) your listener to pay attention and 2) to adapt your approach if you're getting negative feedback. So look at the person - it totally helps.

4. Force yourself to listen.

I'll be honest - I like to talk. I'm passionate about many topics. And given a good topic and some time to prepare, I can happily chatter away as if I were a bird in a tree first thing in the morning. I tell you this because I know you're likely prepared and super-smart and you have an outline of all kinds of information you want to offer. And that's lovely.

But other people also like to feel super-smart and offer all kinds of information. It makes them feel useful. And helps them clarify if there are misunderstandings.

So talk briefly about a visual you've created that's mostly self-explanatory. Then wait. If you've done well, your audience will finish reading and look at you. If he's wearing an expectant expression, continue. If he asks a question or makes a comment, consider it and respond appropriately.

Do not (please, please, please) engage in this awful monologue where you're talking and talking and talking about the same image on the same slide for-what-feels-like-ever. If you're caught up in your material, you're not able to adapt to your audience. And - if you want something from that audience - that's bad.

5. Seriously - listen.

The dear, sweet scientists barely allowed time for questions. Between the two of them, there were so many words that I couldn't keep track. I finally stopped them to ask for a reaction.

They interrupted him mid-way through a thought. One raised a hand to quiet him. The other kept raising his voice until he was basically yelling. And I winced.

Because I like and respect them, I continued to force pauses. Asked questions of my colleague. Encouraged him to engage - offer insight, ask questions, suggest alternate paths.

"We've struggled with this..." I would offer. "I suggested a format like that for the output - does that work?" I'd ask.

6. Finish up.

Be respectful of time. If you asked for an hour, take 55 minutes. As you're monitoring how things are going, manage your goals appropriately. And gauge your requests based on how the meeting has gone.

If there are more criticisms than compliments, perhaps schedule another time to talk so you can regroup before asking for money.

If there were suggestions for validation that make sense, go do them and follow up in addition to asking for a recommendation for a particular product program or journal entry.

Know what you want and have back-up plans so you can make progress toward that even if you're not able to get everything. And if you have a Katie-like helper, let her know what your goal is.

She'll try to help - I promise.

Wishes

2012-02-05T17:31:00.002-06:00

I saved the candle, plucking it from the mountain of white frosting atop my cake, unable to think of a suitable wish for my 33rd birthday celebration.

I saw it today - perched in a magnetic basket on the side of my refrigerator that rattles sometimes. I nestled a chip-clip next to it and briefly pondered lighting it, hoping for some residual birthday magic and making a better wish.

I don't know what I'd want though. I still feel a bit distant - separate - from both present and future.

"So when do people start jumping ship?" I asked Adam on Friday and he shrugged before shifting in his chair. He explained that the people in the group who were thinking of moving on would likely be unable to do so. Periods of transition, politics, priorities - all the right buzz words that explained why it's beyond their control or his control or anyone's control, really, for the good of the business.

"Oh," I replied, shoulders slumping and he laughed at me for wanting to be rid of colleagues. "No, no," I denied, smiling with him. "I just want something to change - new people, new goals, new...something."

I just feel stuck. And bored. And a little tired.

I dreamed I was pregnant - have this vivid mental picture of masculine hands smoothing over my swollen belly with absent affection as we sat together reading a book.

I was naming dogs during a different nap - there were 8 of them and I was letting them inside from a chaotic romp in the yard. And I wanted to call them something as I nuzzled and cuddled them, but all I could think of was Spot for the dalmatian and Honey for the yellow lab.

Given that there is no man or baby (or pack of dogs), I let myself perk at the thought of a trip to Europe. A new camera and good shoes and fabulous architecture do a lot to make a Katie happy.

It's not all bad, I scold myself. My lovely tax refund was deposited in my bank account and I had nothing to do with it. I transferred it into savings, wondering at steady progression from no debt to not living month to month to watching money accumulate steadily in an account that mostly gathered dust throughout my adult life.

I have a house I love in a place I have no desire to leave.

"I'm like a knowledge ninja!" I cried last week after neatly dispatching 4 phone calls with quick and easy answers or orders. My experience makes it easy - don't offend this person, tell the truth with that one, try to find a way to help here but ignore there.

So what do I want? And why don't I know?

Partially

2012-02-03T20:50:00.003-06:00

"The right side of my head hurts," I told the pharmacist, having waited patiently at the small plastic stop sign that I assume protected the privacy of the non-existent patients before me. "I'm stuffed up. And it's aching in my ear and under my eye and in my jaw. I can barely turn my head because my neck hurts. What can you give me?"

"Sudafed," she replied

promptly. And we stared at each other for a moment. I finally blinked and asked her if there was a way she could wander over and get some of them for me.

"I need your ID," she requested. "And your signature that indicates you won't make meth with the pills."

"I won't make meth with the pills," I parroted dutifully and punched two of the red tablets through their protective foil immediately upon getting in the car. Then I sighed, hoping they worked quickly.

Apart from a nasty head cold, we've slept and worked while the snow around us slowly melted away. The neighbor girls got a pogo stick and I watched the older girl bounce upon it while I fetched

my recycling bins from the curb. Recent days have brought changes - the white car left, the truck windows shattered - but the net difference is reasonably small. Everyone's now home, all the vehicles parked in their typical spots.

"But I'm ready to go somewhere," I whined when Adam suggested I cancel an upcoming trip to points south so as not to rupture my poor eardrum. "I mean, you look rough," he said, giving a half-apologetic shrug when I glared at him.

I soon smiled, however, when he offered up a trip to Paris. "Decide where else you want to go while you're over there and get me costs."

"Paris in early springtime," I murmured, already pondering Vienna and Zurich versus Italy and Greece. I crave the work as much as the change in scenery. Novel ideas and opportunities to learn rather than endless meetings and the taking of notes while we wait in this in-between phase where no decisions are final and plans are nothing but tentative.

So I'll dream while I decongest.

Arcs & Drifts

2012-01-29T19:28:00.002-06:00

I sighed upon opening the front door today and beholding the new-fallen snow. Fluffy and blindingly-bright, Chienne and I braved the winter weather and took a brief walk. We moved toward my interesting neighbor so I could peer down the driveway and see what was what.

The day after the kerfuffle over the locked car, the burly pick-up truck sat in the driveway, cab covered by plastic wrap that was twisted at the end and tucked under the door handle.

"Odd," I thought, "that the wife would threaten to break the car window, only to leave with Ryan. Then the husband comes home to break his truck window."

"Both truck windows," I corrected myself quietly to Chienne this morning as I observed the driver's side. I took a moment to wonder if he'd been enraged when she said that he cared more about the vehicle windows than he did about her affair, pictured the crunch the glass must have made when struck with something suitably heavy and dramatic.

I like drama, I pouted, thinking that if I didn't have to work (and nap and run errands and read...), I could have set up camp at my window to watch neighborhood events unfold. I offered a sad smile his direction when he glanced up from his work on his wife's car. He returned it as I glanced past him to the garage they use for storage rather than parking. There was an old couch and television in the corner and I wondered, moving through the snow after my silly dog once again, if he'd used the space to escape the females - wife and daughters - in his family.

And I wondered where they were now. And how he'd be if they didn't return - if having space inside the climate-controlled house might enable him to find someone who made him happier.

***

"I can't take it anymore," Mom has said. "He's always complaining. Always negative. With the comments and the jokes that he thinks are funny but actually are mean."

I feel badly for her at times. But I also remind her that she is also rather sensitive and dramatic - it runs in the family - and I'd really rather he not move up here with me if she makes him leave their longtime home.

I called them today, a little shaken after meeting my neighbor's sad gaze this morning, and smiled when Mom sounded so happy. They've escaped the frozen north to spend February in Florida and are currently en route to their rented cottage on the bay.

"We're at the welcome station," my snowbird mother chirped. "Dad's looking at brochures - that's how we found our hotel last night. They have coupons and descriptions and they tell you exactly which exit to take!"

"Wow," I offered before a cough interrupted my giggle. I have another head cold - it's flipping ridiculous.

"I found a welcome book," Dad disclosed when it was his turn on the phone. "We can use it to find a place to stay tonight. It's nice and warm - we turned off the heat when we were going through Tennessee - and we're on vacation now!"

"Maybe," Mom told me when they visited for my birthday, "when the girls aren't distracting me, I can pay attention to your dad and find out why he's so unhappy. If he just needs more attention."

"Maybe," I agreed, thinking I was sometimes happy to be single. To have fingers crossed for trips to Europe and Japan and Australia (first time for the latter!) this year. To be able to park in my garage and have a house to myself. And not have to worry about what happens next with a partner who's unpredictable and unhappy.

Drastic Measures

2012-01-26T18:01:00.003-06:00

"Well," I said slowly, "she is a bit high strung. But then, so am I. It's not all bad." And I watched the people surrounding the table nod in agreement. And I was caught between vague amusement and insult, just as I was when a friend easily accepted my self-assessment of 'a little unstable but mostly harmless.'

"She's just not suited to that job," someone pointed out and I had to agree. Adam had teased me about applying for it and I'd giggled in response. Putting someone like me in a high-pressure, intensely political and painfully broken system would result in oscillations of terrifying fireworks and long periods of utter apathy. It'd be bad. And with someone who shares some of my qualities, it is bad. Poor thing.

I was considering it this morning when I stepped out of the house, an impatient Chienne leashed beside me, prepared to wander the neighborhood. My neighbor was speaking of something in a loud voice, which is not particularly uncommon.

She is also a bit high strung.

But I frowned as she snapped at her tiny daughter. She must be mighty-frustrated to scold a little one who looked more like a marshmallow than troublemaker. I glanced across the driveways at her, offering a wave in greeting as we moved past.

"How mad would you be," the woman said into her phone, "if I broke the window?" I raised my eyebrows and didn't tug Chienne along from her snuffles at the snowbank. I've never seen someone break a car window and was rather intrigued.

"All my stuff is in there! My purse and cash and phone!" I squinted to see if she what she was using to call if her phone was in the locked car, deciding it was a house phone. Then I ducked my head, forgetting I wasn't watching television and some discretion was likely in order.

"Thanks for not helping then!" she cried and I heard the phone bloop obediently when she hung up.

"Who's not helping, Mom?" her little marshmallow asked. "Who? And how do I get to school?"

"Your dad is useless," the older woman replied and I grinned, wishing I could add that I hated it when he parked his giant truck in front of my yard. Perhaps we'd agree that he was useless and annoying!

But I frowned when she said her friend, Ryan, was coming to get them. As her daughter asked questions about who Ryan was, a white vehicle pulled in and I heard my neighbor's voice change for the first time. It became light and happy, flirtatious and sweet.

And I sighed as we turned the corner, wondering if they were having an affair. Said relationships are ridiculously common in my adorable subdivision full of working dads and stay-at-home moms. I've actually turned down a request for an NSA tryst (No Strings Attached) (I looked it up.) (You're welcome.) with a man who lives not a 3 minute walk from my house. Because his wife had already cheated on him.

And it seems depressing somehow. That behind the perfect lawns that shame my haphazard mowing strategy and the warmth that glows out the windows when Chienne and I walk after dusk or before dawn and the children that play games and ride bikes and fill the afternoons with shouts and laughter, there is such unhappiness and boredom.

I came home early today, losing a battle with a migraine, and snuggled myself into bed before glancing out my window. The locked car waited outside an empty house, aligned neatly to the other residential structures on the street.

And I quietly congratulated that little car on keeping its windows intact for one more day.

Change In Progress

2012-01-24T17:28:00.003-06:00

I thought Adam was moving on. (Professionally. To my knowledge, he's perfectly healthy.) I prepared myself for this in the latter part of 2011, mentally distancing myself, being more critical, looking forward to the fresh perspective someone new would bring.

It turns out that I was wrong. Many, many (many) things have changed at work, but Adam looks to be a constant. My first Industry boss will remain my Industry boss, even as the group changes around us and leadership ponders altering the infrastructure in ways that might be dramatic.

But nothing is certain.

I grow weary of exploring options. Gathering data. Various proposals. Tentative timelines.

We work, making progress toward some fluid goal that slips through our fingers when we try to catch it.

We try to do good, but when realizing that you can't please everyone, it grows increasingly difficult to muster the energy to please anyone. Saying no immediately starts looking more appealing than potentially saying yes at some point. And so it's routine to sign messages with 'thanks and apologies, Katie.'

"Pay attention to me," we all seem to whisper. "I'm smart and talented and work very hard." Eyes blink and heads droop when we're shushed. Sitting slumped at desks, tapping at keyboards and peering at enlarged documents on shiny monitors.

I keep reminding myself that I love my job. I freely acknowledge I'm blessed to have it. I sometimes lose myself in the work - start graphing data or focus all my mental energy on numbers that march across rows and down columns, telling stories I can decipher.

"This is a mess," someone noted after I told one such story.

"This is reality," I replied, too apathetic to get defensive over my poor, sweet project. "It's messy."

We stared at each other for a moment before he suggested I give it a bit more time and re-run the numbers after we'd collected more data.

"I can do that," I agreed, ready to end the meeting and pick up guacamole on my way home as a way to self-soothe. "Sometimes things go right in the end."

And I'm hoping that's the case with my career in flux.

T-3 hours to Age 33

2012-01-17T21:00:00.000-06:00

Happy...

"Open this one!" Smallest One demanded as she handed me a bag stuffed with multi-colored tissue paper. "I picked it myself!"
A hug filled with laughter from Adam when I shook my head at his request for help on a project. I'd replied that I could make him a list instead and received a cuddle for my irrelevant offer.
"It uses a more standard cord for image transfer," I explained to Dad when he asked why I'd replaced a perfectly good camera with something new. "Plus, I had the money as a bonus for helping with an event."
"I'm buying my own," I insisted when Adam noted that - if I were patient - he'd likely buy the team new monitors for our laptops. "I want it in place for my birthday!"
"Aw," I said, smiling happily at my group around the table where we'd gathered for a birthday dinner. "You bought me tea and a pretty travel mug! Because tea helps me be more peaceful!"
Falling asleep to a new SpongeBob DVD while Little One snuggles on the far side of my large bed. "OK?" I asked. "OK," she replied. "Love you," I murmured and she repeated the words with a small smile before we nuzzled into our respective pillows to rest.
The remnants of snow angels made by nieces in multiple layers of snow gear.
$1 salad bar at work - with baby spinach and peas and chicken and chickpeas and broccoli and cheese. How people can complain with such an option is beyond me.
Homemade cake via Sibling. Store-bought cake (with extra flowers made of whipped icing for the girls) via Mom.
Singing (x2) from my family. Happy birthday, Aunt Katie...
Toasts (x4) from my colleagues.
A faithful canine companion who's just as happy to take a walk with me at 5AM as our typical 6:45.
My new fountain that perches on my new storage cubbies in my bedroom.
Recalling Little and Smallest helping my dad build said cubbies. Applying glue to dowels. Pulling the trigger on the electric screwdriver. Pounding nails with careful strokes of a hammer.
Newest's grin when he handed me the gift bag before dinner, admonishing me not to open it until after dinner.
Best stumbling over words when he tried to tell a funny story after our waiter opened another bottle of wine.
Sending email to a man and wishing hard for his reply. Even when he failed to deliver said email, it's a sweet reminder that there still could be someone who makes me breathless.
A pretty new blue dress and matching necklace for work tomorrow - the fluttery hem outweighed the deep v-neck that I decided I could cover with a sweater.
Finishing 1 task I've been avoiding.
Arranging to skip one trip in February while my parents are staying in Florida.
Snowflakes.
Photos of flowers.
Gas fireplaces.
Charming little towns that can host happy birthday dinners and sexy first dates.
Bounce fabric softener.
Coke Zero - I've nearly completed the transition from Diet Pepsi!
My pretty house that can easily handle family visits but seems to snuggle back around me when they depart.
Flats that feel like slippers but are dressy enough for work.
Cardigan sweaters - red and gray and pink and cream and brown and lilac and black.
Forsaking Facebook
Being an "expert" and having the respect of a large body of colleagues.
Cinnamon Toast Crunch
"I like your car," one dinner companion noted as I climbed in and started it. "Thanks - me, too," I replied. And I realized I'm actually rather fond of my life as a whole.

(A little) Dead inside

2012-01-10T18:25:00.004-06:00

"I'm going to blow your mind," Sibling warned me over sushi this afternoon.

"Go for it," I replied, reaching for another piece of crab encased in rice with tempura crumbles and a creamy sauce on top. Had she asked me to guess, I would have hypothesized she was pregnant.

I would have been wrong. She announced she was leaving - both our group and the area - and I nodded and smiled at her before sipping my soda as I thought of what to say.

I had no such problems when I was in 3rd grade and my best friend told me her parents had bought another house. Her blue eyes brimmed with tears and I cycled rapidly through the stages of grief - my heart breaking at the thought of losing bike rides and Monopoly games and swimming in each other's pools.

"It's not fair," I protested, my brown eyes beginning to water as rapidly as hers were. "We're going to need a ride to see each other!"

"I know," she cried. "I told my mom I didn't want to move but my dad really wants this house." And so we cried - quite dramatically, of course - until our mothers came down the hall to where we perched on my bed, clinging to each other.

"When?" I finally asked as we caught our breath and wiped our eyes.

I repeated this question to Sibling as we sat across from each other and she answered me. So I nodded again and thought of my next question.

"You could visit me," she offered and I nodded with little enthusiasm. I could visit Chicago, San Antonio, Nashville. Paris, Milan, Zurich. I know and love people in all places, but I like staying home. "Oh," Sibling sighed. "You don't like New York City."

"I don't dislike it," I replied honestly. "I can see you being very happy there - you always wanted to get back to a real city. But I like it here. I'm staying here. So when it comes to long lunches or easy dinners, I'm fantastic. But long, focused visits aren't really my thing."

She nodded, telling me about her friends from college that were within an hour of NYC. I nodded and asked more questions and felt... not a whole lot. I tried to examine it and the best I could say was that I understood. Neither happy nor heartbroken.

It just made sense, I finally realized. People come and then they go. And perhaps I'm losing that naive capability to love someone new with everything. I read an email from Pete - circa 2006 - the other day. And found myself sick after sobbing - not for him, necessarily, but because I remembered - so clearly - what it felt like to feel that. The intensity of hope. The subsequent misery of disappointment.

I recall driving away from Friend - car full of belongings she'd helped me pack - and feeling crushed under the weight of grief. And I wonder if my heart now hides - only half-interested in life and those in it - so that all I feel is understanding when a dear friend announces her departure.

Flip Side

2012-01-08T18:37:00.002-06:00

I scowled as I ascended my stairs, pulling a dress from my closet and rifling through my row of sweaters until I found the one I needed. The eyelet cream that buttoned completely, hanging neatly by the rest of the cardigans.

I'd purchased the cotton shift when Friend visited and it's rather adorable. The only problem is that it has a deep v-neck that is a bit slutty. For a second date. For work, it's inappropriate. For church, I'm pretty sure it's sinful. As I was going to church, I frowned at the garment and buttoned the sweater atop it. Yet you could still see a good bit of skin between buttons.

So I put it on backward, beaming proudly at the high "neckline" and deciding my pretty sweater would now cover my exposed upper back. Suitable demure, I set off for the pretty building perched on the hill where I worship.

(It was Epiphany Sunday. I think my pastor believes that a UFO led the magi to baby Jesus. And he was very sympathetic that they only traveled ~10-15 miles per day. And he's not a big fan of Herod. I also learned gold was given to kings, frankincense to priests and myrrh for funerals or physicians.)

I did not want to attend. I've not, in fact, gone to church in months and months and arrived in my too-short skirt and on-backward dress with a tight smile and clenched teeth. If, I decided, I felt this strongly about avoiding church, I clearly needed to be there. And through prayer and song and the quiet moments where the dozen of us formed a semi-circle at the altar to take communion, my heart softened and soul quieted. And as I shook hands with my fellow congregants, murmuring 'peace be with you,' I finally found some peace within me.

I stopped by Kohls (I love Kohls) to look for a particular stripey dress. I did not find it, but I did acquire new lingerie and a clearance dress (with a ruffled neckline - it's very cute) and impulse bought some Godiva chocolates. I saw a sign for sandwiches on sale and made a quick stop to grab one, gracefully buying the cookies the sale demanded. Because I like cookies and sales. So it all works out.

I returned home, lecturing myself that I would go on my date. I wanted to have my sandwich and watch reruns of Law & Order and perhaps take a nice nap with Chienne curled behind my knees. But instead I would go and meet a man for ice cream. With sprinkles on top. (That was my tentative title for the blog post.) Convinced that I was going and I was going to be lovely, I'll admit to a quick thrill when he canceled.

"Of course," I replied on the phone. "Postpone. Feel better. Get some rest." And I replaced the phone receiver to snuggle in the loveseat with only my faithful canine for company and relaxed into contentment. For I like lazy Sunday afternoons - time for sandwiches and naps and slipping out of a dress and into pajamas.

Sometimes changes in plans are gifts. And if I have the fleeting thought that being alone this afternoon is likely indicative of being alone forever? That's what Godiva chocolate-covered-caramels are for.

John 3:16

2011-12-28T02:15:00.003-06:00

For God so loved the world
He gave his one and only son
so that whoever believes in Him
shall not perish
but have eternal life.

I am not one for memorizing Bible verses. I've nothing against it and I tend to remember things easily so it's a bit of a mystery as to why I avoid it. Yet Mom likes Max Lucado and I wanted to leave the book for her when I returned home so I arranged myself on the couch yesterday and began to read his exploration of this verse.

I finished it last night and recalled why I'm fond of Lucado as well - he has an approachable style. A gentle invitation to read and learn and think that I find both informative and soothing somehow. And woven into the hopeful stories and holy lessons were questions about the reader's reaction - my reaction - to this life and what comes after.

I believe in God, though my belief sometimes lacks passion. It's comfortable and cozy and I've ignored it more often than not of late. His love is a given. His mercy and grace absently taken for granted.

When Chienne's nails clicked against the floor in the hallway, my mom called for me to help her. Already awake, I rose and followed her down the hall, opening the sliding doors to the backyard and waiting until she was ready to return to bed. Once there though, I was restless. Unhappy. Afraid not of what comes after death but what comes next in this life.

So I came to the living room and turned on the light by Dad's chair, deciding I'd fill my glass with water before I continued to read the 40 devotionals at the end of Lucado's book. I grabbed a Cutie from the crisper with my glass of filtered water and returned to snuggle into the recliner and finish turning the pages.

While the book is quite focused, the end is a series of snapshots of Jesus life and it seemed somehow Christmas-y to page through them without pause (though I realize that's not the point of a devotional). I'd already made it to Day 20 and decided to eat my citrus fruit before finishing the text.

"Seedless, sweet and easy to peel," I murmured as I removed the rind, recalling the commercial for the tiny treats. Then I wondered why that message resided in memory while tracing my orange-scented fingertips over the embossed title of my book.

Life is seeming long to me lately. Like everything loops in this awful, depressing cycle while we do little but act badly and get frustrated and do more harm than good. Much as I enjoy the seasons of the upper Midwest, their endless rotation has begun to bore me. As blessed as I am to have my job - and I do know that I am - it seems like I'm helping few and spending most of my time spinning my wheels, lacking energy to do much other than watch television or play mindless games when I return home. We age - children grow taller and increasingly skilled, dogs lose their sight or hearing or ability to walk comfortably, my knee crackles sometimes and I've mostly stopped noticing the gray in my hair.

I believe - for me - a shift of focus is necessary. If I ignore the persistent cycles in favor of that which holds meaning, life once again becomes productive. I'm once again powerful - at least in my own sphere of influence - and can feel I'm doing something. My faithful canine hopped out of bed and clicked down the hall once again in search of me while I was writing. And I moved from my chair to the couch so she could curl up behind my knees. And perhaps it's that easy - getting up, taking a couple of steps to find a different spot and think from here rather than there.

If I sit with God - just dwell in His presence - rather than filling my life with noise to drown Him out... If I pray more and fret less... If I hum hymns rather than mutter curses... If I cling to hope rather than languishing in despair...

If I memorize a Bible verse rather than an advertisement...

For God so loved the world He gave His one and only Son so that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.

It's small, but it's something. And it soothes me enough to want to sleep again.

Peace be with you.

Merry Update

2011-12-27T19:48:00.004-06:00

Dad, who looks not unlike Santa Claus, called to Smallest, mentioning he had placed his presents in his room. I believe this was meant to be one of those 'lead by example' moments.

Smallest, smearing pink polish on her tiny fingernails, glanced up and acknowledged his statement with what I thought was a rather regal nod.

He repeated it, stopping in front of her and blocking her light.

"Good for you," she said simply, looking up with eyebrows raised in challenge and tiny chapped lips curved into a smug smile. And her toys - the piles of boxes and stacks of bags - remained scattered about her feet.

"You can do that one," Little One directed when I emerged after the family had departed - partially in tears as someone had bossed the only boy who retaliated and all merry-hell broke loose until they put on coats and loaded cars. My eldest niece sobbed from her grandfather's arms - I'd hurt her tender feelings when I said she was being bossy. (But she was!) She'd eventually forgiven me (Mom interceded) and I was allowed to stick tiny gems on stickers.

So there I was - sleepily bedazzling a cupcake sticker - and I glanced up at her across the table, so much like me that my heart warms even as it worries. For all my good qualities - and there are some (really) - I'm bossy and dramatic and impatient and selfish and all those things that leave me wanting to warn Little One even as I cuddle her.

"Uh oh," I told her, my distraction causing a departure from our crafty plan. "I used the clear instead of the blue because I thought the clear were light blue." I let my fretful gaze meet her curious one and she shrugged and smiled, benevolent in her crafty leadership. "We can use the blue instead of clear on this cupcake," she decided.

So when she asked for ice cream - with both chocolate and strawberry syrup - I decided that I'd be a benevolent 'one tall enough to reach the freezer' and fetch it.

Chienne remained excited about opening gifts - she received a squeaky toy and some munchy sticks and tennis balls which she promptly shredded into tiny pieces that I'm still picking from my parents' carpet.

We've been mostly peaceful - apart from the coughing and blowing of noses and occasional squabbles. We played more games - electronic and board - had more food and learned how to use allowances on iTunes (after Little One's last spree cost her Aunt Katie upwards of $300).

And between the requests to fetch this or pick that up, there have been cuddles and kisses and snuggles on laps while reading books. Brother and I danced to Justin Bieber while his girls sang along - all the while helping Mom put together little keychains for a church banquet.

And I read 3:16, a gift from Aunt, that might finally be chipping away at the layer that seems to be keeping me from connecting with the world. Or so I pray.

No Place Like...

2011-12-25T20:56:00.002-06:00

"Merry Christmas," I greeted my former sister-in-law, a woman I've never particularly liked or respected. Still, my laissez-faire (which sounds fancier than 'I just don't care') attitude of late enables me to feel gently, if absently, affectionate toward most people.

"It's a beautiful house," I complemented her, for she's done a lovely job at putting together a home for her and the Ones. Recruiting her parents to do most of the work, she'd put in new floors - shining hardwoods - upon which the two kittens she'd acquired as Christmas gifts pranced about. She gave me a tour, pointing out the colors she'd selected for paint and making me smile at the severe organization of the clothes in closets. I remembered visiting Brother and blinking in surprise at the neat rows and straight seams as they contrasted sharply with our more haphazard 'hang it up and leave it alone' approach.

We scooped up the girls, my mother and I, and drove back to my parents' house, parking next to my Jeep that had arrived - Chienne and I in tow - yesterday mid-morning. I had a sandwich - ham and cheese on Butternut bread - while my faithful canine carefully moved about the house, orienting herself rather rapidly to this once-familiar structure. We've not been home since last Christmas, I think, preferring for the family to come to us (with our many bathrooms and comfortable beds and convenient location next to work and shopping and restaurants). But Chienne quickly made her way around the house and past the maze of toys on the patio into the fenced yard. I was both proud and impressed. For a moment at least. Then I settled back into my 'eh' sort of mood.

We went to church last night (eh) and came home early as Mom coughed and coughed. She settled herself with a breathing treatment while I cinnamon-sugared biscuit pieces for monkey bread. Then we went to bed early and - for the first time in my life - slept past dawn on Christmas Day.

I awakened after 7, petted Chienne and praised her for snuggling with me all night - she normally paces the house to track its occupants - and we padded down the hall just as the phone rang to summon us to gather the girls. Brother had arrived before we returned home and the girls began tearing paper from presents before we had breakfast in the oven and coffee from the pot.

We cooed over presents and promised to play later and tossed wrapping paper away from piles of boxes and toys. I loaded my new belongings into the Jeep to help clear a corner as sun streamed through the front window. Little One read me books (So Cool - I love kids who read) and, having left my iPad at home, I helped myself to her Judy B Jones collection and - once I adapted to the style - quite enjoyed 3 of them in short order. (Little One - age 7 - was quite impressed with my reading speed. I also beat her at Connect 4. I think this means that I - age 32 - am awesome.)

Smallest and I made crayons - looking at each other in disappointment when the melted pieces failed to dump into the waiting molds.

"I put it together wrong," I said apologetically. "And now it's locked so I have to wait for it to cool and unlock before I fix it."

"Why?" she asked, frowning at me darkly. The crayon maker is a bit slow for a 4 year old Smallest. So I tried to explain that the crayon melter needed to be a bit forward - it wasn't meeting the tilting device. And I told her I was sorry.

"It's this thing," she decided and I nodded in understanding.

"So we blame Crayola?" I asked, smiling at her and she nodded before we both stared at the ticking timer on the new toy. (We did finally make them and they were pretty cool. Just time-consuming.)

Smallest joined me for a nap with Chienne and then we played Old McDonald before helping Mom make corn pudding. Little One and I played a variant of dominos and she finally won at Connect 4 and we read another story together (I liked Inside Your Outside - it's a Dr. Seuss series, apparently).

We had dinner, watched television and played more games. It was pleasant. It is pleasant - even as poor Smallest is struggling with a fever (which explains why she's been so calm and sleepy today). But I keep recalling the comment as I waited for my massage at the spa.

"Your heart chakra is blocked," my therapist noted after I'd selected some cards and then a scent. "You're struggling to connect."

"True story," I said. But the massage, facial, manicure and haircut failed to cure me. As did Christmas. I feel like I'm in a bubble - not painful or bad. Just distant.

Still, from my distant state, I'm wishing you much merriness as you celebrate Christmas (or simply yearn for the end of the holiday season).

Speeches for Elevators

2011-12-17T11:11:00.001-06:00

I have a variety of items displayed in my office. I'm a cluttered person by nature and enjoy looking up at a framed scribble by the Ones or a family photo or an amusing cartoon Friend sent me with her living will. (I do not display the latter. Just to be clear.) I have sketches and notes attached to metal with magnets. Printed cover sheets from published papers pinned on a board.

One of these papers is a printed slide - we rarely have paper copies of presentations but when revising the important messages, we each bring copies and scrawl notes in the margins for consistency across colleagues.

Sometimes the printer gets overwhelmed - all the pretty colors and large images confuse the poor thing - and I blinked with moderately hurt feelings when Adam laughed out loud at one of my pages.

"Your summary could use some work," he offered with a wink, handing me a paper neatly entitled Summary and containing the following message:

LPLLL PLPPP !P

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

PPLPPLPLLLLL !!!!!

"Well," I decided, "at least it's emphatic. If you're going to go with a crappy message, you might as well be passionate about it."

But as I listened to yet another bad presentation for yet another hour, I sighed and thought that persuading people to do what you want shouldn't be as hard as people make it. And though it still shocks me, I'm in a position to judge people's work based on how much they want Industry money. And - not infrequently - I can't figure out what you're trying to sell me because your pitch is so awful.

If people would answer these questions for me, we'd be all set. Possibly with extra time for hugs and kisses!

Why do I care? Seriously - what problem are you trying to solve?
How is your solution different (and better) than others available?
How confident are you in your value and differentiating characteristics?

Point 1
I'm sure you're very cool and smart. Awesome and brilliant. But this isn't like those homemade caramels near the cash register. (Though I do like those.) Tell me that I'm behind a competitor. That people are dying. That I can make lots and lots of money. Then - and this is important as well - connect what you're doing to that problem.

If you can't do this, you're wasting everyone's time. And I will spend the hour I've promised you wondering what color your mane would be if you were a unicorn. Because otherwise, I'll want to throw my shoe at you.

Point 2
I'm of the opinion that there are no original ideas. If I do have a problem, and if you can solve it, let's hear why you're the best solution. Why shouldn't we work devise our own solution for cheaper? I don't care about your publications yet - let's just pretend I'm buying a snowblower and we're putting your brand against everyone else. Give me the check boxes in those parallel columns. Are you faster? More accurate? More reproducible? More sophisticated?

How are you different? And why does that matter?

Point 3
So you can solve my problem. And do so better than others. Yay for you! Now - and only now - you can tell me about your awesome thing. I'll look at figures from your publications. We can chat about how Very Important People think yours is a game-changing idea. And I'll ooh and ahh and tell you you're pretty. And Brilliant. Incandescent with joy and brightness.

But if you're starting here - showing me publications from 1977 onward and describing how everyone else is Sick and Wrong in their approaches that have become common practice and how the rest of the funding agencies just don't get you? I'm back to pondering if your mane would be blue with green sparkles or purple with pink stripes and whether you'd trot or prance if you were a unicorn.

Lesson One

2011-12-07T19:08:00.003-06:00

I used to play school in my parents' basement. I shuffle along the tiled floor in Mom's heels and write on my little chalkboard and grade papers I'd completed for all the students in my imaginary class. I would take attendance and record scores in my grade book.

I assisted with labs in undergrad as an overly permissive grader, wanting more to be liked by the silly freshmen than to have them learn much of anything. By that point - in my very early 20s - I'd realized I had no desire to teach. I wasn't all that crazy about people and it seemed much more efficient to think about topics on my own rather than to tell others what I'd already learned.

My graduate department didn't have TAs - we were all funded by our respective research groups - so I had neither the opportunity nor desire to lecture or grade or deal with plagiarism. Same goes for my post-doctoral research, leaving me to read blogs with an absent interest but no personal understanding of having stacks of grading or early classes or extraordinary students.

"So you want recommendations?" I asked several months ago when a friend of a colleague called. I replied when she asked about my background and was flattered when she said I'd be perfect. (I'm rarely perfect so when people are silly enough to believe I am, I tend to go with it pretty happily.)

Which lead to me saying hello to a group of people younger than me this morning as we prepared for my first of 4 lectures. And by 'prepared' I pretty much mean we stared at each other for a moment.

"So," I croaked, throat sore from a miserable cold I've picked up. "Hi." I shifted from foot to foot, decided I was incapable of standing in the front of a room for 2 hours and took a seat, demanding that we form a circle so we could chat.

I was positively exhausted after an hour.

"You're killing me here," I finally told them. "Listen, I don't do this. And I don't feel well. But ask some questions. Don't sit there with your eyes closed, though I do forgive yawns. Give me something to work with, folks."

I realized, near the end of my presentation, that there was a reason I felt like teachers often lectured directly to me. I have a habit of making eye contact and an inability to sleep sitting up. So - if my behavior today with the 2 semi-engaged individuals is any indication - that I may have been one of the few people who was 1) conscious and 2) not looking down at her desk. Because I just started talking to the people who looked at me.

Anyway, I did not enjoy it.

But at least I have no papers to grade.

Hmmm

2011-12-05T21:14:00.002-06:00

"I'm sorry," I interrupted after taking a sip of the water that demanded my attention after I'd finished a sparkling little bellini. "Did you say you got laid? Because that would, I suppose, be a good experience with an airline."

"No," she replied, shaking her head for emphasis. "It's not that kind of story."

A chorus of disappointed sounds met her announcement and I innocently asked if she was sure it couldn't be made into that kind of story. Instead we heard about early boarding and free drinks and quick connections as I debated (and decided against) more sparkling wine.

In the midst of giggles and sips and snacks, there was a dark cloud hovering about one of our companions. I finally stood and slipped into another seat so that I was closer to her.

"So," I said with a gentle smile. "How're things?" And I listened while she talked about how good they were, how important she was, how much better it could be if people would simply listen to her.

I bit back advice - it's in my nature to boss people around - and cocked my head and asked about her ideas. And they're good ideas - not terribly original as all have been tried and failed, but they're reasonable and well-intentioned.

"I understand," I said. "They're good ideas - I've had some that are similar. And it's a frustrating problem." I paused, wondering what I wished someone would say to me as I struggled against the misery that sometimes becomes overwhelming. What might have made life better when it seemed so painful and difficult and unfair.

I wanted to tell her she was hurting her career. That getting hysterical in meetings was ill-advised. That one doesn't interrupt constantly and grow increasingly shrill when corrected by those higher in the food chain we call Industry. That criticizing one's peers in large meetings simply isn't done unless you want them to appear reasonable and sympathetic and you to appear picky and mean. "Take a breath," I wanted to say. "Think before you speak because you're self-destructing and doing so in a way that makes few people want to rescue you."

But looking into her sad eyes and the pinched way she was holding her mouth, seeing the anger and frustration and hopelessness, I said a quick prayer and wished we were close enough that I could have reached to hold her hand or offer a hug.

"I've been where you are," I told her softly. "If you want to talk or if I can offer suggestions or there's any way I can help, please let me know."

Upon her insistence that she was fine, I nodded and patted her shoulder before returning to my seat and my water to sip.

"She has mental issues," the woman beside me whispered, almost too softly to hear.

"So do I," I replied easily, smiling sadly and thinking of the large prescription bottle full of orange and gray capsules I faithfully swallow each night.

"Why so sad?" Sibling asked from my other side and I shook my head, saying it was a momentary lapse. Someone asked if I had a favorite airplane story and I wrinkled my nose thoughtfully before leaning forward to begin.

"On one flight, I saw a man I'd met before but didn't know well. I touched his arm and said hello and before I knew it, he'd arranged for his seatmate to trade me spots so we could sit together. We flirted through the flight - leaning into each other and when we landed, there was a hotel right in the airport..."

"Are you making this up?" PrettyHair asked suspiciously.

"Obviously," I replied, laughing when the waiter winked at me while refilling my water and wishing the girl at the end of the table had at least smiled.

When Time (and a shoe) Gets Away

2011-12-03T16:37:00.000-06:00

"I get very flustered when I'm finishing something but know someone is waiting for me. I can't focus on the first thing without worrying about the second thing. It takes my fondness for being prompt and turns it into a nightmare of being rude to all people - by being inattentive and late, respectively."

So - when I was finishing one meeting and late for another and my phone rang to alert me to a third that wanted to start ASAP but couldn't do so without me - I was walking backward while wrapping up with my first group with the phone to my ear so I could - in just a second! - assure my admin that I would be there in 15 minutes. Upon finishing my 'great to see you/thanks so much'-es, I pivoted on one foot with the intent of propelling myself into an extremely brisk walk.

Instead, my shoe - an adorable black flat - slipped off my pivoting foot as it left the ground, going behind me in a graceful arc while I stumbled forward like an inelegant elephant. After three running steps - wherein my hands almost touched the ground as the hem of my skirt likely exposed my bottom - I managed to find my balance and get upright.

In the middle of a long corridor.

Across campus.

Where no less than 10 strangers looked at me with expressions that varied between sympathy and amusement.

I nodded at them, smoothed my dress and tried to walk with meager dignity back to where my shoe remained - upside down - on the carpeted floor.

"You lost your shoe," one woman offered as I moved back toward the erstwhile footwear and I turned to look at her - cheeks still wearing the stain of embarrassment - and blinked in surprise that she'd say something so obvious.

"No kidding," I replied, voice edgy and sarcastic. "You know, I believe I noticed that."

A woman standing next to her choked on laughter and complimented my recovery. "I would have fallen down," she said and I smiled my thanks at the better comment.

Deciding not to speak the "I hope you did not see my underwear" comment on the tip of my tongue to the crowd of men in suits, I put on my shoe, took a deep breath and walked away.

I just hope it's not prologue for December - the month of achieving goals and finishing projects and - with some luck - staying upright.

Thanks for your email...

2011-11-22T19:38:00.003-06:00

Dear Serge,

I appreciate you taking time to read my blog - I tend to be flattered when people do. I'm glad you enjoy your job at Jooble. I enjoy the logo with the bunny on it!

I have a job and rather hope I'm not looking for another very soon, but I'm happy to link to your site in the event that my small (but beloved) group of readers is interested in a search engine specific to job postings.

I very much hope you continue to enjoy your role there and find yourself both productive and challenged.

Wishing you success and happiness,
Katie

Dear Sam,

I like t-shirts. The other day, I was helping arrange a shipment of stuff at work (long story - not very interesting) and I was shockingly casual as I packed boxes and lifted crates. I was then called into a meeting with the president of another company wearing a gray t-shirt that was far too big that said "Patience is a waste of time." It was rather embarrassing, actually, but I normally enjoy glancing down to see if I've spilled something on myself and seeing a funny statement.

Honestly, I'm more likely to pick one up at the airport - you know, one of those 2 for $25 ones emblazoned with the name of some random connecting airport than to design my own. Though I do appreciate your invitation to design with your company. I imagine you're very good at what you do.

If you'll permit me just one piece of advice though, when you invite a single woman in her 30s that is accelerating toward spinsterhood to design a shirt - with a "blog logo, a memorable quote, or a picture of a cat"? I giggled for a moment, picturing myself as the crazy cat lady, but then I remembered that I'm more of a dog person. So we're cool.

Still, much luck in your shirt-making adventures! If any of my tens of readers might be interested in making shirts, I hope they'd consider ooshirts. I'm sure they're oo-rific.

Katie

Dear, sweet Google,

I hear nothing but good things about your company and campus and employees. And I know you make good products. I've even stopped thinking your April Fools jokes are real!

I understand social media is a big deal. While I ignore my Facebook account and would rather be attacked by birds than deal with Twitter, I do keep up with LinkedIn. But I don't need more notifications about the vast array of services you offer. I'm very pleased for and proud of you, but I just don't feel the need to drive traffic to my blog and keep track of visitors to my blog or continued banners that my Firefox is old. Believe me, I know the last one. My poor PowerBook is also elderly but it's still functional if you just jiggle the power cord where I dented the corner. It even has an old OS and won't support the new Firefox.

And if I do need help or additional services, dudes, you're Google. I'd use your delightfully powerful search engine to find what I sought.

Love you googles,
Katie

Dear Goday,

I would sincerely love to send Bibles to Nigeria for your study as a pastor and for the elderly people who need giant print text in your congregation. I've not been to church lately, you see, so I could use a good deed to make me feel like I'm not such a terrible Christian.

I have been giving to charity lately too. I recently bought a goat and a share of a deep well. I do tithe (when I attend) (which isn't often lately) (So I guess that's a lie about tithing.) and I try to be patient and kind. I give adopted animals from WWF for Christmas gifts. I really try to be good.

But my pal Google tells me that there is a scam to send Bibles to Nigeria - I read there's a black market there. So now I'm sad - you're either trying to trick me to make money (and perhaps you very much need the money) or you sincerely need Bibles. I shall pray about it.

May God bless you and yours,
Katie

Sex w/ Strangers

2011-11-19T20:48:00.002-06:00

It lasted no more than 5 seconds.

But let's start from the beginning.

When one is nearly 33 and without plans for the weekend and a little bored and lonely, bad ideas start to seem intriguing. So, finding myself alone on a Saturday evening and exchanging flirtatious bits of text with someone I've just met online, I frowned over the offer to meet up immediately for sex.

Said offers are not uncommon, frankly, and many of them come from married men eager to escape the sheer monotony of their existence with a strange piece of ass. Which, I suppose, is all fine and good, though it hardly gives me the warm-fuzzies about the institution of marriage and finding love in general.

Anyway, I have a rule about sex on the first date, let alone sex as the first date, as, I'm sure, do many of you. But upon viewing my current situation, I decided said rule may be counter-productive. Perhaps my plan of simply having sex a few times would loosen me up, enable me to relax into a relationship that would eventually send me seeking other companionship from the sheer monotony of it.

So we were chatting and he asked if I had a house and I said yes.

He asked when he should come over and I pursed my lips and put him off and he nudged again and I thought 'what the hell' and gave him my address.

Then I frantically threw away clutter and tossed dirty laundry downstairs and jogged up my steps to shower. I didn't think about it as I dealt with hair removal and scrubbing my skin smooth. I paused, naked, at the edge of my bed that rests on the floor before shrugging and tossing my blanket over the mounds of pillows on which I'd napped this afternoon. And I took a breath and dressed in a sheer camisole and silky pajama pants before adjusting my breasts into cups designed to lift and separate, sighing at the disparity between my hair pulled into a bun behind a face wearing glasses and the scraps of fabric I wore below my shoulders.

I waited, wanting to be swept away. Overwhelmed with passion. Drowning in desire.

I continued to wait, smoothing on lavender lotion. It's somewhat soothing and sits midway on my favorite scents list. So if something were to happen that ruined the fragrance for me, no huge loss. I trimmed one toenail and plucked a stray eyebrow hair. I finished one bottle of water and fetched another, wondering for a moment if I should switch to wine.

I began to practice deep breathing, growing rather frantic with worry, and running upstairs to dig the condoms out of my closet, frantically searching for an expiration date before tossing them in a drawer. On a whim, I put carpet cleaner next to them - you know that spray-foam kind? I decided that if things got out of hand and he was too insistent, I'd spritz him before scampering away. One assumes cleaning products sting at least a little.

There was more waiting and increasing levels of worry and no small amount of wondering why I do this when it's so miserably difficult.

Then Chienne's ears perked just before Sprout ran upstairs to hide, his nails catching on the carpet as he accelerated. I closed my eyes, wished I was someone else and went to answer the door.

"Hi," I said upon flipping the lock and opening the door. He stepped inside before I could invite him in and I set about introducing me to my dog as she jumped and whined eagerly, missing him as I explained she was blind.

"OK," he replied, moving toward me even as I stepped back and putting his hands low on my hips and reaching to kiss me.

There was a moment in college - upwards of 10 years ago - that a very cute boy at a rather interesting party unfastened his pants and let them fall. And while whoops went up from the crowd, some of us looked and others didn't.

I didn't.

There was no conscious choice to avert my eyes. I kind of wish I'd looked. I was rather envious of those who could whisper and giggle approvingly when he walked through the hallway. But in that split second of decision, I was instinctively shy.

And so, when he reached to kiss me in my foyer, I turned my head so he'd miss my mouth and nudged him backward with two taps of my palms on his shoulders.

"Relax for a minute," I requested when he inquired about what was wrong. "I'm just having a moment of..." I trailed off, wondering what the hell I was doing and how in the world to explain something I didn't understand.

"Then I'm going to go," he said and I nodded, reaching to help him with the door and locking it behind him with relief and regret.

And despite writing upwards of 800 of them as I sit here in a revealing camisole and no panties, I really am too asinine for words.

Canceling Plans

2011-11-03T06:54:00.002-05:00

I sniffed experimentally at my mug of tea, blinking at the barely noticeable sensation of contacts in my eyes, and sighed as he continued to talk.

"Sometimes we'll be emailing back and forth and then she'll suddenly stop responding," he told me, seated across the booth on a sunny early-afternoon. "And I don't know what happened. Or we'll make plans and she'll never confirm."

"I think," I responded gently, wishing my tea lacked ginger - the spiciness was canceling the soothing effect of the mint, "that online dating can be difficult. So much is based on gut feeling and that's hard to explain to someone. Stopping without explanation often seems kinder than trying to explain something that's indistinct, even in your own mind."

I thought of one such phone call I received. John, of the flowers and easy attraction and good kisses, had called to explain why he didn't want to see me again.

I winced upon answering the phone months ago, thinking semi-bitterly that men should never say they're going to call when they'd rather not. "Thanks for the evening," works as a farewell statement. "I enjoyed meeting you," is a harmless overstatement that creates no expectations. And I'll admit that one date is usually sufficient to define the end of a dating experience - I've not gone two and out before.

"So I wanted to let you know," he offered haltingly, "that I do think we're over before we really began. And I don't know exactly why - you're smart and sexy and funny, but..."

I smiled, even though the comment did sting a bit, and spoke into his pause. "John. I appreciate you letting me know - that's gutsy and I do admire bravery. But it's fine - sometimes the chemistry is off or the timing is wrong and that's really OK."

"I hate to say that it's not you, it's me," he said and I could picture him wince at the statement, the dear, kind, liberal boy. "And I'm not saying that, but it's kind of true. I've been trying to figure it out - whether I have feelings for my ex or am just not ready to date. So maybe we could be friends?"

"You're digging yourself a hole there, pal," I said, laughing and thinking that these conversations were, in fact, rather trite. "Listen. You're a very sweet man and I enjoyed getting to know you, but I really do understand. It's not really you. Or me. It's just the 'us' that doesn't work. And there's really no reason for us to be friends. Find someone you want to date, sweetheart. And take care of yourself."

I paused after hanging up the phone, wondering if I was going to cry and feeling like I could but didn't have to. "That is unpleasant," I told Chienne. "I think I'm a fan of failing to reply in order to signal the end of the beginning."

I returned my attention to the man across from me last Saturday and took a moment to glare at my tea for not being alcohol. Wine can blur the edges of these initial encounters and make it seem more amusing than disheartening when you're profoundly incompatible.

He can't stand sitting still - I enjoy naps.
He values emotional stability - I giggled in response, for 'emotionally stable' isn't going on my list of traits.
He asked if I liked rock climbing. Ice skating. Bowling? - Not so much, no.
While - objectively - he was attractive, I was not attracted. - The feeling was mutual.
He seemed to express his disappointment with others - dates, colleagues, politics. - I tend to turn frustration inward - if dates are bad, I selected someone poorly. If I struggle with colleagues, I didn't communicate properly. I even find it challenging to get too upset with politicians as my personal level of involvement and knowledge is pretty limited.

So after a mere hour, there was shaking of hands and semi-sincere smiles before we parted ways.

"I don't know what we're meant to accomplish," a colleague said yesterday when we managed to connect via phone regarding an upcoming meeting that required me to traipse across the country. "It's always good to see you and we can certainly take time to talk, but there doesn't seem like much to discuss."

"I completely agree!" I replied. "And I wanted to have dinner and catch up in a more meaningful way the next time I came out."

So we decided to skip my 24 hour trip that allowed for 2 hours of in-person meetings and I gleefully canceled flights and slept in my own bed last night. Which means I awakened to make pumpkin spice coffee and adequate time to write a blog post.

Sometimes things turn out as they're meant to.

LOL

2011-10-30T07:25:00.002-05:00

"If you're not feeling well," I said with a glance at his ankle, "you really don't have to join us for dinner. I can handle the group."

"Katie," he replied with utter sincerity, "I have a 3 year old and a 3 month old and permission from my wife to go out tonight. If I end up in a wheelchair, I will be there for dinner."

***

"He looks like a vampire," a colleague said about a new hire as we were in neighboring bathroom stalls. "Dark hair, pale skin, very tall." I took a moment to feel grateful that I wasn't very tall - with my dark hair and pale skin, perhaps I would be a candidate for the undead as well.

"Oh!" I said, perking up. "And he studies blood flow!" Delighted with my joke, I giggled and paused when nobody joined me.

"Vampires like blood?" I explained, profoundly disappointed in my bathroom buddies. "Come on! That's funny!"

***

Beavis and Butthead is back on MTV. While modestly embarrassed about my joy in a returning high school pleasure, I did catch a re-run last night.

And laughed so hard it hurt. I could listen to their commentary on Jersey Shore for hours. Bless you, Mike Judge.

***

My parents help at Little and Smallest Ones' school (which I find terribly sweet) but Dad is not a fan of rained-out recess.

"I always get stuck with the bad class," he told me when we last spoke on the phone. "The girls are nice, but the boys just go wild. And I'm not allowed to yell at them so I just keep repeating that they should settle down."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I said absently as I was driving home from work.

"Oh, it's fine," he replied. "I told the teacher they were mean to me." And he sounded so much like Smallest One as he laughed.

***

Have you seen the commercials for Milo's Kitchen? Where the woman is proud of her dog? (That's not the funny part - wait for it.) Chienne loves the chicken jerky. As soon as the bag crinkles as I open the seal in the pantry, she trots over, tail wagging and waits for our routine.

I ask if she likes chicken jerky and she barks.

I bark back.

We repeat that until she begins to howl and after I join in, I place the treat in her mouth and she trots away while I giggle.

***

I talk to myself - and/or my dog and cat - quite a bit. So on our walk the other day, I paused at a corner and said, "Go ahead, Mr. Truck."

I blushed when I realized his window was open despite the cold weather and he grinned at me before saying, "Thanks, Miss Pedestrian."

"You're welcome," I murmured as he waved and pulled away. "But it's Dr. Pedestrian."

***

Oh! For the lovely ladies who offered to befriend me on my post recently, I love you times infinity! I would so install you in my guest room and come find you when I thought of something funny to share and then be profoundly disappointed if you didn't laugh.

Speaking with Strangers

2011-10-21T08:11:00.004-05:00

When I am sad, all is directed downward.

Shoulders, eyes, corners of lips.

I rarely speak as the air about me discourages converation - it feels safer, if painfully lonely, inside my head.

Said depression seems to have lifted as my recent trip west was littered with interactions - short, friendly exchanges likely inspired by curious eye contact and automatic smiles.

"Is this A4?" the man asked, eyes bright but gait unsteady as he shouldered his way through the crowd toward the pole that was charging my laptop.

"It is," I replied, lips curving in welcome but sympathetic expression emerging as he mentioned his hip was hurting from his previous flight. I glanced at his ticket and touched his arm briefly to command his attention. "You're going to Boise?" I confirmed and when he nodded, mentioning it was home, I winced and said that US Airways was miserable about changing gates. "You're going from somewhere else - A29, I think - but you should look at the monitors to check." So hand on his arm, I pointed at the nearby cluster of screens and frowned as I watched him hobble toward the proper departure point.

I answered questions for two more people, wondering if I looked knowledgeable or simply approachable standing there in my gauzy skirt and turquoise sweater.

I arranged the former around my legs after standing at spot 5 to wait for my taxi outside LAS and crossed my legs toward the duffel and laptop bag on the seat beside me. "Summerlin," I directed my driver, looking up the hotel name on my Blackberry as we sped away from the airport and past the strip.

"Are you married?" my driver asked after we'd covered travel and weather and economic topics.

"No," I replied with a shake my ponytailed head. "I have a dog and cat," I offered, "but no husband or children."

I winced in sympathy when she said she lost her husband 8 years ago and her children were now grown. "I like being on my own though," she said. "I date now and then and enjoy men's company but never seem to want to sign up to take care of someone again."

"I think I like the idea of being with someone more than the reality of it," I confessed. "I love the infatuation part - the blushes and nerves and excitement of first dates and first kisses. But then it becomes routine or someone opts out and feelings are hurt and it's just a lot of work."

She agreed and we discussed male quirks until arriving at my lodging for the overnight trip. I thanked her and grossly overtipped and waved as the doors slid open to welcome me to the hotel.

I quickly made friends with the man at reception, then made the acquaintance of the waitress at the restaurant in walking distance.

I chatted with both colleagues and collaborators, enjoying the small talk of (very) conservative politics and demurely declining to share my views. I did take notes, gaining professional insights and asking questions between sips of wine in the evening or gulps of coffee in the morning or bottles of water throughout the day.

"My flight was delayed 3 hours," he said and I glanced up from my laptop to politely cock my head at him.

"I'm sorry," I offered with a gentle smile, watching as he lowered himself to the ground opposite to where I was sitting, again to charge my laptop.

"It's fine," he replied easily, arranging the hat that rested rather jauntily on his head. "I had a great vacation and got cash to have some lunch and I'm not going to get upset about it. Life is good."

"Good for you," I praised. "It's easy to get upset about travel problems but your attitude seems much healthier."

He grinned at me before readjusting his hat to take a short nap on the semi-dirty floor on which we rested, waking to tell me more about his weekend and asking after the work that had me so focused.

"So how are you?" the cute boy next to me asked, turning off his phone on which he'd had a friendly conversation moments before as he settled into the middle seat.

I turned my attention from the window toward him, admiring both glasses and closely-cropped beard before answering that I was fine - thank you - and how was he? So he told me about his friend and his problem and we talked about Vegas and our differing purposes of business and pleasure.

Then we, as he put it, geeked out by discussing medical topics. Healthcare trends and treatment strategies and political influence and global approaches. It was fun - like a really good blind date - to find someone knowledgeable in the field I call my professional home. And we exchanged insights and asked questions and made eye contact and smiled and touched hands and arms as the discussion grew more animated.

I glanced at the card he gave me before we deplaned and returned one of my own. "I enjoyed meeting you, Katie," he said, smiling and nudging me with his elbow as we waited our turn for people to deplane.

"Likewise," I replied. And I enjoyed being met.

One of Those

2011-10-14T20:38:00.004-05:00

You know when you're standing up after using the bathroom and realize the back hem of your skirt was in the toilet?

Or when, after deciding that you'd simply rinse it in the sink, catch sight of the fact that you're wearing those crotchless tights you made after you dated that guy who requested but never actually saw them?

And when weighing the completely disgusting thought of having urine on your clothing against being seen in a public restroom without underpants, someone walks in and begins talking to herself - in a loud, frantic way - about how her mama didn't raise her to be late?

And you wonder whether she was late for an appointment in this giant building that was hosting your visit or if she was late in the way women say when they believe they are pregnant?

Then worry over whether she'll have the baby in the restroom while you and your dirty skirt huddle in one of three stalls?

Quickly decide you've been watching too much Law & Order and Snapped on television?

And remind yourself that while you know CPR, you are not at all trained to deliver a baby - even in the best of circumstances? And CPR isn't - to your knowledge - overly helpful during labor?

Recall that you're not the best in emergencies - like that time when the pipe burst while you were doing that experiment for the first time in 12 months and you just stared at it for a moment - watching the liquid pour from the wall and splatter on the floor as a puddle grew alarmingly quickly?

And when you realized you should call for help, you frantically stated, 'Water! Water everywhere!' rather than offering a location or your name?

Or how if you won $1,000,000 and could do anything, your main response is 'I think I'd enjoy a series of naps? After I shower and throw away these clothes?'

When asked questions you can't answer or assigned projects you can't complete or suffering through miserable cramps or debilitating depression or a general crisis of professional confidence, you just stand there in the bathroom, carefully arranged against the corner of the sink, trying to rinse the grossness out of the hem of your skirt?

If so, me, too. Want to be friends?

Time, wrinkled

2011-10-02T08:18:00.003-05:00

In the rare instances where my televisions go quiet, I hear the ticking of clocks.

In those moments, I turn my attention to them. The stately silver one that rests on my mantle. The sleek piece - a bit oblong - that came from Stockholm. The silly one that topples over when improperly placed on its stand. They, along with others placed on walls or perched on tables, tick along.

Until they don't anymore. I stared at one as its batteries died, its rhythm slowing from that of its friends. Eventually the second hand would no longer turn, hovering at the stylized 6 and twitching hopefully until gravity defeated the will of time.

Then it stopped.

"What do you want for your future?" has been a popular question of late. I've marinated in this deep unhappiness long enough that it's penetrated my skin, permeating conversations, lingering in meetings. I try to muffle it in conversations with family and friends, but hear the residual worry and sigh momentarily over my failure.

"How," the craniosacral therapist I no longer see asked, "can you fulfill your purpose if you're not aligned with your body? It's like you're slowly killing yourself."

"I do not want to grow old," I replied before frowning and realizing that was rather morbid. "I fear age and incompetence much, much more than I fear death." So perhaps if I coat my heart in cream cheese and surround myself with dough, I will go quietly.

I grimaced at a cricket when taking out the garbage. He waved his legs in the air, resting on his back and unable to right himself. It seemed best - humane - to kill the wayward creature, but I have not a strong stomach and shied away from hearing the crunch of his skeleton beneath my shoe.

Instead, I dropped the garbage bag - a heavy bag of black plastic filled with items rendered useless - atop him and glanced down after lifting it up. It had somehow flipped him over rather than ceasing his existence and I smiled for a moment as he hopped away. Then Chienne stumbled into a rock and I sighed, momentarily happiness crushed under constant degeneration.

I read somewhere that September is tough - the shifting patterns on sunshine befuddling the brain and making it sad. But this feels chronic. Perhaps a seasonal dip superimposed on a general slide downward.

I recall Smallest One's dismay when she stepped in a puddle on her last visit. Her giggling exploration pausing when she stared down at the muddy glop that enveloped her pretty shoe before she cried out, the wail echoing off the nearby houses and absorbed by the trees of the forest.

We scooped her out, soothed and patted and carried, muddy sneaker thudding against the pajamas we'd worn for our morning walk.

"It's fine, love," I told her, pressing a kiss to the fine strands of hair that insist on escaping her ponytail. "We'll wash your shoe and dry your foot and you'll be all better." And she snuffled away the last of her tears and rested her head on my shoulder until we reached the safety of home.

"I'm not well," I say often. Migraines, back spasms, bouts of anxiety that render me non-functional. And when people offer - sincerely - to help, I can't seem to let them remove my shoe and clean it off. Dry my foot and cuddle me until I'm all better.

I sat on the floor of a doctor's office - for puppies, not people - and held my Chienne while they pulled fluid from the lumps on her neck and belly. "I'd like them to be lipomas," I requested politely, resting my check on her back, reaching to adjust the glasses I'd knocked askew.

"They are," he quickly confirmed, showing my the slides.

"Yay," I offered and kissed her head.

"Of course, she could get more or they could get bigger," he arranged his hands in a shape approximating a listeria-infected cantelope. "We'll remove them before that," he assured me when I made a face at him.

"Falling apart, pretty girl," I noted. But we share take-out and naps and some days that I should spend at work but instead huddle here, alternately angry and anxious and profoundly afraid.

"What's the plan?" I asked myself as I changed the batteries in the clock so the seconds could tick by once again. So I'll go to church - I've not been in months. And we'll see how it goes from there.

Dilatation Discomfort

2011-09-20T20:26:00.002-05:00

"You're not going to touch my eye, are you?" I clarified, obediently placing my chin on the metal bar and resting my forehead in the proper spot. Finding her 'I'll tell you in a minute' comment to be wildly unacceptable, I frowned and decided how to protest.

"No blinking for 2 seconds," the doctor warned and while I was deciding how to politely decline that she touch my eyeball with the probe thingie, she did one eye. Then the other. Then sat back and confirmed that she had touched my eye. "Those drops work wonders," she declared proudly and I blinked rapidly and glanced at the tissue in my hand.

"My dog has glaucoma," I told her, having almost checked yes on the form where it asked if anyone in my family had eye diseases. I decided in time that Chienne and I have no genetic link and my paperwork need not reflect canine issues. "The drops she gets are yellow like this too," I displayed the crumpled Kleenex, stained yellow from the numbing drops I'd dabbed away.

I consented to having my eyes dilated, though I've not done that for years. My pupils are pretty large so other doctors have used advanced technology or made due with a darkened room.

"That's unpleasant," I told the doctor when my eyes burned as the drops soaked in. But I obediently left the room to pick out my frames and watched the assistant struggle with the insurance billing. I tucked my sample contacts in my pocket, having firmly refused the Toric lenses.

"I know I have astigmatism," I told her. "But I hated those lenses with a fiery passion. I could feel the edges of them. Constantly aware they were sitting on my eyes. I won't use them again." She attempted to argue but I insisted that my eyes were either too small or oddly shaped because they were miserable to wear.

When 20 minutes had passed, she peered into my eyes with bright lights, murmuring when I said it was hurting. It felt like the light was searing my brain, neurons wincing from the white rays.

"You're fine," she assured me, referring to my eye health, as I blinked at her with watery eyes and squinted against a headache.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," I told her, waving off the offer of paper sunglasses that would fit over my old frames. "I don't live far from here." But I took the plastic covered object, rolling my dilated eyes at the thought that I'd need them for my short trip home.

But once outside, I staggered back from the brightness of light, eyes chemically prevented from protecting themselves from the onslaught of bright sunshine. I lowered my eyelids, reaching blindly to find the precious paper sunglasses and fumbling to get them over my eyes. I nearly crashed my car when they slipped, body reacting to the miserable pain by closing my eyes before I recalled that driving required vision to avoid running into other cars and curbs.

Having arrived safely home, I kept my eyes squinted and found that even the computer screen was too bright to tolerate. As I settled in for a nice nap, relishing the relief of having my eyes closed, I realized it's much how I feel lately.

Abnormally, irrationally, vulnerable to emotional stimuli. I want to cry at criticism. Grow overly angry during arguments. Feel everything is unfair and overly difficult and absolutely exhausting.

"You just don't seem happy anymore," a colleague said, frowning at me yesterday in concern.

"Oh, for goodness sake," I scoffed, unable to help myself. "I'm so tired of hearing how people are worried or I don't look good or whatever is the matter with Katie. I'm fine. Relax."

She approached me later, asking earnestly if I was angry at her - if she'd done something to offend me. I shook my head, sighing in frustration at myself, telling her I was just off lately. And it really wasn't her. It was me.

"But I love sweet, happy Katie," she said gently, reaching to wrap her arm around me.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Me, too."

Sunny Side Down

2011-09-17T07:48:00.004-05:00

"Katie Marie," my office-neighbor teased and I looked up to smile at him quizzically. "You said you weren't going to send the link."

I nodded, remembering that I'd noted my possession of a presentation he desired. I told him I'd put it on the standard site my group uses and if he hadn't taken note of my multiple emails directing him to said site, he obviously did not deserve the presentation at all. He'd made a face at my remark and I'd changed my mind by morning, sending a quick email to those interested with the direct link for easy downloading.

"I'm in a better mood this morning," I explained. "I don't feel the need to make others' lives difficult because I am unhappy."

"Say again," he requested, coming around the corner so I could see as well as hear him.

"Unhappy people spread unhappiness," I explained. "When I'm happy, I'm helpful. When I'm sad, I tend to spread misery more than I should."

"You're not an unhappy person," he corrected me firmly and I smiled at him.

"I try not to be," I replied, which is true. Even as I recognize that all people are complex creatures with varying moods and motivations, I hope that I end up - in the summary view - as being kind and thoughtful and happy.

"Why did she cry?" I asked Mom when she told me about Little One's birthday party.

"I don't know," she sighed. "She wanted to open presents but I said we should have dinner first and she got sad and went in her room. Closed the door."

I frowned, remembering similar reactions from a younger Katie who reminds of me of Little One an alarming amount. "You need to practice coping strategies," I decided. "Look online for sensitive children with a tendency to get sad. Find out if there are breathing techniques or visualization methods that can help her move through that without reacting so strongly."

"We should," she replied. "I will," she revised. "I should have done that for you. She's just so much like you, Katie."

"I'm OK," I reminded her. "I struggle sometimes, but I'm fine. It's just that if she can get more control over it while she's young, perhaps it won't affect her so much later. But don't make her feel sick or wrong." I remembered being threatened with the psychiatrist in my teenage years, much as she'd threatened me with daycare when I was a disobedient toddler. "There is nothing bad about her," I stated sternly. "She just needs a little guidance on how to handle criticism and unpleasant news."

"We'll look it up," she promised and I nodded.

"You'll get better," Friend told me when she was here last weekend. And, largely because she was here - I think depression fears her - I did start emerging from the dark apathy. This week was much better.

"Only to wait until the next time I get worse again," I replied in a chat window later this week. Perhaps it's time to develop better coping strategies of my own.

In 3 Parts

2011-09-13T17:36:00.004-05:00

"They're in my room," I frowned, more than moderately annoyed at the disruption to my perfect plan. I had arrived 45 minutes early, ready to tidy and power on the various systems to host my guest. I had waited, quietly impatient, until the limo service called to tell me they were en route. I then interrupted apologetically, asking the group to wrap it up.

****

"Don't try to change the world, Katie," he advised. I had stopped to say good-bye, having heard that it was his last day and wanting to share my best wishes. "It seems like a great idea - exciting and meaningful - but it ends up with you all alone and failing."

"I'm sorry," I said, squeezing his shoulder in sympathy and affection as it shrugged. "You should be happier in this new job though, right?"

"Maybe," he replied. "I just know this isn't working and left before they made the choice to force me out. The funny thing? I can point to the decision that brought me here. I wanted to do something new and different. And it was far more difficult than I ever dreamed."

****

I walk Chienne each morning, waiting semi-patiently while she sniffs and snuffles. Of late, we've been skirting the corner at the bottom of the hill on which my house perches. It's where the neighborhood children wait for the school bus.

So when we emerge before 6:45 - me in pajamas and Chienne on her leash - the older group lingers in a cloud of perfume. It burns my eyes when we move past, so I blink at the younger boy who waits past the tree some 10 yards from the corner. His glasses perch on his nose and jacket hangs from small shoulders and he watches - but does not interact with - the older group.

He simply waits, standing there away from the corner, until they leave so that he can take his place at the curb to wait for the next bus. And, a bit of an early bird myself, I smile at him, feeling a mixture of hope and despair as I wonder if he worries - as I did - about being late. Being unliked. Embarrassed. Unsuccessful.

****

Upon asking a second time for them to vacate my conference room so I could prepare it for my very important visitor, I raised an eyebrow at the leader who motioned me out of the room.

"I'm sorry," I said, my tone indicating otherwise, "but I do have it reserved and our guest has arrived."

"I'm sorry," he replied with a glare. "But you should respect that these people have been let go and this is their final meeting about severence."

I blinked at him, unsure of what to say other than my 'then the room should have been reserved' which did not at all convey my sympathy and horror that it might someday be me in there - hearing some trite final words before being asked to leave before the rest of the staff arrived on campus.

I recalled that something like 12% of companies are planning lay-offs next year. And it all seemed hopeless - the travel and plans and documents and visitors. So I said brief prayers as they moved from the room and threw myself into the distraction of my guest for the remainder of the day, eager to forget.

****

"So what's the plan?" I asked my former colleague, looking around at his box of belongings. "If not to change the world?"

"Just make it through the next day," he sighed and I smiled and motioned for him to stand so I could give him a hug.

"Be happy as you're making it through those days," I ordered gently and with a final pat on his arm, waved farewell before leaving his office.

****

I returned to my house after making our typical loop and my heart was happy to hear him - the boy with glasses - laugh, surrounded by the group of girls who live nearby. He has a good laugh - lilting and happy - and I wondered if his mom made him come out early to wait.

Perhaps he's never worried. Always successful. Popular and fun.

Ready, willing and able to change the world.

Serendipitous

2011-09-10T12:41:00.003-05:00

I recognized the number when my cell phone rang, having stopped myself from dialing it last night.

"Please come," I wanted to beg Friend. "I've screwed it all up and I'm scared to tell anyone and I'm not well. The darkness is looming and I want to just let it wash over me until I go numb. But I can't. I can't let it all crumble now but I don't know how to stop it."

But, I thought after returning from work, blinking against the tears I'd held back all day, I did not deserve this rescue. No longer stupid and needy, I was now more selfish and needy and had missed multiple opportunities to be there for her. I would not ask her to be here for me.

Instead, I took 1000 mg of Acetominophen, 60 of Fluoxetine and 50 of Dipehnhydramine HCl and felt the frantic pace of my heart slow and mind - busy with loops of worry and fear and darkness - ease under the influence of anti-depressants and sedatives. And I eventually went to sleep.

"Where are you?" she asked when I answered the phone this morning.

"I'm home," I replied, glancing around at the brown furniture in my small living room. We don't talk often, though we do chat at times, so I was pleased to hear her sounding happy. Friend doesn't really do peppy, but were she someone else, I might have used that word. Anyway, she explained that she might be stranded tonight in a nearby metropolis after missing her connecting flight. And, if so, she wondered if I would want to come fetch her.

"Yes," I replied before she finished. "I would love to see you!" And so I hung up with the vague hope of delays and seeing one of my favoritest people.

"I could just ask if they'd let me go home tomorrow," she offered when she called again, en route to her first airport. And after some back and forth on plans, we decided I'd fetch her this evening and drop her off tomorrow afternoon.

In between? I'll tell secrets and get advice. And hope to God it makes me feel at least a little better.

Escape

2011-09-08T20:15:00.004-05:00

Had I been asked to identify the smallest space in my house, I'd likely have picked the powder room. Holding only a toilet and sink, it's cozy at best. It turns out that the section of the master bath - containing naught but a toilet - is the smallest though.

I realized this after I released my precious puppy from the latter space upon returning from work yesterday.

"She locked herself in," I told PrettyHair and she gasped. I nodded in sympathy, thinking of the poor, blind Chienne, stuck in a 3x3 foot space, unable to escape.

"How did you open the door?" she asked and I cocked my head at her. "It was locked?" she clarified.

"Oh, no. I used the wrong word - I do that. She wasn't locked. Just trapped. And she's fine."

"Did she do any damage?" asked another colleague and I shook my head, mentioning that the wind had blown closed the door of the bedroom.

"I think that when I got home and was calling her, she tried again to get out of the bedroom and ended up in the bathroom instead. She was pretty disoriented when she did get free - damn closed door threw her off. But she stayed close and we cuddled and had dinner and then slept. So all is well."

We completed mid-year reviews at work a few weeks ago. It turned out that my goals for myself had diverged from Adam's goals for my job. So, I thought with mild confidence, perhaps it was time to go a different direction! So when an opportunity came, I took it. Because that's what over-confident Katies do. (Plus, it was temporary and semi-official at best. Low risk, yes?)

I have started to dip my toes in the water - just the very tips of them - and I hate it. It's like I expected ocean and got instead this observation deck 100 floors above ground with a view of the ocean. And while some marvel at the vantage point (and I can even admit it's very nice), all I can think is that I'm afraid of heights. (Seriously - the people, the performance metrics, the mild annoyances and major problems - all Horrible. They're going to make me jump off the balcony - I just know it.)

"Let me know which of these you can't do," Adam scrawled at the top of this year's defined tasks for my current job. So I immediately set about starting nearly all of those projects, clinging to my current responsibilities with both hands and wondering if I could hide under my desk from the new ocean-view role.

Not locked in, I reminded myself when faced when I thought of it - facing tasks that will force me to grow in my skill set even as they worry me in terms of my performance.

Momentarily trapped isn't so bad, I've decided. Eventually, something will shift and I'll be able to choose what's right for me.

Still, I'm likely to whine and cry and paw at the door until I'm able to get out.

Pre-Dawn Panic

2011-09-01T17:46:00.005-05:00

I emerged from my hotel - an adorable historic place I'd selected - into the pre-dawn heat of Dallas. I like the light in the morning - sort of gentle and blue between buildings in new cities. So I, in my shiny black flats and polka dot dress, pranced down the marble steps and into the warm morning.

One benefit of enjoying mornings is that I tend to be in the minority. I somehow enjoy seeing things others miss. Being able to snap photos of places without people wandering into the image. So I frowned when a group of men had arranged themselves on the steps to the very municipal building I'd hoped to photograph.

No matter, I told myself despite the worry that tightened my shoulders, and I walked on.

Breathe, I reminded myself upon spying the third rather large group of men lurking in the shadows. Head up - shoulders back - I adjusted my posture with my mental instructions. "You're fine," I told myself aloud but hastened my step and frantically wondered if it would be better to do a quick about face or continue around the block.

The latter looked intimidating and I was already afraid. But I peeked around and decided that the Walk signal on traffic-free streets was a sign. And I turned the corner.

I find myself in that moment too much of late. Like when I'm kissing someone and evaluating texture and taste and feel almost certain I want to stop but wonder if I should continue. That is how one gets experience, yes? And why one wears a dress that's too short and bright blue?

"I can't handle it," I told Adam, nearly hysterical when I read an unpleasant email upon landing back at home. "She's awful! Mean and...and stupid!" And after he'd talked me down and I'd greeted my lonely dog, I couldn't quite catch my breath.

My anxiety - in any of these situations - seems out of step with the actual severity. And overreaction - for me - is a sign of looming depression. Indecisive, anxious Katie is an unhappy Katie. And, much as I hate it, I'm retreating into it rather than battling through it. I'm way skilled at Solitaire of late. And can probably tell you how nearly any sitcom ends. I tend toward monotonous tasks to keep busy - and luckily have enough of them at work that I'm semi-productive.

I was obviously fine after wandering that small distance around downtown Dallas. I finished my hurried stroll with but a few pictures but arrived safely back at the hotel, literally sagging with relief at the bright safety offered inside the doors.

I declined hot sauce for my eggs and sipped orange juice before shrugging into a jacket and heading off to my meetings.

Eventually I'll obviously be fine from this little episode as well, but I'm weary of it. And sometimes the polka dot dresses and shiny shoes just can't save it.

Powerless

2011-08-26T21:36:00.004-05:00

"I want to be in group 2," Best told me while we milled about, waiting for our turn to board the flight back east toward home.

"Sit by the window," I replied helpfully, for that is how one gets in group 2.

"No," he replied with a shake of his head. "I want to be on the aisle and in group 2." My lips curved in an approximation of a smile and I returned my attention to the gate agent, hoping there would be enough overhead space for our items and thinking that it just didn't work that way. You don't always get what you want, but there is often a way to get something. It ends up being a judgment call in a priority game.

"Sprout escaped," Dad reported when I answered my phone after dinner. We'd settled on a deck by the water to eat fresh seafood and talk of life and business and art. And after taking a last lungful of ocean air, I climbed in the car to ride back to the hotel.

"That's fine, Dad," I replied gently. "He's been getting out lately and always does fine. He'll be back in the morning."

"I didn't mean to let him out," he reported, sounding terribly guilty. "And he wouldn't come back when I called him."

"Yes," I soothed. "He knows his own feline mind. But I'd be surprised if he wasn't inside when you wake up tomorrow. Get some sleep."

And, sure enough, Dad reported that he went on the deck the next morning to call for the cat, hearing a meow in reply from inside the screen where Sprout looked at him inquisitively from the kitchen floor.

"I was worried about him," Dad told me and I smiled. And with a swish of a stripey tail, Sprout went to find a spot in the sunshine so he could nap.

"I want to go home," I whined to Best upon landing in our layover city. But despite our best efforts, a plane that left California 3 hours late didn't allow for our presence on the connecting flight and my shoulders slumped in a dangerous mixture of exhaustion and frustration.

"We were up at 3:30AM to get here yesterday!" I recited, trailing along behind him so we could make alternate plans. "We spent 5 hours at the airport before catching a long flight and missing our connection. It's 10:30PM. I'm tired. I have a 7:00AM meeting tomorrow and I have to catch a 6AM flight again on Sunday! Damn you, United."

"Feel better?" he asked, tugging his suitcase behind him, shoulders slumped in a manner similar to mine.

"No," I pouted, wanting to whimper. "But there's nothing I can do about it."

So whether it's an iPad running out of power just before I finished my book or San Diego's shrinking fishing fleet of charming boats or the fact that, try as I might, I couldn't get to sleep until after 3AM and had zero energy with which to think during important meetings today, there are some things one can't control.

And then there's the delicious moment where my head hits the pillow and muscles relax and a marine-layer like fog envelops my brain when nothing matters all that much anymore.

Great Escapes

2011-08-21T13:35:00.000-05:00

Creature One - Sir Sprout
Chienne exhibits stubborn resistance to the use of her dog doors. I, in turn, exhibit strong displeasure when she has an accident in the basement. Hence, we've taken to spending time together out back.

I coax her out the sliding glass door to the deck and settle myself on the low steps leading to the grass. Then I shake my head at Sprout's plaintive calls through the screen as Chienne makes her way slowly around her once-familiar yard.

On Friday, feeling rather permissive, I invited the stripey cat out with us as we soaked in the last of the setting sunshine. (I told Friend he escaped - no tattling, OK?) I smiled as he placed his paws carefully on the paint-chipped wood, smoothing his coat when he came to my side and shaking my head when he finally lept gracefully off the edge to land behind the shed.

I wasn't worried when canine and Katie entered without him - it was pleasantly cool and typically quiet in my neighborhood. But I did leave the house with a flashlight in hand, hurrying toward the neighbor's landscaped hill when I heard him meowing - long and loud - hours later. But he ran from my attempt at rescue and I scowled at him as he scampered past the thin, glowing beam of light.

Creature Two - Mr. Frog & Friends
My lawn has grown long over past weeks. I chose to mostly ignore this as it makes me feel more productive to mow an overgrown yard than one that's just modestly messy. But as I attempted to battle the massive weeds last night, my mower stuttered and coughed then refused to start again. So, a single lap in, I stopped and frowned and told Sprout - who had magically found his way back in the house by 7AM Saturday morning - that he was not allowed outside again since he'd displayed no respect for curfew and I'd waited up past 2AM for him.

I returned to the yard this morning, coaxing the mower to life while Chienne wandered carefully around the yard. The grass and weeds continued to choke the poor machine so I abandoned the self-propelled feature and propelled it myself. I paused, waiting for the grass and weeds to be chewed up and spit out when I saw a creature clumsily leap from within the towering (to said creature - not necessarily to me) growth.

Frowning, I nudged the mower forward another couple of inches and gasped when the amphibian reappeared, hopping as though he was unsure of which direction to flee.

"Well, hell," I said, voice unheard over the roar of the mower and stood there indecisively. I saw a smaller frog hop frantically toward the clippings at the fence, burrowing beneath while I smiled at his intelligence - I was obviously done over there. The larger one remained in my path, however, and the thought of mowing him down was awful.

So I left him a patch of tall grass in the corner of the yard, pausing each time to make sure he wasn't inadvertently hit while making his way to the little oasis. I will admit I hope he doesn't die - I think the length of the lawn provided a moist underlayer for our ribbetty guests. I'd go to take a photo for you but I'm afraid I'd find sun-dried frog.

Creature Three - Chienne Marie
Upon my triumphant completion of the lawn, I beamed at my tiny, fenced kingdom and patted my pretty puppy when she trotted to my side.

"All done!" I reported. "Now we just put the mower and gasoline back in the garage and call it a day!" She wagged her tail and, appreciating the support, I decided to let her out the gate and in through the garage rather than going out of my way and coaxing her back up on the deck and through the sliding door. Then she gets inside in a way that's more convenient for me. And - being blind and all - it's not like she'd revert to old habits and run away.

Except that she did.

"Wait," I called warningly when she trotted down the driveway. Away from the house - which was the way I had nudged her - and toward the street. I called her name and praised when she paused, but she continued on her way when I approached, stumbling off the curb and into the street once again.

I repeated her name as she stumbled into the curb on the other side, climbing up and running promptly into a tree before continuing on past the houses across the street. I cursed under my breath and smiled with evil satisfaction when she smacked into a shed. "I hope that hurt," I told her, then she thwarted me by running past my grip.

I broke into a jog, lost one flip-flop and finally wrapped my fingers around her pink collar. Without a leash, I walked the block or so back home bent over her.

"Bad Dog!" I scolded when we finally reached the driveway. I shoved her inside the gate before putting the mower away and making sure avenues of future escape were firmly closed. She obligingly put her tail down and lowered her head, lapping at water in her dish before settling on the couch for a nap.

Which I now need as well.

Tech Support

2011-08-18T15:14:00.001-05:00

"Did you call?" I asked around a yawn after dialing Dad's cell. I nodded when he said they needed help with emailing a document Mom had written to the fellowship group she was in.

"She typed all these notes and she got them to print but now she can't send them to anyone. And we've clicked a bunch of stuff but nothing works." So I logged into their Gmail account (because this happens sometimes) and nodded upon viewing the document.

"Do you want all but the first line indented?" I asked, frowning at the format before rubbing at the ache in my head.

"No!" she replied and I could hear her tapping at keys and clicking on options. I did the same, nudging at margins and looking at formatting options.

"Crap," I finally muttered. "I don't know what to do." And I wrinkled my nose over using brute force and just retyping the 5 pages of notes on who was running vacation Bible school and whose turn it was to bring cookies next time. (Though I would consider attending women's fellowship on carrot cake day - I do enjoy carrot cake.)

So I listened to stories about day care drama with the other grandparents and how they bought into a vacation program ("We're spending your inheritance!" Dad happily reported in the background and I laughed.) while I looked up document templates until I found one that I liked. I pasted the document and the text aligned neatly along the left margin.

"I did it!" I reported and Mom immediately looked since we both remained logged into her account. So she copied and pasted into Gmail and sent the note to her group, leaving Dad time to ask if I'd seen this super-funny email forward. (Oh, how he loves the email forward. And, oh, how I do not care about email forwards...)

And I smiled before taking more Advil because I'd been helpful. And when my job leaves me feeling a bit like I'm chasing my non-existent tail, I'll take any moments of being effective that I can find.

Though, on that note, I am shifting responsibilities if not roles. While I've firmly turned down a relocation opportunity (given my canine situation as well as the underlying fact that I'm very settled here and have zero (well, minimal) desire to move), there is a lingering chance that I'll spend more time in Paris.

So I remind myself I'm lucky to do something that's lucrative and stable. That I work for someone who, while not without faults, does try to point me in directions I will find suitable and satisfying and takes into account what I enjoy and where I do feel effective.

I'm counting my blessings even as I scowl at other situations I'm choosing not to discuss. And hoping a little that said situations eventually sort themselves out as work seems to be doing.

Largely the Same

2011-08-15T19:14:00.004-05:00

"What?" I asked when Adam looked at me, appearing to be puzzled.

"Your hair is different," he replied, narrowing his eyes into a squint.

"I washed it at 3 this morning then went back to bed," I told him. "This is how it looks when it dries naturally." I tried to smooth the waves that I'd left alone to tickle my back left bare by the dress I'd chosen.

As of late, I've not been unwell. I like those statements - I say a lot 'I don't disagree' or 'I'm not unhappy.' Chienne is fine - she's adjusting reasonably well and still greets me with excessive joy when I return from my forays into the outside world. We eat and sleep and take walks in weather turned deliciously cool.

I sleep best in the early hours, knowing that when I climbed into bed to dampen pillows with wet hair that I would be the opposite of an eager beaver or early bird this Monday morning. So I sighed upon opening my eyes, taking a moment to admire the sheer drape fluttering in the open door before closing them again.

I rested as dawn nudged along the edge of my consciousness, vaguely aware of the brightening light and chirping of birds as the morning grew later. But I closed my eyes tighter, burrowing deeper into my comforter and feeling my lips curve when Chienne cuddled closer - her back to mine. "We're still sleepy, huh, pretty?" I murmured and drifted into dreams again.

And in these dreams - the ones this morning - I was beautiful and capable and patient and kind. I had crushes on me capable of loving me and did projects with stunning talent and ambitious time lines. Chloe could see and pranced around the edges of her yard, barking happily at the neighborhood dogs and wagging her tail so hard that it made a loud thwapping sounds upon striking the wooden fence. There were flowers in gentle pastels and just enough clouds filtering the sunlight.

I sighed again, arching into a stretch atop my flannel sheets, when Sprout scampered by in his stripey glory, meowing at the birds in the morning. But I fought the urge to hurry Chienne through her walk, taking deep breaths and practicing patience as she paused her trotting paws at every tree or random smell. Her tail wagged at other dogs and she lifted her head to be petted, jumping only a little when they startled her from an odd direction.

I moved one step closer to a near-impossible goal at work. I ate lunch with Adam and polished presentations between populating spreadsheets. I argued half-heartedly, looking longingly out windows toward the sunshine. I returned home with a guacamole-laden burrito to share with my dog and took pictures - the first I've taken in weeks - of some weeds in the yard.

And that's all there is to tell right now.

Quiet

2011-08-04T20:42:00.002-05:00

I'm uncharacteristically passive of late. Would rather listen than speak. Learn instead of teach. Wait in favor of acting.

So I type posts and comments but delete without publishing. Nothing is right - some words come close, but the pages fail to communicate anything of value or interest. So I read books or play games or take naps.

This is not to say I'm unwell. I work. I sleep and eat and walk with my pretty dog. And she's adjusting very well with just a couple of blips to adjust medications. We've extended our walks to normal length but they've increased dramatically in duration. Instead of our brisk wanderings, each of us lost in our own thoughts, we now move with a shorter tether. I remind myself to watch carefully - alert her with a gentle 'careful' to oncoming bushes or fences or landscaping. She mostly heeds the gentle tugs to her leash and I smile as she trots along with her ears perked and tail up. It's progress.

But when I begin to relax, to ease into daydreams or plan professional activities, she'll gasp, startled when she stumbles. Or wince when her snout bounces off a mailbox. And I remind myself that it's different now. That I must focus on the moment and answer the question before me and grasp for patience I do not typically possess.

It leaves me unsettled and exhausted. So when work offers a challenge, I tend to sigh rather than pounce. I don't care as much as I should - having this sense that it's all so fleeting and trivial.

So I've increased my dose of trusty SSRIs. And force myself to follow a proper schedule with adequate productivity. While hoping that while the blindness is permanent for Chienne, this mood will soon pass for me.

Something other than Sad

2011-07-25T15:44:00.004-05:00

"Can I be done?" I asked as we entered hour 3 of the meeting I was attending by phone. I'd mustered my energy and gathered my wits between gentle encouraging comments to Chienne to be careful or curl up next to me to rest. But I was weary - ever so sick of the same conversations with the same people.

I'm so tired. Of the arguments at work. Of the appointments at home. Of questions without good answers. Of projects without purpose. Where I look forward - more than anything - to my escape into sweet sleep and deep dreams.

I walked in this weird field that was forbidden - all dirt and barbed wire and weird fences that rested flat on the ground. I was with a friend from my childhood - I hadn't wanted to go in the field as I knew it wasn't for me - but she insisted so I followed, warning her all the while. A man moved outside the building in the background and chased us but only caught me, taking ruthless advantage of my stumbling attempt to flee with a smooth tackle. Yet I was unharmed when I landed in the soft soil, the color a rich brown. I remember thinking that it felt almost fluffy.

Acknowledging defeat in the face of the larger, stronger man who'd pinned my wrists while his body rested atop mine, I curled my fingers into the ground and waited. I merely closed my eyes when he called me fatty - taunting my inability to escape in a deep voice. Defenseless and guilty, I waited, slowly catching my breath as I rested my cheek on the ground and wondered what he'd do to me as I felt his breath on the nape of my neck.

The light changed, glowing softly as it emerged from the scary shadows around the field, as his grip on my wrists changed. He tickled the inside of my palms with his fingertips, allowing me to lace my fingers with his and relax into the small comfort. As I did, we suddenly stood together inside a home as coffee brewed on a counter nearby.

I was blissfully unconcerned - felt gently happy and peaceful - and smiled into green eyes before cuddling into his side and sighing with the relief of feeling safe and loved. Eventually I tilted my head back, disturbing the quiet of the moment with only the sound of my lips as they touched his. The caress lingered as I explored the corner of his mouth before he licked my lower lip. The lights around us grew brighter as I moved my arms to encircle him, clinging to all the lovely things he represented.

I smiled upon waking, bathed in the bright sunlight streaming through the east-facing window at the head of my bed. I leaned to pat Chienne, smiling and offering a 'good morning' greeting when she lifted her head, turning her face toward me with a couple wags of her tail.

"I had happy dreams," I told her. "Did you have happy dreams, pretty girl?"

But when the mental images faded in the face of back-to-back meetings I took from home in the face of Chienne's whimpering neediness, I grew sad once again. Heavy. Dark.

So when reality's version of the man from my dream sent an email, I eagerly responded, so wanting him to save me for just a little while.

[I could note that while I'm pretty unimpressive in person, sexually speaking, I do well online. Within the lifetime of this blog, I've exchanged my first sexy email (2005), indulged in delightful sex chats (2008), sent racy photos (2010) and even had satisfying experiences with phone sex (2011). So my online resume doesn't extend to nudity, nor have I done any webcam activities, but I'm otherwise pretty comfortable. So when nudged to try the camera thing again today, I winced. And delayed. And finally panicked into outright refusal.]

You won't think I'm pretty, I typed. And he disagreed.

It doesn't add value and will ruin what we do have, I protested. And he disagreed.

I can't, I offered. You won't, he countered.

Frowning, I took my hair from its ponytail and applied more lip gloss. I fussed with make-up and removed my oversized t-shirt, immediately cuddling a pillow in front of me. I got as far as opening the camera line in Yahoo Messenger - with its silly logo of a ridiculously happy face - before panic set in and I frantically jabbed the 'end call' button and closed the cover of my iPad. I even buried it under a pillow for good measure.

But I did manage a few photos later on. Pretty lace and tousled hair and thoughtful expression behind ever-present glasses. I reviewed them, looking carefully at the expanse of pale skin and tried not to catalog flaws.

"I still look sad," I said to myself after sending a couple to Jack. "So trying for sexy works about as well as trying for busy."

Stages

2011-07-24T19:56:00.002-05:00

I had, I thought, been handling Chienne's blindness fairly well. I canceled my business trip, made her an eye appointment and greeted my parents (who'd been on their way before I decided not to travel) and argued only mildly when they removed fluid from the right eye with a needle. I guided my girl down stairs and to the grass outside. We placed my box spring and mattress on the floor, easing the height of the leap atop or the accidental tumble downward.

It was on our third trip to the vet in 24 hours that I blinked at my mother as she cried.

We'd left Chienne this time - only for about an hour - having taken her back and forth from home to vet in favor of a kennel at the office. We were tired, having not slept well the night before, all three of us offering comfort and coaxing Chienne to rest. She was even invited to sleep with Dad, an alarming departure from normalcy - I wasn't aware his sympathy extended that far.

So when I handed Mom a tissue and stared at her as we sat in the oven-hot car, she shook her head and asked for a minute. "She's just so brave and happy," she explained. "Wagging her tail as they took her back for another needle in her poor eye."

"I'm hungry," I said after a moment. "I haven't eaten and there's a burger place just down the street. Could we eat?"

And so went denial - I acknowledged that she was without sight, but it wasn't a big deal. I had prepared! The house was ready - curtains and smells and sounds and all sorts of non-visual cues. I knew this was coming and the warning a couple weeks ago enabled me to focus on next steps rather than being sad.

I'd wince when she tripped or bumped her head. I'd wait patiently while she stood still, nose twitching and ears perked as she took in the smells and sounds to orient herself. And I ran up the steps when she cried, finding her as she sat still and unable to find her way.

"Come on, love," I'd murmur, placing my hand on her side. And our commands have gone from 'sit' and 'look' to 'wait' and 'careful.' "You're OK," I told her and guided her until we reached the curtain at the top of the steps. She tends to rest there - nose at that curtain - so she knows where she is.

But it was fine. Right? She was adjusting. She'd eat when you gently touched her muzzle, gently taking morsels from our hands. She'd drink when brought water. Potty when taken outside and encouraged. And she's continued to improve. She gets confused less and less. Now bumps into soft cushions I've placed rather than hard walls or furniture. She's eating from her dish and drinking from her bowl. We're OK.

But I wanted a bottle of water last night and Dad had extinguished all the downstairs lights before coming up to the guest room. So instead of the dimly lit main level I expected, all was black. And confusing. And a little scary. So I put both hands out, tracing the walls with my fingertips and moving slowly and carefully down the steps.

And upon realizing this was now Chienne's life - my ever-happy, slightly-silly, pretty-prettiest girl - slow and a little scary and unendingly dark, I sank down on the steps there in the darkness and couldn't breathe past the ache of regret and sadness.

So I curl up with her on the floor. Give extra treats and offer lots of kisses. And try to forget when she was so sick after surgery that she wouldn't acknowledge me at all that night - eye grotesquely swollen and gouged and sore - and she turned her face from me, finally rising from her ball of blankets and facing the other direction.

We're doing better. Now I get kisses and she wags her tail and cuddles as usual. But I'm sad. And know I don't want kids - this is far too hard, even with a pretty puppers.

When it's not easy & has not yet passed

2011-07-19T18:43:00.003-05:00

"What's it like there?" my driver asked after I told him (upon request) where I was from. "Are there hills? Do you grow crops?"

"Gently rolling hills," I replied. "And we do grow things - there's lots of land." I nodded when he told me he'd moved to New Jersey. That it was quieter. Better for his family.

"That's nice," I said, meaning it. It strikes me as lovely when someone finds a happy spot - where days seem brighter and sleep deeper.

I do not currently reside in one of those spaces.

Though I have no desire to relocate, my days seem dark and difficult. I awaken with gasps from vivid dreams and nightmares. It's oppressively hot outside and the dog has peed in my basement. Which I swear I still smell despite all the bleach and mopping.

It is not just work - scheduling an important meeting and forcing people to prepare and finessing the message and artfully arranging supporting material. Only to be informed that person for whom the review was designed has no plans to be there. Which leaves me to scramble and regroup or to just say 'fuck it' and move on.

Chienne is a major component, for I spend my time at home peering into her eyes and depositing drops at regular intervals. And she still worsens. I winced when she tripped twice going up the steps a few moments ago, knowing there's not much longer for her to see the world. That she can hear and smell and feel it will be a comfort. But I ache over every stumble right now.

I don't want it to be boys, for I've officially decided to take a break. Yet that stray attraction and hope remains difficult to extinguish. So it lingers - the memory of a voice or phrase or curl of fingers around a palm - and taunts me. Mostly gently and easily ignored, but still.

"He owes you an apology," she said when I passed her in the hall, late for my next meeting and still scowling over my last one.

"Who? How? What?" I asked, pausing and cocking my head at her and sighing when she explained.

"He does not owe me an apology," I offered. "It wasn't a big deal. I just had a headache and was taken aback by the emotion behind his comments and didn't handle it very well. It was fine."

"It's not fine when someone treats you badly!" she argued.

I closed my mouth over a retort and nodded before moving toward my meeting and perching on a chair to prepare for the next round of arguments. Life sometimes treats you badly, I think. And you find ways to endure (sleep, silly games online) or find moments of happiness (pretty shoes, lunch with Sibling) and hope it eventually does ease.

Soon.

Do Not Like

2011-07-15T18:15:00.003-05:00

I woke at 5:41 this morning, opening my eyes and making my unhappiest face at the numbers glowing in green on my digital clock. I patted Chienne and she lifted her head to blink at me blearily.

"We have to take out the garbage and go for a walk," I told her, forcing myself the rest of the way awake. "I need to pick an outfit and do something with my hair." I paused and pulled a strand upward so I could view it, sighing when it waved wildly as it tends to do when I sleep with it wet. "Pack my laptop bag," I continued, "and put in eye drops. Drive to the airport... We need to get up."

We moved around the neighborhood in our pajamas and collar, respectively, and carried recycling and trash bags to the curb. I pondered, briefly, blowing off my trip but decided I was a big girl and could do my job. Just like I did all week. Even though it was rather sucky.

But after an uneventful flight and a taxi ride into the city where everyone knows the street names, I found the focus of my attention and spent the day working fairly pleasantly. I accomplished what I hoped to do and busily checked things off my list just as I had replied to all emails on the plane - neatly arranging my inbox into the pristine condition I so enjoy.

I was feeling rather good about myself as I walked out of the building. I nearly preened with how productive and effective I was this week. I did dreadfully hard things (well, not really - just in the perspective of how easy my life normally is) and prevailed. Even though I would have rather napped. Or played games. Or flirted online.

And then I tried to catch a cab. Apparently around the time they change shifts. And it seemed all of the yellow suckers had their off-duty lights on and I started to feel like it was my romantic life (doomed to failure) rather than part of my professional duties (which tend to go well). And I walked, watching the numbers grow smaller on street signs perched on corners. So after walking some 15 blocks, I turned around and - with no small amount of relief - joined a line for taxis that I found.

I overtipped the one that pulled over ($35 for a $20 fare) but his gratitude was no match for mine. I had conquered the mean New Yorkers and their yellow vehicles and arrived safely at the airport. After having a leisurely dinner and spending some time looking at books, I waited in line at security.

"Do you have an early flight?" the man ahead of me asked and I shook my head, thinking he must not be from here.

"Seven," I replied and smiled as we inched forward.

"It's busy," he noted and I nodded in agreement.

"I waited much longer than normal at home this morning too," I told him. "I think people must be taking vacations - they seemed happier than the business folks that normally occupy the plane." And I was unsurprised when he said he was returning to Kansas in about an hour.

But I was still... if not chipper, then at least quietly content. Until the man announced that 7 had been delayed until 10. At which point I said bad, bad words in my head and cursed the airline and weather and whatever the hell was keeping the plane from being here and getting me home.

Dammit.

Love, frustration and some residual fear -
Katie
New York, NY

Instant Gratification & Consistent Instability

2011-07-10T07:59:00.002-05:00

I like to think I'm occasionally interesting - that something happens or I stumble across some cute story that I'd like to read again sometime. And I do read my archives - wincing at times, giggling at others (I do find myself funny) - and find myself quietly appreciative of past Katie writing out feelings and happenings and the like.

Post-iPad2, I've escaped into entertainment. Books and games, people. Books and games. God bless immediately delivery via the Kindle app. And Big Fish games with your mindless hidden objects and mini-game puzzles. I've read upwards of 10 romances and conquered Everest, explored the Amazon, rescued a kidnapped child from puppet makers, helped some guy escape a haunted house of mirrors. I met a couple of princess, helping them both defeat evil sisters to remove curses from kingdoms.

In short, I've spent a bunch of hours flopped on my couch downstairs or curled up on my loveseat on the main floor and sprawled across my bed upstairs. Playing games. And sleeping too much.

It takes no great insight to realize that my life is not great right now. I believe I'm mildly depressed (I've upped my medication 20 mg so no worries). But, I decided as I wandered through WalMart yesterday, part of it is situational.

Chienne is deteriorating, running into walls and spending a lot of time on her comforter in the bathtub. She sparked the only productivity this weekend - I cleaned and decluttered, widening walkways and installing nonvisual cues throughout the house. I hung sheers from a tension rod at the top of the steps, spritzing the hem with Fresh Rain so Chienne would know she needed to feel for the top step when she felt the scented fabric against her nose. I cleaned the basement - a de facto apology to Sir Sprout since he's going to have to wear a bell. (As soon as I can catch him.) I put new recycled-rubber (distinctive smell and texture!) on both sides of her dog door so she could find her way in and out. I sprayed Garden Rose on the base of each dog door. I need to hang a windchime near the dog door to add sound cues. And a fountain so her water bowl will gurgle helpfully so she can find her food.

She's not blind yet - I'm not sure how long we'll have - but the preparation comforts me even as I escape into castles and jungles to avoid thinking about it.

John's dismissal hurt more than I expected. Not sharply - I don't think it had a lot to do with him, specifically - but in that general 'definitely dying alone' sort of way. "This is unpleasant," I decided aloud when looking at other dating candidates. Which is an excellent time to take a break. I immediately felt better when deciding not to date anymore.

Until, that is, a man from the past got in touch and asked if I wanted to get together for sex this weekend.

"Sure," I decided pretty quickly. I mean, it cuts into my game playing obsession, but what the hell, right? He canceled/postponed (time will tell), leaving me with clean bedding and time to explore the Imperial Majestic to assemble some dragon wheel. (Except I got near the end and there was a bug in the code! I couldn't make the turtle pattern on the urn to get the ying yang! Totally sent angry email.)

(Also laughing at myself. Because, yes. I know. Not great.)

In an odd shift of topic that seems to fit my life, I'm meeting with Pastor after church to discuss becoming a member. The juxtoposition of that against the canceled weekend o' sin would have been a bit more jarring so perhaps it all worked out.

Work is tres 'one step forward, one step back' of late. Difficult projects that I like - they're distracting enough - but that tend to be ill-defined and therefore fail to meet some ephemeral expectation from my bosses.

From which I retreat - all the degeneration or lack of progress or effort wasted - and feel content when I curl into pillows that smell of Cheer or search for another game. I may just explore New York City on my iPad in advance of the 7 hours I'll spend on the ground later this week. I'll try to take a photo and invent some interesting story afterward.

Right Here.

2011-07-02T18:09:00.002-05:00

I beamed at the morning even as I immediately began to sweat, feeling as though I'd stepped into a steam room rather than out my garage door. There were an army of ants in my recycling tub that I'd left at the curb yesterday. My lawn looked scraggly, weeds growing at different heights and in various clusters. But my pretty girl could see! So I wandered after her as she trotted down the street, feeling blessed to have one more day of the ordinary.

In the hour that we spent between waking and departing for the vet yesterday I said, "I'm right here," more than any other phrase.

"I'm right here," I'd offer gently when she turned her head in a sightless search for me as I frantically threw clutter on tables and off floors.

"I'm right here. Almost done," I called as I watched her pace while I was in the basement shower, wincing when she'd bump her nose on something and deciding not to condition my hair or shave my legs.

"I'm right here," I'd say when she stumbled over a step or hesitated before moving forward in the garage, knowing the gap between the Jeep and lawnmower was narrow and being unable to judge without the use of either eye.

I rested my hand on her back while I drove, reaching to rub her favorite spot - right above her tail - in hopes that it would comfort her. We stayed tethered together by her leash while at the vet - I'd tug when she'd venture too far and risk smacking her sniffer on something. And I sat with her on the elegant tiles that line the floor of the vet's office, petting and talking and wiping away tears.

"You need to instill confidence," Adam said to me upwards of a week ago. And though I've not mentioned it here, he's correct. I'm settled and productive and comfortable and talented, but unreliable. I get headaches, battle depression, worry over my dog. I have uterine fibroids, an aging pair of parents and a roof that leaked one time. I've been locked out of my car, jetlagged after travel and just plain didn't want to see people.

So there are times I work from home. Times I put in ridiculous hours at the office. Instances where I don't answer my phone or respond to email promptly. And while I'm good at my job - and I really am - if Adam wants someone solid and predictable and stable, that's probably not me. Which is not to say that I shouldn't work at it.

"I can over-communicate," I offered. "I'd promise to always show up and be nice and not snap at people, but that's not realistic. But I can promise to let you know if something happens or I don't feel well or I won't be immediately available."

So I have been. And it's helping, at least a little.

"So you asked me over email if we were done," John said when he called last night. "And the answer is yes - we're over before we ever really started."

And I nodded, admittedly hurt over the rejection but finally understanding why I couldn't properly predict him. He'd not been interested but trying to find a way to force it - I get that. Hell, I've done that. So I thanked him for letting me know, smiled sadly over how he didn't want to say 'it's not you - it's me' but managed to do it anyway and sighed a little when gently replacing the receiver.

I wanted him because he was solid and stable and predictable. And I'm not. But perhaps his presence would have soothed me - made me a bit less dramatic and less eager for sleep so the business in my brain can stop for a while. So I was more disappointed than heartbroken, twisting my mouth into a grimace and standing to throw out the flowers he'd given me.

"Done with that," I murmured as I rinsed the vase, upending it in the dish drainer and grabbing a bottle of water (which is so much less poetic than a glass of wine, but I'm being honest in this one). And after a moment's (or more) self-pity that nobody wanted to be 'right here' with me, I shrugged and flipped the cover open on my iPad and began to read a book.

"Hey, you," I said to Chienne when she curled up next to me. "It's eye drop time." And it takes us 30 minutes now to administer her medicine. We do the yellow bottle first, then wait the recommended 10 minutes before fetching the orange - 10 minutes - green - 10 minutes and white. I find it soothing somehow - the feeling of doing something aggressive to delay the stumbling blindness that will eventually find us.

So while blogging has been sporadic and of lower interest and quality of late (definition of 'of late' up to you), there's also comfort in knowing you're 'right there' so thank you for the comments and emails. Kisses and cuddles from Chienne and me.

"...was blind, but now I see..."

2011-07-01T18:16:00.002-05:00

"Morning," I offered to Chienne after she lumbered down the stairs this morning. "Oh," I said when I looked up at her as she turned her head toward me, knowing both eyes were unseeing as the right one bulged, looking cloudy and discolored. "You're OK," I told her, wincing and knowing she wasn't as she stumbled toward me, bumping her shoulder on the ottoman and nose on the end table as she struggled to get reach my voice.

"Oh, God," I whimpered, reaching to pet her even as I tapped out 'eye care for animals' in the Google window and started to reach for the phone. I clicked on the main website, mind filled with how Chienne would adjust to constant darkness, why I'd not worked harder to prevent this, if I'd opt for injections or surgery to stop the pain as we'd lost all sight.

"Think, dammit," I demanded of myself with vicious impatience when I realized I should have clicked on the map to reach the local number. Punching it out, I left a message with a shaking voice, clutching the phone as I requested someone call me back even though it was 6AM.

"She's blind," I told one of the partners when she called, having coaxed my dog down the three steps from my deck, weeping when she sat and held her paw out to shake, unsure of where to step without falling and clearly reading my distress. "I don't know what to do. How to help her." She told me to come in at 8:00 and to keep Chienne in a small area where she couldn't hurt herself.

"We're OK," I told her, frantically putting away the various items I keep scattered across the floor, carelessly dropped shoes and dog toys, papers and books and bags. They tripped my pretty girl and I hated myself for my insensitivity, realizing I was overreacting and pausing to take deep breaths, dropping to my knees and bowing my head over my dog.

After guiding her through a walk, taking a quick shower and throwing on clothes, I dashed off an email to work and helped Chienne in the Jeep, gasping when she misjudged her typical leap and ended up bouncing off the steering wheel before I was ready to lift her. We made the trip without incident - listening to hymns I keep on CD - and I rolled down the windows when we arrived, some 40 minutes before the office was due to open. Despite my efforts otherwise, she bumped into a giant rock when I walked her through the grass then stumbled over a tree root.

The office staff must have seen me when I tried the locked door, for one came to open it for me so I could sit on the floor with my blinded animal, one of us terrified, the other curiously wagging her tail, and wait.

The doctor - the male partner - emerged from the back and grinned at Chienne before frowning when I said she wasn't able to see. "One minute," he said. "Bring her back to room 3 and we'll get started."

And so there were drops and checking of pressure (58 - her last normal reading was 14) and more drops and two pills. Chienne gave kisses as I blinked back tears, reacting with confusion when he said we were trying to restore vision.

"But she's blind," I replied.

"But you said she was fine last night," he said, staring into the dog's eye even as he spoke. "The pressure's below 60. And the pupil is starting to constrict." He turned on the light in the room again and patted Chienne affectionately before looking at me kindly. "I'll be surprised if I can't get it back," he told me and I blinked at him, afraid to hope.

"Still up," he muttered the next time he checked pressure. "We try glycerin next," he decided. "If that fails, I'll remove fluid with a needle but that does increase inflammation so I use it as a last resort." Having wrinkled my nose over the thought of a needle but desperately wanting her to see again, I nodded dumbly as he left and helped hold her head while he coaxed 4 syringes full of gel into my sweet puppy.

"30 minutes," he decided. "This is going to remove water systematically so she'll need to go outside. So go ahead and walk her - keep her away from bushes so she doesn't poke herself in the eye."

I breathed easier when she pranced around the giant rock, avoided the patch of tall grass and trotted over a pothole without tripping. And so we wandered. And I hoped.

And finally sagged with relief when she curiously watched the cotton ball the doctor tossed make a gentle arc before floating to the ground 20 minutes later.

"16," he announced of the pressure and I nodded, swallowing hard to regain some semblance of control. And we came home and slept. I offered water at regular intervals and refused to let her become sick by drinking as much as she wanted. I watched her carefully, noting the eye did look funny and she was holding it closed, but vision remained as she followed me around.

She rests at my side now - if more than a few moments pass when we're apart, one of us will begin to search for the other. Seeking reassurance. Comfort.

I had thought this morning - ever prepared for the worst - that degeneration was inevitable. We will all die. Parts wear out. Fears establish. Hearts break. But it appears there are sometimes reprieves. Corrections and recoveries.

And so we curl close and feel grateful and rest.

Additional Notes

Someone asked on my last point about having the eye removed. The blind eye doesn't bother her and the pressure is normal. The doctor tells me it's a choice of aesthetics. Please know that if it were hurting her and they wanted it out, she'd be down to one eye.
John's flowers appeared to last longer than he did. Which also makes me sad.
That was an instance when being hopeful was the wrong approach, methinks.
I find myself indecisive about new dating opportunities - I'm just not good at it. And it hurts when I don't understand what went wrong.
Work is work - one unpleasant task at a time. But - apart from those - all is well.

Ribbet

2011-06-24T18:08:00.002-05:00

"What a silly looking cricket," I told Chienne, for I often speak rather than think, as we took our walk through our soggy neighborhood. Even the air feels heavy with moisture, ground literally squishing with saturation.

"Oh," I breathed after bending to look at the plump insect more closely. "You're a frog! Hello, baby frog!" And I grinned as it hopped away, turning to Chienne to see if she was similarly impressed. Oblivious, she continued to sniff at the tree and turned to trot off.

"Don't step on them!" I scolded, feeling protective of the adorable former tadpoles as they found their way in this small section of the world. I kept chin to chest as I watched for amphibians so as not to squish them into the hard sidewalk or soggy ground.

"Froggies..." I called softly when we walked the next day. "I would like to take a photo of you..." But they had gone overnight from ubiquitous to rare. "Where did they go?" I asked my dog. But she knew not.

And then I noticed the birds.

"Oh," I sighed, feeling ridiculous tears form. "You ate them," I accused and glared. "I'm glad my cat murdered one of you." Though I reminded myself that said incident had resulted in Sir Sprout being an inside cat only.

I finally found four of the creatures, pausing to bring my camera as close as possible and hoping the pixels arranged themselves cleanly in the shapes of the amphibious bodies. While some blurred, others allowed appreciation of tiny frog fingers and speckled frog skin.

I watched for them all week, finding only one yesterday and none this morning. As I wandered closer to the river though, I could hear their song and smiled with the hope that they remained safely hidden from predators. The food chain has always bummed me out.

Bird - My bathroom ceiling leaked. And it rained and rained and rained.
Frog! I took various meetings and was remarkably productive this week.
Frog! Chienne is doing well!
Frog! My iPad2 arrived. Oh, how I love it. Oh, how I waste time playing with it.
Bird - My lawn is so long. I dread mowing it.
Frog! I bought the cutest blue dress that matches my pretty blue flats.

So while the week was mostly unmemorable, there were some good things. And the frogs.

Godspeed, little guys.

Upward, Onward

2011-06-19T06:39:00.001-05:00

Mind outpaces body.

There is a moment where I glance up at the sky, admiring the shades of blue as they transition from dark to light, and think that I could take a photo. Perhaps with the tops of the grasses that sway gracefully in the breeze! So I crouch to do so, sighing at the pretty.

And then Chienne pulls and I topple and sit, hand sore from scraping across the pavement and blinking with surprise as I end up on my bottom while the dog looks at me curiously before selecting a blade of grass to nibble as if she were bovine.

***

I huffed out an annoyed sound at work earlier this week when I was called to volunteer. But I relaxed once in front of the hundred or so people, smiling prettily and replying with humor and attempting to play my role properly for the activity.

"I'm so sorry you had to do that," a colleague said afterward and I cocked my head at her, confused. "I would have been terrified to get up in front of everyone," she explained and I nodded as I understood.

"I used to get nervous," I told her. "But I talk so much now that it doesn't really bother me. I wasn't excited about it," I admitted, "but I was fine. But thank you for being worried about me - that's really very sweet."

***

Children sleep in on summer mornings, leaving Chienne without crowds on corners at whom to wag her tail as they wait for buses. But it's pleasant to be out early - before the day becomes hot and sticky - and since the sun rises so early, other dogs are often out too.

"Well, hello!" I greeted a neighbor with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. We tend toward polite and kind, not outgoing and friendly here. But the girl who watches Chienne sometimes had acquired a new puppy. A black lab puppy. Who I loved so deeply and so quickly that it made me a little dizzy.

I crouched to greet her, breathing in the puppy smell and letting her lick my hands and giggling when she rolled over to show me her belly. "I'm so jealous," I sighed at my dog sitter's father, wanting to scoop her up and nuzzle. "She's too wonderful for words."

"She pees on the floor," he replied grimly and I giggled before realizing he was completely serious.

"Puppies do that," I offered, looking up at him while I let the puppy nibble my fingers. "She'll grow out of it. Dogs," I disclosed as Chienne trotted back, sniffed the puppy and gave me a look that indicated she was ready to get going, "get easier as they age. Fewer accidents. Easier to leave alone. She'll adjust and you'll adjust and it'll be fine."

"I just wish she'd pee outside," he sighed and I smiled at him before promising that she would. It's just a process of learning.

***

When glancing through old posts because I couldn't remember something I knew I'd recorded herein, I happened across a photo of my post-doctoral workspace. And it made me a little weepy - that bittersweet feeling of missing what was and being grateful it's over and feeling blessed that it brought me to where I am. I remembered to take my camera to work, tucking it in a pocket of my bag, so I could snap a photo of a corner of my current desk. Because such things please me. And because I am and likely always will be a clutter-bug. Tokens from travel, giant microbes to watch me work, cords to connect headset and keyboard, mouse and external storage and useless Dell monitor that no longer functions. I feel comfortable sitting there - mostly capable and smart and organized despite the piles of papers.

***

John and I are 0 for 2 in terms of date plans. We had planned to see Super 8 - which I've heard is excellent (and for which I read the spoiler online because I was worried seeing it would Stress Me Out) but arrived a little late to a sold-out 7PM showing.

"Green Lantern?" I offered after wrinkling my nose over the employee's suggestion of Bridesmaids. So we went to see a different sort of extraterrestrial movie, sharing pretzel bites in lieu of popcorn.

"I get emotionally involved in movies," I confided to John via phone earlier in the week. "You may have to hold my hand if I become frightened." He teased that he was good at that and I smiled, looking forward to the subtle display of affection even in the face of a suspenseful movie. While I was somewhat relieved at the forced shift to comic book (and did think the poorly-reviewed show was fun, actually), I sighed when realizing I probably wasn't going to need emotional support. Parallax isn't that terrifying.

But my stomach flipped - which is always intensely lovely - when he reached for my hand, folding his fingers over mine and leaving me to smile and offer a swipe of affection with my free thumb. I took a breath, surprised at the strength of my reaction. Which may have explained my defense of the movie when John listed a few flaws. ("He only recharged the ring once!")

***

My parents have returned home. I spoke to Mom after returning home from the movie on Friday and they were just entering Illinois. She was tired, she admitted, and Garmin expected them to arrive home around 2AM.

"Call me tomorrow," I requested around a yawn.

About 24 hours later, my muscles clenched as I realized that I'd not heard the phone through my headachy Saturday. I dialed Dad's phone as it neared 10PM, suddenly and frantically worried. Feeling sick when he failed to answer, I changed the final digit to reach Mom and sighed when I heard her voice.

"You didn't call," I accused and she apologized, saying they'd made it without problems and had been resting and unpacking through the day. "I just realized something could have happened to you." I continued to pout and I she laughed. I finally smiled and promised I'd call tomorrow during the daytime. When I didn't wake them with worries over why I was calling at the dead-of-night hour of 10PM.

Communication Skills

2011-06-15T18:51:00.007-05:00

I am hundreds of miles away from my family as they vacation in Florida. I've not heard from them since I decided not to go on Sunday and hope they're doing well. I still have guilt over not making the trip. But would have had guilt had I made the trip and left a struggling puppy here alone. (She's doing OK, actually, but it's been a rough few days.)

An unexpected benefit? Getting caught up at work while much of the leadership team is on vacation or traveling on business.

****

"Am I the dog or pony?" I asked Adam on Monday.

"Dog," he replied without looking up from his laptop but then peeked at me when I beamed at him.

"What?" Newest asked, face arranging into an expression of confusion.

"I was asking Adam who was going first in our little dog and pony show here," I explained. "And he said that I would."

"Oh," Newest said, glancing between us with a mildly bewildered glance before returning to his email while I grinned at my boss. I love when people understand my jokes.

****

"So then it's controlled by body movement!" our speaker explained, motioning to the model of the camera+computer system.

"Like the Gmail April Fools joke?" I asked Sibling in a whisper.

"Or Wii," she replied with a smile.

"Awesome," I decided. "I am the controller."

****

Katie (as a polar bear): Hello. I'd like to post this sign. Could you give me the magical thumbtack?

Meanie (as a weasel) : What's on the sign?

Katie: This is my sign. See how pretty?

+3 days

Meanie: This sign is not necessary.

Katie: I don't understand. Could you elaborate?

Meanie: People see too many signs.

****

Katie: I want to display this sign. Do you mind if I have our zookeeper hang it? She also has magical thumbtacks.

Adam: Did all the polar bears review it?

Katie: I showed it to you and the sloth/sleuth/herd. But only got a few responses. But I've revised it multiple times.

Adam: Hmmm...

Katie: It was supposed to be shown months ago. I worked on it. And Meanie said I couldn't have a magical thumbtack!

Adam: What? A weasel said you couldn't hang it?

Katie: Yes - Meanie said something like 'people see too many signs,' which makes no sense to me. If you don't like the sign, don't look at it. It's a small sign. And not at all offensive!

Adam: I can't believe a weasel said you couldn't show it. Sure - put it up.

Katie: Yay!

****

Meanie: Why did you hang that sign?

[No response as I can't think of anything kind or productive to say.]

Meanie: I told you I didn't think it was necessary.

Katie: Yes, I remember. I thought it was necessary and decided we were both too busy to argue over a sheet of paper that people could either read or ignore.

Meanie: You need to explain to me why you thought it was important.

I blinked at the computer screen, blinked in surprise and said aloud, "No. I do not." And now I'm working on the next sign (much like the first one) so I can hang another one.

****

Katie: I had 5 creatures compliment my sign!

Adam: I heard from close to 20, actually. They love it - said it was different and fun and a great idea! So good for you for pushing to finish it and getting it hung.

Katie: Meanie is a weasel. But the zookeeper likes me.

Adam: True. But I probably wouldn't have let you do it had I not wanted to prove that we didn't need weasel permission.

Katie: Huh. Funny how life works out.

****

I realized, upon reading this for errors (something I don't always do) that the sermon this Sunday was for Pentecost. And how the disciples shared the story of Christ in all the languages of the people so that there was wide understanding and worship.

Said message did not sink in as 1) I've not been only kind to anyone of late and 2) I've embraced my failures in understanding others because they've either amused me or enabled me to manipulate someone for personal gain.

Perhaps my bathroom ceiling is leaking as punishment.

Eye of Beholder

2011-06-11T21:35:00.000-05:00

"She has glaucoma," I reply when people ask about her poor eye.

"I don't think so," is my answer when they ask if it bothers her. She doesn't paw at it or play any less or demand affection anything other than incessantly around new people. "She sometimes bumps into things and it pisses her right off when the cat sneaks up on her blind side but she's otherwise adapted very well."

"Her eye looks bad," I offered mid-conversation with John the other night. "Red and cloudy," I described and he nodded. "We need to go to the doctor tomorrow," I told my pet and she wagged her tail briefly before returning to her determined quest to receive kisses from the man in our living room. He avoided her tongue even as he petted her head, offering that it wasn't her - it was him. And maybe eventually they'd know each other well enough to kiss but that time hadn't yet come.

I smiled as I rose to cross the room, calling Chienne over to put in drops that helped very little.

"She does that very well," John complimented and I nodded before kissing her on the head and accepting the lick to my chin.

"She's a good girl," I noted despite her bouncing off of him many, many times while he was standing and her immediate return to sit on his lap and lick his face. "Sometimes," I amended and reclaimed my own seat next to him.

Emitting a long-suffering sigh when I woke her the next morning, I smiled as I lifted her head from sheets scented of Cheer detergent and pried her eye open to assess color and clarity.

"It looks better," I told her and she flopped her head down and snuggled back into doggy dreams while I went downstairs to make coffee and fret until the eye office opened. They could see us at 11 so we took a walk and put in drops and arrived early to sniff and whine at the waiting room. (She did - I was perfectly well behaved personally.)

She hopped up on the bench beside me while they put in the numbing drops and turned off the lights to examine her eye. She sat comfortably, offering kisses to the assistant and tolerating the doctor's gentle prodding with typical grace during medical procedures.

"14," said doctor announced after touching the probe to her eye several times. "So she's stable in terms of pressure - whatever it might have been seems to have resolved."

"Yay!" I offered, blinking back tears. "Your eye's OK," I told Chienne gleefully and she wagged her tail before hopping down to the floor.

"Bring her back in if she has another episode," the doctor advised. "Even late at night or over the weekend - one of us can meet you in here and take a pressure so we can figure this out." (And this is where I offer my great affection and respect for Eye Care for Animals. Wonderful, wonderful people.)

So back we went this morning with a red eye, still at 14mmHg.

"I don't know what to do," I told Mom when I called, scheduled as I was to fly to meet them in Florida first thing Monday morning.

"We're fine with whatever you decide," she told me gently.

"I want to come," I told her, whining. "I have my polka dot swimsuit and sunscreen and do love the ocean. And the girls. And you and Dad."

"I know," she replied. And left me stuck in this conflicted state. Without a dogsitter I trust completely - I love that my little neighbor can check on her but she won't be able to judge eye health. And I hate to impose on her family to drive to the emergency vet should her vision start to go.

"Don't get a dog," a friend told me when I was searching for Chienne after my second year of grad school. "They're so much work and you'll be unable to travel and you'll always be worried about this creature."

"I see it," I argued, "as a choice between every day and special occasions. I can have someone to greet me when I get home - to take walks and cuddle with while watching television - and this daily dose of happiness. And I accept that the trade-off is that it's going to be inconvenient to take trips. Which I almost never do."

But now I've convinced myself that I'm choosing between children and canine. And that I suck if I miss time on the beach and in the pool with the Ones. But I'll be heartbroken if something happens to my girl and I knowingly decided to leave her alone - waving goodbye and wishing her luck until I return.

I'm a bad person either way. And I hate it when that happens.

John

2011-06-09T18:39:00.006-05:00

There is something lovely about preparing for an evening.

The shine of gloss on lips, the sparkle of a ring that's just for pretty. Polish on nails - red on toes, palest of pinks on fingers. A debate over underthings - bare legs or tights? Black lace or sheer white? Flats or heels? A dress that's a bit too low cut or with a hemline that's a little flirtatious.

Smoothing lotion over sugar-scrubbed skin. Sniffing experimentally to ensure the fragrance is tempting, not overpowering. Smudging shadow across eyelids and deciding between heels and flats. Nodding approval over a new dress with a subtle floral print (if I'm permitted to call a garment with orange and purple blossoms subtle) but playing with the neckline and wondering if it was too shapeless and comfortable for a date. A first date. With someone I already liked very much.

He arrived with flowers after we'd corresponded for upwards of 3 weeks. Said email exchanges were sparked by a shared affection for lilacs.

I'd wanted to meet him sooner - almost immediately, actually - and had been thwarted by travel plans and family visits. And though I offered to postpone when he called to tell me he was running late, he refused. So I reached for my flowers before he was even inside (I love flowers and wanted to claim my first-date bouquet), putting the stems in water while he dealt with my overly-friendly dog.

We went to a chain restaurant after he opened the car door for me.

The location wasn't what I'd planned but my suburb is rather sleepy and since we were getting a bit of a late start, I wanted to go somewhere close. Still, as I watched him arrange himself in his seat and start the car, I sighed for a moment and hoped I'd get a chance to take him to the place I'd selected near the river downtown.

We chatted over dinner after sharing guacamole and an affection for the avocado.

I cursed myself for not being more interesting - not having set conversational topics in favor of curling my hair once more in preparation for the evening. He carried the conversation, bless him, and I smiled at the freckle on his nose and the way he structures sentences. And told him his blue jacket was pretty. I would later rest my hand on said jacket while he kissed me.

I invited him in after dinner after taking deep breaths of the chilly evening air to calm my nerves. That is how I let men know I like them.

So I offered him water (or milk with pink syrup left over from my family's visit) before convincing Chienne to let us have the loveseat. She very much wanted me to sit across the room while she snuggled with her new friend. I refused and took my customary place in the living room while he sat a respectable distance away, inches separating my thigh from his knee.

We talked for nearly two hours before I shifted the conversation toward men and relationships and sex. Because my dating history is fraught with failure. And I have questions.

I'd fantasized about him for weeks - nothing scandalous was written in our emails but the gentle hints were enough to leave me smiling into pillows. And I glanced at him and touched his arm again and thought he really was attractive - solid and steady and articulate and sexy. I was talking about not liking to be forced - in relationships or anything, really - and that I was stubborn enough to dig in my heels just to prove I could.

"I'm not going to force you," he noted, and I caught my breath and let my eyes drift almost-closed before his lips met mine. A gentle invitation - warm and soft and slightly wet - my toes curled at the sound it made and I slipped my arm over his then behind his back at some point to clutch at his jacket and tug him closer.

I opened my mouth to tell him that I couldn't think clearly but forgot what I was going to say. I remembered tensing a bit as I remembered I've not been crazy about having a man's tongue in my mouth in the past (and had, in fact, wondered if it was just a quirk - Katie doesn't like to touch tongues) and was surprised when I felt his and wanted more. Well, that's just lovely, I decided hazily, finding taste and texture and timing wonderful, and guided his hand to my breast before I realized I wanted it there.

I blinked in surprise, more at my moving his hand than in his response, and arched my neck when he pulled aside layers of black material - the silky fabric of my pattered dress, my soft camisole because said dress is ridiculously low-cut, and the black lace on my favorite of bras with the floppy peach bow. It is the first time a man had seen it, I realized when I removed it before bed, smiling as I realized I was pleased it had been him.

Chienne interrupted us - the movement of his lips on my breast and his staring down at my bared flesh as I hoped the sugar scrub and subsequent lotion left me suitably soft and pretty. I trembled and leaned closer to him for a moment, slipping my hand under his to hold on to his fingers. I liked it - despite not being very good at it - and swallowed because it still felt so new and sexy and tenuous - ready to topple over and shatter if I did or said the wrong thing.

I want to know him better. To ask more questions and hear more thoughts and receive more email and kisses and trail my fingers through his soft blonde hair.

"I wasn't sure you would," I murmured of our kisses. "I wanted you to." And after a few quiet moments, he indicated he should leave and I nodded, wanting the time to reflect and write so I could be ready for whatever comes next.

"We'll talk," he said and I nodded and replied that I'd like that very much. And I closed the door behind him, watching him walk down the path under the glow of the porch light before turning the lock and moving into the kitchen.

I moved to the flowers perched in the vase, opening the packet that had come with the bunch and pouring it in the water, stirring with a stem. I carefully plucked the leaves from the stems, smiling as I fussed with the flowers and allowing myself a bit of delicate hope.

"I like you," I had admitted after we kissed. "So I'll be waiting for you not to like me back. Because that's how my pattern goes," I reminded him when he looked confused.

"Or we could like each other," he replied and I nodded. Because that would be lovely.

A Good Session

2011-06-08T19:08:00.003-05:00

"Growing old," I replied. "I'm afraid of growing old. Terrified." I thought of the old man, trembling hand reaching from his window to retrieve a vanilla ice cream cone. I felt sick as I waited for my turn at the drive-thru, having bought a cheeseburger for Chienne in apology for working so late. I watched him wait for a napkin, extending his gnarled hand with wrinkled skin to fetch it before slowly releasing the brake and moving his car forward.

My therapist - the woo-woo craniosacral guy - had asked what I feared. I'd paused, lying uncovered on top of the table in my bra and capri pants, and made a face as I thought about it. I don't recall his reply but I defended myself regardless.

"I'm not afraid of death," I argued though he wasn't challenging me on my answer. "More of life," I said more softly.

We had started our session by his asking 'how's Katie' and if I'd listened any closer to what my body was saying. When I said OK and not really, respectively, he asked what my body would say right now.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, closing my eyes as he felt the pulses in my ankles, turning my legs gently as he felt with his fingertips.

"Well, what if it could talk? If you left brain moved aside for a moment and let you body speak."

"No," I refused after a moment. "I don't want to." And he'd asked what I was afraid of.

He paused after I'd admitted it was not dying too early but living too long that bothered me. "I'm reading A Purpose Driven Life," I told him, "and this time is temporary so it's not bad to look forward to what comes after."

"I agree," he said slowly. "And I don't advise people to cling to every second of life. But it sounds like you're doing your best to age the opposite of gracefully." And I thought of how I'd told Mom there were worse things than a quick heart attack. Good Lord, I thought, am I trying to kill myself? Albeit slowly, with cheese sauce and chocolate chip cookies?

"You stopped breathing," he said gently. "Breathe, Katie. Through your diaphragm."

"You have to fix me," I told him, opening my eyes and offering my own beseeching look.

"You're going to fix you," he replied gently. "I'm going to coach."

So we talked about life and death, Jesus and light. And he asked if I could listen to my heart if I was unwilling to allow my body to speak. With one hand under my back and another resting above my heart, he stayed at my left side while I thought about it.

"If there's something intelligent in your body," he offered, "something strong and important and full of nerves, it must be your heart. Can you trust that a little?"

"Breathe," he said when I stopped again, and I did, trying to relax my muscles and realizing with some dismay that I'd clenched my fists.

"I don't," I admitted. "I don't trust it. I can't. It's always wrong." He didn't speak, moving his hands from my heart and shifting above my head to hold my head in his hands, fingers providing pressure to ease the muscles in my neck.

"I was in love once," I admitted. "It made no sense but it was the first time I thought..." I trailed off and breathed, lifting a hand to dab at the single tear at the corner of each eye. "I let my heart lead - loved him so deeply," I paused again, remembering. The couch I currently keep in my basement. The fantasies spun so perfectly, so quickly and I fell, forcing myself faster and harder than he advised.

"It hurt," I said, shifting to what came later. "It ended badly and it hurt - my heart ached so much that I wasn't sure how I'd survive it. I just wanted to sleep until it eased."

"And what would happen if you let that go? Forgave him and your heart?"

I was shaking my head even as he spoke. "What if it happened again?" I replied, eyes closed tight and muscles locked against the potential attack.

"You'd be stronger," he answered simply and moved back to my heart to smooth the muscles, working gently at the tension even as I waited to cry out in pain.

"What are you thinking?" he asked long moments later as I relaxed into my imagination, hoping he wasn't going to hurt the tender muscles in my chest. I had been thinking of a date tomorrow evening. Of how it would feel to be open. Trusting. Loving toward the potential of me and him and us.

"I guess I was imagining what it would be like to be better - open - able to hear my heart without being afraid."

"That's beautiful," he praised and when we finished a bit later he declared it a good session. I put my hands on my bare belly, lifted my knees to rest my bare feet on the table.

"So I'm not hopeless?" I asked and he immediately shook his head - said I was very self-aware and that was an excellent start.

"No, I know what's wrong," I admitted. "It's the fixing it that's problematic." But I left feeling gently hopeful and with an appointment in another 2 weeks. I am to practice my breathing and visualize myself as open.

Instead I feel apprehensive.

The New Blue

2011-06-06T22:18:00.005-05:00

I went in search of red flats. I love the ruby slippers I wore yesterday but the flimsy soles are starting to fall apart. The fluffy flower over the toe beginning to look a bit ragged. So I walked to Nordstrom Rack, climbed the stairs and began a focused search for something pretty.

I found peep toes I liked but they were too small. The ones in my size were beige and I frowned at the left shoe thoughtfully before replacing it on the shelf and continuing to glance at and discard shoes as I walked slowly up and down aisles of 8s.

"You are pretty," I told a pair of black flats softly, admiring shiny, perfect bows perched above the pointy toe. I took the left shoe and tried it on, made a face of indecision and replaced them too. "Oh," I sighed when I saw the same shoe in blue. "I will have you."

I have been working so my stories are classified. But the work went well - I presented yesterday and supervised a demonstration. I took calls early this morning and attended meetings after breakfast, talking to men I enjoy and respect about topics of professional interest. Then, having checked out of my hotel, I pouted over not being able to nap and comforted myself with a walk to see the library, riding endless escalators to reach the highest public viewing point and making myself a bit dizzy in the process (I do not like heights. Even when they come with interesting views.)

"Little sick now," I murmured after peeking over an edge, knees trembling and throat tightening as my poor brain went all dizzy. I jabbed the elevator button and waited impatiently for it to arrive, joining a family with incessantly complaining children for the ride down to the first floor and out into the fresh air that cleared my head and settled my stomach. I had lunch on the waterfront after buying a book and returned to work in the afternoon, more to pass the time than from any real motivation.

Thrilled was I when I happened across interesting sessions that exactly matched a topic I'm trying to learn. Sans notebook - given to the bellman at the hotel to store for me - I tore pages from my novel and scrawled notes on the acknowledgments and dedication pages of a romance novel.

"Hello, beauty," a slender man with a melodic voice offered with a slow look in my direction when I crossed the street on the way back to the hotel to fetch my things and depart for the airport. I raised an eyebrow at him and offered a brief hi before returning my full attention to the sign across the street, willing the white man to appear so I could cross.

"You're gorgeous," he said and I snorted before rolling my eyes. I would have smiled over 'your shoes are adorable,' agreed if he complimented the paisley butterfly pattern on my new blue dress. I would have even taken 'I like your messy ponytail.' But gorgeous? No. Not even perfectly dressed and fully made-up. And as my face had flushed from my brisk walk up a hill and I'd not freshened my foundation for a good 7 hours and my lip gloss had even worn off, I rolled my eyes at him and wondered what he wanted before deciding I didn't care.

"Are you busy now?" he asked, trailing along behind me as I crossed the street and I answered that I was.

"Are you married or something?" he tried again and I lied without hesitation, confirming that I was. My shoulders sagged with relief when he finally fell back from the conversation and I scampered up the steps to my hotel. The street happenings in Seattle confuse and upset me.

But with my bag full of stuff and shoes full of feet, I fly east just before midnight and will arrive back at my home airport - to be met by my mother - tomorrow morning. At which time I will sleep. And sleep. And prepare to travel again next week.

Ruby Slippers in the Emerald City

2011-06-05T10:12:00.009-05:00

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said tentatively and I paused my movement along the waterfront to smile at him. He blinked at me, this darling teenager with dark eyes and curling hair, and smiled weakly in return before apologizing all over himself for bothering me.

"That's fine," I said, reaching for the map in my bag to offer him as I assumed he was a bit lost. I was feeling rather superior, of course, as even my sense of direction can't steer me wrong when the ocean bounds my path. Before I could hand over the brightly colored paper depicting landmarks as silly cartoons, he tugged his sweatshirt closed, pulled it open again and hurried through his speech.

"I'm from Texas," he said, "and took the bus here." He looked at me beseechingly and, remaining confused, I nodded encouragingly. "I'm going to work on a fishing boat," he told me, "but there's a hostel where I left my stuff and I need $9 to pay for the night."

"Oh," I breathed, realizing he wanted money. He differed - in age and appearance - from the rest of the homeless I'd seen that morning that I hadn't known. And my reserve had faded as I'd walked through the dawning light - taking photos and admiring the neon lights and distant mountains as they both glimmered in the morning.

"I'm sorry to ask," he said again, his young face looking pained and I shook my head as my brain clicked immediately into worry and think mode. "Most people ignore me and you've been so nice. But maybe just two or three dollars?"

And I stared at him, taking in the scarf knotted around his neck, the heavy sweatshirt he continued to fuss with as he spoke, the way he looked in my eyes and spoke with clear purpose. And I thought of Henry. So instead of handing him all the cash I had - something I rather desperately wanted to do - so he would be safe and happy and the darting fear in those dark eyes would ease, I shook my head with deep and sincere regret.

"I'm so sorry," I told him and he nodded, stepping back immediately and saying he understood, thanked me for taking time to talk with him. "I'm sorry," I repeated and let my eyes meet his once more before I turned and walked away. Seattle is notoriously kind, I reminded myself then and now as I fret over him. If he needs help, he'll find it. And if he's buying drugs - conning money from suckers who walk along waterfronts and stand in line to board cruise ships - then he should not do that. But I wouldn't mind if you'd join me in saying a prayer for him.

Apart from feeling rather Wicked-Witch about the whole thing, my post title is a nod to my pretty red flats - the only shoes I brought in my ruthlessly efficient packing spree (3 days = tiny duffel and laptop bag. Stand in awe, people). They're comfortable but made of satiny fabric attached to a flimsy sole so I turned my ankle on the train tracks and gagged when I almost stepped on a dead bird and got them wet when I stepped a bit too close to admire water cascading off fountains. I also feared greatly for my safety when I decided to walk down the steep and gravely path next to the sculpture with the logs floating midair.

To be fair, I was immeasurably tempted by the flowers in the meadow around said art, impossibly drawn by the color and calm, the way the rising sun warmed some plants while leaving others in shadow.

"Look how pretty!" I would say aloud, alone in that section of the park. "Don't fall down," I would immediately caution as my fragile footwear slipped on a loose pebble or I grew concerned about the slope of the tiny path along the edge of the garden. "Look how pretty; don't fall down," I chanted softly as I descended. "Coolness," I pronounced when I'd managed it, glancing back at the prettiness and being grateful I did not fall down as I wandered back the way I came.

As I did, I smiled at the crowds dragging luggage on the sidewalks as they moved toward the port. The joggers who always said good morning or the other tourists who'd brought cameras far fancier than mine to capture the morning light upon Seattle's sights. I breathed in the scent of coffee, shaking my head at the plethora of places where it could be acquired and paused to inhale the gentle briny smell that came either from the sea or the aquarium - I wasn't sure which. Still, the reflections on the water and the waves lapping gently at the piers soothed me, even as I reminded myself to take my anti-depressant, knowing the knot in my stomach over the boy needing money down the street was an overreaction. It's a difficult balance - compassion and common sense - and I feared I'd gotten it wrong. Should I have walked with him back to the hostel? Offered to find him someone to help in a more meaningful way? Or was I just being completely naive?

Just very sheltered, I decided, constantly surrounded by people who love me and will catch me if I trip, unafflicted by urges that make me fall too hard or fast to be saved. And though the process of recovery - insomuch as it involves moderately poor performance at work or napping too often or gaining too much weight - is painful, it always seems possible somehow.

With that, I was suddenly and sharply homesick, though I'd barely been gone a day. I craved the comfort of my mother and Dad's strength, Little's questions and Smallest's giggles and the warmth of Chienne behind my knees as I slept. For Dorothy's lesson has never been lost on me - no matter how many places I see or people I meet, there's no place like home.

Notsob

2011-06-03T21:24:00.006-05:00

I picture her sentences as hills - the childlike lilt and quick cadence is charming, but it often takes her two or three tries to get past the upward slope of the first few words to finish her point.

"Aunt Katie," Smallest said, her arms around my neck after I smiled and stooped to pick her up without dropping the luggage I carried from the plane, "did you - did you - did you ride on the plane? Was the plane ride fast?"

"It must have been," I replied, reaching to smooth Little One's ponytail and smile at my parents who'd come to fetch me from the airport. "I'm early, aren't I?" And, after stopping for breakfast, we came home and I fell into bed to catch up on some dearly missed sleep.

***

The phone rang, awakening me from a deep sleep, and I blinked a couple of times to try to gather my thoughts - remember where I was and why someone was waking me in the darkness - but picked up the receiver and murmured my thanks before glancing at the clock. 4:10AM had shifted to 4:30 by the time I was ready, clothes packed in my small bags and confirmation number scrawled on a sheet of hotel stationary so I could print my boarding pass before catching the shuttle to the airport.

***

"We're lost," I pointed out helpfully to the colleague assigned to cart me from airport to meeting to meeting to meeting and back to the hotel. He was also responsible for general care - making sure I had water and food and changes to freshen up. I enjoy that part of commercial support - the only focus is intellectual. So I put tremendous effort into being engaged and charming and smart during the hours they're showing me off but then relax in the moments between.

Hence, I looked around at the tangle of interstates that curved across bridges and underground but not, apparently, to where my hotel existed. At least in any pattern my host or his trusty GPS could navigate.

"It went well today," I offered as we waited in a slight snarl of traffic and sparked a brief flurry of compliments on how interested everyone had been and how well I'd done and how much I'd helped. I nodded graciously, thinking a reward of getting to the hotel would be lovely, but reminded myself to be patient and watched the light filter through the clouds and remembered how completely charming I find New England.

Upon finally reaching the hotel - having dinner and showering, charging miscellaneous communication devices - I called home and sent some email and tried to relax. Finally, when I scowled at myself for not resting promptly enough, I made a call after midnight to the front desk, thinking I'd not need the wake-up call (I always wake up on time!) but it wouldn't hurt to be extra careful.

***

"Pretty day," I offered as we sat outside, waiting for the next meeting to begin. I drank the water my host bought me and closed my eyes to enjoy the sunshine, finally blinking them open when my phone rang and taking a call to answer questions and offer advice before returning to my admiration of the splashes of color in the flower bed and that ivy-covered building over yonder.

It is pleasant to deal with collaborators - to review our portfolio and take note of interest and gaps, funding and projections. Then I listen, trying to sort through local expertise and strength to find that click of alignment. Sometimes it fits immediately - any easy arrangement and linking of obvious goals. But I enjoy the times when it's less immediate - where it takes attention and creativity and a few moments of wondering if this hour together is going to really suck. Though it sometimes does, those instances are rare - when two groups of smart people have good goals - to help people live better lives, really - there's usually a way to combine efforts. It's just a matter of sorting the pieces and aligning them properly.

And even as I grabbed a cookie at my first meeting, nibbling the edges as I shook hands and collected business cards, I nibbled on a salad before the second, drank coffee before the third. And tried to piece together puzzles and make notes so the next section could be built faster and easier.

***

I waved at Mom and the girls as they dropped me off at Departures.

"I want to give kisses," Smallest cried and I assured her I'd walk around to her side to say good-bye, leaning to hug Little One before telling her I'd see her tomorrow. I kissed Smallest, hugged Mom and rode the escalator to take my place in the security line.

I pranced to the counter when my upgrade was announced, snuggling into my giant seat in business class and deciding a cocktail before 8AM when I had upwards of 14 hours of work ahead of me was tempting but unwise.

Instead I sipped water and nibbled on Combos - I enjoy the cheese and cracker kind - and revised presentations, reviewed spreadsheets and typed replies to a few emails. Then I stared out the window at the scattered clouds - fluffy and wispy by turn - and the landscape vibrant with growth and life below. And I looked forward to what was next - the people and places and things to learn - even as I was eager for it to be over.

Soon, I promised myself, I'd be able to curl in my bed and rest from the physical and mental exhaustion that this day would bring. But until then, I relished the moments that would tire me.

In reverse order.

Trip(s)

2011-06-01T18:21:00.000-05:00

Part 1
I rolled over and glanced at the clock, moaning pitifully when I realized I had to get up. I organized a conference call beginning at 6:30AM and it was nearly 6:15. Deciding to start brushing my teeth while I got coffee, I picked up my laptop and brushed the hair from my eyes before heading downstairs.

I blinked a moment later, looking around blankly and offering an elegant "oof" when I slid down another step on my bottom. I'd fallen down the last 2 or 3 stairs but had been too sleepy to tense up and hurt myself. So I sat for a moment, decided I was mostly unharmed and gathered my energy to focus on mobility before standing up and moving across the living room to grab my toothbrush and wander on to my kitchen.

Dumping coffee in a cup and adding cream, I flopped on the loveseat and dialed the familiar number on the phone perched on my end table. I keyed in my code and pressed # while tensing muscles and deciding I might have a small bruise but would emerge mostly unscathed. From falling down steps. In a house I've owned for nearly 3 years.

Part 2
"Oh," I greeted the stinging insect perched on the driver's door of my Jeep. "Good morning. Could you fly away, please?" When he ignored me, I mustered my courage and oh-so-gently opened the door, climbed slowly inside and oh-so-gently closed it behind me. Then I took a moment to stare through the window at the bee on the of that rubber lining that keeps water from getting in.

I started the car, reversed from the garage and stopped while depressing the garage door opener that clings to my visor. I tapped the window with a fingernail and told him we were going about 10 miles away - a rather lengthy trip for a bug - and that if he wanted to go back to his nest, now was a good time to depart.

"Fly away," I warned as we left my subdivision, the 25mph speed shifting to twice that.

"Fly away," I said more firmly when we stopped at a light. "Now's the time! Look - you can move all your feet. You're not stuck. Use those wings!"

Instead he held said instruments of flight tightly against his stripey body as we wound around the back road and stopped in a modest line of traffic at the stop sign. "Look," I told him as we inched forward, "a lilac! Who doesn't like lilacs?"

"Dude," I said, exasperated and worried about him despite myself, "fly away!" But he didn't listen and we merged on the interstate, barely making it to 70mph before it was my turn to exit about a mile later.

"Well," I concluded, "we're here. This is work. I hope you find friends and a home and something to eat. And if you want to go back, I generally leave here after 5. I'd tell you where the sun was at that time, but I don't know." I shook my head, tucked my keys and bottle of water into my bag and opened the door.

"Don't sting me," I requested and gently pushed the door closed with my fingertips, standing to watch him crawl along the bottom of the window on my door. "Good luck to you then," I said, earning myself an odd look from a colleague I don't know well and smiling at myself before walking to the office.

Part 3
"We packed everything we own," Dad offered after kissing my cheek. The girls were chasing after the friendly cat who lives across the street and Mom greeted Chienne before said dog could run away.

"Well, you are staying for a few days," I noted. "So..." I trailed off when he opened the trunk, stuffed to the brim with bags and blankets and toys. "Wow." But I took as much as I could carry and helped transfer masses of stuff from the car to my formerly-organized home. Even as the 3 adults fetched and carried, the two girls conspired to open the ottoman and retrieve the items I keep for them. So in addition to toys and puzzles, games and art supplies, papers and books and more toys that came from home, there was a complementary collection emerging from my personal stash.

"Wow," I said again after kissing Mom and glancing around before the girls began asking for lunch and a trip to the park. "Welcome!" I grinned. "I leave tomorrow at 6AM."

Part 4th-coming
After spending last weekend blissfully at home, I leave for Point East early tomorrow, staying for about 20 hours. I return home (yay for direct flights!) for 24 hours, then am on a plane for Point West early Saturday. I'll stay in Seattle for 3 days and, since it's my second trip, am open to suggestions of interesting things to do with what spare time I can find.

Anybody?

Sweet Poison

2011-05-31T17:27:00.005-05:00

"Other countries seem much more cautious about aspartame than we are," I spoke into the silence at the lunch table. Placing the napkin I plucked from the dispenser in my lap, I glanced at the trio of tense faces that had turned to me when I took my seat and spoke. "When I was in Canada," I continued, "there were warnings on the rim of the can. In red letters."

"Red," offered Sibling and I frowned at her for not being more helpful in my attempts to distract my lunch companions for whatever unpleasantness had come before I'd arrived.

"Red," I confirmed. "The color of warnings. And evil!"

"I read it is bad for you," PrettyHair offered. "There are warnings in Europe too."

"I heard somewhere that we didn't warn people because the FDA granted some sort of exception during a presidency in the past - I want to say FDR, but that could be very wrong - but other countries don't have the same affection for certain types of artificial sweeteners."

"You can drink diet soda in Europe," Adam noted and I nodded at him, blinking when PrettyHair swung around to glare at him.

"Only if you're dieting!" she exclaimed passionately and he scoffed before saying that nobody asks if you're on a diet before letting you buy soda.

"You can buy it," she agreed, "but people don't. Because it can cause cancer."

"It only caused cancer in mice at very large quantities," he replied with more anger than necessary as Sibling and I exchanged meaningful glances.

"What's the name of the new one?" Sibling asked and I cocked my head at her.

"Splenda?" I suggested and frowned when she shook her head.

"No," she confirmed. "Something like, 'it comes from a little green leaf,'" she sang.

"Truvia," Adam and I answered together. I grinned at PrettyHair and indicated we must watch more television that she does.

"I read," she said defensively and I patted her hand before sipping my Diet Pepsi. "And I think that can make you sick," she warned, pointing at the bottle I placed on the corner of my tray.

"Maybe," I replied. "My parents sent me an email forward - they do love email forwards - and said someone had recovered from MS or epilespy after not drinking diet soda. But I like it."

"Unless you're shoveling in sweetener from a 5 pound bag every day, I think you're fine," Adam offered in support.

"You don't know that," PrettyHair argued. "You don't know everything."

I shrugged when she looked at me for support. "I didn't read the actual study," I offered gently. "But nobody knows everything. You're right about that." I turned to face Adam and said very seriously, "You do not know everything." He winked at me and I smiled, waving when he finally left so we could talk about him.

"Are you OK?" I asked PrettyHair and made my most sympathetic face when she sighed. Sibling and I listened while she talked and offered some insight.

"It just sucks sometimes," she concluded and we nodded.

"And this is why we drink poison," I quipped before throwing away my trash and carrying what was left of my beverage back to my desk.

Bullets

2011-05-31T06:52:00.003-05:00

It is hot.
I do not like hot.
It is hot even at 6AM when I take Chienne for a walk.
Chienne rolled in something dead on our walk. In the hot. That did not improve my mood.
Post bath for her and shower for me, I am feeling a bit cooler and happier.
Still. Summer is not my season.
I did have a nice weekend! No travel.
I mowed my lawn.
And ran errands.
And made my way through an impressive stack of papers that I'd read but not summarized.
My process is that I take notes on the back of the first page of an article as I read. Then I type up paragraphs that I put online for reference. It works pretty well.
Then when people read my summaries, they correct points I may have misstated or missed completely. Then we all learn something! (And I'm a little embarrassed but I've long since stopped pretending I'm infallible.)
My dad sold the giant van. He was very proud but I was sad. I'm always sad when we sell or trade cars - I don't think I've ever not cried. I'm not sure why I get so attached to objects.
Lilacs are starting to bloom here! I love lilacs. But people tend to have them in backyards where I can't (or shouldn't) go to breathe them in and admire their delicate blossoms.
Then again, lilacs do belong in backyards - over sandboxes or forming a hedge around a child's secret fort.
Mom planted a starter from Grandma's lilac bush (that used to shade my sandbox) under my window when we moved into my parents' house long ago. It's very healthy.
We've tried twice to coax a starter to grow for me. Failed miserably both times.
I also love peonies from Grandma's garden, even if they did attract ants.
I have a peony bush in my back yard - Dad usually mows it down, but Mom saved it this year on a visit and it's starting to bud! I'm very excited about this and keep squinting off my back deck at it.
I've missed you - and tried to write something - but, as evidenced above - I don't have a lot that's interesting to say.

The Travel

2011-05-26T06:12:00.005-05:00

Growing up, I was fascinated by travel - reading of far-away places and fascinating people and wishing I was able to visit them. Given that we flew all of once as a family, that seemed a bit of an unlikely goal but I'm a homebody at heart so those places on the globe became fun fantasies.

In junior high, we could win a trip to the annual conference - in northern Illinois (not Chicago) - if we acquired the most points. So I babysat at PTA meetings. Sold soda and snacks at basketball games. Ran for (and won - I was super-cool) state representative. And was granted a spot in the rented van and a cheap hotel to learn about leadership. And it was awesome. And so that trend continued once in grad school - write abstracts and go places! My list in grad school - if memory serves - included Kyoto and Miami, Toronto and London. And I took So Many Pictures - the kind that were developed and printed on paper!

Since starting the blog, I've seen some places. Done some things. And thought I'd capture a list for easy (and alphabetical) reference.

Barcelona, uno
Barcelona, dos
Boston
Calgary
Chicago, 2007
Chicago, 2010
Disney World
Dollywood
Florida, Atlantic Coast
Honolulu
Los Angeles, just north of
London
Madrid
Manchester and points west, UK
Montreal
Munich
New York City
North Shore
Osaka
Paris
Paris (same trip but I so loved Paris)
Peoria
Phoenix
Poconos
Raleigh
San Diego
San Francisco, 1
San Francisco, 2
Savannah
Seattle
Seoul
Smoky Mountains
Stockholm
Tokyo
Toronto
Upper Midwest in Winter
Vancouver
Waikiki
Washington, DC
West, unspecified

Transit to Asia - Because I do get deliriously tired and found this memory to be amusing.

7:20PM
There's a person in a mask! He means to do me harm! I look closer and realize it's a woman with her hair in a barrette. I shiver, sigh and try to rest again.

7:30PM
There's a spider on me! A white spider! I look closely, in horror of course, and realize it's a spot on the carpet. Sigh again when I realize my vision is unreliable in my state of exhaustion.

Loss, Links & Long Days

2011-05-17T21:59:00.006-05:00

"I need to take a walk," I announced after a deliciously indulgent Southern breakfast. Stuffed full of a fresh biscuit coated with gravy with a side of bacon and eggs, I wondered briefly if it would hurt when I had a heart attack or what region of my brain might suffer most during a stroke. Frowning when my hosts wanted to take teleconferences in the car, I abandoned them without regret to wander the pleasant neighborhood our diner inhabited.

I paused to take photos, charmed by the juxtaposition of new flowers against old brick buildings, overgrown bushes laden with pink blossoms next to shiny cars neatly aligned on blacktop surfaces. I lifted my face to the sun, paused to admire the clouds, and continued along the sidewalk, smiling at people who passed by.

Being in the South, even for less than 24 hours, elicits a bittersweet homesickness for a home I no longer have. Cheese biscuits and conversations with Friend. Matlab code and journal revisions and the cadence of Boss's voice when he'd offer advice. I nearly wept when I saw him, by the way, when we were both in the same place at the same time recently. He stood patiently while I finished a conversation, but as soon as I turned my head to see him, I smiled widely and blinked back tears.

"I have to go," I interrupted my colleague. "That's Boss and I love him." And so we hugged and talked and I basked in the sameness of him - of the constant kindness and gentle strength and aura of comfort. "I miss you," I told him and nodded when he said they missed me too. I sighed against the ache in my heart as I remembered it this morning and walked back to the car, waiting in the sunshine until their conversation ceased and we set off for our next meeting.

"Do you have a moment to talk?" I asked Advisor on the phone the other day, beginning the conversation with the man who led my graduate career in much the same way as two other women began conversations with me. "I have colleagues - friends, really - who have family members suffering from a disease of interest. And they're aware - primarily because I talk all the time - of new research and alternate therapies and want advice on who they can see and what they can do. And it's sweet - this urge to help someone they love - so who do you know that I can ask for favors?"

And because I do him favors - talk to students interested in Industry, offer feedback on papers in my area of expertise - he paused to think before rattling off names, ordering me to call him back if they were not properly responsive.

I called one friend back with a new name and Google search term before eating my seafood bisque with the colleague - not yet friend - across the table of the airport restaurant.

"I feel like an old woman sometimes," I admitted, pausing to poke at the lumps of crab in my bowl admiringly. "I'm tired."

"You got in late," he replied and I nodded, remembering the trudge through this same airport after midnight. Traveling for 8 hours after putting in 10 at the office. The emails unanswered (but read - I always read email promptly) and ever-growing lists of tasks. The meager hours I slept, interrupted by an alarm set for 5AM, and a burst of knowledge at 6:30 that I'd not completed my presentation.

"Tell Adam," I joked after said colleague noted my amazing performance this afternoon. I was charming and funny, smart and engaging. I shrugged at the quizzical look I received in response to my comment and noted that Adam wanted to travel with me as he was concerned at how I interacted with customers.

"You're perfect," he protested - my colleague and now friend - and I smiled at him sleepily before rising to give hugs, pressing my cheek to his for a moment in grateful affection for a much-needed compliment. Deciding said compliment, even paired with a new necklace and shiny shoes, was inadequate to coax myself through the trip home, I bought a book - a rather racy romance - and chocolate. And settled in to write a blog post at the gate before returning to rest and repeat the cycle of lengthy days.

Late Bloomer

2011-05-14T09:50:00.009-05:00

I winced, both at the conversation I could overhear and the odor of burning electronics in the Physics lab. I huddled quietly in the basement of the science structure on my undergraduate campus, waving my hands and blowing frantically at the poor circuit board to dispel the wispy trails of smoke that wafted upward.

"Crap, crap, crap," I muttered, glaring at my independent study workbook and wishing I was less of a 'guess and check' scientist. Feeling rather inadequate over my failure already, I cocked my head to listen as the president of our Physics Society spoke to the Department Chair.

"She just said she couldn't make it," the former told the latter. "No suggestions of another time. No plans for how she could be involved apart from the meetings. Just - no, but thanks. She doesn't fit in."

And I blinked back tears, feelings terribly hurt but knowing he was right. I didn't find Physics all that interesting, frankly, and if I couldn't follow step-by-step instructions within the detailed pages on the thick black table before me, how could I get excited about joining a group of boys who wanted to build robots and discuss advanced calculus? So while I wanted to be geeky and smart and belong, I did not. And the knowledge made me terribly sad.

Maybe it would happen later, I hoped as I returned to the cozy apartment with bright green carpet that I shared with 3 other young women.

"I think I caught the circuit board on fire," I told one roommate sadly and she put her shoulder against mine as we sat on the plaid couch and said that probably happened to a lot of people. And I was comforted by the gentle support, the uncompromising loyalty, the scoffing dismissal of the Silly Physics Society and it's president. And then it didn't hurt to breathe anymore. I had someone who loved me. Who wanted to spend time with me. Who thought I was special and smart and funny and worthwhile and...beautiful, somehow. Full of potential but also lovely the way I was. There was no need in that moment to grow my stem or spread my leaves or hope my petals were the proper color. I just rested my head on Anna's shoulder and soaked in the support like sunshine.

Conversely, I felt shrouded in darkness under a cloudless sky when I sat in the circle on the grass at the end of junior high. I had been the only one at leadership camp to indicate I'd rather spend time with family than friends. And I looked around at my fellow campers, all of us awkward and odd in various ways, and wondered what was so wrong with me. Why I didn't feel the same sense of unity with my peers and eschewed time with them for sharing conversations with Mom or reading books alone in my bedroom. There were no friends I trusted with secrets, having been crushed when people talked about me or judged my feelings or choices.

Better, I decided, to remain contained and a bit aloof. Less risky. And that trend held true as I finished 8th grade and moved to high school. I thought I found friends a couple times - felt this flutter of hope that someone knew and liked me - and was always proven wrong by giggles around corners or whispers in the back of the room.

It was likely a valuable, albeit painful, learning experience - predicting motives, reading facial expressions and body language, slowly understanding that unhappy people make others miserable, often inadvertently, and that a core of confidence and strength was necessary to withstand that and to find those people who could love me after I finished high school.

And find them I did, though the effort was more theirs than mine, as they nudged against barriers and coaxed me through conversations and tolerated my need for solitude. I still remember falling asleep in my dorm room and later in that 4-bedroom, 2-bathroom apartment just across the street from campus, and feeling blessed that I had friends. Eventually, I thought, colleagues would follow the same trend. I would find people at work - it would just take me more time than it did others.

Sure enough, it happened in grad school. Through classmates and my research group, I had people I loved as friends and respected as intellectuals. And I took to them like a duck to water, trained by my college roommates to believe that the right people would love and take care of me.

Upon arrival in Montreal, I shuddered as I sat in the taxi next to a scientist at work. "I despise that man," I told him and he looked at me in surprise.

"I couldn't tell," he finally replied, referring to my friendly greeting and polite conversation as we waited in line for our car.

"I tried very hard," I commented. "But that was Pete." And he shook his head as I told him the story and said derogatory things about Pete's character, with which I agreed. "Horrible man," I noted in conclusion. And I learned - admittedly late - that while there are people you can trust and adore, it does not apply to every person in my career. And while I'm not completely bitter anymore, I do still retrain that instinctive distrust of certain people. Which is likely healthy, I suppose.

I'll admit I assumed the trend would hold for falling in love as well. That - eventually - someone would come along who thought my flaws were charming and saw beauty and potential and something wonderful. And so my heart flutters when I feel I might be close - when I might have found someone I think is amazing who returns my smiles or tangles his fingers with mine. But those splashes of color are, for me, delicate. The petals droop and wither, stems bend against the pressure of wind and rain and I remain alone.

But wiser, I offer when in need of comfort. With a solid family who calls to tell me Chienne takes naps with Smallest One and ran around my parents' yard chasing tennis balls and frisbees while I'm traveling through next week. Friends who send email even after I've neglected them for months, making my heart happy even as I acknowledge how much I miss them. Colleagues who, for the most part, are supportive and friendly and brilliant - even as I figure out which to trust and how to hold people at a respectable distance. And maybe love will happen. Later.

± 7

2011-05-10T22:14:00.001-05:00

Today
You know how some things just feel right? After you make a decision or submit a manuscript or accept a job offer and you have that happily peaceful feeling that you did something positive? You're on the right path? Then there are times I'm less certain. Where I'm torn between pros and cons and can't figure out if I'd be happier with or without. And then I struggle, my brain busily teasing out every detail, worrying about potential outcomes, hurt feelings, catastrophic harm.

I have lately been a little lost. Questioning my career path and regretting some personal choices. Wanting to sleep more and work less. Cringing when my phone rings instead of answering with curiosity or confidence. I just haven't felt good - happily peaceful - about life in general for a while now.

And I miss it.

-7
In 2004, I found myself in jolly old England, a place I'd wanted to visit since my literature class in high school and that I was constantly amazed to exist in once I arrived. I was nearly giddy with the old and interesting buildings! Charming accents! Shops and tea and cookies! Oops, biscuits! But still!!!

It was the first meeting I'd attended solo, Advisor and students in my group all having various conflicts. So I flew across the Atlantic with some trepidation but was so impossibly charmed when I arrived that I couldn't help but smile as I walked and looked and listened.

I got lost, of course, my poor sense of direction combined with my distracting curiosity and rampant photo-taking to leave me in a place and not knowing where I was or what direction to go. And so I would find a spot out of people's way and stare at the map in my guidebook. Look carefully at street signs and painstakingly orient myself before stepping (without much confidence) in the direction I thought might be right.

I forced myself to talk to people. To encourage questions at my poster presentation. To ask questions at other posters. (I still don't know if I could ask a question after a talk - it seems quite scary.) To ask strangers to dinner or coffee. To join other students for a drink in a pub just down the way.

And I was so proud of myself - I still remember puffing up with self-confidence when I mustered my courage and tried so hard and it went OK.

+7
It frankly amazes me how extensive my network has become. How I've seen 3 people so far who I knew as academic and hundreds (literally) who know me from my current role. And while some of those relationships were carefully planned and executed and maintained, others just happened. Someone would remember that I laughed at his joke or said something charming in a meeting. I answered a student's question or took a phone call about a research submission or connected two colleagues working on similar projects.

And so even as I catch up with one collaborator, making notes and asking questions, I sometimes break eye contact to smile at a colleague, wink at a friend or reach to rub a shoulder of someone I think is wonderful. I chirp hellos on my way to buy water or find chamomile tea or reach a different meeting room.

And it's easy somehow - the idle chatting, the direct questions, even dealing with problems. I find I know what to say and when I flub it, I shrug it off far more quickly than I once did. I want to understand things, so sometimes I ask obvious questions or require additional detail. I want people to like me so I take extra meetings and make additional presentations and answer a few more questions. And I find it feels good - more toward the 'happily peaceful' state I like to inhabit.

-7
I finally gave up on myself in London, accepting that I required a guide to at least glance at everything in this amazing city where I only had a day away from the conference where I had free time. So I got on a bus, taking a seat on the double of the deckers and rode around, listening to the British voice in my headphones tell me about Peter Pan in that park or the royal family who lived behind those gates or how that building there was like a wedding cake.

In truth, I don't mind being told what to do. I'm good at following directions and learning by example or trial and error. I don't like making mistakes but I will do and generally try to make it better somehow. So though London seemed to go by far too fast as I rode on that bus, I did feel safe and protected and productive. At least until I had to find my way through the tangle of streets and pretty things to see to arrive back at my hotel.

+7
I feel a bit less lost having spent time here. I wandered around the old section of town this afternoon, needing some time in the sunshine and some photos for my blog. I made my way around with lazy confidence, not looking at my map or really caring what I saw or how I got there. I had some time and comfortable flats and while my dress was wispy, my tights and sweater kept me warm.

As I stepped carefully on the streets, uneven with stones that had shifted or cracked over time, I realized I'm finding a bit of balance again - I'm not positive this is exactly the right path, but I believe I'm directionally correct. I think there are some changes to be made - learn to breathe properly, listen to God, pay attention to my body, find my bliss at work once again - but I think I can find my way.

After many years of getting pretty lost, I should be good at it.

± 8

2011-05-09T21:45:00.001-05:00

Perhaps it was because Suzy - who reminds me a bit of a younger Katie in only good ways - sent an email. As I wrote her back I was thinking of myself when I was finishing my Masters in 2003 and realized it was then that I attended my first first conference. And since I am returning to the friendly confines of Canada, albeit a different city, I thought an indulgently retrospective post would be a pleasant progress check.

2003
I'd not been on a plane since a single ride when Brother was still in diapers, making me all of 5 or 6 years old. I was beyond terrified about air travel (at all of 24 years of age) and considered driving to Toronto. Which while not impossible, certainly did not match the plans of my peers. And I did want to fit in.

So I remember sitting in the small airport in my grad school city and trembling with nerves. A younger student in my group arrived just before boarding and took the window seat beside me once on the plane, burying his cute little nose in a magazine while I watched the flight attendant with utter focus, making my seatbelt painfully tight in an effort to become as safe as humanly possible.

"We're not going fast enough," I whispered to 1stYear and he turned to look at me quizzically.

"We're taxiing, Katie," he replied before flipping a page and returning to his reading. I clenched every muscle in my body and stared in horror out the window as we made a turn then picked up speed. As the wheels left the ground, I nearly hyperventilated, so consuming was my panic.

I could have reached for 1stYear's hand - he wasn't a bad guy and would have offered comfort had he known I needed it - but I remembered that he disclosed that many girls had crushes on him. And there's nothing that takes a boy - then or now - from 'ooh' to 'ew' faster than knowing he thinks he's pretty. So I panted and prayed and panicked on my own.

"I can't do this but I can't avoid it!" I remember thinking, wondering how the hell I was going to make it through the short flight and then force myself onto a connecting flight to get to Toronto.

+8
"Hey, Katie," a colleague greeted me. I glanced up and smiled, a mere 10 pages into the book I'd just purchased and tucked my boarding pass between the pages before tossing it in my bag and giving my attention to him.

We chatted pleasantly - of inconsequential things - until it was time to board. I wandered down the jetway and stuffed my duffel into the overhead bin before tucking my laptop away in front of me. I read a magazine on the short flight, burying my own cute little nose in the pages and ignoring my surroundings until we reached the connecting airport.

I boarded the next flight just as easily, mostly relaxed due to extensive experience being up in the air. I read the papers I brought along, underlining words and phrases and making notes in the margins so I could write my own summaries. I mapped out questions and looked over my plans for the week, tapped the screen in front of me to watch news and a comedy before landing and clearing customs. (How much do I love personalized in-flight entertainment? So Much!)

I couldn't remember the exact date so I guessed as I filled in my card. And some of my letters extended outside their allocated boxes. But I'll admit I remain fairly careful, always eager to earn approval by following rules.

-8
I was wired upon arrival, having sipped every last drop of my water and crunched on the ice cubes on both flights. On our last one, I filled out my immigration card with complete attention and care, clutching it and my brand-new passport in trembling hands as I wondered whether the Canadians would be so cruel as to deny me entry and force me back on a dreaded plane before I'd mustered my courage over the coming week.

They did let us in, of course, and we took a cab (I paid as 1stYear's ATM card didn't work and my careful planning left me with some $300 Canadian in cash) to the hotel.

"Wow," I murmured when we entered the lobby, a bellman taking our suitcases and walking them up the steps. My family was firmly middle class and while we vacationed every year, we often stayed at motels on the beach or reasonably-priced Holiday Inns or Marriotts. The Fairmont had just taken ownership of the Royal York in Toronto and it sparkled with grandeur. I remember thinking it was the most wonderful hotel I'd ever seen inside and peered up at the architectural details in the lobby and grinned giddily when they offered me a key to a room.

+8
I so desperately wanted to take off my flip flops. It generally seems endless to me - that journey from the plane to immigration - especially after long flights (which this one was not, but bear with me while I whine). So I flipped and flopped my way along long corridors and past many doorways until I reached the border agent.

I laughed when he asked why I'd want to go to a conference. "It's for business," I replied, "though there are great people and interesting science too."

We sped away from the airport in a cab, reaching downtown when I waved to my colleague as he went to another hotel, leaving me at the Fairmont once again. While it's not the nicest hotel I've ever visited, the rooms are generously sized and the service is excellent.

"I'm so sick," I told reception at 5AM today, having been up since 4 and throwing up since 4:15. "I need Tylenol PM - it's the only thing that works when I'm vomiting and have a migraine."

"The convenience store is closed in the hotel," she replied regretfully. "But we can go across town to get some from the pharmacy."

"Yes. Please. Hurry," I replied, hanging up the bathroom phone to heave painfully once again.

"The bellman is on his way up," she reported after an excruciating 30 minutes when I sat up from my nest of towels on the bathroom floor, her voice gentle. I thanked her and slipped into a robe, having thrown up on my only pair of sleepy pants, and shuffled to the door to take the bag and swallow 2 Tylenol and a Unisom (apparently Canada doesn't believe in Tylenol PM).

Prayer answered, it stayed down and I was soon asleep with a last grateful thought to some lovely people who work at the Fairmont.

-8
I moved into the room, unpacked, and stared out the window at the building across the street. Carrie arrived and I tried to mimic her nonplussed attitude about our surroundings, blinking when she immediate called for more hangers and extra pillows and asking if I wanted room service. We giggled and talked and arranged our various things and she frowned at the sound of the elevator dinging when it reached our floor - our room was not far from the bank of lifts. I, however, remained positively charmed, eager to walk the city and attend the conference and learn wonderful things.

I learned so much at that meeting. Watched in awe as people whose papers I read walked by as if they weren't spectacularly brilliant and famous. Presented my poster with nervous terror, praying nobody would ask me a difficult question as I fussed with my 3rd nice outfit so carefully selected from a closet full of jeans and sweatshirts. Carrie and I took a boat ride on the lake. I went drinking with the boys one night and felt so terribly grown up and worldly as we walked/stumbled down the streets of Tornoto toward our gorgeous hotel.

+8
I walked home from a late dinner last night - pre-horrible-sickness - with colleagues I like and respect. I greeted collaborators and hugged coworkers throughout the day, accepting their offers to fetch me water or pills or told me to sit down. I listened to requests and offered explanations. I answered questions and took notes on emails to send or presentations to make. I was busy and productive and happy, even as my hands shook and I winced against the lingering headache.

I watched the young ones walk around, look at posters, peer into meeting rooms. I honestly don't envy them for it's not an easy road to get from there to here - to lose some of that naive confidence and build some with a more solid foundation. To realize there's no shame in asking questions or admitting ignorance because it allows for growth and knowledge. To find your balance - at least sometimes - professionally and personally. And while I wouldn't do it over, I also wouldn't give it up - that path I've taken. I've loved people and learned things and gone places. And it's fun to dig out pictures and recall those trips, even as they differ from this one.

Belly Breathing

2011-05-06T22:02:00.001-05:00

"Well," he said, leaning into me and keeping pressure on my back with his forearm, "you get a gold star. I've done this for 20 years and don't remember the last time I felt anyone this tight." I laughed for a moment, breathing and trying to relax as I pressed my face into the cradle and wanted to purr with pleasure.

"Are you familiar with the concept of body armoring?" he asked, pressing and kneading and coaxing muscles to release their tension. When I said I had not, he explained that there are some theories that indicate muscles retain memory of trauma and cause chronic pain or discomfort.

"Like," he explained, "when a lion attacks a zebra. The zebra can fight, flee or freeze." Sure he was going to say 'fornicate' I scolded myself before continuing to listen. "And if the lion decides he's not hungry after all and releases the zebra, it plays dead. And after the lion leaves, it shakes itself off and goes on about its life. But we're not as good as shaking it off - we remember those times we were afraid and embarrassed or angry and our body absorbs that and can't seem to release it. Are you anxious?"

"Always," I replied, whimpering when he worked on my neck, calling a muscle 'squirrelly' when it refused to smooth into its friends, twanging like a giant band against the strokes and pressure. "And sad. I take pills."

"Does it feel like a constant conversation in your head?" he asked and I thought about it while he worked at my shoulder.

"It's not as bad as it was," I told him. "During my post-doc, I was very depressed and the sadness just drowned everything else. The anxiety and depression aren't nearly as bad as they were now that I'm medicated. So it's more like a low-level hum in the background."

"That's as much as I can get this time," he decided and had me turn over. He started on my shoulders again as I listened to the soothing music he played and the playing children at the playground outside. "Your body remembers all that pain," he said. "You want to let that go and wear your body more comfortably."

"My body just carries around my brain," I told him.

"So you don't like it," he clarified.

"Not really, I guess," I replied. "I remember I used to get terrible cramps growing up - stomach pain - and so I dissociated from it. It was happening to my body but not really connected to me. And now I just ignore it mostly - I don't like headaches or shoulder problems because they're close to my brain. But the farther the pain is from my head, the better I feel about it."

He made a sound of understanding.

"Plus, if you're talking about therapy, I was bad at it. It just hurt - I cried and ached and it didn't really change much. I like the drugs. Prozac, some anti-anxiety pill I take when I need it. Advil for headaches, Tylenol for other pain. Melatonin to sleep. Nyquil when I'm stuffy or coughing. Chemicals are awesome."

He warned me about Advil on an empty stomach, making me frown with stories of a friend who threw up blood. I sighed when he finished his story and he placed a hand on my collarbone.

"Do you feel how your chest moves when you sigh?" he asked and I blinked my eyes open to look at him.

"I guess," I replied, having never thought about it.

"Good, soothing breaths come from here," he instructed, touching my tummy. "Try to move my hand." After focusing as hard as I could, I was unable to breathe with my belly so I shrugged and nudged at his hand with mine. He grinned at me and demonstrated a proper breath, nodding encouragingly when I tried to mimic the inhale and longer exhale through the nose.

"Now try again - not from your chest but from your diaphragm."

"Ow," I protested for the first time in our session when he pressed gently below my breasts. I rubbed at the spot - it was viciously sore - and he looked at me calmly. "I put all the pressure I could on your back and you didn't make a peep. And you can't tolerate any pressure at all there?"

"Is that not normal?" I asked. "I always assumed everyone hurt there - like when my cat steps on me and it's a sharp, stabbing pain. Not everyone does that?"

"No," he replied simply. "Your system is all kinds of knotted up. This will be a craniosacral pressure. Breathe," he instructed and with a hand behind my back, gently nudged at my diaphragm with two fingers while I made faces at the ceiling.

"When you breathe properly, it's like a massage for your organs. They shift and nudge against each other and everything is flexible and fluid."

"OK," I said, wincing, "well, they appear to be scraping against each other now because this is unpleasant."

"We're done for now," he said and left the room so I could dress. I emerged a moment later, still rubbing just above my tummy and cocking my head at him.

"I'd like to come back," I said, feeling somehow peaceful and hopeful that he might be able to quiet my mind and ease the constant pressure and pain in my body. "What would you recommend?"

"For you? Right now? Every week," he offered. "And you need to breathe - lie down on your back and put a small weight on your belly and try to move the book. 10 minutes a day. And be aware of your body - just in small ways. Sit up straight so your shoulders don't ache. Drink more water. Take more walks. Something small so that you can begin your healing journey."

And while I normally eschew woo-woo approaches for chemicals in candy-coatings, I'm clear that my current operating mechanisms are ineffective. So let's try deep breathing and craniosacral massage and blending mental and physical therapy from a holistic center. I'll let you know how it goes.

Happy Heart

2011-05-03T08:02:00.000-05:00

I do not enjoy talking to Dad on the phone. He tells the same stories. And they're not interesting. And sometimes they're judgmental and mean. They're often boring. So I admit to sighing when he calls to check in since he does like to use his cell. It makes him feel important.

I find it lovely how happy I've been to speak to him this week. How closely I listen to the tone of his voice and pace of his words. So whether we discuss cardiac rehabilitation or Seal Team 6 or how Smallest wants him to come home right now, my heart feels happy when I get to hear his voice and know what he's thinking.

He has been thinking - mostly - that he wants to go home. As does Mom, who has been sleeping on a roll-away bed with a bad pillow and thin blanket. But it makes my heart happy to hear how grateful she is that he's OK. To know she wants him around, even though he's sometimes frustrating and annoying and tiresome. It's just very sweet.

So I call. On my way to work at 7AM. Again after a meeting ends at 10:55. On my way home after work. And before 9PM so I can make sure all is well before they go to sleep. And my 'way home' call was preempted by news that they were home. And happy. And healthy for now.

The hell of chronic diseases - and so many of ours are, living as we do in developed societies - is that they're coming back. You can battle and manage symptoms and prevent the worst of episodes, but, if you live long enough, the likelihood increases that the same old problems will reappear.

So I'm sure I'll eventually return to wincing when Dad calls and I'd rather be doing something else. But for now, I smile at the sound of his voice.

Up-da(d)-te

2011-05-01T12:12:00.004-05:00

The windows creaked against the whoosh of the wind inside my pretty, old church. I sat one pew from the back and greeted the pastor with a weak smile.

"I've been a little lost for a while," I confessed and watched him frown with concern. "But I'd like you to pray. For my dad. He's having an emergency heart procedure done now."

I nodded when he confirmed that it was happening as we read bulletins and listened to the prelude and told him Dad's name. He patted my hand in comfort and I watched the sun stream through the eastern windows and sparkle on the blue and yellow glass. I watched the lilies as they perched elegantly around the sanctuary and kept my thumb on the 'answer' button of my Blackberry throughout the service.

"He's going in now," Mom had said, her voice quivering, at 9:30AM.

"I'm going to church," I told her. "I'll pray and keep my phone on - call me when you know something."

And when Pastor was still talking about doubting Thomas at 10:25, I felt my hands tremble as they clutched my phone. Placing stents is common and not all that difficult (I've heard) - it should not have taken an hour. I had comforted myself that we'd be fine when I thought of the Smallest One and my heart ached. "Please don't take him," I asked God silently. "Not now. Not yet." And blessed Pastor for praying for Dad first when it was time for concerns of the congregation.

I left my phone on the pew when we approached the altar for communion. I needed it - the sense of renewal, connection, tradition, comfort. And that was when I missed the call.

Taste of wine lingering on my tongue, I scampered outside as I dialed my family. The wind blew hair around face and skirt around legs as exited the side door and heard Brother say that Dad was fine. I sat on the front steps made of stone, between two patches of happy daffodils, when he said one artery had closed completely once again. So he had, in fact, been having mild heart attacks for at least a couple of days.

"But they put a new stent above the old one," Brother said. "And said he'd take blood thinners for another day or two and then go back on the typical dose."

I nodded, grateful and overwhelmed and relieved. And I wept when Brother handed off the phone.

"Hi, Daddy," I said, hoping the wind would sweep away any quivers in my voice. "You're all fixed up now?"

"Yeah," he replied, voice sounding higher than normal - tired and fragile and beloved. "My artery was blocked again."

"I heard," I replied, wishing I could squeeze his hand. "But they fixed it."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I can't sit up for 3 hours," he parroted his instructions. "But I'm going to be fine."

"I think so," he said after a moment when I asked if the pain was gone. "I let them give me the sissy medicine - the stuff that relaxes me."

"Good," I praised, not even rolling my eyes at the drug identification. "We prayed for you at church. You were first."

"That's good," he said. "I'm just tired now. And I can't sit up for 3 hours. But I'm going to be fine." After agreeing that we were both glad he was OK and loved each other a lot, we bid farewell and I sobbed when hearing him ask who wanted to talk next. Because that happens every time - short calls or long, when I'm at work or home or abroad. He never hangs up without making sure there's not someone else waiting their turn. And it's the little things that sometimes capture my emotional balance.

"Do you want me to come home?" I asked Brother when I heard his voice.

"You can," he said, "but I got this." And so, after talking with Mom a bit later, I've decided that they're OK without me for now. Dad has "a few days" to stay at the hospital - nobody's able to tell me what they're planning to monitor, but everyone sounds relieved. So Dad will rest - no ventilator, just rest - and Mom will fuss and make phone calls and Brother will - hopefully - be the good child who helps and solves problems and calls doctors mediocre if need be.

But we're fine.

Thank you.

Sunday in Spring

2011-05-01T07:42:00.003-05:00

"Let's go see the flowers," I told my hound after I'd had coffee, taken a shower and emptied the dishwasher and the new email from my inbox. There are a bright bunch of daffodils sunning themselves at the entry of our subdivision. And I wanted to take a photo of the flowers.

The sun shined. There was a cool breeze. And I felt peaceful as we moved briskly through the morning. I scolded Chienne when she stepped in people's lawns - I have a rule against such things and she tests me some mornings, tossing a one-eyed glare over her shoulder when I object and tug on her leash.

Still, it was - it is - springtime. Hopeful and quiet and pretty.

I returned to the house and grabbed a bottle of water to sip after blowing my nose. The wind has quieted from its gusts of yesterday but still blows the freshly-cut grass and wisps of pollen, making my eyes itch and nose run. It's a price I'm happy to pay for opening the house, letting the fresh air in.

"Hello," I answered the phone cheerfully, seeing my father's full name appear on the corner of my television screen. Tired of the news, I switched to reruns of Law & Order. I smiled upon hearing Mom's voice - I'd complained bitterly yesterday of how pointless my job was, how I wasn't sure how to be happier. But prayer and exercise and a beautiful day had raised my spirits - I felt more stable and capable today.

"We're at the hospital," she told me gently and I blinked, smile falling from my face as I stared at the television without seeing it. "Your dad was having pain last night - back pain - so we came in at 1:30 this morning."

She paused because I always have questions - specific requests for information delivered in order of importance - but I couldn't think. Images - emotions - flashed quickly. Sobbing in Uncle's arms outside the waiting room of the cath lab my last year of college. Having Brother insist that we call Dad's brother to tell him. Mom asking bad questions when I wanted our liason to return to the procedure - to return if there was more urgent news than which area was blocked or where the stents were going.

"His EKGs are mostly normal," Mom continued when I didn't speak. "And his enzymes were just a little off when they last checked. So they're not sure if it's his heart or just back pain. We're waiting for the cardiologist now, but they are planning to admit him. The girl just came in and said so."

I shook my head, trying to jostle my brain into processing the information. "I," I paused, still trying to think, "Should I come home?" I asked my mother.

"I don't think so," she replied thoughtfully. "It's all pretty routine - not like last time."

"Do you have a private room?" I asked, wincing while I wondered what the hell difference it made. And nodding when she said they were still in the ER. That Dad had been in too much pain to rest and that she'd used her sweatshirt as a pillow.

"Brother is going to work," she told me and I nodded - my younger sibling is not good at hospitals. "But we expect we won't be here more than a day - we'll figure out what this is and they'll go in and fix it."

"Of course," I agreed. "Will you tell him I love him?"

"You can talk to him," she said and handed the phone to my father.

"Hi," I echoed and sat silently, picturing him in bed with the wires and tubes and remembering timing by breath to his on the ventilator years ago.

"I'm fine," I replied when he asked. "We took a walk. To look at the flowers. Chienne was a bad dog. But I'm fine. How are you?"

"I hurt," he admitted and I asked why the morphine hadn't worked. "I don't know," he sighed and I heard him shift positions. "They said it was a mild dose - I guess they didn't give me enough."

"Oh," I murmured softly. "That surprises me. But maybe they need to know about the pain so they can fix it."

"Yeah, maybe." His voice was quiet. Tired. Docile. "They're just going to bleed the insurance company for a while and then I'll get to go home."

I huffed a false chuckle and said that was OK. He agreed and echoed my I love you. And so I keep my cell phone on and still plan to attend church in search of peace and prayers. I sent a note to a colleague requesting the latter and felt tears well. But I blinked them back - am blinking them back now - because we'll be OK.

Still. Please pray.

Q & A

2011-04-30T21:44:00.003-05:00

Want to know something bad?

I spent a few hours playing Avenue Flo Special Delivery this evening.

Want to know something worse?

I was unable to find all the balloons in a game that must be geared for elementary students and cheated online so I could finish and help Quinn throw Vicki a baby shower. (To be fair, I only had trouble finding stuff - the 20th glass bottle at the beginning, balloons 29-33 on the last level.

Want to know why?

I decided yesterday, rather sick of myself, that I was going to stop some bad habits and keep myself distracted from them. So today I took a long walk. I mowed my lawn and whacked my weeds. I read a book. Listened to music. And decided to play a non-stressful (well, mostly - I did get frustrated with not finding the damn balloons) game to pass the time.

Why not work?

I'm struggling with it. The hours of effort for so little progress. The countless problems without solutions. And, honestly, I'm not that busy - I'd rather I had more projects that gave me a false sense of purpose than this extra time in which I consider the futility of my current position.

And dating?

I believe I could be mildly addicted to infatuation. The breathless wonder of getting to know someone new - of wanting to know random details and meaningless thoughts, just because this new person is so very compelling. So I'm avoiding the dating sites because I feel I was frequenting them too often of late - starting to feel a slightly desperate edge to the search of someone who might save me from myself. And that's not a place I want to exist, let alone one to indulge. So I do believe the dating is hitting a lull.

Ah. So it's a spiritual kick then, is it?

Indeed. When locked in despair and panic last night, I prayed. And finally felt peaceful. Vaguely hopeful but more peaceful. So it's back to church I go tomorrow - to sing and pray and learn. In the hope that I find my balance and a path to something more... Well, something more.

So. How've you been?

Hussy...

2011-04-28T18:02:00.000-05:00

In a puppy suit
I was not well today, whimpering in pain as my digestive system convulsed dramatically. I was 70% sure I had vomit on the shirt I'd dropped on the floor in disgust, curling up with pillows and remaining perfectly still so as not to jostle my aching head.

Chienne stayed nearby, staring at me with her somber brown eye, as she sat outside the bathroom door and hopped on the bed, arranging herself carefully behind my knees and lending solid warmth against my shivers.

She would lift her chin from where it rested on my ankle when I moved fitfully, seeking a more comfortable resting spot, and would settle again when I did, my faithful hound curling close once again.

As I'd planned to be traveling today, I'd asked the girl down the street to check on my pets and had left her a note that I wasn't feeling well but it'd be great if she could still take Chienne out. I heard the garage door rumble open when I was in the master bathroom - one of the closer 2nd-floor rooms to the garage. I stumbled back to bed and flopped on my back, watching as my aging puppy perked immediately upon hearing her name. Ears up, muscles ready, her tail wagged twice before she leaped from the bed and raced downstairs to meet her visitor.

"Hussy," I accused her softly when she returned, having completed her abandonment outing and returning to bed, cold and happy from being outside. And I patted her head and smoothed her coat and winced as she found a comfortable spot and set to watching over me once again.

In a Katie suit
"My Aunt Katie has four bathrooms," Smallest was saying when I crossed the street to check on her last week. One of the older neighbor girls was pushing her on the swing set in their backyard. "And, and a huge bathtub! But I don't like when you push the button - it makes lots of bubbles and I don't like it."

She waved and said she was fine when I called to her. I sent an inquisitive look to the neighbor girls and they confirmed she was doing well. So, Little's hand in mind, we crossed back to my side of the street and continued to draw on the driveway.

"My Aunt Katie goes to Spain," I heard Smallest say as they rolled a ball on the driveway. "And Japan. I get postcards and toys."

"Aunt Katie," Smallest shouted. I waved in response and sputtered with laughter when she asked if I had a boyfriend.

"Not really," I replied and shook my head when I realized the girls across the street were ideally positioned to watch the men who picked me up for dinner or came inside to spend a few hours in the last 6 months or so. "I'm not slutty," I wanted to call, just to clarify. "Well, maybe a little slutty," I decided and didn't say anything at all.

"I dated a couple - well, 3 - guys," I told Little One more quietly, her big, brown eyes curious and attentive. "It was actually 5 if you count everything. Anyway, they were very nice and I liked them but it didn't work out for various reasons." I glanced up to see her lips curve before she asked a question that made me choke on giggles again. "No," I replied, cheeks still scrunched toward my eyes in my biggest of smiles. "None of them looked much like Justin Bieber."

"Do you think you will date anyone who looks like him?" she asked, giggling.

"I really hope not," I teased and brushed the hair from her face. "But there is a guy I like - I don't know what will happen."

Still, even if nothing comes of it, I hear I have lipstick, high heels and pretty necklaces. So all is not lost.

In a Sprout suit
I sometimes pity the stripey cat. Easily started and mostly solitary, he screws with Chienne enough that she kind of hates him and the dog has mandated that he not be on my bed while she is sleeping there.

Therefore, when he does find me alone - which isn't infrequent - he demands constant attention. Putting all his hefty weight on two dainty paws that are bruising my tummy. Butting at my hands and arms when I type or reach for my water because he wants pets. Curling up and shedding all over my laptop because it's warm and seems to be capturing the attention that is rightfully his.

Still, he's a pretty guy and he is deprived of attention so I generally pause and arrange him on a pillow on my lap, offering strokes and compliments while he purrs. And then I generally realize that his food dish is empty and, with a final pat, I rise to scoop out more kibble.

I started to keep track of when he came to see me for love rather than food and so far the tally is zero. None.

Hussy, stripey cat.

You Don't Know Jack

2011-04-26T19:27:00.003-05:00

"I'm sad," I replied when my massage therapist when she came to fetch me from the lounge. She frowned at me, expecting a complaint about my neck and shoulders and I took a last sip of my green tea, nudging the slice of lemon off the rim and into the hot water. It floated next to the plump pillow of tea leaves and I stared at it for a moment before directing my attention back to her.

"OK," I offered when she said she was ready when I was. I slowly stood, readjusted my robe and shuffled down the hallway behind her. I nodded at the typical instructions and thanked her as she left the room, moving to hang my robe on the back of the door and arranging myself, prone on the table, to await her return.

"I like the peppermint," I confirmed when she returned and asked about aromas. A little sharp, a bit sweet, completely comforting. And I took deep breaths and tried to focus on relaxing my muscles.

I like a boy. A man. We shall call him Jack as it could be my favorite of masculine monikers. And I like him - find him interesting and funny, sexy and challenging. We've corresponded for months now and he calls me Kate. As though I am somehow different and special in my interactions with him. And I do feel different - braver, perhaps.

Given my affection for him - that he makes me laugh and shiver and feel both distracted and sexy - it seemed natural to send him a note when I struggled this morning. I'm better at fending off verbal attacks - even those that include pretty vicious cursing and yelling - and remaining somewhat dignified.

And I did hold it together, blinking and nodding at the harshest of moments and enduring until it was done. It helped - a little - that it wasn't my fault. It bothered me - more than a little - that there was nothing I could do to change the situation. I hate failing - professionally and personally - but it sometimes happens.

And you know when you feel bad - lost and alone and sad - and you want someone? Sometimes a general someone will do, but others it's a specifically focused need and in that moment, I wanted Jack.

And ignoring more than forgetting that he wasn't mine, I sent a note at 9:30 this morning and mentioned my horrible day.

And in the hours that passed between email and reply, I grew increasingly morose. Increasingly withdrawn. And exponentially more ashamed that I'd contacted him at all.

Given that there's no shame (or shouldn't be) in needing a friend when feeling awful, I made a mental note to take an extra half-dose of anti-depressant tonight. But it seems I've fallen for someone who - despite a quick 'sorry' email - doesn't seem to want to know me. Which can be sexy and fun but it isn't very Katie.

So as she worked on my thighs and calves, feet and toes, I realized I want to have someone. For there to be sex and conversation and quick emails and long phone calls when we're not in the same place at the same time. I want to learn every little thing about him and not feel intrusive when doing so. And I don't want to be ignored. I so hate being ignored.

And so when he accused me of shutting him out in a later email, I couldn't really deny it. Though I don't want to withdraw from him, I decided as she rubbed my hands and arms, shoulders and scalp. And when the 90 minutes was over, I bundled back into my robe and changed back into clothes and returned home to take another conference call while smelling of peppermint.

As I settled here in the darkness, wishing it were time for bed, I don't know how to be completely self-sufficient. To not notice when I don't hear from him. To not want more than what is. Which means that I also don't know Jack. And though I hope that changes, it feels pretty hopeless tonight.

(Poor introduction to a very cool guy - remind me to tell you more about him when I'm not all blah.)

Glue

2011-04-23T09:16:00.003-05:00

It occurred to me while folding clothes from the dryer that I liked having a separate pile. That my sweaters and dress pants, t-shirts and pajamas were a stack of soft layers to the left while my family's clothes formed a haphazard pile on the right. I smiled at tiny socks and adorable shirts but had no desire to mix them with my belongings. And after I gave hugs and kisses and waved good-bye, I put toys and games in my ottoman that serves as storage and returned to my life.

I love them - so, so much - but there are moments where I have this certainty that an ever-present family is not what I want. The arguments and exhaustion. The complaints and needs, fetching/carrying/wiping/entertaining. Goodness. Which explained why I was taking a break in the quiet basement to fold laundry.

Still, I returned with a laptop and played the Glee Cast version of Teenage Dream for my nieces. Because I like it better than the original.

"I like," Smallest One said, never one to shy away from an opinion, "the Stuck Like Glue song." I nodded and began to search for it online while Smallest frowned impatiently. She sighed. Then tapped my arm none too gently. "Play It," she ordered and I grinned.

"I don't have it, love," I replied. "I need to find it and buy it for you. Then," I decided, inspired, "we'll burn CDs so you can play it at home!" Her eyes rounded with delight and she began to bounce and dance when the downloaded song began to play.

"How do I turn it up?" she asked, still wiggling and "wuh oh, wuh oh"ing and I pointed to the button with a giggle. Despite reaching the maximum level, she continued to want more, jabbing at the volume button as she sang with increasing volume herself.

So they took turns picking songs they liked to transfer to blank CDs (I may have already owned some of their favored music - but I confirm nothing.) and when I suggested to Smallest that her portable movie player might provide music, she went to fetch it despite her grandfather's objection that it only played DVDs.

It did, of course, play CDs and it played them ear-numbingly loud. I got the giggles as Little plugged her ears and Smallest's shoulders lifted dramatically as she shouted along with the music. "I like this song!" she'd cry each time a new one began and I'd nod, wincing at the volume for a moment before admiring once again her utter joy at life in general. She's a character.

"Her motto," Brother pointed out when he called to check in as the music blasted in the background, "is 'If it's too loud, you're too old." And I laughed and nodded, watching his youngest spin in circles.

"She's surrounded by people who are too old then," I decided. "And likely always will be." And I spent a moment in worry for her.

"Aunt Katie," Little One said, waiting until she had my attention before handing me a bottle of Elmer's glue, "open this, please." So I frowned down at the familiar orange top, using the edge of my fingernail to chip away the dried glue before twisting it open and returning it to her. "Do you like blue or yellow?" she asked, selecting a set of wings for the toilet-paper-roll body covered in pink construction paper.

"Yellow, I think," I decided after a moment's thought, watching her face scrunch in concentration as she drew a line of glue and pressed the two pieces together, waiting for them to dry into the semblance of a butterfly.

She's a gentle soul, sensitive and dramatic as can be. She'll duck her head when someone says she's beautiful while her younger sister is more likely to say "I know!" when offered a similar compliment. And she whimpers while she sleeps, causing me to roll over and peer over pillows to tuck the blankets more securely around her pale arms or smooth her hair while quietly telling her she's OK - safe and loved and sleepy.

She's also a bossy know-it-all, ordering her sister about until Smallest turns to hit her. She has a small unkind streak, making fun of those who are different at school and looking rather crushed when corrected. She thinks before replying sometimes, calculating what we might want to hear rather than articulating what she really thinks. And I spend a moment in worry for her.

I know not how to create good global citizens. I can buy presents and dab lips with napkins. I can love them to pieces and scold when they walk in the street without looking. I can watch movies and find blankets and soothe them while they sleep. But, as always, I'll admit to a sense of bittersweet relief when taking my laundry upstairs and placing theirs in suitcases before helping to load the car.

I love what I have - two wonderful girls who love me and come visit and talk to me on the phone. And I love the amount of "mine" they are - just enough but not completely. And, for the next little while, a few hours away once again.

Original

2011-04-21T20:36:00.000-05:00

I used to go to the mall - Northwoods - when I was little. My grandparents would take me and I'd toddle along beside them, hand elevated to hold one of theirs while we walked and looked and smiled at people.

There was a fountain on one end - right in front of the toy store - and it had lights that glimmered beneath the flowing water. I would always ask for pennies to toss - making wishes as I stood on the bottom railing of the barrier around the water and rested my chin on the top one. We'd ride the escalators among the smaller shops and I was always allowed to push the buttons on the elevators in the department stores. And I always left with something - typically a stuffed animal - clutched in a tiny hand.

Nearly 30 years later, I tagged along as the next generation repeated the same activity, sitting between the Ones as we drove to a mall near my house. We parked the van and wandered inside, small hands lifted to hold both of mine, and looked around at the shops before deciding to go downstairs.

"I don't ride escalators," Little One said before she and her grandma began to descend the stairs. Smallest One, Grandpa and I rode the escalator, her tiny hand still in mine, before moving toward the playground tucked in a corner. The took off shoes and ran on the bouncy carpeted surface, waiting patiently to climb the steps to go down the slide until I offered a rather impatient glance at the woman whose daughter was blocking their way for a good 2 minutes. Once she was removed, fun was had by all with the slide and the climbing and the crawling through tunnels.

Instead of pennies in a fountain, I fed quarters into machines that played music and gently moved various cars so that Smallest One could play pretend. As I decided between vanilla and chocolate at her ice cream truck, I swiped my credit card so Little One could get a juice and finally coaxed the elder to prance along while nearly dragging the younger away from the one of four toys she'd not ridden.

The child wants everything. A chance at the claw to uselessly pluck at a stuffed animal. Her own juice. Ice cream. Cookies. A picture with the Easter Bunny.

To the latter we agreed and I smiled as she charged up to the rabbit and said hello, offering that she was 3 and her favorite color was green before climbing up on the seat next to him. My mom spoke to Little One, encouraging her to move closer to the costumed creature and promising he wouldn't touch her or look at her or even lean any closer. She mustered her courage - this grown-up version of the first baby I ever loved - and edged just into the frame of the photo, out of reach of the terrifying bunny and clutching her grandmother's hand.

"Look happy," I encouraged and Smallest One grinned widely as Little One's lips curved as well. And after two quick snaps, we had photos to approve as Little One took a wide berth around the bunny with no small amount of pride that she'd braved one of her biggest phobias. (Humans dressed as animals.) Photo package in hand, we exchanged a swimsuit - our stated purpose for the expedition - and debated toys before each selected one.

I smoothed Little One's hair as we were seated for lunch, smiling as she read me part of her menu and telling her she was learning so much at school. I remember reading to my grandma, going to fetch books from the closet in the hallway and curling up next to her as we worked through Heidi before naptimes. And I smiled as I looked around the table, loving all of them rather desperately, and felt a sharp pang when considering that they'll lose my parents as I lost my grandparents.

Still, pain and loss seemed far away as we sipped milkshakes and selected balloons. "My favorite color is green," Smallest One noted to our waitress before asking her to please return with a balloon.

We had later settled on my driveway, enjoying the sunshine and coloring with chalk while my parents did some shopping. When the kids across the street came home from school, there were soccer balls and noise and games which Little One and I mostly ignored. Smallest One, however, watched with open curiosity and beamed when the much-older girls called to ask if they wanted to play.

"I do!" Smallest One called after consulting with her sister. "I have to ask my Aunt Katie but I want to come over and play!" She looked at me and smiled beautifully. "Aunt Katie," she said as though I hadn't heard her, "those girls asked me to play and I want to go."

"You want to go?" I confirmed, thinking they were older and seemed very cool and I'd probably be nervous to go over and play with strangers. And I'm an order of magnitude older than she is.

"Yes!" she replied, bouncing with excitement. "They asked me and they're so nice! So I will go over there."

"I will help you cross the street," I replied, loathe to transfer any of my anti-social tendencies to the happy little girl who bubbled with eager friendliness. So we crossed the street and she was welcomed to the small group while I returned to her sister and continued our art project. I kept an eye on her as she chattered with her new friends, telling them about her visit to Aunt Katie's and her sister and mom and dad and grandma and grandpa. And Chienne and Sprout and her cat at home. And I admired - ever so much - her confidence and sheer force of her tiny personality. Even as I better identify with her older sister as she plays pretend and fusses with toys and quietly reads her stories.

The two of us invited Grandpa to join us for dinner while Smallest and Grandma made it an early evening. We had appetizers and drinks - a little slushy for Little that turned her mouth blue - and talked. And when she was cold, I unzipped my sweatshirt and draped it over her shoulders, shaking my head when she refused to relinquish it and wrapped the familiar fabric around her tiny frame. It fell to her knees as she climbed in the back seat of the Jeep and I kissed her cheek before closing the door behind her.

Petite

2011-04-20T20:53:00.001-05:00

"Hi!" I cried, emerging from my car and scooping Little One into my arms for a 'welcome to Aunt Katie's house!' cuddle. "Oh, I missed you," I murmured, rubbing the back of her puffy coat and burying my face in her hair.

"We found the eggs and presents," she told me, offering a smile before cuddling close again. I hugged her tighter and smiled, thinking of shuffling through the house last night and placing 50 eggs filled with candy and PlayDoh and bubbles on windowsills and shelves, in corners and under furniture. There were Barbies in the sinks upstairs and Webkinz on the kitchen table with the sidewalk chalk. And I ordered personalized maps online that I left in the dining room.

I buy things so people will like me.

And it works, I decided as Smallest One came out the door, face brightening in a silly grin as she reached for me and began to chatter about the picture she drew ("it's very pretty") and eggs she found ("on the stairs and by the couch and in the cloud room and by the plants") and how she was at Aunt Katie's house! I listened and nodded as I held her close, helping her into her puffy green jacket against the gloomy, chilly afternoon.

We took a walk, Chienne out front and small girls at each side and my parents trailing behind. I turned my head from side to side, listening to their simultaneous stories and nodding to taps on my arm or squeezes of my hand when I didn't reply with suitable speed. I learned about school and gymnastics and a play and recital. Soccer and their cat and what they wanted to do during the visit.

We went for lunch and I sat between them, grinning at the thought that it was now more a privledge than a chore. I do like children, but I don't love drool or messes or other dining grossness. And I always ended up icky after meals with them - sticky or stained - and wrinkled my nose a bit. But they are, at 6.5 and 3.5, quite self suffient and neat. So Smallest had macaroni and cheese with grapes and Little decided on a cheese pizza. And apart from a couple dabs of a napkin or help rolling up sleeves, it was just like dining with tiny yet perfectly wonderful friends.

We came home to play outside, bundled against the cold even as we engaged in springtime activies - blowing bubbles, drawing pictures with chalk, chasing tennis balls with the dog. Then we came upstairs to play before bathtime. Little One gravitates toward my closet, trying on shoes and pulling dresses from hangers that drape past her ankles.

"Here," I suggested when she stumbled over another dress. "Let's go strapless with one of my skirts." And I gathered extra fabric in a tiny clip when she emerged with the slip of white dotted with blue flowers flowing around her. "You're so pretty," I sighed, smoothing her hair and admiring eyes that look like mine. She plucked a scarf from a drawer and tied it about her neck. And she looked so elegant and grown up for a moment, turning to assess her reflection that I thought she was so full of promise and personality.

Smallest One emerged behind her sister, dancing around in one of my bras and I giggled at her, thinking her full of a rather different sort of personality. She has little of the quiet beauty of her sister but is stunning in her wit and daring, demanding attention and offering comments and throwing tantrums in the rare instance where she doesn't get her way.

"I do not have huge boobs," I replied to Smallest One's comment, teasingly indignant. "And that's a perfectly nice bra," I decided of the white fabric. We played and laughed and made butterflies from toilet paper rolls.

"Girls," I offered a couple hours later. "I need to take a call for work. So can we play quietly now?" They agreed, hesitant to leave the room where I was and I felt a moment's guilt that I don't spend enough time with them. But I dialed the number and reclined on my pillows, focused mostly on my colleagues but keeping an eye on nieces prone to squabbles.

I nodded when Little One asked if she could play with the other phone in my room - it's Pottery Barn and very pretty but not currently plugged in. So she and Smallest took turns pushing buttons and holding the receiver to small ears.

"It's my turn to talk to work," Little One said, reaching for the phone and beginning to discuss schedules.

"I need to call work next," Smallest One demanded, folding her arms impatiently.

And I wanted to cover them with kisses for wanting to be like me - I was so honored that they want to wear my clothes and share components of my life and like coming to where I live. I'm not sure I'm the greatest of role models but there are pieces of who I am and what I do that are good. That could fit into what they see from the other women in their lives and see where everything fits together.

I just love them so much. And think they're so wonderful. And can't wait to watch them continue to grow up.

I dig. He digs. We dug.

2011-04-11T18:18:00.000-05:00

We ended up in a hole (both figuratively and literally) through no real fault of our own on the very first date.

Doug had invited me to meet for a quick and early dinner on a Wednesday evening last fall and suggested a bar nestled on the lakefront for our meeting. I arrived early - as I'd warned him I would do - and reminded myself that I need not be nervous. I was older and wiser than when I'd last dated years ago. I was calm and composed and, well, delightful, dammit. And if he didn't like me, that was fine - I was very happy with my life overall and there were other men with whom I was corresponding. And if I felt a bit sick and moved my car twice before convincing myself to go inside, well, we already know I'm neurotic.

I entered the bar upstairs to find it occupied by a private party and the bartender - a little wisp of a girl with long, auburn hair - smiled and motioned me downstairs to the lounge instead. I thanked her, sighed at the ease with which the party-goers interacted and laughed, and descended the steps with a feeling of dread. Blind dates are hard.

Cheered when I found a table by the window, I ordered (and paid for) a glass of white wine and took calming breaths while staring out at the chilly brick patio and lake beyond. I think I told Doug it was a nice place when he arrived a little later, taking a moment to think him rather cute as he shrugged out his puffy jacket and settled on the wooden stool across the tiny table. He ordered a soda and burger after asking if I wanted anything.

I demurred and he noted that he had a meeting at 7, temporally separated from us by no more than 90 minutes and spatially no more than 2 blocks. I recall being amused that I was being tucked into a small opening in his busy calendar, neatly on the way between work and his event that night. Still, I cocked my head curiously as I sipped wine and we chatted easily.

I'm shamefully experienced when it comes to blind dates and I normally predict their outcome. And all signals were pointing to vaguely uncomfortable and mostly disinterested for Doug. Little eye contact, vaguely evasive answers to some questions. And I looked up to smile at the pretty bartender from upstairs as she swept out the door behind Doug.

I blinked in surprise when he stopped her on her way back in from the patio. They talked about mutual acquaintances and I raised my eyebrows and smiled benignly when she glanced at me before tossing her hair. She directed a couple of comments in my direction and I nodded and smiled where appropriate, wholly unbothered by the interruption.

It happened once, maybe twice, more - she walked by and Doug stopped her to ask a question or exchange a few comments or jokes.

I was tickled by the end of the evening, having decided that he liked the lovely woman and perhaps was trying to get her attention by being seen with someone else. I wondered if I should tell him that someone like me would never bother someone like her - there is a reasonably clear ranking of who's desirable among females and she crushed me without effort on said spectrum. They would make a cute couple, I decided, having acquired a glass of water that I'd almost finished sipping.

It was raining outside when we departed, Doug hurrying to his divorce support group. I said I'd enjoyed meeting him - and I had as he was smart and focused and clearly loved his children - and waved before walking to my car and waiting for him to reverse and slip from the parking lot before I did.

"Silly," I said into the silence of the Jeep, unsure if I was referring to him or me or both. But I mentally closed the matter, expecting to never hear from him again, and idly wondered if he'd muster the nerve to pursue the bartender.

Instead - and hell if I can figure out why - he decided to pursue me. But that's a story for another day.

Bud, Bloom, Wither

2011-04-10T18:30:00.001-05:00

"Oh," I sighed to a colleague as the man slouching at the podium lectured us severely. "I love him."

Said colleague raised an eyebrow in my direction and shook his head and I grinned while continuing to lust after he who emanated power and confidence, commanding attention simply by his force of personality. A PhysioProf sort of character, if that helps you - smart, funny, rather irritating and a little crude while being somehow oddly compelling. The type clearly isn't for everyone - and I always move past my little crushes - but that type generally makes me catch my breath, at least at first.

And so, upon deciding that I would identify my first lover and execute my sexual plan, I selected someone from a nearby city and we began to exchange emails. He was right, I decided, as fall fell and my birthday inched closer. Blatantly sexy, focused, confident and generally impatient with my inhibitions and excuses. He would push me past all of that nonsense and I'd have sex, decide if I liked it and then that would be that.

Friday morning, on the weekend I'd invited him to stay at my house for 2 days of erotic exploration, I took the dog on a lengthy walk through the neighboring woods. My mind wouldn't quiet - thinking back on my mother requesting that I not do it just to do it. That I feel something for this man and to be careful. I thought of regretting lost opportunities and getting older, rejecting the unknown when, later that very day, I would be knowing it. Still, I was worried and filled with a nervous energy that I tried to drown in wine as I waited for him to arrive.

Author's note: This post was written after he left that evening and is more explicit than I normally get. There wasn't intercourse but there was...stuff. And if you'd rather not know about said stuff in detail, let's catch each other on the next post.

Late October, 2010

I did not know his last name.

I did, however, learn his semen tasted a bit like ranch dressing and that giving oral sex to someone with whom you have little emotional connection is more interesting and clinical than sexy. (Is the penis not a fascinating organ? I mean, really, it's like nothing I have and I sincerely enjoy giving oral sex, despite the slight awkwardness of finding the proper position and my hair getting in the way.)

I was nervous, drinking 3 glasses of wine before he arrived, but excited after 2 weeks of sexy emails and chatting. He was cute - I loved his glasses and admired his stripey shirt out loud. After being shocked and appalled at Chienne's behavior (she is spoiled), he used the same firm tone with me and, once I obeyed his order to turn around, began to rub my back with firm pressure. I eventually relaxed, leaning into him a bit and grinned when he indicated I should return the favor. I chatted while rubbing his shoulders, scrunching the fabric of his shirt as a I stroked.

"I don't know what comes next," I admitted, blushing as he began to kiss my cheeks and neck, brushing my hair back to angle his head differently. When our lips touched, I reminded myself to part mine and felt his tongue lick my lips then touch my own. "What happens next is we go upstairs," he finally murmured softly and I nodded, gulping with nerves, head swimming from wine, before going to grab us bottles of water before leading him to my bedroom.

I kept trying to cuddle and cling as he removed my shirt and slipped my bra off. I nodded when he asked if he should undress, feeling uncertain and overwhelmed by the speed at which my brain was attempting to figure this out. I unbuttoned his shirt and watched him shrug out of it, then moved to press my bare breasts into his chest, still covered by a grey t-shirt. That eventually came off as well and I unfastened his jeans at his instruction, staring into his eyes when I removed his boxers, making a face when they caught on his erection.

I looked and touched, finding myself remarkably drawn to the heat and texture and hardness. When urged, I arranged myself and began to kiss, my head on his belly while I decided this angle worked quite well for me. With instruction, I stroked the shaft while exploring the head with my tongue, finding the spongey texture delightful even as the smell was a bit off-putting. I touched his balls, "gently," he urged and took them in my mouth after offering suckling kisses to the looser skin.

Even as I enjoyed the exploration - licking and sucking the head - the actual bobbing ("Start slowly," he advised, "while you figure out your sucking and stroking and breathing.") was tough. I leaned away for a moment and frowned - first at his cock and then into his eyes. "It's like learning to drive," I decided thoughtfully. "Not really hard, per se, but there's some coordination that's necessary."

"Keep sucking me," he replied and I giggled before returning to him, losing myself in the taste and warmth before reminding myself to stroke even as he smoothed my hair and told me to breathe through my nose. "There you go," he sighed and I felt him twitch, pleased even when I felt myself begin to slurp. This was rather sexy, I thought, though feeling his hand between my legs - still separated from my flesh by pants and panties - wasn't doing a lot for me.

"Do you want to swallow?" he asked and I nodded without removing my mouth. He was good - murmuring encouragement and pleasure nearly constantly - and I was curious. I removed my mouth for a moment to ask how and he breathed more heavily as he told me to keep sucking and to relax when I felt him coming at the back of my throat.

More accurately, it was the roof of my mouth (I think I had the angle wrong) and the taste was a bit...sharp? bitter? I don't know, but upon swallowing it, I did gag a little bit, removing my mouth and watching more of the white fluid appear on his head, reaching to smooth it into the shaft.

"I want to make you come," he said, eyelids heavy, and I swallowed again, wishing I could take a drink of water, and rested my head on his shoulder while I rubbed the hair he'd clearly trimmed on his chest.

"You didn't tell me your last name," I replied quietly and such was the beginning of the end. We didn't argue, exactly, but there was a quiet discussion after which we agreed to disagree.

"If I hooked up with someone on a business trip, I wouldn't ask where she did her undergrad while she was sucking my cock. Or what her hopes and dreams were while she was riding me."

"Sure," I replied, understanding what he was saying but not liking it. "But it's my first time. I want to feel..."

"What?" he prompted, rubbing my back as I lapsed into silence.

"I don't know," I said, apologizing to him. "Some sort of connection."

"You want to be in love," he stated and I shook my head.

"No," I confirmed my non-verbal response. "But I do want to feel wildly attracted and valued and special. And you don't want to know me. And this somehow changes me and I feel like... I don't know. Like I need you to understand that."

"It changes your vagina," he sighed, sounding impatient and shifting the focus of my irritating from myself to him.

"I don't agree," I said, sitting up and reaching for a pillow to hold to my chest, glaring down at him. Then I agreed that he should dress and go.

And so he want to the master bathroom and I went to the guest bathroom and we put on our clothes. He shook my hand and said good-bye before departing and leaving me feeling pleased I made a decision I trusted.

Said pleasure diminished as I sat with my neurotic dog on my brown loveseat, looking at my right hand and the ring that glittered on my middle finger as it rested on her head and thinking it had been wrapped around a stranger not 10 minutes ago. And I sighed, failure settling as the daylight disappeared into night outside my door.

"I didn't," I told Mom, for I knew she'd worry. "He's gone." And I smiled without meaning to as she sighed in relief. "It's not going to happen for me," I told her softly and tuned out her disagreement, took a shower and put on pajamas to curl up with my laptop.

It's not all bad though. That evening I propositioned Will to meet me for our first date and wrote to Doug to try to figure out what might happen with him. And more important lessons came from those men. This one, though, remains nameless. But not completely forgotten - such an afternoon does seem to deserve a blog post.

Fauna as Flora

2011-04-09T07:39:00.007-05:00

I've never been fond of birds of paradise. Too showy they are, I've decided, even as a single bloom brightening an otherwise sedate bouquet.

I was therefore surprised when, on my morning cab ride to the hotel from SAN, I was completely charmed by those planted in medians and flower beds, the flocks of flowers lifting their noses to the sun, completely unselfconscious in the warmth and brightness.

I even smiled at the dying blooms, their petals droopy and brown, as it made the bloom look more relaxed, having enjoyed its time in the sun and been content to grow in a less-pretty way, even surrounded by hues of vivid orange and blue from neighboring stems.

"Was that OK?" My partner-in-work asked as we drove away from one of the multiple meetings he'd arranged.

"Of course," I replied easily, thinking we were well-matched professionally. I like to think we're both wickedly smart and rather charming about it. We giggle and plot strategy. We offer honest feedback and discuss strengths and weaknesses of internal efforts. And I love working with him - consider him a brilliant colleague and trusted friend.

"I have a problem," he admitted as we waited in the airport one day and, distracted, I offered a wry comment that he didn't get to have problems. Problems were my area of expertise. I glanced up to see a slight smile stretch his lips and abandoned my task (I was probably looking for my drivers license again) and turned to face him.

"What's up, dearest?" I inquired and listened while he explained. I asked a few clarifying questions and offered a few expressions of understanding and paused to think when he finished.

"Well, kiddo," I began affectionately, "you know I'm of the emotional variety myself." He smiled and nodded and I grinned at him, unselfconscious about my own showy - and not always attractive - nature in the presence of a friend. "I'd advise talking to Adam about how he handles me," I offered. "But what seems to work is absorbing the energy - just listen and nod and understand what's so upsetting. You can also empower her - ask for solutions or help needed or a path to somewhere better."

"I want to help," he replied after nodding. "She's so talented and has this great potential. But I hate seeing her so emotional. I just don't know how to react."

"Some people are roses," I decided. "Beautiful and contained, petals sparkling with morning dew. And some of us," I paused to smile, "are more like the birds of paradise. Showy and silly and only pretty in certain circumstances."

I keep saying that I don't aspire to rosey status, but there is a part of me that wishes I sang soprano and was slender and toned. That I was less difficult and sarcastic and controlling.

I'll instead admit I do crave attention and feel better about myself when infatuated. I indulged in phone sex with a virtual stranger (first time for me - yesterday - it's...effective) and walk my half-blind dog around the neighborhood before most people are awake. I wear pajamas while at home - soft cotton that are always too big. I get depressed. Write a blog. Drink too much Diet Pepsi. Sleep with So Many Pillows. (Seriously - pillows everywhere.) I like watching sitcoms I've already seen. I cry at movies and would rather eat dinner early to avoid crowds.

"She does show great promise," I told my colleague of his direct report. "And I think if you accept her for who she is and try to direct that energy toward valuable projects and overall progress, we'll all be better for it."

"I just wish she wouldn't cry," he sighed and I patted his arm in fond comfort.

"Sometimes we're sad," I offered in gentle explanation. And perhaps having trouble accepting who we are and embracing those qualities rather than trying to morph our wide, glossy leaves into thorny stems and arranging our odd patch of petals into something they're not.

His Name is Earl.

2011-04-08T20:44:00.000-05:00

It is rare that I have a title and photos but fail to create text. Yet this post has been elusive - I tried to write it curled in a smoking room (oh, so icky) in SoCal and then again in a deliciously luxurious place located north on that same coast. I tried on the plane ride home, smiling at the creature on the wing tip in my photos and feeling great affection for Frontier and their marketing campaign.

And lovely it is to soar above the clouds, squinting against the sunshine and thinking - up there away from it all - of what may come next. What messages wait on the cell phone that's powered down. What I'll see, who I'll meet, how I might learn something new.

And so I went west - across the plains and over the mountains and past the desert beyond. And I thought of what I wanted - what I hoped.

The trip began peacefully. I crept from the house, quietly gathering my laptop bag and small duffel, loathe to wake my pup sleeping in the bathtub as she hid from the lingering storm. I drove through the pre-dawn darkness and misty rain toward the airport, parking my car and reaching in my bag to find my boarding pass and driver's license.

I go through security sleepily. 2 bins. Off come the shoes and coat. Out comes the ziploc baggie with liquids and gels then the laptop before they're pushed on the conveyor belt and into their security examination. I'm growing used to going through my own, placing my stockinged feet on the marks on the floor and holding hands above my head as my body is scanned. And I wondered - somewhat idly - if seeing someone without clothes helped you know them better. Revealed some clue or secret to their innermost desires. Motivations and hopes and dreams.

Moving to the next steps in my established routine, I gathered my belongings and tossed my coat over my arm, stopping to wrinkle my nose over novels and purchase a bottle of water. I walked to my gate, finding a seat and tucking my left leg underneath me before arranging myself comfortably and reorganizing my carry-on items.

"I've lost my identity," I mused silently, smiling as I thought of SpongeBob, and continued to paw through pockets and compartments, frowning when unable to find my ID. "I'm going to get trapped in California," I despaired, thinking of my planned commute north after 2 days and then my heralded return home on Thursday.

"I won't go," I decided cheerfully. But before abandoning my trip and responsibilities I searched once more and found the small card had fallen in my purse. I sighed, plucked it from its hiding place and tucked it in the proper pocket for future use. And flew to Denver, where I met Earl and continued on my journey.

And as I looked out at Earl from the window seat, admiring the landscape below us, and wondered about the stresses on his seams, glancing up at the ceiling and hoping it didn't open up as it did on the poor Southwest plane. Earl seemed sturdy though, offering televisions in his seats and pushing through the moderate turbulence like a good walrus painted on a plane might do.

I lost my license twice more on the trip, commenting to Adam and PrettyHair that I was struggling to hold on to it. I nodded when Adam told me it was a long drive home and I paused to look at the photo before frowning down at the elusive card. It's me, of course, and lists a number and address. But, much like that naked version of myself that I momentarily considered at the airport, it offers little insight into the person I am and who I'd like to become.

Perhaps I'm making this too hard though. Maybe it's enough - at times - to go through the routine. To take each day and go and learn and do. But it's not my nature to enjoy the ride. I feel compelled to squint against that sunshine and peer between the clouds, searching for meaning and purpose and peace.

So while it is pleasant to be away and above, I'm always eager to return to the world below. Pass my service items to the attendant as she passes through the aisles and raise my seat back and tray table to prepare for landing.

Because my name is Katie. And I have a better chance of making that important - of showing my response to stress and hope for great happiness - when I'm on the ground and surrounded by all the details that look so very small from 35,000 feet.

Champagne, Sugar

2011-04-06T23:31:00.003-05:00

I hummed indecisively when Adam motioned to me and the bartender turned his green eyes to me with an inquisitive expression.

"The champagne cocktail, please," I stated and settled on my padded stool while we waited for the rest of our party.

"It's nice," I told Adam after my first sip and nudged my flute an inch toward him so he could taste.

He nodded in approval and noted you just caught the bitters at the end while I pointed at the cube of sugar bubbling happily at the bottom of the glass. I thought it was pretty - the little brown lump underneath the pale amber liquid - and also found the spiral of lemon rind rather aesthetically pleasing.

There's just so much contrast - perhaps conflict? - lately. I'm exhausted but energized by some of the work I'm doing. I hated leaving home - abandoning Chienne with only the neighbor girls to care for her - but love spending time in the sunshine on the left coast. I didn't want to come but am glad I did.

"No," I replied simply earlier in the afternoon when asked if I had questions. Adam had informed me of my pay increase - 3% - for next year and my bonus - also around 3% - based on last year's performance. Because he knows me, he waited as we sat under the umbrella perched over our table, letting me twist the ring around my finger before I frowned and began to speak.

"I keep thinking about how you said I was unsteady," I admitted. "How there were moments of greatness and then those that were far less than impressive. And I guess I can't decide if you don't appreciate me enough because I'm so awesome or that I'm indescribably blessed to even keep my job - raise be damned - because I screw it up sometimes." He grinned at me and I shrugged before saying I was leaning toward the latter.

"Katie," he sighed and leaned an elbow on the table to think. "You had a good year - you do great work. And, yes, there's room for improvement. But you should feel really good about this - very few people got raises last year and you did. Everyone's getting more this year, but you're very near the top of the range."

"It's not the money," I replied, then shook my head. "Well, it is. I'm pleased about the money. But I have enough lately. I'm not struggling - which, after grad school and post-doc - is so intensely lovely. I just want to feel smart and effective and happy."

And there are some days I am - where I bubble like the lump of sugar, emitting fizzles of goodness and light and joy.

Then there are the days I'm not. Where it's nothing but bitter and difficult and miserable. And the bubbles of happiness seem so far above me where I've settled in the gloppy fog.

"Is the top crunchy?" I asked suspiciously later this evening when deciding on dessert. "I had a creme brulee and the top was barely caramelized and it was disappointing." I paused after saying it, remembering the dish I'd shared on my first date with Will and tugged the hem of my dress further down my tights-clad thighs and sighed.

I miss him. Smiling over interesting questions and answers. Admiring his hands while lacing my fingers through his. The humming sound he made while considering some action or reaction. And that's fine, I decided, jabbing my spoon through the extra-crispy top of my dessert later on. (The waiter liked me.) As my tongue explored the creamy custard and the burned sugar that crunched atop it, I decided it wasn't an unpleasant ache - the gentle regret that it didn't last longer. Good memories are worthwhile even if I may wish there were more of them.

I thought then, as I often do, of Doug. And how it's over though I selfishly hope we continue to be friends. And the sense of sick regret is vastly unpleasant. For I hate disappointing people even as I accept that part of being an adult is doing just that. But only sometimes.

It's the balance of bitter and sweet, I suppose. And the faith that the last sip - that bit of liquid that lingers on your tongue at the end - resided at the bottom near that lump of sugar and will be intensely, deliciously sweet.

A weekend walk

2011-04-03T06:49:00.004-05:00

It's good to be home. In the company of my mostly loyal canine as we wander the neighborhood, tethered to each other by the long leash we use.

There are no buildings that nearly drip with elegance but I do enjoy the comfortable homes, the block of townhouses and the paths that wiggle through the neighborhood before aligning in a busier highway. Still, it's too early for that on a weekend morning so we wander in the quiet, broken only by the songs of two birds as they warble in counterpoint under the rising sun and clouds outlined in glimmering light.

"No," I warned gently when ears and nose perked at the gray squirrel scampering busily among the trees near the river. Chienne turned to look at me briefly before sighing over her lost prey. We turned from the paved path into the forest, listening to the whisper of the wind and looking up through the untamed tangle of branches. There are no manicured bushes or flowering beds here. Instead, leaves turned brown and brittle litter the ground near the mulched path and branches fallen from trees are scattered haphazardly atop the gently rolling hills that keep the swollen river from creeping toward my house.

I enjoy the quickening of breath and quieting of thoughts as we progress along our path. Up the hill then down a bit then up again, pausing to search for the woodpecker I can generally hear but not see as Woody's laugh echoes in my mind, a gentle memory of childhood and spilling cereal on my pajamas as I sat in front of the television to watch cartoons.

My head is above water at work - barely, but enough to count. I leave tomorrow for another week of travel, heading west rather than east this time, and find myself dreading it even as I long to place a vase from Barcelona on the table in my office, happily pretty as it holds water for the pale pink daisies arranged carelessly inside.

But now laundry washes in time to be tucked in another bag. I need to take another walk, this time down my street, to ask the tiny neighbor girls if they'd like to look in on Chienne while I'm gone. But it's quiet. And pleasant. And eventually I'll settle into routine once again.

Back (& Forth)

2011-03-31T16:44:00.003-05:00

I drove home through the darkness last night, feeling heavy. Unsure if I wanted to curse or cry, I had this epiphany that Industry would take everything - all time and effort, energy and passion - and return a certificate (perhaps printed in color) in return. And my 'live to work' philosophy which felt rather bright and shiny in Spain suddenly appeared dull and tired.

"You will stop," I told my brain, aware that my neurons were drooping, synapses beginning to slosh through misery. "So you didn't get a certificate - you didn't have a particularly good year. And you've received certificates before - it's a pretty fleeting pleasure. What lingers more is basking in the Spanish sunshine. Taking photos of interesting architecture and lingering over spa treatments. You make more money than you need. You work with brilliant people and go fabulous places and learn fascinating things. So stop it."

And I mostly did.

I came home to a house my mom cleaned and to a new gate my dad built (called the escape-proof entry point to the barrier of awesomeness) and greeted the sweetest of puppies. I gently touched the petals of a daisy they'd bought me and felt grateful that I'd skipped a morning of meetings to explain photos and buy breakfast for them. I gave hugs and kisses before saying good-bye and opening the door to my professional life at home once again.

Overview and awards dinners. Networking and catching up, gritting my teeth through unpleasant conversations and giggling when someone offered a sarcastic comment. I had caught up on email during a ridiculously long layover in PHL, sitting on the floor near an outlet for long enough to make a muscle in my back twinge painfully at random intervals.

Still feeling sad despite stern warnings, I swallowed an extra half-dose of anti-depressant and plodded upstairs to fall into bed, happily arrange my multitude of pillows (a twin bed and two pillows has me grateful for my giant bed and mounds of pillows). And I woke this morning and went back to work. And it was good.

I make more money than I need. I work with brilliant people and go fabulous places and learn fascinating things. And though I wish I had more than a few days to settle before the next trip, I've still escaped the slide into a depressed state, at least for now.

B(arcelona)ueno

2011-03-27T14:50:00.000-05:00

I met a bloggy friend last night, eagerly accepting her kind offer to stop over, and we wandered the Barri Gotic.

"In the summer," she said after checking again that I wasn't cold in my light shift in contrast to her heavier jacket, "there is a cafe open in the courtyard. We'll see if it's still there."

And it was, leaving me gazing around at the clusters of flowers and oranges ripening cheerfully on trees while we sipped strong coffee con leche and chatted about academic systems and upcoming post-docs and international moves. I could never, I decided as she spoke and gestured, be that brave or charmingly confident. We finished our drinks and set off again at a brisk pace - she pointed out buildings and gave background of history, both hers and Barcelona's.

"No," I replied as we stood at a stoplight. "I find myself feeling a bit badly about it, but I don't miss research or academia at all. My job stresses me out, but it's full or perks and money and opportunities to learn in various ways." Plus, I didn't say but did think, I was never going to contribute to the body of knowledge in any meaningful way. But this - taking in advice and sorting through information and organizing details and articulating priorities? This I can do.

Still, she was utterly charming and the dark chocolate ice cream she recommended was intensely good, yet the caffeine humming through my system was eventually inadequate to warm me in the cooling evening. So I hugged her and waved, scampering into my hotel while she moved toward the metro.

I slept this morning away, setting the clock I purchased on my first day in Barcelona forward one hour and sitting up to poke my hand out the window to feel the gentle rain before curling up and drowsing again. I awakened and was ready to go home - I've been away for many days and while it's been wonderful, I'm ready to sleep in my bed and kiss my Chienne and hug my parents hello. To refocus on work rather than ignoring all but the most urgent of messages and to get these lengthy flights as part of my past rather than immediate future.

Still, I walked and had lunch. Took pictures and basked in the sunshine that emerged between clouds. And returned to the hotel to nap. I increased the dose of my antidepressant this evening, realizing that my sleep schedule was a hint that my mind was withdrawing. Much as I want to be home, I'm less eager to return to the stress and arguments and incessant and irrelevant activity that is my professional life of late. So I responded to that cue and boosted medication, hoping it evened out my poor brain chemistry that just doesn't like changes.

I had some dinner and packed a bit more, folding dirty clothes and arranging the few purchases to make room for tomorrow's packing of oil and vases. I have a single pair of tights and one clean dress left - enough to carry me back to PHL and then on to home. I have hundreds of photos and a few personal directives that have occurred to me during my splendid Spanish explorations. Because I've not been particularly happy of late and I do think that the love of life I've experienced here should translate, at least in part, when I return to more familiar surroundings.

Drink water. Grab a bottle and a glass and enjoy the splash of liquid into the latter. I feel better having swallowed so very much mineral water here, rendered thirsty by the walking and warmth but watching my skin become more supple and my insides seem to slosh around a bit more happily.
Take time with food. Decide what you want - not what's most easily available - and focus on the eating of it. Oh, and acquire asparagus and mango. Lots and lots of mango.
Be more kind. Drop metaphorical coins in cups people hold - for interesting performances or sincere expressions of need. Offer compliments or sympathy or time to listen and share and support.
Buy flowers. Leave some at home and take some to work. It's a small, unnecessary thing, but I've adored my flowers in this hotel room. I smile at them and rub the tips of my fingers over the petals each day.
Walk for much longer. My muscles are stronger and feet no longer ache. So be outside and wander and enjoy - Chienne will be pleased to trot alongside.
Blog a bit more. Composing posts in my head as I walked, I found that I missed it. The finding of words and expression of emotions - it kept me present and thinking of my actions and reactions and how they might look when described.

Thanks for joining me here, folks. And adios until I'm back at home.

Discord

2011-03-26T08:57:00.004-05:00

I've meant to write something meaningful about dating. About men and sex and maturing in my view of myself and my relationship-y capabilities.

"No," I replied to my colleague as he sped through the streets of Madrid to deposit me at my hotel. "I've dated but I'm not married. I guess," I paused for I'm never good at articulating it, "I like being in love but don't like being hurt. The idea of a partner is appealing but constant compromise really isn't. I want it to be fun and it's sometimes more frustrating. So, no. I'm not married."

The book I'm reading is about twins and I wished while showering that I could break off a part of myself and send her on an alternate path.

"Pseudo-Katie," I would instruct kindly, "throw yourself into the relationship with Doug. Then let's meet up in 3 months or so and let me know how that goes." Or - 3 months ago - "Don't scare Will away. Be chic and sophisticated and, for goodness sake, have sex with the ridiculously sexy man! And when it ends, we'll decide if it hurt more my way or yours." Or "You'll meet Jack for dinner and then get a room. Semi-safe, semi-anonymous sex is an adventure and we do hate being bored! Oh, and in advance, apologies is something goes awry and you perish."

But there's just me, signaled with a raised index finger when requesting a table or purchasing a ticket to enter some wondrous place. And I can't figure out if I mind. It's pleasant to be here alone - to go to bed early or sleep late, eat when I'm hungry and stare at whatever I like. When my leg cramped on Passeig de Gracia, I hobbled to a bench and rotated my ankle, reaching to rub my calf through my gray tights. And I thought - as I sometimes do in the morning while dressing - of Will and his affection for hosiery. And I wondered, just for a moment, how it would feel to rest my forehead on his shoulder while he soothed the sore muscle and we set off again, our goal to chat over architecture and admire the terrace at La Pedrera. Afterward, I thought as the pain eased in my leg, we'd drink wine and nibble snacks, exchanging increasingly suggestive comments until indulging in said mood once we returned the privacy of our room.

I chatted with a woman in line for said tour and she mentioned her children were tired of the constant activity. I smiled and thought of Mom and her ambitious agendas and wondered how it would feel if Doug and his son went to explore nearby while I waited with his daughter and discussed how that doorway, with the wrought iron? Gaudi designed it to look like honeycomb. And how, after we walked through the building, we'd go get juice with mango in it.

And I panicked, feeling my breath catch and stomach turn as I looked at the curving structure beside me with the twists of metal and shimmering glass and none of it was right. It was interesting, but not right. And I closed my eyes, afraid and ashamed, thinking of the black glove that remained in the back of my Jeep after I'd taken Doug to the airport for his own vacation not long ago. It rested there, palm up in invitation, when I grabbed my bag before catching my flight from home. And I shook my head at it, locking it into the darkness of my vehicle parked in the deck, because I can't - or won't - accept said invitation.

Hours - and a brie sandwich, coffee, 3 bottles of water and much walking - later, I handed over two coins for a mango-coconut-strawberry juice and was no closer to answers as to why I can't - or won't - with Doug. It is, I decided painfully, as simple as my love for the juice. It's something in the way it smells and tastes and feels - the experience just triggers the happy neurochemicals and I feel good and want more.

And I don't know if it's Daddy issues or fear of commitment or something else that leaves me withdrawn from Doug. But I can't. Can't change it, can't throw myself into him and his family and this promise of something truly meaningful. So I sipped my juice and walked down narrow streets into El Raval. I finished my juice and paused to shake a pebble from my shoe. I smiled at babies in strollers and dogs on leashes and skirted more slowly moving pedestrians while others brushed past me.

There is a part of it - a part of me - that's sad.

But there's a part of it that's also affirming and hopeful and lovely. To explore someone - to know and appreciate him - and to decide to continue on together or apart. My guess is that Pseudo-Katie and I are headed in the same direction. That regardless of little decisions, we'd end up at the same spot with slightly different experiences on the way.

And with the knowledge of such constant things, I wrote postcards to my parents and nieces, stopping to buy Barcelona Futbol bears for the latter (and one for me - he's wearing little cleats and has a hole in his shorts for his tail!) on my walk back to the hotel. And when looking through the 100+ photos I'd taken today, I paused at a self-portrait and stared. Camera just below my chin, I'd captured the image of me looking into a mirror in the foyer of La Pedrera's apartment, chandelier sparkling over my shoulder and audiotour headphones over my ears. I looked, I decided, thoughtful and quietly happy. And somehow confident that I may - eventually - figure this out.

Buildings & Books, Flowers & Food

2011-03-25T12:15:00.007-05:00

Tis an odd and wonderful thing to spend days in the same place. To regain a sense of direction and comfort and pleasant routine. I rise and dress, dabbing my precious oil on my fingers to press into my shoulders and slip over my wrists, breathing in what I have decided will be my signature scent.

I enjoy the click of my shoes on the curving marble stairs as I descend, offering a greeting to the receptionist before departing my hotel and passing familiar shops and restaurants and beautiful buildings. Two blocks later, I become part of the crowd on La Rambla, noting which street performers are new this morning. (If you're early enough, you can watch as they smear on make-up and dress in their elaborate costumes.)

I arrive at La Boqueria and cross the street, breaking right before entering the narrow aisle between various stalls. I walk for a row or two, seeking a break in the mass of humanity, and slip inside to sigh over the juices and order something mixed with mango. The orange mango the first day was magical. The papaya orange yesterday, while good, wasn't as glorious. Today's kiwi mango was a return to everything juice should be. Hence, the mango has achieved avocado-like status in my affections.

I rejoin the crowds as I sip my juice, wandering toward the next metro stop (or the one after that if the sun feels perfect and I'm not finished being outside yet). I semi-expertly feed my ticket into the machine and wait for the doors to open or turnstyle to unlock before plucking my ticket out from the slot and tucking it back in my bag. I buy a water from the vending machine if I have time before the next train and then I ride to my current place of business. There, I learn until it is time to descend into the subway system again to return to the Ramblier environs.

(This photo, by the way, pretty much captures how I feel about the mango+other juice. Like sparkles of light glimmer around it while a heavenly choir of angels sing a perfect chord for its wonderful goodness. My mouth waters from the moment I see it snuggled in crushed ice and I reach eagerly for the plastic cup as the vendor pushes a straw through the lid. I perched it on the stairs to the subway just before finishing the last gulp and throwing the empty vessel in the trash with one last, longing glance. It's what gets me out of bed in the morning, people. God bless the juice and those who make it available to me.)

I decided to explore the Gothic Quarter before returning to my hotel and I took various photos of the narrow streets and tiny shops, grinning at the neon lights around the tattoo parlors and glancing at the shops with scarves and beads. I got a little lost, beginning to fret a little until I saw the cathedral and wandered around it admiringly. It's apparently still having some work done and I spent long moments in front of it looking at the sign and the map in my hands and the map by the sign. And the sign and the map by the sign and the map in my hands.

Deciding I was reasonably likely to go the wrong direction anyway, I glared at the map once more before turning and walking in what I hoped would bring me to the Plaza de Catalunya. (It would, actually.) Along the way, I found a bookshop and couldn't resist going in. Because books are happy so you should call your store Happy Books.

English books were on sale (2,95) so I selected two, holding them close to my chest as I wandered the rest of the shop before paying for my reading material and walking once again. I watched a crowd form around a group of young men who I think were going to dance, but the mass of people encircled them completely before I could see. Still, I smiled at the spectacle and began my internal debate over whether or not I was hungry.

I have a terrible habit of postponing meals until I'm nearly sick with hunger when I travel alone. Because I had books (and a journal, actually), I ordered myself to find a restaurant so I could watch people and read a novel and have a snack. A snack called pizza, actually, I decided and began to search out spots in earnest.

Disappointed with my failure, I approached my hotel and decided I could eat at the tapas place next door again. The asparagus with brie was yummy last night, but the chicken skewers were less than perfect as a source of protein. Yet I nearly bounced with glee upon seeing the menu for the section of tables adjacent to the tapas ones. I found a table (and then moved closer to the heater as I was becoming cold in my short sleeved dress) and ordered a pizza and soda while looking at my hotel about 15 feet away. And I grinned at my luck even as I poured the flavored oil atop the thin crust and cheese.

I finished with chocolate mouse and tart berries and cafe crema before beginning to shiver and asking for the check. Charmed by my book (A Spanish Lover, Joanna Trollope) and completely satisfied with my day, I climbed the marble steps to my floor, entered my straightened room and flopped on my bed to write a post.

Because as my eye would tell you via nary a single twitch in the last 4 days, Spain is good for the soul.

Spa(in)

2011-03-24T15:18:00.005-05:00

I did go for more juice this morning.

Then there was metro - learn, learn, learn - metro.

And then...I went to a ridiculously expensive spa and can report that you do, indeed, get what you pay for.

After days of small rooms and skipped meals and cramped metros rather than clean cabs, I decided I needed a treat. And after browsing spas online, I kept returning to the Barcelona Spring treatment at a hotel nearby. So, after a wince at the price, I booked it. And winced again at the price.

Still, I've never regretted splurges on spa treatments while traveling for work. There's something about pausing to be utterly self-indulgent (I usually hover around 85%). So I went to Floor -1 in a very posh hotel and settled into a low sofa, awaiting my welcome tea. (It was not as good as the juice. But I survived.)

I was taken to the changing room after a woman took my shoes (on a tray - my poor flats were outclassed) and gave me slippers. I left my skirt and sweater in my locker and decided to take a shower as I had time before my appointment began. Emerging from the giant stall, nice and clean, I giggled as I donned disposable underwear (my first ever thong, by the way) and tied my silky robe closed before going to the Relaxation Room. I had water and a piece of stone fruit I was unable to identify and crossed my ankles as I reclined on my lounge chair and watched the black chains that formed a sort of wall drift and shimmer in the candlelight.

My therapist, an adorable British girl, fetched me and took me to the lobby of my treatment room and settled me into a chair for my foot treatment. She explained things but I tried to be attentive, but the pressure on my sore soles was delightful and my toes wiggled affectionately.

I followed her behind the curtain and took off my robe, arranging myself in a prone position on the towel-covered massage table.

I am a cough drop, I decided as she began to scrub my skin with a salt mixture scented with lime and mint and containing menthol that made my skin tingly. I pictured someone unwrapping me from my crinkly protective paper and popping me in his mouth. I would release soothing vapors - soothe sore throat and clear nasal passages - and click gently against the inside of teeth.

I flipped over when asked, becoming all cough-droppy on the front as well and blinking my eyes open when she said we were finished with this part.

"OK," I agreed and grinned when the head of the table raised so that I could easily slip off the table and into the shower in the corner. She gave me instructions - push this button, turn this knob, be sure to get the scrub off your neck and feet. I squinted, mostly blind sans glasses, and nodded and sleepily entered the room where purple lights glimmered from the ceiling.

"Oh," I said, happily surprised when depressing the proper button caused it to rain. I looked up into the purple glow, realizing the entire ceiling was dripping warm water onto my skin. I closed my eyes to listen as I kept my face turned upward, delighting in the sensation before slicking my hands over my body to remove the scrub.

"I'm all silky," I told my therapist once I'd emerged, dried off, exchanged disposable panties for a dry pair and settled myself on the table once again. "I miss the shower already," I sighed and she patted my calf before promising this next part was 'the best bit.'

After taking a deep breath as instructed, I perked up and decided if I could smell a single scent for the rest of my life, this would be it. Delicate and sweet, a gentle waft of mint and eucalyptus and something else I couldn't place permeated my brain, leaving it bathed in peaceful contentment. She began to rub the oil on my skin, starting at my feet, and alternating hot stones with firm pressure from fingers and palms.

It felt endless - like there was infinite time to relax and stretch and let muscles lose their tension and have my tummy rubbed with the perfect oil as my breasts were covered with a soft cloth. I ended up under the fluffy towel, her hands in my hair as she pressed points in my scalp and gently smoothed the stands.

I am an olive, I decided as I bundled back in my robe and slippers and returned to the relaxation room and the shimmering black chains. I'm marinating in my oil, growing supple and rich and delicious. I debated whether I - as an olive - would have a pit or pimento while I nibbled on nuts and gulped my water. Finished, I shuffled back to the changing room and returned to that shower, sleepily standing under the spray and washing my hair and rinsing my body before wandering out to pay.

And I was too blissed out to wince over the price, even after I added a bottle of oil so I could smell like this again at home.