Of Amstel & Dam

It's lovely even from the air, finding me twisting toward my window to try to get the proper angles as we glided among the clouds above AMS.  Twisting rivers, defined towns and acres of countryside - a perfectly sunny welcome to the Netherlands.

 I arrived, met colleagues who spoke perfect English and were refreshingly straightforward.  We had drinks then dinner in preparation for the Friday meetings and I went to sleep at the Crowne Plaza, positively delighted by the sleep-friendly aromatherapy and little burgundy notes throughout the room.
 

There's a small sign on the bathroom door that says 'small things make a big difference.'  I've decided that's the case when it comes to Amsterdam in general.  From the complimentary water bottle to the field of wildflowers nearby to the bed with extra pillows.  It's just a wonderful place to stay.

My meetings went well - were both friendly and productive.  I answered questions and presented material and indicated that I did not want to leave my current position, but might need to do so, asking them to trust that I'd direct anyone new to take good care of them.

I had dinner at Le Garage with the VI-iest of the VIPs in my circle, giggling with him and his wife as we nibbled at fish and drank a bottle of wine.  My colleagues were most impressed by his restaurant choice and I nodded when my companions made subtle motions toward celebrities I did not know.

"Does he play soccer?  Er, futbol?" I asked innocently more than once.  "I understand you enjoy that."

Upwards of 3 hours after my arrival, my cheeks tingle from the scrape of his stubble when he kissed me goodnight.

"Three times," he laughed when I pulled away after the first and second kisses.  "We Dutch are generous."

And they are - my taxi drivers were the epitome of friendliness so I chatted as I adjusted yet another of my dresses that are cut too low.  (I don't know why I insist on exposing so much cleavage lately.  Perhaps because dresses that are suitably knee-length and flowing try to be sexier in other bosom-based regions?)

Still, I arrived feeling pleasantly tipsy and nearly pretty with my glossy lips and curling hair and dress that flirted with the backs of my knees.  I fell into bed with absent prayers for Dad - they held chemotherapy yet again as his legs remain swollen.  I fear for what I'll find when I return home, but am eager to offer Mom some in-person support.

But I awakened to an email that said he had a good day.  Accepted Kool-Aid to drink and had eaten a bit.  In the event that God favors requests from others (which I don't believe, but am covering my bases), could you pray if you're of that persuasion?  I need him to be peaceful and happy - at least in some moments.  Please, please, please...

 I had a bit of a lie-in (wonderful expression) this morning as it poured rain outside my window.  Yes, I wanted to see the city center.  No, I did not particularly want to be uncomfortably damp when doing so.

Still, when I finally felt like emerging from my pillowy nest, the rain continued.  So I dressed and departed, acquiring a map and then catching the metro, bright green umbrella around my wrist.

It was cold and wet and I wanted to wrinkle my nose, but I mustered my happiness and followed the crowds of umbrellaed tourists down the street away from the station.  It was crowded and I subconsciously move away from crowds, finding myself alone on smaller streets without really meaning to do so.  Still, the smaller streets are charming and I enjoyed the pace - pausing for photos, juggling my umbrella and camera and bag. 

Content was I until a car sped down the flooded street, sending a television-worthy arc of water toward me while I winced helplessly - umbrella already folded at my side as the spray soaked me from ponytail to silver flats. 

So I took a boat ride, determined to dry out at least slightly, and took many pictures blurred by the rain on the windows.  I finally got my bearings and found the flower market.  Had lunch.  Watched a prostitute take a man through her door and behind her curtains (her dress matched my umbrella, actually - my umbrella had far more material).  I peeked in sex shops and inhaled while wandering past coffee houses, trying to determine if the slightly-sweet scent was marijuana during a break in the weather.  

It had started to rain again though and, tired of being wet if not tired in general, I moved toward Centraal and immediately found the metro I desired.  Slipping back to the hotel, I checked email to make sure all was well at home and fell into a nice nap.  

And tomorrow I go home.

Pamplemousse

The trip thus far has been lovely.  Meetings productive.  Hotels luxurious.  Walks beautiful and never-too-far.  I'm far below budget, sleeping reasonably well and finding delicious treats.

The bittersweet component comes in bursts - firecracker swift and loud and startling.  We were discussing healthcare last night over dinner.  I was savoring my roast chicken, already looking forward to chocolate cake, and the topic turned to affordable healthcare.

"That's fine in theory," I replied after it was said that some procedures return too little on the investment.  "But as I'm losing my Dad, I could see myself going up to and including murder to keep him just one more day when we reach the end.  It's just a visceral, human response to losing someone you love."

The conversation continued  and I reached past my wine glass for my water, needing the Evian to soothe my throat and found my hands were shaking too badly to risk raising the glass.  So I stared out the front window at the darkening French evening and helplessly prayed the moment would pass. 

On our walk back to the hotel, Adam and I chatted companionably and remarked over various items professional and pretty.  Placing my flats carefully on the uneven cobblestones between the perfectly manicured trees lining our rue, I debated but finally asked if my probational period was close to ending.

"What?" he asked and I wondered if he was stalling or simply tipsy and tired.

"The plan," I explained impatiently.  "You say I've done well.  I think I've done well.  So when is this over?"  And I nodded when he indicated there was one task remaining and that it was more his fault than mine that we'd not yet checked off that list.  We said goodnight and I moved into my room, kicking off my silver shoes and slipping out of my sweater that covered the plunging neckline of my dress.

"You're fine," I told myself soothingly, but the sense of failure - of shame and pitiful misery - left me breathless.  It took me several hours before I could relax into sleep, leaving me to skip this morning's optional meetings so I could rest.  (Which is probably indicative of my overall problem and why this probational period happened at all.)

I made the three hour journey to the airport - by foot then train then foot again.  Ridiculously proud of my financially and environmentally friendly commute, I grabbed my ticket, cleared security and found a spot for lunch. 

As I waited for my quiche to warm, I shifted my dessert and drink and said a quick but fervent prayer that Dad's oncology appointment would go well today.  That I'd find my professional path and move on it a bit more easily.  That the woman begging on the train and people with real problems feel love and mercy and comfort. 

Now, CDG, despite my frequent criticism, is giving me free internet as I wait to depart to Amsterdam.  (I just don't love this airport though - in all fairness - it's perfectly nice.)  I've not been there so my brain should be bathed in new sights and sounds and smells for the next couple of days before returning to spend some time with my parents. 

I do hope you're all well - that there's far more sweet than bitter in your stories of the day. 

Picture Postcards

Dear Canon PowerShot ELPH 500HS,

Thank you for accompanying me on this trip, like others we have taken together before.  Remember when we were in Versailles in February?  It's much prettier now - more colors to capture as the flowers bloom.  It's rather gently joyful, don't you think?

Some may find it rather pathetic that you're my travel buddy, but I've grown fond of wandering alone through streets and up paths with you dangling from my wrist.  It reminds me to pause and examine the moment.  To capture the way light glimmers and flows and how petals dance in the breeze.  And the output allows me to share pieces of my journey with those I love, though email and online.

I took a picture of us together in a mirror in the lobby.  I'll let you keep it to remember our fun and friendship.

Love and pretty pictures, Katie

Dear European Portion of Travel Adapter,

Please accept my apology for leaving you in my last hotel.  It was a regrettable oversight - I really meant to unplug you and put you neatly with your friends for the other countries and was dismayed to find you missing upon my arrival at my new hotel. 

It was kind of the housekeeping staff to find you and my colleague to fetch you in his car though, wasn't it?  I promise to be more careful for the rest of our journey.  The electronics demand your presence to refill their batteries so you're an important component of our operation here.

Sparky kisses,
Katie

Dear Waldorf Astoria,

I've have never stayed at one of your hotels before and I will happily admit that I'm impressed.  The buildings and gardens, lobbies and rooms - all exquisite.  I was just sitting on the velvet chaise lounge by my large window and wishing I had it in my house.  So - sincerely - nicely done.

Upon reading some reviews online though, I wondered if I might offer some advice around pricing.  I, you see, am using a very reasonable corporate rate (155 Euros) and am enjoying my stay immensely.  If you, however, demand upwards of 700 Euros for a suite - as nice as that suite may be - there's much more potential for disappointment.  Economic times are difficult.  Perhaps you could have a sale!  After all, you really are a place to sleep and shower.

With admiration and advice,
Katie

Yapping Dog Down Hall,

No.  Bad Dog.  This is the Waldorf Astoria, for goodness sake!  Dignity and decorum, s'il vous plaît.

Annoyed but whispering,
Human Next Door

Le Chauffer

“You should have told us before you had breakfast,” the receptionist scolded me.  I sheepishly apologized before remembering that she – in some sense – worked for me.  “It sometimes is difficult to get a car.”

“As soon as you can,” I repeated.  “I’ll wait until the car can arrive.”  Then I smiled politely and took my seat in the lobby as it quickly filled with other guests who had not requested rides in a timely manner. 

Ahmed, my driver, arrived first and stopped traffic with a casual wave, gesturing me across the street and into the back of his sedan.  I fastened my seatbelt, indicated that, no, I don’t speak French and set about the cheerful pantomime that accompanies my English regardless of which country I visit. 

“It’s beautiful here,” I told him as we inched along streets lush with vegetation on both sides. 

“Good bread, good wine, good cheese.  Good girls, good boys!” he replied happily in his lilting accent, making me laugh.  We chatted as we progressed toward the office and I admired the cool breeze entering the window as I gazed at fields of soft amber grasses and ostentatious medians – blooms of multiple hues literally tumbling in charming designs.

I cleared the security building and promptly became lost on campus.  “I found the building where you used to work,” I apologized to a new colleague when she came to fetch me.  “I’m not sure if I was distracted by the flowers or didn’t understand the directions.  But I was nowhere close,” I noted some 10 minutes later as we continued to hike through parking lots.

Upon arrival, I was offered a table in the middle of the room and decided everyone liked me so much that I had to be equidistant from each of the occupants so no one felt cheated.  I did, I decided, take extra care with curling my hair this morning.  So their admiration seemed sensible even though it placed me nowhere near an outlet.

We worked steadily until my first appointment arrived.  “I didn’t have anything in particular to discuss,” I told the women who joined me around my table.  But I answered questions and offered insights long after our scheduled 60 minutes had elapsed.  I need a challenge, I thought of my professional life, but it is lovely to be good at your job without really trying.  

We went to lunch (for-like-ever...) and I stood behind a colleague even as I wrinkled my nose over his choice of ham with some odd sauce.  After confirming that it was pork-body and not calf-brain, I asked if he could order me the same (as, again, I do not speak the French).  

"She wants the same," he said in English and I raised an eyebrow at him.  

"I could have done that," I murmured, trying to figure out how to act out "equal to" to the chef behind the counter.  My colleague quickly said a whole bunch of stuff I didn't understand (and which may or may not have been complimentary to yours truly) and I was handed a full plate that I didn't finish.  

"Oh, wow," I interrupted a French history lesson when I abandoned my entree to enjoy my dessert.  It was this delightful souffle sort of wonder with toasted almonds atop and was somehow at once rich and light.  "This is amazing," I continued as I ate it, shaking my head that my colleagues had access to such treats and did not partake.

I sent an email, using the card Ahmed directed me to use, and asked my new-friend-with-a-car to come fetch me at 4:15.  Then I asked him to confirm that 1615 suited his schedule.  

"Hello. ok thx." Ahmed replied and I decided we were unlikely to be pen pals.  Then he sent the same message again 14 minutes later and I decided he also thought my hair was very pretty today, being so obviously eager to see me again.

After completing some meetings but leaving a bit of work undone, I went to find Ahmed.  I beamed at him as I entered the security office - one of the few French who'd not scolded me and arrived ahead of schedule.  He deposited me in the back seat, closing the door gently  behind me and asking about my day.  

We retraced our route to my hotel and I rested a bit until dinnertime.  I decided a creperie was less shameful than a pizzeria and selected the closest one that was open on Mondays.  After asking permission, I seated myself at an outdoor table and ordered sweet cider while I frowned over the multitude of choices.  

Upon her return, the proprietor scolded me for not deciding quickly enough and watched me from the doorway as I became increasingly stressed and indecisive.  (I ended up with a camembert & salad brown-crepe and a chocolate-almond-whipped-cream pale-crepe for dessert - they were delicate and delightful.)  (My ever-present dining-supervisor was less so.) (Though she did bring me a spoon when I had more chocolate and whipped cream than crepe at the end.  So perhaps she was just bored.  Or couldn't stop looking at my prettily-curled hair!)

I wandered a bit, admiring the wispy grey clouds making patterns in the sky, before returning to climb the spiral staircase to my room.  I shall finish some work before bed.

And email Ahmed to see that he takes me to my new hotel tomorrow morning. 

 

 

Procedure

Step 1, I decided, was to pack and clean.  And so I carefully selected wrinkle-proof dresses and miscellaneous underthings, rolling them into the Vera Bradley overnight bag I received for Christmas.  I brought the same one on my last European trip - that happy time in February where I flitted across France and Italy and the UK.  My plans this time are less grand.  Meetings at the local office in France.  A quick stop in Amsterdam before heading home.

   

My life, this time, is much worse.  Step 2, you see, was going home.  Carting unhappy canine and feline and forgotten items from my family's last trip to see me, I arrived on Wednesday, taking advantage of the holiday weekend to steal a bit more time with my family.  

Step 3 was getting here - to this hotel in this suburb of Paris - and each time I wanted to wince at my plane-related discomfort or swear viciously at people who were thwarting my attempts to move through various lines, I would think, 'Is this worse than watching Dad die?'  So I would shake my head and pray with all my spiritual might, meager as that may be.  

He was grotesquely swollen when I arrived - pitting edema, Friend says - and his legs would barely bend.  I had to place my hand beneath his flip flop and lift as he struggled into the car on the way to the oncologist on Thursday.  The next morning found us at the hospital to have some of the fluid drained.  They took 12.3 Liters before returning him to us.

Can you picture 12.3+ liters of orange fluid on your belly?  Trapping you in chairs because you're too heavy to rise?  Unable to lie down because of the pressure and pain?  And so I sat, staring at him, as he slumped in his recliner or on the nest of cushions Mom made on the couch.  His head bowed, dozing at times, skin hanging from his face because he's lost so much weight but belly and legs distended from all the fluid.  Though I remained quiet, my brain was screaming - calling out in pain and fear.  

As I flew over the Atlantic, moving back to step 3, I wished - just for a second or two - that I would tumble into the ocean.  Disintegrate on impact so that this body - this place - can't deteriorate or attack itself or be abandoned by those I love.  But while I am profoundly sad, I am not suicidal.  I did not attack anyone in the sweaty passport-control line in the bowels of CDG.  I climbed on the train and not in front of it for my trip to the suburbs.  I continued to walk even when laden with luggage and miserably lost from 60 minutes of searching.

The man at reception found a room for me when I arrived, shaken and damp with sweat from the sunny morning.  He brought me a bottle of water before sending me up the stairs to get a cool shower and nice nap - I nearly kissed him. I showered, rinsing the travel and misery from my skin, and climbed into bed to let my mind and body relax into sleep.  

When I awakened, I sent email to let my parents and brother know I'd arrived, pulled on now-dry clothing (I packed light - there's no help for it) and went for a walk, map in hand this time.  I tried to enjoy the pleasant afternoon - the shafts of sunlight amidst shimmers of sprinkling rain, all against the backdrop of French architecture, of whim I'm inordinately fond.  And I did coo at the flowers and pause to take photos, stopping to say prayers at the churches, begging help for my family as fervently as I did yesterday while holding my parents' hands. 

"I ate a banana!" I scolded my calf when it cramped yet again after I rested on the bed I'm renting for two nights.  "Stop.  Relax.  I'm doing all I can."

And after I walked away the pain of spasming muscles, I decided to take my own advice.  Stop.  Relax.  Do what I can.  So I ate pizza (I know, but there were calf brains and snails on the menu of the French place!) and wandered back and think I'm sleep some more before going to the office tomorrow.  

We'll call that Step 4.

Mea Culpa*

I was introduced to a research group who had previously been unknown to me.  As is my typical procedure, I set up a phone call, indicated that, no, I don't have a travel budget that would tolerate a visit in person.  

So we had a call.  And I got overwhelmed by the quantity of research interests.  And one of the fastest ways to land in the 'deal with it later' pile of a busy Industry professional is to lack focus.  The best procedure?

1. What do you want from Industry?
2. Why do you want it?
3. Why would Industry want to give it to you?

In the absence of what information, I can't form an action plan and we just have endless discussions about how great you are and how much we like you but nothing really gets done.  

Still, as an Industry representative who cares about your needs and time, I should always (always, always) follow up with some offer of another discussion.  But let's pretend I deal with dogs, specifically.  This group liked dogs.  But they also liked cats and snakes and birds (of all colors).  Had more than a passing interest in zebras, giraffes and primates.  And those folks over there were fond of cows, chickens and goats.  And that guy in the corner who I couldn't really hear over the speaker phone kept mentioning seals, penguins and blue whales.  

In short, I got overwhelmed, knew I couldn't even begin to tackle this group to begin to make connections and prioritize and passed it off to another individual.  This person shall know be known as Useless.  

I sent detailed notes to the team - people who'd introduced me to this group, Useless, Useless's Boss, my boss and other who might be interested.  I told Adam I didn't have the network of cross-functional managers to adequately follow up and he agreed to the Useless plan.

I had a call to get Useless organized.

I wrote email to remind Useless that I was out of the office for family issues and asked that he keep me updated as meetings moved forward.  

I did everything right!  Hence the * in the title! (Except one notable thing.  Do you know the notable thing?)

Recently, there was a Severe Escalation (read: Everyone Panic!!) because nobody had contacted the site.  And now they were understandably frustrated and Important People wanted to know who messed up and why.  

So there was this flurry of emails and phone calls.  My contribution was to send my original notes, find the emails that indicated I handed off this responsibility and tried (mostly unsuccessfully) not to get upset.  

Useless was trying to follow up.  I got four Useless calls in the matter of an hour asking random questions until I finally advised that we all calm down and relax a little bit.  Then I took my own advice, picked Friend up from the airport and had a really lovely weekend with one of my favorite people on the planet.  

This morning, I drafted an email to the leader of the varied-interest group.  I begged her pardon and noted that we did need someone at a higher level to participate and had meetings to that effect, but something got lost in translation.  I explained that I'd been out for personal reasons and sincerely regretted that I'd not introduced her directly to Useless so that he could follow up.  I expressed our interest in learning more and advised some initial focus to get started.  Then I apologized again, textually hanging my head because I'd been bad.  

And this is OK because I did screw up - I should have included this leader in my follow up plan, ensuring everyone was completely clear on what I expected to happen next.  As I didn't do that, her perspective was that I still owned the next step and that was a fair (and frustrating) assessment.  Which I did sincerely regret.  

But!  Now this email - my thoughtfully-written, head-hanging email - is being circulated throughout the sales team as evidence that Headquarters Has Apologized and We Can Now Move Forward.  And I keep writing responses that indicate it wasn't really my fault!  If Useless were Reliable, we'd be finished by now!  I had email that vindicated me!  I was trying to be the bigger person here and maintain the relationship by taking a hit to my ego.  

But I can't.  Because that does nobody any good.

But at least now you know - * I do not think this was my fault.  And apart from sighing too loudly when Useless calls me (and ignoring said calls sometimes), it seems this was my only option for venting.  

Curb Alert

One of my first purchases upon finding a house was an inexpensive lawnmower.  I shoved it across the grass that surrounded my house in post-doctoral city and then had the movers bring it to my current locale.

I grew weary of my hands numbing from the vibrations, however, and decided to replace the green mower with a self-propelled red one.  Since then, said green mower has remained safely housed in my shed.

My mom, always supportive of underdogs, likes to use it when she visits and last weekend was no exception.  Brother drug it from the shed, using a nifty duck and cover maneuver to avoid the wasps, filled it with gas and yanked on the starter until it roared to life, belching black smoke of the quality and quantity that a dragon would have certainly been impressed and envious.

"Perhaps we should not use it," I shouted from the deck, but was unheard over the roar and then coughing too hard from the smoke to repeat my suggestion.  So I shook my head in affectionate dismay and came inside to tell Dad that Mom was at it again.

"Motor fell off," Brother reported when he walked in from the garage.  Mom followed, looking crestfallen.  (I rose to hug her in sympathy - it sucks when things get old and fall apart.)

"It vibrated awfully hard," I said gently, still patting my mother and she nodded, agreeing that it was also hard to breathe in the dense fog of smoke.  I stifled a giggle but met Brother's eyes and had to laugh.  "Perhaps we could give it away," I suggested, not wanting to try to piece it together again only to face the same problem next time.

"Curb alert!" Brother proclaimed, sitting down and reaching for Dad's laptop, tapping away with his index fingers to log in to his account.  "What else do you have that you want to give away?"

"Her desk!" Mom decided and I nodded my assent.  Upon buying my new couch, furniture got shuffled and my old table became my new desk and my old desk sat on my front porch for a couple days.  (Between my failure at yard work and storing furniture outside, my neighbors are probably ready to elect me Princess of Subdivision.)

"Now we wait," Brother declared a bit later, having published his ad and moved the two treasures near the road.  Mom, Dad, the girls and I all nodded.

I was spraying around my house for bugs when I alerted my family to the vehicle stopped out front.

"I bet he takes the mower," Brother whispered and I nodded in agreement, hurrying inside to tell Dad that someone was here.

"I bet he takes the mower," Dad said and I grinned when I informed him that Brother had anticipated the same thing.  Mom had walked over to chat with him, waving when he left and confiding to us that she almost made him take the desk as well.

I was upstairs with the girls when I heard Brother bounding up the steps.  "Someone came for the desk!  He's tying it on top of a minivan!  With twine!  Come see!!"

The girls scampered down and Mom and I followed to peer out the window and wager on how far he could get before the monstrosity of a workspace fell from his roof and splintered into a million pieces.  Brother narrated, counting the pieces of twine and number of knots.  Dad ambled over to shake his head before returning to his spot on my new couch.  The girls giggled and I grinned as I smoothed their hair, all of us leaning to get a better look as the van drove away.

I hadn't really thought about it - one of many silly moments when we laughed - but I was reminded yesterday when I took an unwanted container of peanut brittle to work.  My folks forgot to take it home and I don't eat peanut brittle, so I stuck it in my bag and set it by the coffee machine when I went to get hot water for tea.

I needed more tea a bit later so I returned to the machine and gasped when I saw that the peanut brittle was nearly gone.  I beamed, glancing around to see if anyone new was coming for crumbs and laughed when I realized that I was a little disappointed I hadn't waited to see who'd taken some and if it seemed to brighten their mornings.

It seems that - for better or worse - I am utterly a product of my family.

Courses & Obstacles

My family visited this weekend - Mom, Dad, Brother, his girlfriend, Little One and Smallest One made the trip and settled in on Friday night, and departing again mere hours ago. 

It is one of those wrenching moments when I acknowledge this may be Dad's last time here in this house that he helped unpack and advised on decorating and sweated through landscaping. 

I recall losing my beloved grandmother in high school and reaching to touch her at the visitation.  I recoiled when I realized how very cold she was, knowing nothing but warmth where she was concerned.

Dad's hands and feet - whether from inactivity or water retention or something else - are cold to touch.  So I found myself sitting next to him and dedicating myself to rubbing warmth back in his fingers.  His abdomen is distended and he isn't feeling particularly well.  He wanders the house at night, seeking a comfortable position in this world and it's so overwhelmingly sad.  The grief, even now, eclipses what I've known before and I struggle with and against it, even in tormented dreams.

The Ones are stunningly spoiled, making any and all demands and allowing little time to meet them.  But whether it's going to buy toys or visiting a playground or going to the fair, they are a beautiful distraction - smart and charming and delightfully cuddly at times.  Little One shared my room on this visit and her presence comforted me - I'd wake and look around, sometimes touch her hand gently where it rested by her cheek, leaving me to try to relax into sleep again.

We rode a train and bought food at farms.  We rode the merry-go-round at the fair and played 18 holes of mini golf.  We went shopping and ate out and giggled over television and internet. 

Little One is at the point where she's interested in family lore, constantly requesting stories and listening avidly.  I remember that stage - begging for slideshows that made everyone groan but treasuring the laughter that echoed through the house as we relived memories, sharing them with those of us who weren't yet born during the live event.

Brother worked, quite frankly, like a dog while here.  His decision to come was a bit late but I was quite happy to have him.  Even if he hadn't mowed and weeded my lawn.  Rid my yard of 8 wasp nests.  Fixed my front door which blew open in a violent wind.  Moved furniture a few times.  Attempted to correct my constantly-running toilet (which I finally turned off and will call a plumber tomorrow).  The boy is nearly 30 - which makes me shake my head - but is a good guy, despite the near-constant drinking.  I wish I knew how to help him battle those mental demons, but I'm proud and fond nonetheless. 

And we talked about American Ninja Warrior.  Brother made videos at the playground of him jumping over a step ("Everyone can do that," Little One offered in response.) and moving across the monkey bars.  We giggled and huddled a bit closer together in a too-hot house that made only Dad comfortable. 

I snuggled with Mom as we cooked and cleaned and talked.  She's helping me make sense of this professional could-be-opportunity so I feel more prepared for whatever news arrives this week.  We clung before they climbed in the car to depart, unsure of the future and what challenges it brings, but blessed there on the driveway to have had this time.

I'll close with a hopeful 'and many more...'

Interview - Recruitment-Style

"How did we find you?" one man asked, smiling when I shrugged. 

"I'm honestly not sure," I replied, "But I'm very flattered by the interest.  I'm actually happy in my current role."

"But you took the call," he challenged easily and I opened my mouth to reply before closing it, unsure of what to say.  So I smiled sheepishly.

"I actually missed the call," I corrected him.  "But, yes - I did call back."

"It happens to all of us," he said, having switched companies himself.  "When the other side just looks too green to skip a second look."

I tell myself sometimes that I'm not unhappy.  When Sibling asked what that meant, I frowned and tried to explain. 

"Let's say there's a continuum of happiness," I decided.  "Where zero is utter misery and pain and ten is ecstasy.  Happy would be 7-10.  Unhappy would be 0-3.  So if I'm above 3 but below 7, I saw I'm 'not unhappy.'"

And though I'd not admit it in an interview (of course), my professional number has probably hovered around a 4.  I'm sick of so many policies and procedures.  I don't understand some people.  And while there are so many reasons to love what I do, I somehow just don't. 

"So you're too old to go back," Adam said during a recent discussion. 

"To research?" I asked.  "Am not," I pouted when he nodded but soon grinned at him.  "I don't want to return to the world of academics."

"So what do you want?" he asked.

"I don't know," I sighed after a long pause.  "I think I want more responsibility, but I actually just want more power.  I'd like more money, though that seems selfish since I do have enough.  I want to live near my family.  I want to have a dog.  I don't know."

"You want that job," he told me firmly and I nodded obediently, doing my best to get it during my trip to their headquarters.  I read old notes and textbooks.  I reviewed documents and practiced interview questions in the car.  And I took my prettiest dress and favorite jacket and shiniest flats. 

I stayed in a lovely hotel and took a nice walk after breakfast.  I drove my rented minivan (that was luxuriously convenient, honestly - I was ashamed of how much I liked it) to a designated parking lot and freshened my lip gloss before settling in for meetings. 

"Nervous?" one of them asked.

"I must be getting old," I replied.  "Because I'm really not."  And it was easy to pause before answering questions.  To answer honestly and articulately.  To be proud of my responses as I highlighted projects and accomplishments that reminded me that I should feel better than "4" about my career.

"Any concerns about my background?  Is there anything I can address while I'm here?"

"Not from me," the VP replied and returned my smile.  "It's a team decision, honestly, but I know all I need."

And though I'd rather love the job I have, I may take this new opportunity if offered.  There is something about a do-over that I find appealing.  Scary-as-hell, but appealing nonetheless. 

So my head aches and stomach cramps and I sleep more than any human should.  But my dad is feeling better (!!!!!!) and they're thinking of coming to visit next week.  And I have a number of projects which demand my attention and make me feel productive.  We'll see what comes next. 

FFS

I was reading a blog that Friend recommended, laughing over texts between a guy and his dog, when I came across an abbreviation I didn't know.

"For Fuck's Sake," Friend offered helpfully and I nodded at her reply to my inquiry.

And I uttered those letters with varying degrees of feeling - from friendly exasperation to vicious rage.

1. I awakened at 2AM, rolling over and calculating how much more time I could snuggle under covers.  It wasn't long.
2. When attempting to open my Advil en route to the airport, I was unable to outsmart the child-proof cap and injured myself in the attempt.  I also failed, meaning my head and hand hurt. 
3. I got lost on the way to the airport.  My home airport.  That I use frequently.  But who closes an interstate?!
4. Upon finding the airport, I missed the turn for parking.  Meaning I circled again as the sun peeked above the horizon and the hour neared 4:15.
5. As I lost my way, I ended up joining the security line late.  Behind ~40 middle school travelers embarking upon some sort of field trip.  
6. I selected the wrong line for carry-on screening, watching men who had been behind me for the ID check speed through while I waited behind slowpokes.  (Said slowpokes were not part of the field trip group - they operated like a well-oiled, matching-shirted machine!)
7. Upon arriving at the gate, my newly-purchased bottle of water was already too slippery to hold.  FFS, humidity!
8. The colleague I was accompanying on the trip (as he was the important one for this particular case) checked in at the airport and therefore didn't have a seat on our over-sold flight.
9. After getting all excited about not having to go at all, we had enough volunteers linger - hoping for more than a $400 voucher - and my colleague got a seat.
10. "We have to go," I sighed, shoulders slumping as I followed him down the jet bridge.  "FFS," I offered mildly.
11. Once boarded, we waited for fuel.  Did we not realize we'd need fuel beforehand?
12. Once landed, we waited for someone to drive the jet bridge to us.  Did they not realize we were arriving on schedule?  Hello?  LGA?
13. While I made it past security at our destination without having to jump through hoops, my colleague was not as smooth.  Which meant I had to go back to fetch him and jump through even more hoops. 
14. We caught a cab easily, my last terrifying visit to the city having taught me where to hail one.  And I did - I hailed one!  But I hurt my hand trying to open the door.
15. Feeling in need of a little perk, I texted a friend, expecting him to make me laugh.  He failed to make me laugh, but succeeded in hurting my feelings.  So I'm officially mad at and ignoring him.  He doesn't know this, but I do.
16. A little offended and a lot impatient, we arrived at JFK and skirted a huge line of humanity to check in.  "They can't be waiting to clear security," I breathed, watching the mass of people snake around the check-in counters and out the door into the beautiful afternoon.  
17. An hour later, I was convinced that it would ease at some point.  That we'd stop this slow shuffle forward and TSA would add more people or Delta would get organized in managing the lines and we'd all zip through!  
18. An hour after that, I was near tears.  I hated the person managing the lines - how dare she talk to colleagues?!  Or go get water?!  Was she not aware of my misery?  Of how awful the impatience and sense of fairness was to me?  I wished bad things for her, I decided, glaring steadily.
19. We were finally pulled out of line when our flight was called, joining the single line of people going through a single scanner!  One at a time!  FFS, JFK! Or TSA!  Or President Obama!  Or whoever did this to me!
20. We finally arrived back home.  Only to wait 10 minutes (which felt like an eternity, honestly) for the jet bridge to reach the plane.  How hard is this, people?

FGS Items

- I wore a blue chiffon top over a slightly darker camisole and made so many friends!  I had men chatting with me all day, which was lovely.  The flight attendant on my first flight, the guy in front of me in line at JFK (with the delicious accent and quirky glasses), my seat mate on the flight back home.  Thank you, friendly men.

- I talked to my folks and things are OK at home.  Dad doesn't feel well and he's trying to like his new recliner but they keep taking it back to get new ones. (I didn't fully understand - I was tired and fighting traffic.)

- Much as I feel tempted to explore the city while actually outside a cab or when I'm not arriving and departing in the same day, I'm so pleased to be home.   I love being home.

- I love Delta cookies.  

- My hair, curled before dawn, stayed all pretty all day.  

Plan of Attack

I was wandering down the court on which I reside this morning, indulging in wide yawns as I followed Chienne through the coolish early morning air.

"Oh, no," I said mildly when a yapping-dustmop-dog sprinted toward us when we passed one of the prettier lawns in the neighborhood.  I knew said yapping-dustmop-dog was restrained and rather enjoyed its jerk back when he reached the end of his cord.

I rarely meet dogs I don't like, but this one - and his smaller friend - are awful.  They're outright mean to my friendly Chienne and stupid-looking to boot.  But when the smaller friend joined the melee and was nipping at my hound while growling ferociously, I joined the battle and used my feet, arms and voice to try to defend my girl.

She fought reasonably effectively, short hair standing on end and teeth bared in the scariest growl I've heard her use.  Loose-yapping-dustmop-dog started to yipe rather than yap, nearly screaming in some mixture of rage and fear as its person joined me in trying to separate our canines.

"Wow," I said when it was over, leaning down to soothe Chienne while offering a number of glares at the trio standing in the neatly-manicured yard.  I don't remember what the woman said or how I replied - I do recall apologizing to Chienne as she panted, otherwise still as she attempted to keep track of the yapping-dustmop-dogs.

In other battles, I have arranged travel for my first interview in years.  I need to read up on some grad school topics I've not really used since 2002.  I should refresh my memory of interviewing tips - did I not write a post or two?

I've learned since my last interview experience that it's fine to spend some money.  I picked the flights that were the most convenient for my schedule, though they were massively costly.  I selected the top TripAdvisor hotel for the city - it wasn't overly expensive but it's nicer than the chain they suggested that's just near the office.  I'll enjoy a leisurely breakfast and perhaps take some photos if there's sufficient prettiness.  Then I'll go speak with some people about how wonderful I am.

I'm afraid, honestly.  Not of the interview, though I'm sure I'll be nervous.  But over what this decision could mean for my future.  Of how I want to balance family and career.  I'm not in a mental place where I feel capable of deciding this presently.  So I worry.

I've found that disruptions in my schedule can contribute to mental instability.  As I'm already feeling rather fragile, I looked at my plans - east coast x 2, Japan, Europe - all in the next 4 weeks, I freaked out a bit.

So I emailed Adam and suggested using some technology to allow me to participate without crossing the Pacific.  And while I could tell he wasn't particularly happy with my request, he agreed to my plan and is instead sending Sibling to Japan.

Sibling is thrilled.  I'm relieved.  So I'm working to disregard Adam's disappointment in me and feel good that I found a workable solution.  And I'll buy a guidebook for Amsterdam so that I know what to see and can look forward to Europe - a continent I'm much more confident visiting solo.

I find I struggle to think past that European trip in early-mid July.  I can plan days before it nearly down to the minute, but after that?  Nothing.

I had a dream last night that I was taking my family on vacation, but we were running miserably late.  As I was frantically trying to check us in, paging through stacks of documents, a man came and said it was now or never.

"But I'm not quite ready," I protested.  "5 minutes - I just need five minutes to settle and think!"  But he refused and climbed some steps to shut the doors while my parents and brother looked on with disappointment.  I choked on the feeling of failure, barely able to breathe, and kept attempting to find an alternate plan.

"I don't want to do this," I wept as I called Friend last week.  And she soothed and reasoned until I calmed.  But the distractions - the exquisite plans - help to distract from the encompassing sadness of losing a parent.  I just find I'm unable to have them last forever.

Live (lihood)

"I'm being courted," I told Adam yesterday.  "I rather like it."

He laughed at me, as he tends to do, and said he remembered his first recruitment call.  "It's flattering," he agreed.  "But send me the job description - I'll have a look for you."

I wanted him to beg me to stay.  To convince me that I'd soon be promoted and revered and cherished in my current company.  After all, one of the benefits of this role was the location - I could live here forever and be quite content.  I love my house.  My commute.  My office.  Colleagues.  Airport.

This is home.

I live here - sleep and dream, laugh and cry, work and walk.

It is not without problems.  My professional trajectory spiraled downward pretty rapidly - which apparently isn't the best before a potential reorganization.  And as I picture names being pasted on chess pieces that are casually strewn across a board with lofty yet unknown goals, I'll admit to look at this new opportunity with some longing.

I like to start over.  Just wipe everything clean - throw out the clutter.  And work like crazy to get past the learning curve, find people and places to love.  Explore and settle and find my balance again.

Perhaps I'd meet someone there though.  Be happier for longer and depressed less frequently.

"You'd be crazy not to jump at it," Adam said when we met again today and frowned when my face fell.

"OK," I nodded, knowing he's right.  It's an amazing job - several steps up from where I am now and you don't often get the opportunity to skip steps when these jobs are in such high demand.

"More money," Adam said, leaning forward to convince me.  "More power.  Great company with excellent benefits.  Your family situation..." He paused, attempting to be sympathetic yet struggling with his innate compulsion for honest opinion.  "It's going to change, Katie.  So you can't base everything on what's going on at home."

No, I wanted to say.  My dad could be OK.  The tumors are shrinking!  The chemo is working!  He is not leaving me yet.  He may not have to leave soon.

But Adam, as usual, is likely correct.  When looking at the reality of the situation, I likely shouldn't - especially from a mentor's perspective - discard an opportunity because of personal circumstances.

"You're free to go!" he continued.  "No children, single..ish?" I laughed at his raised eyebrow as I've texted him while waiting for dates at certain points.

"Single," I confirmed, shaking my head at him.

"You're young and smart.  Have too much money and are gaining maturity quickly.  You could do this - tell them you'll relocate and beg them for the job."

"I told them about my parents," I noted and watched him wince.  "I don't even know if I want it!" I cried and he cringed even more.  "Oh, shut up - I'm doing fine without you," I teased and he patted my head before leaving my office.

So I'm trying to get back to that moment - where I liked being courted.  Because now it's scary and full of pressure - one of those life decisions that represents a turning point.  Do I stay here and settle happily into middle management?

Or do I head east - to a different lakeside location - and spring upward, unsure of what happens if I fall?

"I just want everything to be the same as it was," I said softly.  With my group and my family and my life, boring as it once was.  And as everything shifts in search of a new normal, I feel sad.  Just gently sad.

And wait for the next travel date so I can embrace the changes rather than waiting here - where everything is perfectly comfortable and safe - and wait for it to all fall to pieces.