Christmas is over. The children and their friends are gone. I am sitting in an empty house, staring at the dry, droopy Christmas tree. Before Christmas, when I was picking it out and putting it up, I felt fondly about it. Now it represents work. I am ready to toss it out on the curb. It's a fire hazard. I no longer look at it with nostalgia.
The decorations must go back in their boxes. I'm finished with them.
There is a sense of sadness that it is over. There is also a sense of "on to the next thing."
I try to forget the fits of anger and disappointment, and I focus on the good, happy times. I will long remember our breakfast together when we laughed and traded stories. That is, after all, what makes Christmas special.
I like that they still get excited about Christmas stockings. They still like to amass a pile of presents and rummage through them with excitement.
Christmas is over. Time to move on.
Valentine's Day anyone?
Monday, December 28, 2009
All Grown Up, But Not Quite
"Why can't you get up at 7:30 in the morning like I do?"
"Why can't you get up at 3 in the afternoon like I do?"
"Why can't you buy all organic?"
"It's cheaper if you buy this brand."
The tugs and pulls of adult children coming home are tough on everyone. I try hard not to fall back into the usual mother/child relationship, but I fail miserably over and over. I try hard not to get angry, but I do. I try not to say the things that are at the tip of my tongue, but half the time I fail and blurt it all out.
It is so good to see them, but it is so hard to live with them. I know they feel the same about me.
"Why can't you get up at 3 in the afternoon like I do?"
"Why can't you buy all organic?"
"It's cheaper if you buy this brand."
The tugs and pulls of adult children coming home are tough on everyone. I try hard not to fall back into the usual mother/child relationship, but I fail miserably over and over. I try hard not to get angry, but I do. I try not to say the things that are at the tip of my tongue, but half the time I fail and blurt it all out.
It is so good to see them, but it is so hard to live with them. I know they feel the same about me.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Jane
The first time I met Jane, I was 19 and dating Jeff. We went to Jane and Don's house in Champaign and sat on their couch and got to know one another. Jane began to describe in minute detail "the beautiful swaying of the mustard plants" in Sweden, a place they had recently visited. She went on and on, waving her hands back and forth. I couldn't contain myself. I began to giggle and then to laugh. Because of the way she described the fields (and my immaturity), all I could envision were dancing jars of French's mustard. Over the years, I came to learn that that's how Jane was--dramatic and passionate.
Our relationship experienced many ups and downs and definitely improved as we both aged. She was deeply and passionately in love with Don, that was clear. What was also clear, however, was that it was sometimes hard for her to know who she was when she wasn't part of him.
In the year after Don died, I called her a number of times just to check in. There weren't many visits because she was embarrassed about the condition of her house. She had always kept a tidy home and was very proud of that. On one visit, she said, "You know, I'm not good at anything. I have no skills." I looked at her and said "You make a mean apple pie." She grinned and said "Yeah, I do, don't I." It seemed to comfort her, and she seemed content.
Every year when Thanksgiving is at my house, I make an apple pie and Jane's sweet potato casserole. When I do that this year, I will laugh and think of Jane's passion and drama and thank her for being part of our lives.
Our relationship experienced many ups and downs and definitely improved as we both aged. She was deeply and passionately in love with Don, that was clear. What was also clear, however, was that it was sometimes hard for her to know who she was when she wasn't part of him.
In the year after Don died, I called her a number of times just to check in. There weren't many visits because she was embarrassed about the condition of her house. She had always kept a tidy home and was very proud of that. On one visit, she said, "You know, I'm not good at anything. I have no skills." I looked at her and said "You make a mean apple pie." She grinned and said "Yeah, I do, don't I." It seemed to comfort her, and she seemed content.
Every year when Thanksgiving is at my house, I make an apple pie and Jane's sweet potato casserole. When I do that this year, I will laugh and think of Jane's passion and drama and thank her for being part of our lives.
Friday, October 23, 2009
A Father's Patient Love
Everyday when I drive home from work, I see two men standing on the sidewalk watching cars drive by. When I first saw them, I thought they must be out for a stroll and were simply pausing to watch the traffic. They stand shoulder to shoulder and never seem to say a word to each other. The younger is intent on the cars flying by. The older is intent on the younger man.
If you look closely, you can see that one man is the father and one is the son. The son is probably somewhere between 20 and 25. He is tall--maybe 6 feet tall--and a little heavy. He wears thick glasses and his clothes look a little old-fashioned--perhaps picked out by a parent, someone with an older view of life.
Everyday, rain or shine, weekday or weekend, the two stand on the sidewalk, silently watching the cars go by.
I had been noticing them for a while, so one day I waved, thinking that they might recognize me as a frequent driver on this road. After all, I noticed them. Might they recognize me?
As I waved, the son lunged out toward the road, nearly jumping into the midst of the traffic. The father grabbed his shirt and pulled him back in, as if he were reeling in a large, unwilling fish. It didn't appear easy for the father to pull the son back. The son is taller and heavier than the father, and he had to move quickly to save the son.
I don't know for sure, but I suspect the son has autism and he's intrigued by the movement of the cars. The two stand for nearly two hours every single day. I no longer wave and actually try not to make eye contact, for fear that the young man will try again to leap into the traffic.
I can only imagine what patience it takes for the father to guide the son to the sidewalk and keep him from the danger of the roadway.
Every day, they stand shoulder to shoulder. It's an exhibit of love that one does not often see. I have never spoken to either of the men, but someone I feel as if I know them. They have become a fixture on the road.
If you look closely, you can see that one man is the father and one is the son. The son is probably somewhere between 20 and 25. He is tall--maybe 6 feet tall--and a little heavy. He wears thick glasses and his clothes look a little old-fashioned--perhaps picked out by a parent, someone with an older view of life.
Everyday, rain or shine, weekday or weekend, the two stand on the sidewalk, silently watching the cars go by.
I had been noticing them for a while, so one day I waved, thinking that they might recognize me as a frequent driver on this road. After all, I noticed them. Might they recognize me?
As I waved, the son lunged out toward the road, nearly jumping into the midst of the traffic. The father grabbed his shirt and pulled him back in, as if he were reeling in a large, unwilling fish. It didn't appear easy for the father to pull the son back. The son is taller and heavier than the father, and he had to move quickly to save the son.
I don't know for sure, but I suspect the son has autism and he's intrigued by the movement of the cars. The two stand for nearly two hours every single day. I no longer wave and actually try not to make eye contact, for fear that the young man will try again to leap into the traffic.
I can only imagine what patience it takes for the father to guide the son to the sidewalk and keep him from the danger of the roadway.
Every day, they stand shoulder to shoulder. It's an exhibit of love that one does not often see. I have never spoken to either of the men, but someone I feel as if I know them. They have become a fixture on the road.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Empty Walls
Today was the last day of an art show that a colleague and I put together on our floor at work. Staff brought in knitting, photographs, paintings, collages, and music. Each piece had a small identifying placard placed next to it. One colleague brought in a 7-foot long, hand-stitched quilt she had just finished for her daughter. Its bright colors--yellows and oranges--brought life to the hallway in which it was hung. When it was initially being hung, people came out of their offices to watch the hanging process and then to admire the quilt once it was in place. Picasso could not have received a warmer welcome.
It was fun to watch people wandering down the hall, peering at the pieces on the walls. I particularly liked seeing people walk together and look at the art. It was a little like watching little kids at the zoo when they would point across the floor and say "oh, there's a piece over there. Let's go look."
At the end of the day, I looked down the hallway and saw nothing but empty walls. It was sad. On Monday, life will "return to normal." The quilt will be gone and the old, staid company artwork will be back on the walls.
It was fun to watch people wandering down the hall, peering at the pieces on the walls. I particularly liked seeing people walk together and look at the art. It was a little like watching little kids at the zoo when they would point across the floor and say "oh, there's a piece over there. Let's go look."
At the end of the day, I looked down the hallway and saw nothing but empty walls. It was sad. On Monday, life will "return to normal." The quilt will be gone and the old, staid company artwork will be back on the walls.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
I swear, I didn't steal it
My company is sponsoring an "amnesty period." We've been instructed that we have a month to remove anything from our computers that is not company-related or owned by the company. Does that include pictures of my kids taken by other people and downloaded to my office PC? In the FAQs, there's a question about whether employees might get punished even if they remove the offending material during the amnesty period. The answer is murky. Basically it says "maybe."
Hmmm. I dunno. I think I'm going to get rid of those pictures.
Hmmm. I dunno. I think I'm going to get rid of those pictures.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Saying goodbye is never easy, especially when you have to wear a disguise
A group of us in the office were supposed to have lunch today with our fired colleague (see previous entry). We wanted to say goodbye and give her a small farewell party. But as they say, nothing is easy.
Our plan was to meet in a restaurant half way between her house and our office. Besides the core group of us, we suggested she give us a list of those she wanted to see. That way, we'd avoid inviting anyone she didn't want. (Remember that some took the "wrong side" in this issue.) The invitee list was created and people were invited in person. We didn't feel safe using company email to arrange this meeting. When management told us she had been fired, we were also told that we could not use company equipment to communicate with her. Since her firing, not one of us has even dared to use her name in an email. The saber rattling of management had its intended affect: all communication about the topic of this employee was shut down (at least by email).
Does the term "gulag" come to mind?
Each person who was invited was sworn to secrecy because, we explained, not everyone in the office had been invited. We didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and we didn't want the boss to find out we were planning this little outing.
Shortly before we were to leave for lunch, our colleague called to say that she had to cancel. She was moving and had to wait for an estimator to arrive at her house. (He had had a last minute cancellation and was available to come to her house today.) She would, she said, see if she could drive to the office in the afternoon and say goodbye there. Only problem with this plan was that she's not allowed in the building any more and we couldn't be seen with her on company time. We would meet in the parking lot, we agreed.
Wait, is that thunder I hear?
We changed our plans yet again and met in a private conference center near our office. It would be neutral territory, no one would have to present a badge to get in, and most importantly, we wouldn't be recognized by anyone.
It was really quite amusing. Out the door we trooped...one with a pair of balloons, one with a gift, and another with a small bouquet of flowers. Anyone looking out their window could easily have guessed what we were planning to do...and on company time no less.
Off we went to the conference center, gifts in hand, to meet our colleague.
We found her sitting alone in a big overstuffed chair. She is tiny, and she looked a little lost sitting all alone. When she saw us, her face brightened and she threw her arms around each of us.
We settled into the comfortable chairs in the center and quizzed our friend about her plans. Only once did we refer to the "incident" that caused her to be fired. The quiet mouse turned raging tiger re-appeared, but only briefly. We quickly changed the subject and began to chat again about her future plans.
After a couple of hours, we packed up and said our goodbyes. I think we all felt good having planned this little clandestine operation, but how sad it was that we had to feel so nervous about being seen with our former colleague. All we wanted was the chance to say goodbye and to wish her well. We wanted to give her a hug and tell her how much we care about her. There was nothing complicated about it. It was sad that we had to hide and be fearful that we would be discovered. And what would they discover us doing? Being human? That was something management forgot all about when they fired our colleague.
Our plan was to meet in a restaurant half way between her house and our office. Besides the core group of us, we suggested she give us a list of those she wanted to see. That way, we'd avoid inviting anyone she didn't want. (Remember that some took the "wrong side" in this issue.) The invitee list was created and people were invited in person. We didn't feel safe using company email to arrange this meeting. When management told us she had been fired, we were also told that we could not use company equipment to communicate with her. Since her firing, not one of us has even dared to use her name in an email. The saber rattling of management had its intended affect: all communication about the topic of this employee was shut down (at least by email).
Does the term "gulag" come to mind?
Each person who was invited was sworn to secrecy because, we explained, not everyone in the office had been invited. We didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and we didn't want the boss to find out we were planning this little outing.
Shortly before we were to leave for lunch, our colleague called to say that she had to cancel. She was moving and had to wait for an estimator to arrive at her house. (He had had a last minute cancellation and was available to come to her house today.) She would, she said, see if she could drive to the office in the afternoon and say goodbye there. Only problem with this plan was that she's not allowed in the building any more and we couldn't be seen with her on company time. We would meet in the parking lot, we agreed.
Wait, is that thunder I hear?
We changed our plans yet again and met in a private conference center near our office. It would be neutral territory, no one would have to present a badge to get in, and most importantly, we wouldn't be recognized by anyone.
It was really quite amusing. Out the door we trooped...one with a pair of balloons, one with a gift, and another with a small bouquet of flowers. Anyone looking out their window could easily have guessed what we were planning to do...and on company time no less.
Off we went to the conference center, gifts in hand, to meet our colleague.
We found her sitting alone in a big overstuffed chair. She is tiny, and she looked a little lost sitting all alone. When she saw us, her face brightened and she threw her arms around each of us.
We settled into the comfortable chairs in the center and quizzed our friend about her plans. Only once did we refer to the "incident" that caused her to be fired. The quiet mouse turned raging tiger re-appeared, but only briefly. We quickly changed the subject and began to chat again about her future plans.
After a couple of hours, we packed up and said our goodbyes. I think we all felt good having planned this little clandestine operation, but how sad it was that we had to feel so nervous about being seen with our former colleague. All we wanted was the chance to say goodbye and to wish her well. We wanted to give her a hug and tell her how much we care about her. There was nothing complicated about it. It was sad that we had to hide and be fearful that we would be discovered. And what would they discover us doing? Being human? That was something management forgot all about when they fired our colleague.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Office Politics Are Complicated
Working in an office setting is a strange experience. In theory, you are there for one reason and one reason only: to complete the job for which you have been hired. You're supposed to come in, do your 8 hours and then leave. Some people are very good at that. Every day, they enter their office, turn on the lights, respond to email, and do their work. At the end of the day, they've caused no chaos, no kerfuffle. Nothing. Just work. That sounds pretty easy, right? But wait a minute, there's another approach that sullies everything.
What if you're the kind of person who wants to know what's going on with your colleagues? You ask simple questions like "so, how's it going?" It's part of your daily routine. It makes your day more interesting.
Sometimes the answer is simple and uncomplicated "fine, fine." Other times, it's more complicated, far more complicated. "I just found out that Susie has been rifling through my desk. I swear, she's trying to get my job. Yesterday, she told me I look unhappy and should find another job. What should I do?"
Uh oh. The big red, undulating danger sign turns on in your head. "Keep alert! Danger ahead!" Your inner warning signal tells you to walk away and not get involved, but your sensitive side (or is it really a devil perched on your shoulder) says get involved. Be sympathetic. Go ahead, say it. And you do. You manage to wipe Susie off the face of the Earth with one easy barbed comment (or should I say "sympathetic" comment). And so it begins.
Honestly, I'm not clear on which approach is best. I'm not very good at hunkering down and keeping my mouth shut, though a recent incident has led me to believe that ostrich pose might not be a bad idea.
Things have gotten ugly in my office. A now former colleague was involved in what I'll diplomatically call an "incident." She had been a model office citizen for several years, but toward the end, the company presented her with information that both surprised and enraged her. She went from quiet mouse to raging tiger in a matter of hours. To make matters worse, management didn't support her, she believed. Colleagues gathered in my office (I apparently have the biggest devil on my shoulder and everyone knows it). Accusations flew right and left. There were sides to take, and I chose one. I stated my opinion (behind a closed door, of course). When the session ended, we were all as enraged as our former colleague and we were out for blood. Well, that's a little dramatic. I don't know what we were out for. We wanted justice, but honestly, we didn't know how to get it. We weren't even sure it was possible.
We made suggestions to our colleague (via email as she had essentially abandoned her office at that point). Looking back, I suspect we may have escalated things unintentionally. We didn't mean to make things worse. We wanted to make things better for her, but what we ended up doing was making things worse for ourselves. Ironic, isn't it? Our colleague got fired. She still has to do what the company has insisted she do, and we managed to embroil ourselves in an uncomfortable vat of oil.
I guess that's my point. If each of us had stayed in our offices and not talked, nothing would have happened. Our former colleague, would have disappeared into the ether and that would have been it. Instead, what's happened is that there is now a huge divide within the group. Some are on the side of management and the others are on the side of our former colleague. Management is profoundly angry at some of us. "There are two sides to every story and you don't know our side." The problem with that explanation is that if management isn't willing to tell us what the other side is, how can we do anything but side with our colleague, whose side we know very well.
Though I want justice and want to be sympathetic to my colleagues, I've decided that the ostrich pose is best right now. Head down, nose clean. That's my new motto. We'll see how long that lasts. Wonder whose desk Susie is rifling through today?
What if you're the kind of person who wants to know what's going on with your colleagues? You ask simple questions like "so, how's it going?" It's part of your daily routine. It makes your day more interesting.
Sometimes the answer is simple and uncomplicated "fine, fine." Other times, it's more complicated, far more complicated. "I just found out that Susie has been rifling through my desk. I swear, she's trying to get my job. Yesterday, she told me I look unhappy and should find another job. What should I do?"
Uh oh. The big red, undulating danger sign turns on in your head. "Keep alert! Danger ahead!" Your inner warning signal tells you to walk away and not get involved, but your sensitive side (or is it really a devil perched on your shoulder) says get involved. Be sympathetic. Go ahead, say it. And you do. You manage to wipe Susie off the face of the Earth with one easy barbed comment (or should I say "sympathetic" comment). And so it begins.
Honestly, I'm not clear on which approach is best. I'm not very good at hunkering down and keeping my mouth shut, though a recent incident has led me to believe that ostrich pose might not be a bad idea.
Things have gotten ugly in my office. A now former colleague was involved in what I'll diplomatically call an "incident." She had been a model office citizen for several years, but toward the end, the company presented her with information that both surprised and enraged her. She went from quiet mouse to raging tiger in a matter of hours. To make matters worse, management didn't support her, she believed. Colleagues gathered in my office (I apparently have the biggest devil on my shoulder and everyone knows it). Accusations flew right and left. There were sides to take, and I chose one. I stated my opinion (behind a closed door, of course). When the session ended, we were all as enraged as our former colleague and we were out for blood. Well, that's a little dramatic. I don't know what we were out for. We wanted justice, but honestly, we didn't know how to get it. We weren't even sure it was possible.
We made suggestions to our colleague (via email as she had essentially abandoned her office at that point). Looking back, I suspect we may have escalated things unintentionally. We didn't mean to make things worse. We wanted to make things better for her, but what we ended up doing was making things worse for ourselves. Ironic, isn't it? Our colleague got fired. She still has to do what the company has insisted she do, and we managed to embroil ourselves in an uncomfortable vat of oil.
I guess that's my point. If each of us had stayed in our offices and not talked, nothing would have happened. Our former colleague, would have disappeared into the ether and that would have been it. Instead, what's happened is that there is now a huge divide within the group. Some are on the side of management and the others are on the side of our former colleague. Management is profoundly angry at some of us. "There are two sides to every story and you don't know our side." The problem with that explanation is that if management isn't willing to tell us what the other side is, how can we do anything but side with our colleague, whose side we know very well.
Though I want justice and want to be sympathetic to my colleagues, I've decided that the ostrich pose is best right now. Head down, nose clean. That's my new motto. We'll see how long that lasts. Wonder whose desk Susie is rifling through today?
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