I’ve gotten stuck in some two hour meetings after the meeting without even realizing it. My boss is not a fan of the meeting after the meeting. He will sprint to the door when an actual meeting is adjourned, frequently throwing me under the bus on his way out. No more. Now after meetings, it’s a race to our personal Saturdays, with an occasional elbow to the opponent as we make for the door. One meeting on a Saturday is plenty. Thank you.
My job involves a monthly Board meeting that occurs at 7am on a Saturday. Yes, you read that correctly. A.M.... On a Saturday. It has taken me several months to learn about an interesting aspect of this, and in fact all church-related meetings. The meeting after the meeting. So after the actual meeting, hopped up on meeting coffee, a percentage of participants will stay after discussing one or more important items from the agenda - AT LENGTH.
I’ve gotten stuck in some two hour meetings after the meeting without even realizing it. My boss is not a fan of the meeting after the meeting. He will sprint to the door when an actual meeting is adjourned, frequently throwing me under the bus on his way out. No more. Now after meetings, it’s a race to our personal Saturdays, with an occasional elbow to the opponent as we make for the door. One meeting on a Saturday is plenty. Thank you.
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Our forecast today read “windy and quite sunny:” however, the skies outside felt quite differently. Our area is generally put into panic mode at the forecast of any amount of snow. And snow is frequently in the forecast yet never appears. This morning, just after the school day began, snow made a rare surprise occurrence. Our kindergarten class was the first to bust outside, screaming and catching snowflakes on their tongues. When the 3rd and 4th grade class saw the commotion from their window, they came next and added to the commotion on the playground. The 1st and 2nd grade teacher relented and brought her class outside. Everyone screaming, running, making snow angels, catching snow on their tongues. It’s not that the children had never seen snow before. The glee came because snow just never gets the chance to take us by surprise anymore. Several months ago, after the cat we inherited from my mother-in-law chased a chipmunk into the house, we began to smell something horrible which we affectionately called “the beast.” We assumed the little critter had gotten into a wall somewhere and died. Rather than start punching random holes in the drywall to locate him, we figured he’d eventually dry up and “the beast” would go away.
However, some days “the beast” was worse than others, and after a long enough period had passed that he should only have been a pile of dry bones, we began to suspect something else. My friend Sarah was over and we commented on the smell. She got down on her hands and knees in our livig room and declared “the cat is peeing on your rug.” Not good. Cats can get very psychological about their urination habits. Once this sort of behavior begins, it’s really hard to make them stop. We rented a steam cleaner from the grocery store and set to work on the carpet. Instead of cleaning it, the machine seemed to suck up all the urine that was located deep down and our house began to smell like a littler box. A really disgusting litterbox. So we rolled the carpet up and brought it directly to the curb. An interesting thing about our community. Anything put out to the curb becomes fair game for night trawlers in dark, wood-sided pick up trucks. Evidently, someone saw our rug, on the curb and thought they scored big. It really was a beautiful rug. I wonder how long it took for them to realize that it was permanently infused with “the beast.” Since the smell began when we inherited the cat, we promptly relegated him to life on the front porch. We fed him out there, and visited with him, but he was no longer welcome in our house. And he lived out there for a couple of months. And then “the beast” returned. Our sweet dog Jack, the best dog in the world, the dog that puts all other dogs to shame was....the....beast. We couldn’t put him on the front porch. He barks. Plus I’m pretty sure he’d wander away. A trip to the vet did not prove any physiological reason for Jack’s behavior, nor any viable solution. This is the point when Amazon once again proved that theyindeed sell absolutely everything. I purchased three cloth dog diapers. One black, for formal occasions, and then some sporty blue ones for every day urination. Jack doesn’t complain when we strap these things around him. He really bears it quite well. Much better, in fact, than a cat ever would. I worry that he’ll get wiener rot or something, so we change him frequently. Yet still, he has urine stains on his white parts, and we have to bathe him much more frequently. My husband tries to detect if the unworn diaper he’s looking at is clean and dirt by putting his nose right up in there and giving a deep sniff. And then he gags. I don’t know why he continues to check them that way, but it makes me laugh every time. I may sound like someone in a twelve step program, but Hi! My name is Julie and my dog wears diapers. My boss, who also happens to be a dear friend, looks out for his staff. I did not have an office at the school where we work, and instead worked from home, or sometimes out of the trunk of my car. But when it looked as though I might be sticking around a bit, he began to put some thought into finding a workspace for me in an impossibly cramped facility.
At first, he offered to share his oppressively small and windowless office with me, even suggesting a removable, Lego-like wall. I declined. I’ve seen walk-in closets bigger than his office, and because he’s the principal, I would have had to share my space with kids having behavioral issues. Then we began looking at a rolling desk so I could move around the building, vacating areas that are used for supplemental lessons, tutoring, indoor recesses and the like. I decided that working from home still might be the lesser of two evils. He then eyed a supply closet/fax room off the school and church office. During the summer, he hired two alumni of the school to come in and move some things around, paint the walls, and assemble a small desk for me to use. It’s windowless, and I have to share with the fax machine, the school filing cabinets, and some miscellaneous tools, cleaning supplies, and random items like confirmation gowns, but I so appreciate the hospitality of it – making a space for me where there was no space – that I love my little closet office. Today, we met as a staff to set fitness goals for the next twelve weeks. Several of us had been discussing our need to lose weight, and we decided that a workplace challenge might be just the thing. There are several collaborative fitness apps available, and some of the more well-known apps such as MyFitnessPal can be used in groups. In the end, though, we decided to go old school. Our principal created a GoogleDoc where we can each post our particular goal for the next twelve weeks. And one of our teachers is creating a paper chart where we can track the days we have met our goals.
Putting a goal on “paper” like this really helps keep me accountable. I have many pounds to lose, but for this particular challenge, I listed a goal to lose 15 of them. That’s a little more than one pound a week. I plan to do this by walking 10,000 steps a week, limiting my calorie intake, and drinking more water. Unfortunately, I am at the age where the pounds tend to cling. And I have issues with emotional eating. But I’m very hopeful that by putting this all down on paper, and including this post here, I will be able to stay on track. Wish us luck! This morning in church, I sat behind a young couple and their five children. I come from a family of eight children, so I shouldn’t be so struck by their numbers. But it seems like large families are much rarer these days. I know this family quite well. I work with the father and they live just a few doors down from me. I’ve babysat them when their numbers were not so intimidating. Three of their children attend the school where I work. I have taught four of them in Sunday school. Their yard is full of children having real kid fun. They have no cable TV. They are not hooked on video games. Their imaginations are impressive, and I love to hear their games.
I adore each of these children. Though they all look alike, they are each quite different. The oldest is Nathan. He reads voraciously, is exceedingly polite, and asks delightfully pointed questions of the adults he encounters. Once, when he was about four, he rose his hand to answer a question in Sunday school, but didn’t really have an answer. So instead he proudly pronounced, “My mom got a new purse.” Next is Ruthie, the only girl. She has an ethereal quality about her – not of this world. Even a little spacy. But she can hold her own among the four boys while still wearing a dress. Next is Micah. Micah came into the world too early and is smaller than the rest. But oh so sweet! His younger brother Judah is prone to telling tall tales in Sunday school. When he does, I love to look over at Micah to see him look me in the eyes and apologetically shake his head. The baby of the family is Isaiah. The older kids call him ZayZay, and he lights up a room. He loves to give hugs. The run with your arms outstretched, squeeze you for a long time kind of hug that I don’t see too often these days. I adore watching this family and playing a small part in their lives. I hope they will be around long enough so I can see how each child turns out. Yesterday, while covering in the principal’s office, the kindergarten teacher came by and said she thought one of her students may have pooped her pants. Before she could finish the sentence, the smell arrived and our noses confirmed her suspicion. She removed her sweater, got a pair of medical gloves, some wipes and some plastic bags and went to work.
By this time, the school administrative assistant came upstairs because the smell had wafted down to the front office. I work at a small school, but the smell covered every inch of it. You could hear the other classrooms getting a whiff. Once the clean-up operation was over, the offending student, prompted by her teacher, came in to tell me that “Mrs. V. deserves a razor.” I think she meant raise, and she’s absolutely right. It’s been nearly a week since Superfly Disco appeared at The State Theatre. My knees have just about recovered from an evening spent entirely on the dance floor. Did it live up to the hype I had created amongst my friends? I think so. Everybody in of our group of 11 dressed up for the occasion save one – Jeff -the guy who stands statue still at concerts. He said he didn’t want to look silly.
We met before hand at my neighbor Maureen’s house. We were supposed to host but were still without power from last week’s wind storm. We dined on some 70’s snacks including chips and dip and Bugles. I made a cocktail which I called The Hustle. (Malibu rum, toasted coconut seltzer, and pineapple/passion fruit juice. There was nothing 70’s about it. Those were just some random ingredients I had around the house.) Several friends had purchased some really fun disco costumes at the party store. The rest wore Goodwill throwbacks. There was a lot of blue eye shadow and winged hair among the women. White belts among the men. And more than one pair of platform shoes. (My clever friend Sarah bought brown ones for $4 at Goodwill and spray painted them silver.) My boss, also a good friend and neighbor, bought some ladies winter-white slacks at the Goodwill. Size 18W. As we approached the door of The State, Sarah worried that no one else would be dressed up. Her fears were immediately allayed when we entered. It’s hard to say what percentage of guests dressed up that night, but one look at the dance floor crowd and you’d have thought you traveled back in time. The band was talented, versatile, and well-dressed! One mystery woman strutted across the stage all night with no apparent job except to strut across the stage. I think she may have played the tambourine for one or two songs and I wondered if she’d won some sort of contest to “play” with the band. We hustled, we did the john Travolta finger point, we freaked (se chic), but mostly we laughed. We had, all of us, lived through the 70’s. It was funny to see them again through our crow-footed eyes. I’m not sure what Jeff saw from his perch that night. He never did join us on the dance floor, even when his wife won the dance contest. He probably thought we all looked quite silly. Some new co-workers in the 23-25 year old age range have brought to mind the last time I worked with millennials. To preface, I am not going to join the millennial maligning movement. They definitely have their faults, but I also think they might be changing the world.
The new co-workers definitely feel quite strongly about striking a work-life balance, leaving unapologetically to go grocery shopping, or refusing to use a computer, instead conducting business by cell phone. I can only imagine the remarks and eye rolls if I left work to go to the store or get a load of laundry started. With millennials, we just shrug and smile and chalk it up to their generation. OK, so maybe I am maligning a bit. In my previous career, I was transferred to a new division, which was located in the office building next door to the one in which I had worked for about 20 years. I refer to it as the time I was shipped off to Siberia. The office had an open floor plan, so I was placed in a poorly-arranged sea of desks, staring square into the face of some twenty-somethings who thought their creativity was being stifled in a desk job. We shared a common kitchen, which was nicely stocked with appliances, free coffee, plates, bowls, silverware, and cups. And a sink, filled with dirty plates, bowls, silverware, and cups. I’m truly not sure who they thought was going to wash their dirty dishes. Was it me, the woman old enough to be their mother? Did they expect the custodial staff to swoop in after hours and clean up the plates with hardened food because no one even thought to run a little water on them before leaving them to sit? Or perhaps they thought the job fell to the already over-burdened admin assistant who had been given a multitude of non-admin tasks to make her feel fulfilled? I only stepped into the kitchen for the free coffee, refusing to look at the dirty refrigerator with old carry out containers. (I sure couldn’t afford carry-out when I was in my early twenties.) Occasionally, a treat found its way to the community table in the kitchen – donuts, cookies, leftover Halloween candy and the like. But no one ever brought in enough to feed everyone, so you had to act fast. One day, in need of the rare afternoon coffee, I entered the kitchen to spy a bowl of M&Ms on the table. Jackpot. I walked past the sink full of dishes and grabbed a chubby fistful to take back to my desk. The afternoon was looking up, I thought, until I deposited a few in my mouth. Skittles. What self-respecting adult likes Skittles?? I did a lot of maligning that day. |
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