A text from my brother this morning reads...
"I am officially board certified. You can finally stop asking if I am a REAL doctor."
Oh, little brother. How sweetly optimistic.
I will believe you are a REAL doctor only after you pioneer a surgical technique to reattach the hair you amputated from my Barbies' heads in 1977.
Or buy me a Mercedes.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Soccer Mom
Last night at 8pm, a time at which any reasonable 38-year old tired, working mom would be settling in with the remote control and a blanket...I was putting on shin guards.
Last year, for the first time since I was 11, I walked onto a soccer field. A co-ed, indoor soccer league. Last season I was mediocre at best, and our team was a little worse than mediocre. I had decided I wasn't going to put myself through it again - the time commitment, the bruised legs, the bruised ego. But then somehow there I was, lacing up my damn cleats with a bunch of other suckers. And despite my pleadings to move my tired legs back to defense, I was playing left forward again.
So we got absolutely killed last night, 7-0. We actually played OK in the first half, it sort of fell apart in the second half. I choked about 3 times with shots on goal that just didn't make it, but overall I think I played fairly well. The beauty of the sophomore season.
What really killed us last night was a complete lack of leadership. We had no clearly communicated strategy. There were several new players who hadn't been there last year and had no idea how to cover their position, about the pace of 6 on 6. There were 8 people on the sideline at any given time, all shouting out different directions to a field team that just never found its groove.
This strikes me as a timely metaphor for an extremely frustrating project I'm involved with. I have spent the last two months on an extremely fast-paced, challenging and interesting policy issue, with a looming deadline set by the legislature. A project chock-full of operational and technical challenges, which we have systematically faced down. I have put together an amazing team with just the right skill sets, and we've done some great work. The problem is, the client. The individual who has the last word on this project is completely and utterly lacking in the ability to make a decision. She is paranoid and controlling, but also ambivalent and second-guessing. Unlike my soccer team, we have had game plans. But they are continually shifting, and the shifts are not always well communicated to the players on the field. There's only one coach on the sideline, but she's whispering to herself. As a consultant, I can advise but I cannot decide, and so I am left constantly reacting and trying to translate this tenuous and tentative directive into actual work. I finally make a shot on goal, only to find the client has somehow moved the goalposts. Or the game has shifted to hockey, and now I need to learn how to skate.
Oh well, bring it on. I may be running in circles, but at the end of the day, it's all billable time.
Last year, for the first time since I was 11, I walked onto a soccer field. A co-ed, indoor soccer league. Last season I was mediocre at best, and our team was a little worse than mediocre. I had decided I wasn't going to put myself through it again - the time commitment, the bruised legs, the bruised ego. But then somehow there I was, lacing up my damn cleats with a bunch of other suckers. And despite my pleadings to move my tired legs back to defense, I was playing left forward again.
So we got absolutely killed last night, 7-0. We actually played OK in the first half, it sort of fell apart in the second half. I choked about 3 times with shots on goal that just didn't make it, but overall I think I played fairly well. The beauty of the sophomore season.
What really killed us last night was a complete lack of leadership. We had no clearly communicated strategy. There were several new players who hadn't been there last year and had no idea how to cover their position, about the pace of 6 on 6. There were 8 people on the sideline at any given time, all shouting out different directions to a field team that just never found its groove.
This strikes me as a timely metaphor for an extremely frustrating project I'm involved with. I have spent the last two months on an extremely fast-paced, challenging and interesting policy issue, with a looming deadline set by the legislature. A project chock-full of operational and technical challenges, which we have systematically faced down. I have put together an amazing team with just the right skill sets, and we've done some great work. The problem is, the client. The individual who has the last word on this project is completely and utterly lacking in the ability to make a decision. She is paranoid and controlling, but also ambivalent and second-guessing. Unlike my soccer team, we have had game plans. But they are continually shifting, and the shifts are not always well communicated to the players on the field. There's only one coach on the sideline, but she's whispering to herself. As a consultant, I can advise but I cannot decide, and so I am left constantly reacting and trying to translate this tenuous and tentative directive into actual work. I finally make a shot on goal, only to find the client has somehow moved the goalposts. Or the game has shifted to hockey, and now I need to learn how to skate.
Oh well, bring it on. I may be running in circles, but at the end of the day, it's all billable time.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
I have nothing against change, but I loathe transition.
So autumn typically leaves me somewhat conflicted. I love the clear, crisp air and the vibrant colors. But I find myself grumbling when it comes to digging through the old rubbermaids in the attic to try to find a pair of gloves, a warm hat. Transitioning out the girls wardrobes, trying to find that one box with all of the tights and sweaters in it. Fighting with Sofia every morning because she still wants to wear a tank top and flip flops. And then struggling to dress to kids for a day where the temperature gains and loses almost as much as the Dow.
I love the fall, but it is the ultimate in-between, and I find it so hard to stay in the present when all of a sudden we are booking the calendar for the holidays and looking for pre-season deals on ski gear.
I think the in-betweens are exacerbated this year by the impending election. Only two more weeks of living in limbo, afraid to even believe that it is possible that the 8-year winter could finally turn to spring. (mixing seasons, mixing metaphors...I told you, the change of seasons throws me off). Emma's school is participating in Kids Vote this year, which means she can come to the polls with me in 2 weeks, and cast a ballot herself. Curiously, she had settled on a candidate before either Pete or I could get to her. She likes "Arrocco Bama" because "he wants to let new people into this country and John McCain wants to keep everybody out." Her words, her interpretation of the teacher's explanation of immigration policy. When she asked me why I was voting for Arocco, I chose an issue that I know she understands and cares about - the environment. We talk a lot about endangered species and about global warming, so I told her that Mr. 'Bama had a better plan to reduce carbon emissions and combat global warning. She loved that. And then I sealed the deal by mentioning that Sarah Palin likes to shoot wolves from helicopters.
So only 3 more election cycles (2020!) until Emma can cast a real vote. Hopefully, she survives the many transitions to come with her left-leaning ideals intact. Then we will finally be a "blue" house, instead of Pete & I splitting our vote, stuck in between.
So autumn typically leaves me somewhat conflicted. I love the clear, crisp air and the vibrant colors. But I find myself grumbling when it comes to digging through the old rubbermaids in the attic to try to find a pair of gloves, a warm hat. Transitioning out the girls wardrobes, trying to find that one box with all of the tights and sweaters in it. Fighting with Sofia every morning because she still wants to wear a tank top and flip flops. And then struggling to dress to kids for a day where the temperature gains and loses almost as much as the Dow.
I love the fall, but it is the ultimate in-between, and I find it so hard to stay in the present when all of a sudden we are booking the calendar for the holidays and looking for pre-season deals on ski gear.
I think the in-betweens are exacerbated this year by the impending election. Only two more weeks of living in limbo, afraid to even believe that it is possible that the 8-year winter could finally turn to spring. (mixing seasons, mixing metaphors...I told you, the change of seasons throws me off). Emma's school is participating in Kids Vote this year, which means she can come to the polls with me in 2 weeks, and cast a ballot herself. Curiously, she had settled on a candidate before either Pete or I could get to her. She likes "Arrocco Bama" because "he wants to let new people into this country and John McCain wants to keep everybody out." Her words, her interpretation of the teacher's explanation of immigration policy. When she asked me why I was voting for Arocco, I chose an issue that I know she understands and cares about - the environment. We talk a lot about endangered species and about global warming, so I told her that Mr. 'Bama had a better plan to reduce carbon emissions and combat global warning. She loved that. And then I sealed the deal by mentioning that Sarah Palin likes to shoot wolves from helicopters.
So only 3 more election cycles (2020!) until Emma can cast a real vote. Hopefully, she survives the many transitions to come with her left-leaning ideals intact. Then we will finally be a "blue" house, instead of Pete & I splitting our vote, stuck in between.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Reunited
It turns out that 20 years is exactly the right amount of time. You are in your late 30's, which at age 18 seemed dreadfully old but now that you're here, you realize that you are actually so much better than you were in your late teens. Wiser, more focused, more streamlined. The faint smile lines are enough to add character, without emphasizing age. The life experience adds shading. The high tech undergarments suck it all in, invisibly, under the outfit you chose, maybe, because it conveys something about your life since high school - I am more classy, more successful. I am more intellectual, I am thinner, I am richer. I am totally unconcerned with my appearance. I am more successful. I am more cultured. I am more confident.
We can legally consume alcohol now, and we do it in force. The memories have faded enough that we can color them in a way that makes us feel better about ourselves. Even the people you full out hated, the ones who never made eye contact, not once in 4 years. Even they are tolerable, if not any more likeable. Because they no longer have any bearing on your day-to-day life.
You see a face you haven't seen in 20 years and the name flashes across your mind-screen, a name you may not have pronounced or thought about in 2 decades. Others, you have to cheat and look at the nametag, which has a copy of the senior yearbook picture next to the name. If you are really good, you can do this undetected. I am not really good.
After 4 or 5 glasses of wine and the initial round of small talk, you can settle into real conversations with the people who hold your interest. In my case, there were a few surprises - people I went to school with for 4 or 6 or even 12 years but never really knew. Others, people I knew casually & liked at 18, I found I liked even more at 38. And then there were the no-eye-contact girls. They still suck but it matters so little. Not at all.
I know that reunions are not for everyone, and after a full weekend of Pete's CGA reunion last week, followed by last night's event which I have been involved in planning for about 8 months, well...I'm reunioned out. But I thoroughly enjoyed spending an evening reconnecting with people who knew me as a child, an adolescent, a teen. In most of our day-to-day lives, we spend very little time thinking about our younger selves. Being among a large crowd who all knew each other in that context, I think it keeps you honest. If not about who you are now, then at least about how you got here.
We can legally consume alcohol now, and we do it in force. The memories have faded enough that we can color them in a way that makes us feel better about ourselves. Even the people you full out hated, the ones who never made eye contact, not once in 4 years. Even they are tolerable, if not any more likeable. Because they no longer have any bearing on your day-to-day life.
You see a face you haven't seen in 20 years and the name flashes across your mind-screen, a name you may not have pronounced or thought about in 2 decades. Others, you have to cheat and look at the nametag, which has a copy of the senior yearbook picture next to the name. If you are really good, you can do this undetected. I am not really good.
After 4 or 5 glasses of wine and the initial round of small talk, you can settle into real conversations with the people who hold your interest. In my case, there were a few surprises - people I went to school with for 4 or 6 or even 12 years but never really knew. Others, people I knew casually & liked at 18, I found I liked even more at 38. And then there were the no-eye-contact girls. They still suck but it matters so little. Not at all.
I know that reunions are not for everyone, and after a full weekend of Pete's CGA reunion last week, followed by last night's event which I have been involved in planning for about 8 months, well...I'm reunioned out. But I thoroughly enjoyed spending an evening reconnecting with people who knew me as a child, an adolescent, a teen. In most of our day-to-day lives, we spend very little time thinking about our younger selves. Being among a large crowd who all knew each other in that context, I think it keeps you honest. If not about who you are now, then at least about how you got here.
Free lunch
There is no place on earth that I enjoy less than a chemotherapy treatment room.
And yet I willingly entered one on Monday, and spent about a half hour with an IV in my hand, receiving an infusion of an osteoporosis drug that may prevent cancer recurrence.
Oncology nurses are amazing when it comes to inserting IVs, and even though my left arm veins are all very tired and worn, she found one in between my ring finger and pinky, and deftly inserted the skinniest little needle with barely a pinch. The infusion was a breeze, nothing like the first time. It didn't make me puke and it didn't make my hair fall out, and I didn't have to chase it with massive doses of steroids. Chemo ultra-light. Piece of cake.
The whole thing took no time at all, and I spent most of it noticing the differences between the chemo room at Beth Israel, where I sat now, and the chemo room at Bethesda Naval Medical Center, where I was systematically poisoned 3 years ago. BI wins hands-down. Newer, brighter. Actual windows. Curtains in between chairs for privacy (at Bethesda you could practically hold hands with the half-dead patient next to you). BI even has individual TVs you can watch. And just when you're thinking - wow, this place is AWESOME - the aide comes around with a cart full of complimentary sandwiches, chips, juice, and fruit. All it cost me was my breasts.
And yet I willingly entered one on Monday, and spent about a half hour with an IV in my hand, receiving an infusion of an osteoporosis drug that may prevent cancer recurrence.
Oncology nurses are amazing when it comes to inserting IVs, and even though my left arm veins are all very tired and worn, she found one in between my ring finger and pinky, and deftly inserted the skinniest little needle with barely a pinch. The infusion was a breeze, nothing like the first time. It didn't make me puke and it didn't make my hair fall out, and I didn't have to chase it with massive doses of steroids. Chemo ultra-light. Piece of cake.
The whole thing took no time at all, and I spent most of it noticing the differences between the chemo room at Beth Israel, where I sat now, and the chemo room at Bethesda Naval Medical Center, where I was systematically poisoned 3 years ago. BI wins hands-down. Newer, brighter. Actual windows. Curtains in between chairs for privacy (at Bethesda you could practically hold hands with the half-dead patient next to you). BI even has individual TVs you can watch. And just when you're thinking - wow, this place is AWESOME - the aide comes around with a cart full of complimentary sandwiches, chips, juice, and fruit. All it cost me was my breasts.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Zoom zoom
I drove a $120,000 car this week.
The Massachusetts Affiliate of Susan G. Komen invited me to participate as a "local hero" in the BMW Ultimate Drive Event. I was a little sketchy on the details, except that they needed a head shot of me (which precipitated a very humorous 3-day photo shoot where I first had Sofia try to get a picture of me, then I tried the timer on the camera, and finally ended up with Pete taking the shot at 11pm in our kitchen. I can only imagine what they neighbors thought with all those flashes going off.)
I had my entourage in tow (Pete & my mom) and got there early enough to take a quick spin in a 7-series. I wish I could say I enjoyed driving a car that costs more money than most people make in a year, but I was totally confounded by the seat massager (I prefer that my butt cheeks remain stationary while driving) and terrified that someone would crash into me. The fridge in the backseat was a nice touch, though. I wish I had an opportunity to open her up, but I don't think I topped 60 mph.
BMW donates $1 for every mile test driven in their fleet of pink ribbon vehicles. It's a nice, easy way to raise funds for an organization that is tireless in its mission to end breast cancer. If you do check it out at the BMW dealer near you, look for my picture on the left rear passenger door.
And if you figure out how to turn off the seat massager, will you let me know?
The Massachusetts Affiliate of Susan G. Komen invited me to participate as a "local hero" in the BMW Ultimate Drive Event. I was a little sketchy on the details, except that they needed a head shot of me (which precipitated a very humorous 3-day photo shoot where I first had Sofia try to get a picture of me, then I tried the timer on the camera, and finally ended up with Pete taking the shot at 11pm in our kitchen. I can only imagine what they neighbors thought with all those flashes going off.)
I had my entourage in tow (Pete & my mom) and got there early enough to take a quick spin in a 7-series. I wish I could say I enjoyed driving a car that costs more money than most people make in a year, but I was totally confounded by the seat massager (I prefer that my butt cheeks remain stationary while driving) and terrified that someone would crash into me. The fridge in the backseat was a nice touch, though. I wish I had an opportunity to open her up, but I don't think I topped 60 mph.
BMW donates $1 for every mile test driven in their fleet of pink ribbon vehicles. It's a nice, easy way to raise funds for an organization that is tireless in its mission to end breast cancer. If you do check it out at the BMW dealer near you, look for my picture on the left rear passenger door.
And if you figure out how to turn off the seat massager, will you let me know?
Monday, September 22, 2008
Don't take my damn towels!!
So here I am ensconced in a hotel room in Portland, ME trying to juggle a seminar on oil & ice with a work list that's 3 pages long, and growing every time my phone rings.
And yet I still have time to blog about how flat out wrong it is for hotels to put the little card in the bathroom with the picture of a snowy owl and a globe wrapped in shiny script that reads "conserving for tomorrow," explaining that if I choose to re-use my towels, I should simply hang them up and I will save all those gallons of water and bleach. So I did my part, despite the fact that I take a secret and strong delight in trashing hotel rooms rock star-style, because as we established downwind of the coal pile, I give a shit about the planet.
I came back to my room at lunch to brush my teeth & write a few emails, and guess what? My towels which were hung exactly as specified on the owl sheet have been carted away to the hotel laundry & I have to brand new towels all folded nicely with the washcloth shaped into a min-fan.
To quote my friend Monica's awesomely cool phrase, which is quickly gaining internet steam, WTBC???? (translation for the tragically un-hip: "what the bull crap"???) This is a brilliant and edgy alternative to the altogether overused WTF. But you must send Monica a dollar every time you use it.
And the worst part is, I cannot think of a single way in which I can effectively complain about this without looking like a complete lunatic. Maybe I'll find my inspiration at the bottom of a pint at Gritty McDuffs. Don't wait up...
And yet I still have time to blog about how flat out wrong it is for hotels to put the little card in the bathroom with the picture of a snowy owl and a globe wrapped in shiny script that reads "conserving for tomorrow," explaining that if I choose to re-use my towels, I should simply hang them up and I will save all those gallons of water and bleach. So I did my part, despite the fact that I take a secret and strong delight in trashing hotel rooms rock star-style, because as we established downwind of the coal pile, I give a shit about the planet.
I came back to my room at lunch to brush my teeth & write a few emails, and guess what? My towels which were hung exactly as specified on the owl sheet have been carted away to the hotel laundry & I have to brand new towels all folded nicely with the washcloth shaped into a min-fan.
To quote my friend Monica's awesomely cool phrase, which is quickly gaining internet steam, WTBC???? (translation for the tragically un-hip: "what the bull crap"???) This is a brilliant and edgy alternative to the altogether overused WTF. But you must send Monica a dollar every time you use it.
And the worst part is, I cannot think of a single way in which I can effectively complain about this without looking like a complete lunatic. Maybe I'll find my inspiration at the bottom of a pint at Gritty McDuffs. Don't wait up...
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