Time For Bed

A very dear friend of mine --one of the dearest that ever was and ever will be -- sent me a book. I adore this person and I adore books, so I cherish the gift. During this hectic time where I am now transitioning from a stay at home Chihuahua mom to a full time career girl --as well as adjusting to life more than half way across the country-- my friend sensed that a book about time would be appropriate. I'd say this is about right.

Basically, our daily conversations went from topics like food, guns, dogs, and coffee (we are both enthusiasts of all of those subjects) to my whinings about time escaping me and the usual high anxiety that a new job produces. Mind you, I'm also in charge of grading papers for my friend's fifty freshman-level students, as I am the teaching assistant for a college course he teaches. Now you might see why he'd want to keep me relatively sane; otherwise, he'd have to grade all of those assignments himself!

The book he gave me is called "Time and the Art of Living," by Robert Grudin, and contains numerous short essays about time, and how we as humans conceptualize it. I've only read a dozen of the essays and have many more to go, but a couple of them have resounded with me and they both allude to the fact that humans spend too much time looking into the past and future and not as much on the present. Now, we aren't dogs, so hovering in the present every minute of the day is probably not healthy for those of us who don't pee on lawn gnomes or drink out of the toilet.

What does this have to do with my hectic, new schedule? I have a one hour commute each way, to and from work. I have a lot of time to think: driving by myself is when I really wish I could write, but clearly those of you who have seen me drive know I can't do both of those tasks at once. Anyway, my point again -- I swear I'm getting to it -- is that all five of my blog fans are wondering when new posts are coming. My dedicated ones, I swear I will have new posts up no later than Sunday night, barring any dog, husband, or chicken plucking emergencies.

Believe me, I have things to blog about--and for the record, I don't like using the word "blog" as a verb. Frankly, I could write a very boring post about that--but I won't. Here's a preview of upcoming topics discussed, that you can look forward to, as kind of a "thank you" for waiting:
1. Office-friendly foods
2. Legal-size paper in a printer-whoa!
3. Stevia cocaine
4. 10 days to perfection (this includes the "hot water" machine)
5. The office equipment pirate
6. Kimi, the White Rabbit
7, 8, 9, 10... Any number of weird words and phrases that I can't understand floating around my office at any given time.....

Thank you for being patient.
(P.S. You'll have to scroll beneath this post to read about all of these office antics!)

The Clockmaker, 1955, by Remedios Varo. Time, time, time....

Stevia, the White Pony

November 8, 2010

 You thought this was going to be another super cute story about me and a gaggle of miniature horse pictures, didn't you? No one more than I is disappointed that it is not...

I remain ever fascinated by the coffee machines both in Wonderland and in The Dungeon. I drink more tea than coffee when at work as I’ve discovered I am still way too anxious due to all of the changes in schedule to ingest too much caffeine, so the hot water feature on these instant gratification machines is a favorite.

Two coworkers were talking in a cubicle across the aisle from mine today and I was busy in my little clear plastic bag taking teeny pinches of stevia (sweetener made from a plant of some sort) and placing it delicately in my mug. If you get too much stevia in something it pollutes it, almost like an artificial sweetener, so you have to gingerly throw minute amounts of the white fairy dust into your cup.

I felt ridiculous because the bag was rattling and I had white powder all over my fingers which was starting to get sticky, and I had it on my black dress pants.  I’m always a little hyper, so I was glad that my colleagues saw me putting it into my tea; otherwise they probably would have seen me come back from the bathroom thinking I had a whole 8-ball party by myself in the bathroom! (Maybe I should just completely switch to decaf, eh?)

Climbing the Corporate Ladder, One Doodle at a Time

November 5^th, Day Five:

I mentioned that every item in my office building is gray, right? Let me just say that the vice president is getting tired of me turning into his office and expecting to squeeze hot water for my tea out of his “Best of 2005” statue. Another poor bastard had to help me load the printer with legal-sized paper. I have never had to use legal paper in a printer (or anywhere) in my life, and there is a secret compartment in our printers over there at the CIA where you have to manually install the legal paper for “special” documents. That was exactly what I was working on: “special documents.” Not special like government clearance or secret scientific research.  Special documents like Kimi-is-making-a-doodle-for-the-first time-with-a-new-software-application-she’s-never-seen-before-special.

The man helping me load the legal paper asks, “This isn’t your job, is it?” Embarrassed, I laughed and said, “No. This is my job,” and I pointed to my doodle that had just come off the printer. I’m sure he called HR then and there asking how I managed to pass the bar into this company, let alone the background check!

Working Girl

November 2^nd, Day Two:

After my first day with little instruction really as to how I start accomplishing the large tasks ahead of me, I started asking a lot of questions on day two. By 10am I had a game plan, meetings to go to, class observations scheduled, and a stack of a dozen books that I needed to have thoroughly memorized by January—makes my stomach hurt to think about all that information that is supposed to quickly and accurately fit into my brain! 

By day two I had also become the office equipment pirate: I had to grab a comfortable chair, cords, and computer mouse from any other cubicle that appeared to look deserted. It’s kind of sad and criminal when described that way, but true: I went through three chairs, stole a mouse and seat cushion (these chairs are really rough on the back), and a couple of computer cables by the end of day two.

That wasn’t even the sad part! The IT guys in the man cave downstairs finally had my new (used, refurbished, semi-demolished) laptop ready for me with the software and settings I needed. I get it handed to me and almost fall over: imagine someone throwing a 30-pound pumpkin at me. I would not stay upright if that happened and hanging onto this laptop is a similar sensation, which is why my wonderful husband knew I was going to need a briefcase on wheels—and that is what he got me.

I am a dork in dorky office clothing driving my yuppie urban assault vehicle to work to sit still (which I do miserably) all day long and use my brain. Ouch! Where are my blue jeans and rain boots and “Cousin Eddie” hats? Where is my goat farm? I want to go make firewood with Farmer Ron. It’s kid goat season and every day through November he is going to a farm to pick up a handful of baby goats to bring to his farm. I’m so jealous.

How are the dogs coping without me? I’m missing their first words, first steps, and their formative years. Next, I’ll turn around and they’ll be twice as big and tall as when I left them at home two weeks ago at five, five, eleven, and twelve pounds, respectively. (In actual years the “kids” are 12, 8, 8, and 7, so I don’t think they will grow much more, and if Gunnar (age 2-ish) gets any bigger I am not going to be able to walk him! We think he’s done growing too).

Luckily my mom was visiting for the first few days I worked, so the dogs had their grandmother with them to keep them occupied. As you can see Loki is hiding his separation anxiety from me while napping in Grandma Debbie's arms. (The kid really looks excited, doesn't he?):

Coffee, the international symbol for negotiaton

On the way to work at 7am, I try to clean my windshield; I’m not as obsessive about clean car glass as my mom (Grandma Debbie), but I do like to play with the wipers and cleaner.  (My last car didn’t have wiper fluid that worked so I pretend to clean my new windshield a lot). Trying to hit the windshield with the automatic wiper fluid and a few strokes from the three wiper blades that the urban assault vehicle operates, it becomes clear to me that I cannot see out my window all of a sudden—at all.  There were a few seconds of “wtf?” and then I realized, stupidly, that there was a logical explanation. I look down at the temperature gauge on my dash and it says that the external temperature is 27 degrees. “Hmmm,” I say to myself, “that is quite a bit below freezing;” therefore, I deduce that I have ice coating my entire windshield at this moment. Argh!

Turning the defroster on high the iced windshield is quickly remedied and I can quickly speed back up and head for the main highway.

I jump into a parking space at about 8am, not really knowing when I am supposed to be there—no one managed to contact me to tell me to show up—I just took it upon myself to show up. I signed the offer letter after all, so now I am offering to let them start handing me paychecks. I’m a giver like that.

Arriving on the fourth floor, courtesy of my personal escort—my husband—I end up in the right location, although all “locations” look the same. Everything is gray: gray walls, gray cubicles, gray office equipment. I’m lost already! Bill has to go downstairs to work and he leaves me upstairs with Human Resources. You’d think it would be weird working at the same place as your spouse, but I think it’s great—plus, we don’t work in cubicles right next to each other. I work upstairs and Bill works in what is lovingly called “The Dungeon;” besides, the best coffee machine is down there and I’m totally jealous of it so I am frequently running up and down the stairs with a hot cup of coffee. (That can only end badly, eh)?

The only thing real productive that happened on day one was that I had a 5-minute meeting with a very nice man who explained a project that I was going to be tackling. There’s no other way to describe it. In those five minutes I understood approximately 30 words out of a thousand. Terrified that I would need a translator for the duration of what could only be short employment, I contemplated trying to find an exit door so that I could just hang out on the roof for the rest of the day.

Did I mention this place has free coffee, tea, and soda for employees and students? It’s awesome; I’m not going to lie. There is a hot drink machine on the lower level that will give you anything from hot water to hot chocolate and “fair trade” coffee drinks. (Don’t get me started on Wisconsin’s obsession with “fair trade” coffee. I don’t think anyone has alerted them that it isn’t exactly “fair” most of the time, but who am I to rock the boat? It’s free coffee and it tastes great! They could call it “fair trade gray water” and I’d be on top of it. Good stuff).




Painting-Untitled-by Alfons Mucha (1860-1939)

 

The Office

Nov 1-12, 2010

In an effort to keep my job through the new year—that is my New Year’s resolution, after all—and maybe even get to stay long enough to teach my first class (Jan. 21), I will not be able to include specific details about my antics at work, but will try very hard to give you a few good mental images.

In all seriousness, for those of you who are curious, I was hired as a technical trainer for mainly Microsoft Office software applications. Once I am up to speed and comfortable with these applications I will teach one-day courses typically for private or public clients. Having a small teaching background and thoroughly enjoying it, presentation is not a problem: it's knowing something about what I'm teaching that will be my immediate challenge!

I will also do a bit of editing and writing. I hope to spend a good amount of time as a technical writer of sorts once I'm established with the company, but I am game to try anything that I have at least a 50% chance of being successful at and find moderately interesting. In addition, I will be assigned to do any number of tasks -big or small- on any number of "projects." Folks- if I could be any more specific on that note, I would. So, with that little bit of information, pray that I am smart enough to catch on quickly and hope that I don't have to go back to suctioning snot for a living!

40 is the new 50

Originally, I had wanted to post last night when the autumn winds started blowing here and forced me to deal with a barn emergency. Not an emergency in the sense that the barn collapsed and Gunnar--who lives out there--went up in a funnel cloud like Toto from Kansas, but a real pain-in-the-butt architectural issue.

For those of you who don't know me very well, I didn't go to school to be an architect.  I went to school to be a respiratory therapist, and then I went to school for a non-descript Interdisciplinary Studies (Humanities) degree which will hopefully serve a multitude of professional purposes.  Since I didn't have to perform an emergency tracheotomy on Gunnar, or read him a story about Plato, I am operating on zero experience here.

My husband gives me way too much credit and thinks I can do anything I want to do, but, he will usually step in if what I want done involves lifting heavy-ish objects, changing light bulbs, or fixing anything on more than one wheel.  (I don't have a unicycle--yet).

So, when he had to work late yesterday, I was forced to deal with the farm issues myself. There were two issues: the wood burner fire had gone out, and Gunnar's metal roof had blown completely off. Heat and safety are concerns and I was just as concerned to freeze my tail off, as I was that Gunnar's tail might try to go over his kennel wall to freedom.



Gunnar and I assessing the kennel roof damage

I only had a couple of hours before Bill got home, but it was already dark outside, around forty degrees, and the winds had been gusting all day--which they are still doing today. The wood burner fire would not have been an issue had I been able to find a match, a lighter, or a grenade. This property came literally almost fully furnished in the house, garage, barn, and workshop. Bill and I have garden tools and barn supplies that we never would have been able to stock up on right away, when we moved in. I am so grateful for this. It has made life easier, and makes this feel like a fully functioning home--that is a new concept!

But, since Mr. H doesn't smoke anymore (thank God) and the lighter for the grill is out of fluid, I could only find a match which wouldn't ignite. Every piece of tinder was soaked from the torrential rains, so I wasn't about to go Native and try to rub two sticks together to start the fire. Screw that--let the propane and electricity kick in. What am I, Amish?

Wood burner crisis solved, I got some work gloves on-- and of course rain boots-- and moved all of the metal scraps scattered on the grass from what was left of Gunnar's roof, out of my way. I then went into the barn and found some very sturdy rope and started to weave the two remaining tarps over the dog kennel into a plausible cover for the poor boy. This roof was initially made by Seneca and Bill, two much more capable humans than I when it comes to barn--or any kind of--chores.

Crisis averted, Bill came home and "tweaked" both projects I had tackled and we soon had heat in the burner. Gunnar had two very nice tarps which made up a roof, perfectly woven in place with a rope-through-grommet action; but, now I'm wondering if Bill has watched that skin coat scene from "Silence of the Lambs" one too many times?

Let's fast forward to this morning:
It was twenty degrees and in a matter of two days my climate has changed drastically, requiring the insulated bib overalls and a warmer jacket. I guess that is the one great thing about living in the Midwest: there is a need for four distinct wardrobes, not just two--hot and less hot. There is a need for a set of clothing for all four seasons and I have already run the gamut of all of them in a span of two months.

I've learned something about the weather though: twenty to forty degrees with no wind is essentially the same, and fifty degrees with any significant wind can feel like twenty! The most accurate way to determine what to wear outside to walk Gunnar or do chores is dancing around on the back patio in pajamas to get the full effect of the current atmosphere. It isn't pretty, pleasant, or fun, but this isn't Arizona: you can't just wake up each morning and know it will be between eighty and one hundred degrees with sun or partial sun.  As for the poor hunters who intermittently stay in the cabin behind us-- don't look in the direction of my backyard at 6 a.m. and you'll be spared the weather ritual!



Wulf getting ready for snowpants season




Yeah, I wore my snowpants one morning to walk Gunnar.

Note the frozen expression on my face-- no pun intended.