Kingfisher Cove

OK, I feel a little guilty about having a once-a-week housecleaner. Do you know that during World War II when women had to work ("Rosie the Riveter"), the majority of those women had a housecleaner? It was simply a given that if you worked, you couldn't also clean the house. It was just not do-able. And nobody viewed that as a weakness, or even a luxury -- it was a given. Then the 50s happened and ruined it because women's identities became tied up in how well they kept a house (because they didn't work....). It's true it isn't inexpensive -- but neither is daycare and we tend to look at that as a given when we work. And yes, it's a treat! And yes, it feels like a luxury! But it's also a healthy means for retaining sanity. And for not living a bitter/resentful life! My husband and son have a nice wife and mother, instead of a bitter and resentful shrew in their midst.

The combination of daycare and a housecleaner wouldn't have been do-able. But once Nate was old enough when daycare wasn't required anymore, I gladly exchanged one expense for the other. I love coming home on Wednesdays and having the floors cleaned, the bathrooms cleaned, the kitchen cleaned! It has to feel a little bit like how my dad would feel coming home from a hard day's work and have dinner on the table. Day after day. (I only get Wednesdays).

So.... today I'm bummed. The key *apparently* fell between the deck cracks under the mat, and the cleaning lady couldn't get in the house. (My guess? My dear teenage son purloined said key and forgot to return it to it's sacred place under the mat). So.... today I still have a messy house. And it will stay this way until next Wednesday!

This is not a good thing. This is being a Twilight Zone week, a Very Stressful Week (work-wise) and a clean house would have provided a nice attitude adjustment. Not to be.

Well, let's see if this works. I just uploaded this to Kinkos for them to print postcards to send out to classmates we've located for our reunion. (Obviously they're a little bigger in real life). I tried printing them on my (decent) inkjet printer onto "postcard media" -- but they kept having a jamfest. Very frustrating! This should be so easy. Even the deal with Kinkos was complicated, since they didn't offer "postcards" as a print option, so I had to go into a separate area on their website to manually indicate what I wanted. Then -- it wouldn't accept my original PDF upload so I had to download their software! OK, that worked fine, and it uploaded all right (I think), and now I'm supposed to CALL Kinkos to let them know that I've placed this online order. So.... why does this seem weird to me? Isn't that the whole purpose of "online ordering"? You don't call Amazon.com after you've ordered a book to tell them that you've ordered a book. Of course, nobody answers at Kinkos. I thought they were all open 24 hours, but apparently not. Truth be known? I'm not overly impressed so far!

This is typical for this week, though. It's being one of those "Twilight Zone" weeks.

Remember my angst a couple of weeks ago regarding the [not-to-be-named] submittal I slaved over for work and then was reprimanded? That was a Bad Day. Well.... the submittal "shortlisted" which means we were one of 3-5 firms selected as finalists for the project and now we have to present our qualifications at an interview before the Navy Brass. Guess I showed them! Reprimand me and we'll get shortlisted!! (But don't count on a raise, right?)

The good news is that NOW it's up to the project managers (including the one who caused me such grief with the submittal) to do the presenting and win the job ($7 million! Wow!) The bad news is that the interview is this coming Friday! Do you have any idea what this means? A PowerPoint presentation must be designed, completed, practiced, and polished by noon on Friday. That's not even considering a bunch of other administrative aspects that will need to also be addressed and prepared for the interview. And I STILL have to deal directly with the project manager who caused me all the grief with the submittal!!

Calgon, take me away!!!

I have a hunch this may well be another nightmare in the making! Ultimate stress-factor, that's for sure. Because even though it's up to the Big Wigs to carry the presentation, it's up to me to make sure the presentation happens -- and smoothly and successfully. I'm the behind-the-scenes person who takes the rap if something goes awry, but who also doesn't get credit if things go swimmingly.

Why did I go into this field again? And why have I stuck with it for over 20 years? Did I mention that I'm really looking forward to retirement?

We just aren't cup & saucer people -- we prefer mugs -- so when I bid and won through Ebay several of these Royal Doulton Kingfisher dishes, cups and saucers were part of the package and I wondered what to do with them. It seemed sort of sad and wasteful to just tuck them in a cupboard or something. Deciding on a cup & saucer display rack was the easy part -- finding one I liked was a b%$!ch. Even this one wasn't exactly what I had in mind -- a bit frou-frou -- but it's the best I could find. And I do like it! Seems like everything was either vertical, which wouldn't work on the wall over my stove where I wanted to hang it. Or else, we're talking "shabby chic" which doesn't fit in with our somewhat modern decor. This works, and I'm tickled to be able to enjoy the cups & saucers without using them!

CHICKEN BONES

We park among unexplained chicken bones,
stripped clean and gleaming under the lot lights diffused in daybreak,
then pass the mainstreamed man barking at the sidewalk tree heralding in the work day with his demented reveille.

The elevator transcends us to a symphonic illusion
of amicable ambiance and purposeful production
as we slide into characterization
like method actors on a high stage
blind to the fourth curtain.

On another level emerges the man in black silk
unsullied from protected parking.

The symphony sharpens then flattens
as he flings words as weaponry,
evoking tremors from remembered rages.

He is the outlander creating shadows,
surrounded with heavy curtains of his own design,
where howling men and discarded chicken bones
inhabit an unfathomable universe.

Caught between worlds
we surrender to one
so we can afford to park
in the other.

My wonderful JDub. My birthday is two months away, and he just couldn't wait. He just knows exactly what I love, and a good part of the reason for that is because we both love the same type of things. (Did I mention that we're basically ga-ga over our weenie dogs? Yeah, I thought so). These are little brass sculptures by Baller Austrian Bronze, from the 1950s. They just blow me away! They are so cute, and so little (the "babies" are only an inch long tops), and so heavy! (Duh, they're brass.....) And no, the wee ones really don't have forked tails -- that's a shadow when I snapped the digital. I'm so tickled, and I'm so blessed! So what if it's raining?

I'm tired of the rain.

This is the time of year that it's the hardest to be a Washingtonian. We've been dealing with rainy weather pretty much since October, which we expect and cope with. But come spring, to accompany all the greenery and bloomery, we are sure ready for sunny skies -- that last longer than just a day. (Or a few hours...). I suppose I shouldn't complain a whole lot because we've been lucky enough to have a pleasant Saturday or Sunday here and there. But spring has sprung in such a big way -- magnolias, daffodils, cherry trees, apple trees, rhodies, tulips, bleeding hearts, pansies. It's so lush out there! (And yes, the rain helps it be that way). I'm hankering to plant flowers in deck pots! (Actually, I'm hankering to get new deck pots -- the old ones have sort of gone to hell in a handbasket). I'm also hankering to BBQ! Not too fond of doing that when it's pouring. Or dark.

The weenie dogs are much better about pottying outside when it isn't raining, too. And this is a Big Thing. (Dachshunds are the best, but they are sure hard to housebreak).

The thing about the rain here? It's like it forgets how to not rain. It wouldn't be fun to be a meteorologist in the Pacific Northwest. The ocean and mountain ranges conspire to put the kabash on just about every forecast they make. (Well, except when they forecast rain...)

Iceberg Off Western Greenland Painted Red
OK, some people have absolutely no taste whatsoever. I'll just bet that those Greenlanders are mighty pissed! What was this guy thinking? Obviously a wacko ego on the loose.

And why red? It looks so.... bloody!

Another thing I read today was that urban "green areas" tend to cut down significantly on stress and violence. I thought this made some sense. Kids having access to parks when they don't have a "back yard" in an apartment complex, or even landscaped areas on the commute to and from work can have a relaxing effect (and possibly prevent you from hauling out your gun in a traffic jam). I think just something PRETTY to look at helps, and around here (on a clear day), Mt. Rainier still makes me gasp. But I especially feel this is true when I think of Mars. As intriguing as these rovers rolling around up there have been and as much as I marvel at the pictures whizzed back to us like magic, I can't imagine anyone really wanting to LIVE there, or to even just GO there to visit because it would be way too far away. It just seems that the reddish/rusty surroundings everywhere you looked would be totally depressing. The profound wonder of stepping onto a new world would be over in, oh, about a minute. Wouldn't you just miss the blues and greens of Earth so much? The very thought of how far away those blues and greens would be from Mars makes me just ache!

I suppose there are a number of folks (desert dwellers?) who would relish visiting Mars. I don't know.... it seems to me that whoever decides to go had best take along a lasting supply of Prozac.

I sure do miss those days. At the time he was a little guy, I knew how special it was, and how fast it would go by. And I felt so fortunate, because what a fun and cheerful little guy he was.

From his crib on a weekend morning, we'd wake up to: "Mama! Dada! Night-night all done!"

From the influence of Sesame Street, we'd come home to a poopy-mess from our weenie dog puppy and he'd point at the pile on the floor and say, "Look! The letter J!"

He's a red-head, and during kindergarten he came home from school one day, put his hands on his hips and asked me with a frown between his eyes: "Mom? Who's Nate?"

I have to say, in all honesty, that the sunshine went out of this little boy's life the day his dad left. I've spent these remaining years trying to convince him that it wasn't his fault. Oh, the damage of divorce. It's one bottomless flowing river, let me tell you, and it runs fast and deep and dark. It's hard for me to relate to from his point of view, because my parents are still together after 49 years! I've tried, and I've certainly been there for him (again, trying to convince him that I wouldn't also leave!) A lot of time has gone by and I have personally moved on, remarried, found happiness (after an admittedly difficult number of years). But time really hasn't moved on for my son, nor do I think does he truly want it to. It's a familiar angst. It's also -- at times -- a valid excuse.

I worry. I wonder. I hope for the best.

I'm a people-watcher. I really enjoy hanging out on the mall benches with the old codgers whose wives are shopping and they're patiently waiting (and people-watching) for them to return so they can go get a bite together at the food court. This book I read recently -- "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott, recommends people-watching because they are all such fodder for characters in fiction. I've been really noticing that a lot lately. You can be most objective and observant about that with strangers, because they tend to not realize that you're watching them and thinking all kinds of weird things about them. Plus, the fact of not knowing them makes them all the more intriguing. Today, for instance, I was eating lunch in my favorite sports bar (it's close, the food's good, and I can smoke, my bad!) -- and a woman walked in that I couldn't take my eyes off of. From a distance, and without my glasses, she looked young (probably because she was tall and slender), and I immediately thought "severe, angular, with geometric-Vidal-Sassoon hair". Later when I was leaving (and had my glasses on), I almost gasped because she was much older than I'd originally thought. Add to that description: "brittle sags". (Is sags a word?) OK, that's very rude, I know.

Well, tonight at dinner at our favorite diner (I rarely cook, my bad again), there was a family at a nearby table that might as well have been a cartoon. It was Mom, Grandma, junior-high-aged daughter, and Dad. I don't know how Dad coped. The three females, I swear, were all in competition to (unknowingly, I presume) mimic that godawful lady-boss on "Will and Grace". You know who I mean, with that searing, high-pitched-screamy-voice that makes ME at least turn the channel? Oh. My. Gosh. Loud, too. I think Grandma was Very Hard of Hearing, and so the volume was pumped up to include her in the conversations. (Then Grandma would respond really really loud, and really really high-pitched). I never once heard Dad utter a word, but it would have been just white noise anyway.