Art

I took this photograph in April.  It's so much more beautiful than anything I could paint.  I didn't have a fancy camera or special lighting.  It was all about the subject.  Beautiful plants nurtured by a beautiful person.  Someone very dear to me.  Somehow, though, I want to capture this perfection through the imperfect, distorted lenses of my eyes and brain and brushes.  But that's another day.  For now, though, I'm exhausted.  Content.  Weary.  But not unhappy.  I couldn't ask for more.

Thin ice

I'm the ice.  And I'm thin.  Figuratively, just a bit.  Because I had a colonoscopy last week (that's good for 3 or 4 pounds)  and I've started back running this week.  I had my personal best today.  Two miles in 17.5 minutes.  There's a reason for that, but that's another post.  Five pounds in a week - not bad.  Especially since I've put on ten this summer.  Luckily, I'm not a stress eater.  I'd be as big as a barn.  Fortunately, when I get stressed, I lose my appetite.  And when I'm frustrated or angry or anxious, I want to run.  So I dig my dirty socks out of the laundry basket, search high and low for my running shoes, scrounge up some shorts and a jog bra and a top, find my MP3 and hope the battery is charged, debate about leaving my phone at home, find a water bottle, and hit the pavement. 

Today, I was looking for a bracelet I lost yesterday.  So instead of thinking about how much farther until the top of the hill, or how thirsty I was, or how much my legs hurt, I focused on finding my lost treasure.  I didn't find it.  But what I found was a revelation.  I'm not sure what it was.  Maybe this:  Figure out what makes you happy.  Don't run because you want to lose weight, or avoid a heart attack, or whatever the hell motivates you.  Look for a treasure.  This summer, when it was 190 degrees, I saw a squash plant growing on the curb.  Crazy.  A treasure.  I meant to go dig it up and hope for squash, but I didn't follow through.  So what.  Daddy and I planted tomatoes and cucumbers and beans and peppers and we didn't get anything. But I wouldn't trade it for the world.  I hate cliches, and it's so worn out, but there's so much truth in this:  It's not the destination, it's the journey. 

And what a journey I'm on.  I couldn't have imagined my life a year ago.  It's crazy.  Hard.  Painful.  Beautiful.  Rich.  Perfect.  Flawed.  But most of all, real.  Thick and rich and deep and delicious.  I'm thinking bernaise.  Wow, I think I'm a little hungry.

I've been searching for a long time.  I've been questioning all the things I accepted as truth.  Religion, politics, social conventions, but most of all, the meaning of life.  I don't know the answer.  I'm sure I never will.  But what I know is that I have to find a way to reconcile my own satisfaction and happiness with the consequences of my behavior and the effect I have on the people I love.  And I have to find a way to let go of the anger and bitterness that invade me by people who are insecure and hurting and just plain messed up.  And to stop missing my mother so much.  Every time I manage to make my daddy happy, I'm comforted.  I'm following through on my promise to her to take care of him.  She loved me and trusted me.  And I've honored my promise to her.

So, at this very moment, I just want to paint and run and take care of Daddy and salvage my business relationships.  I'm so blessed that my clients, for the most part, are compassionate and kind and patient.  They're honest and direct and they're so intuitive that they can appreciate my gifts and see my limitations and be completely honest with me.  I respect that so much.

Even though I've been an accountant and an auditor for most of my career, what I really want now is to take care of my daddy, to paint, garden, rent my other house, do a little wheeling and dealing for a select few clients, and maybe, if I'm lucky, find the love of my life.  I'll be happy with four or five out of six.  For now, blogging and painting comfort me.

No Great Shakes

I've decided to use a nautical theme for this post.  And in case you didn't know, my title is derived from this:  "When casks became empty they were 'shaken' (taken apart) so the pieces, called shakes, could be stored in a small space. Shakes had very little value."  This is from http://www.fortogden.com/nauticalterms.html.  I'm so fascinated with idiomatic expressions.  It seems to me that baseball, sailing and the bible are chock-a-block with phrases we've turned into cliches.  Have you ever tried to go a day without using one?  A cliche, that is?  I have.  It's not as difficult as refraining from gesticulating.  Today, a client told me I should be an interpreter for the deaf.  That I'd look great standing at the front of a church, signing the sermon.  Obviously, she hasn't watched Four Weddings and a Funeral.  My favorite movie.  Google it.

The only thing harder than not gesticulating or using cliches is to stop saying "You know."  OMG, I had no idea.  And when I try to stop that, "ummm" proliferates.  If I manage to squelch all my annoying habits (with regard to verbal and nonverbal communication, anyway), I am rendered utterly speechless.  Which is not necessarily a bad thing.

It's been a rough coupla weeks, so I'm going to have to buoy up or cut and run, or maybe both.  I'm gaining clarity and figuring out what's really important.  Funny how hard times do that.  When someone takes the wind out of your sails and you're taken aback, you just have to start over with a clean slate.

Ok, I'm beyond annoying now.  I do love a theme, though.  And since I created the beautiful masterpiece shown at the top of this post, I just have to indulge myself.  By the way, that's only part of it.  My scanner wasn't big enough.  But actually, I like the composition as it is.  A happy accident.  In case you don't recognize it, it's the USS Constitution.  FF and I saw it in Boston this summer.  We had a wonderful day, complete with Legal Seafoods' crabcakes.  Unfortunately, I've discovered their mail order service.  I've abused it.  So unless I have a windfall, if I keep it up, I'm going to be over a barrel.  I'm sorry.  Really.  I am.

No more.  I fixed a nice din din for The D.  He actually said it was "Good."  After I ribbed him about it.  My sweet niece called to say she's going to visit Thanksgiving weekend.  I've had more than a few bittersweet moments today, too, (really, very sad ones), but ultimately, I know it's gonna be ok.  Because I'm loved.  What more could I want?

Mufasa Henry

I called Deb this morning to see if she was coming over to take Daddy to lunch - her usual Saturday thing.  When she answered, she was crying hysterically.  I couldn't understand what she was saying.  I made out something about someone being hit by a car.  When I realized it was her cat and not one of her kids, I was relieved, but I know how much she loves animals.  I was with her when she got the news that her blind cat, Wilson, had gotten run over.  I can still remember how broken-hearted she was.

I went into the living room to tell The Daddler that Deb wouldn't be over in time for lunch because Mufasa had died.  I told him she was really upset.  He said, "She's got four more."  Very matter-of-factly.  When she came over later in the afternoon, he told her she could have Mia Hamm (a/k/a Bulimic Cat).  That is such a man-thing.  They just want to fix things.  But he loves that cat.  Just doesn't show it.  Another man-thing.

Speaking of trauma, I had the week from hell.  I wound up getting caught in a nasty web of organizational politics at one of my clients.  Let's just say that someone there doesn't like me (I know - that's hard to believe), and she is a master of passive-aggressive power plays.  I'm a pretty direct person.  If something is bothering me, I usually just say it.  Generally, in a calm, rational manner.  So I have very little tolerance for passive-aggressive crap.  I try to ignore it, because there's really no good way to deal with it.  A wise friend once told me never to play games with a game-player, because you'll always lose.  So true.

I don't want to relive the whole thing, but lets just say that this, um, person, launched a full-blown smear campaign against me.  I woke up one morning to a lovely email from a member of a committee I deal with at this client.  The message referred to repeated "incidents" (huh?) in which I had "dealt inappropriately" with a staff member.  No specifics were mentioned, but I'm guessing the staff member involved was Passive Aggressive Woman.  Of course, it could've been anyone, because it seems I am unable to speak in a professional manner and have difficulty dealing with people.  According to the email, anyway.  So I can only guess that PAW got mad when I asked her to send a report up to my office for the auditor, and when she said she couldn't do that until two hours later, I stopped what I was doing and walked down to her office.  When I got there and saw three of her staff members sitting at their desks and pasting clip-art or performing some other critical, time sensitive task, I was a little miffed.  I simply said, "You mean you couldn't have spared one of these people for two minutes to run this report up to me?"  That's it.  That's the "incident."  I suppose.

I should probably admit that there was steam coming out of my ears and I waved my finger in a circle to indicate her sizeable staff (I have no one to help me), and I'm thinking I had a little chicken head bobbing action going on, too.  But I did not raise my voice.  I would say that I snapped at her.  So sue me.  Sometimes people snap a little at their co-workers.  And if it bothers them, they act like adults and handle it directly.  But this person decided to tattle on me to her friend, the committee member, who, by the way, is not the boss of me.  But she thinks she is.  Because the email concluded by saying that if "such an event happens again, our relationship will be terminated."  Whoa.  Oh, get this.  She copied two other members of the committee on the email.

So, I did the professional thing, and refrained from shooting back a reply like this:  "You can't fire me, because I quit."  or "Take this job and shove it."  Actually, I thought of lots worse things to say, but I've been trying to clean up my language lately, so I won't go there, but if you've read much of this blog, you probably have a pretty good idea.  And believe me, it would have been less than professional, to put it mildly.

Let's talk about professionalism, though.  How professional is it to send someone a scathing email threatening to fire them and then copying two other muckety-mucks on it without discussing it first, and not giving any specifics?  And wouldn't it be fair to ask me my side of it?  And how about recusing yourself since you're such good buddies with PAW?

Wow, it's just so unbelievable.  And I said I wasn't going to relive this.  The bottom line is this.  No amount of money is worth feeling the way this whole thing has made me feel.  I talked to the one person I consider my boss (he was copied on the email, but didn't know anything about it before I called him about it).  He knows what I do.  He reviews my work, answers my questions, and takes care of dealing with all the political/committee crap.  So we sat down Thursday and I told him exactly what happened.  He told me that I couldn't go around exploding at people.  I told him I "snapped", not "exploded."  Ironically, I came close to exploding at him - I had to catch myself.  I also told him that he was the only one I was responsible to, and he said I had to answer to every one on the committee.  So I told him that I couldn't and wouldn't do that, so I needed to leave.  That I'd stay for two weeks and if they needed me after that to help with the transition, they could pay me on a consulting basis at a higher rate.  Keep in mind that during most of this convo, I was crying pretty hard.  Dontcha know he loved that?  Actually, he's seen me cry more than once before.  The thing is, when I get really angry, I cry.  I hate that.  But can't help it.  It's just me.

Now, in case you're wondering, even though I resigned, he ignored it.  He finished up by saying that he would talk to PAW's buddy at the next committee meeting.  I told him he needed to include the other committee member who got copied on the email.  I told him that my good name is more important than any job and that he can tell them if they have a problem with me, they can handle it with him from now on.  That I refuse to deal with political crap.  I have a feeling he'll do it.  He really does appreciate what I do.  He tells me when there's something he doesn't like (i.e. when I'm six months behind on filing paid bills), and it doesn't bother me at all because he says it in the right spirit.  He doesn't go around gushing about how great I am, but with him, a little goes a long way.  Sometimes, I even make him laugh - no small feat.

The pow-wow is Monday night, so I suppose I'll hear about it Tuesday.  I really don't have a dog in this fight.  Which is to say I don't care if I stay.  All I know is that I don't want to shed any more tears over this tempest in a teapot.

Speaking of tears, I've shed quite a few over some other things this past week.  In fact, I feel like a good cry right now.  I always feel better after.  I hope Deb's feeling better.  Oh, about the painting.  I told Deb to email a picture of Mufasa.  While she took The D to get a haircut and to Sam's, I did this painting for her.  She loved it.  I'm kinda proud of it, too.

Wow, I just realized how late it is.  I fell asleep on the sofa watching the LSU-Alabama game with Daddy tonight, so my sleep schedule is outta whack.  On that note, I'll close.  Over and out...

Impending Doom

I have exactly 41 hours and 25 minutes to finish three tax returns.  The final extended due date is tomorrow.  The airport post office is open 24/7.  Unfortunately, I happen to know that the IRS doesn't get bent out of shape over a day or two.  Also unforutunately, I nearly sliced off the tip of my thumb yesterday using a mandolin.  Not the musical instrument.  The food slicer thing.  Stupid, I know.  And the problem with this is that I'm having trouble typing.  Which will slown down my tax return prep.

See, I have my thumb in a bulky bandage so that when I bump it, it doesn't start bleeding again.  I have a wad of cotton under some first aid tape.  It took me a minute to figure out why the letter N kept popping up when I'd hit the space bar.  On top of that, it doesn't appear every time when I use my forefinger to hit that key.  In the interest of time, I won't correct my little problem and you can nsee nwhatn I'm contending nwith.  No kidding.  I'm going nton have tonlosse the nbandage.  Really.

So, here I sit, creatively procrastinating.n  by Blogging.  I noticed that I had 70 hits on this blog yesterday.  Way more than usual since I haven't neven been posting lately.  So I looked up the sources ofn my readers and one of the key search phrases is homemade crack pipe.  I posted about my horrid discovery in my closet right after I moved into my new house in April.  Darn it.   I'm attractng people who want to learn how to make homemade crack pipes.  Even worsen is that I posted a picture of said device.  So I think I will remove it as soon as I finish here.  I shudder to think that this blog would be instructional to crack-heads.  Or more likely, novice crack-heads, since the experienced ones probably already know how to make one or have store-bought ones.  Scary.

If I make a little progress on my tax returns, I'll ndo my usual Sunday morning thing and watch CBS Sunday moring with The Daddler.  We've been watchingn the pennant races ntogether.  The games have been good this year n-the Cards are in it and the teams are well-matched.  This is our second year to do that.  It brings back bittersweet memories of how nwe limped ntogether through those first few weeks without Mother.  It'll be a year this coming Friday.  Kiddo will be home for fall break so that will be a nice distraction.  NHe's been incredibly sweet to me nlately.  He's turning into a man, and a fine one at that (I'm a little biased).

FF will be in ntown nfor Thanksgiving, and that's a good motivator to get my house in order.  I had na huge carport sale a week nago yesterday.  It felt good to get rid nof things, but there's still so much.  Lots of blog fodder lately, including the carport sale (a 72 year old man asked me out, plus lots more hilarity with Deb there), The D's chivalrous rescue of the lady who fell down while walking down our street (turned out she didn't know her nname or where she lived), the scary threat of a visit from the Emotional Vampire (it didn't materialize, thank goodness), and lots more.

Better run since I need to replace my bandage with something less bulky and delete that awful picture.

Over and out...

Death and Taxes

Death is looking attractive.  Taxes are due in two weeks.  'nuf said...

Closure

Today, Deb and I saw some of our estranged, extended family.  It's been nearly a year since we've seen them.  I've seen four of them the couple times they've come to see The Daddler, but she hasn't seen any of them.  She was worried that the Emotional Vampire would be there.  Thankfully, she wasn't.

I told Deb it would be good to get closure.  That we should just hold our heads high and remember that we were doing this for Daddy.  And that Mother would be proud.  And extremely pissed at them.  Also, that they'd probably act like nothing had happened.

And I was right.  About the closure.  But it was impossible for them to act like nothing had happened.  Because Deb started crying.  Later, I accused her of being a puppet master.  She said her tears were genuine, but she did think about the fact that it was a smart political move.  She said the tides had turned.  And judging by the warm reception we received, I think she was right.  I worked it, too.  I took the opportunity to set the record straight on a few lies.  For example, that I did NOT call the police when EV attacked me in the emergency room.  That the nurse called security and that the Po Po just happened to be in the room next door.  And a few other things.

What I realized today was that they've never seen how much they hurt me.  I've been very strong and resolute when I've seen them.  Deb, on the other hand, showed them the effect their awful behavior had on her.  One aunt even apologized.  The one who said she was going to rip me to shreds when she saw me (she didn't).  I never got any apologies, but I don't care.  I'm glad Deb did.

With the exception of one aunt, everyone was very sweet to both of us.  This aunt just happens to be the homeopathic obsessive-compulsive one who had The D on the phone trying to spell the name of his new medicine.  The one on whom I unloaded.  By the way, she told everyone I'd cussed her out.  Which isn't true.  But they don't like her anyway.  She doesn't speak to two of her sisters-in-law, so it probably helped my standing in their eyes.  Daddy doesn't give a flying flip about her.  Her husband was there.  He's 88 years old and was wearing Bono glasses.  So funny.  They don't like him either because a) he's a yankee and b) he broke her wrist one time.  My cousin did a good job of impersonating him. 

We all had lunch together and had a nice, funny walk down memory lane.  And when we got home, sure enough, we felt better.  Somewhat vindicated.

It'll never be the same, and I'd be perfectly content if I never saw the EV again, but this was a good exercise.  In taking the high road.  Putting our damaged feelings aside for The Daddler's sake.  And consequently, it was very healing.  I guess that's why they call it closure.  A wound can't heal until it's closed.  And hopefully, one day, all that will be left is a faint scar.