At the Tone, the Time Will Be...Too Late

I still have not heard back about a job that I interviewed for over 2 weeks ago, in spite of reaching out once to the recruiter.  Raise your hand if this would qualify as a "red flag" for you?

Oh, Were You Waiting For Me To Say Something?

Believe it or not, one of my personal goals for 2012 was to write more.  #epicfail, as my BIL would say.  There's a couple of things I'm working on right now, but mostly I'm treading water until graduation in May. (At least, that's the excuse I've been giving myself to not work harder at making real change.) If I've been a bit silent here it's because I've been putting all my energy into poundin' the water and hollerin' like hell to put off the sharks to another day.

In the meantime, here's one of my most favorite songs interpreted by Bon Iver.  I think he's an interesting artist, like Rothko.  Sometimes I totally get his works, like I was struck by a tuning fork.  Other times, I think the guy is out to lunch.  I suppose that's always the way with art, no?

I Have the Internal BER

Oh, Blossom end rot! Thy name is villainy!

My precious ruby red, heavy-set tomatoes are filled with poisonous black pus.  Well, shit.

Years ago, I watched that PBS special on the farmer's wife.*  It was a fascinating documentary on being a farmer in the US, but mostly focused on the marital dynamic.  I was gripped by the story and convinced I do not have the patience to be a farmer or married to one.

However, the show did not convey the personal heartache from a failed crop.  My sweet, leafy sprouts that I have fawned and cooed over, excited by their promise, have led to naught this year.  My grandparents were farmers of several acres in Massachusetts.  How did they do this?  I am not cut out for the disappointment. I feign a cavalier attitude, but I am crushed: store-bought tomatoes for our house this summer.

My Grampa with his prized bounty, 1965.  

His green thumb decidedly did not rub off on his granddaughter.

* oh.  they divorced in 2006.

Colorado

I may never go into a movie theater again.

You? Well, no, not so much.

Thank goodness this weekend is daylight savings as that's one less hour I need to live through.

Memory Decay

My Beloved and I have just returned from a belated Valentine's sojourn to Charleston, SC.  I've been there twice for business in the last 5-7 the years, both times in February when the camellias are in bloom and everything is heavy with spanish moss and romance.  I wanted to share that with him, so we cashed in some travel points and got away for three days.

It was bliss, as is every moment spent with my true love.

It was also deeply, deeply disturbing because, by the second day, I realized that I have never been to Charleston, SC.

When looking at hotel options when we planned the trip, I showed My Beloved photos of the hotel where I stayed the second time I was there, but recommended we find a location closer to the Hyatt I stayed in the first time because it was closer to the historic homes.  I recommended we not linger along the waterfront because I had found it too touristy and commercial.  I told My Beloved that I looked forward to showing him the fountain where I spent so much time collecting potential names for my niece, who was due in a few months, from the bricks engraved with the names of donors who paid for the fountain's restoration.

It was this fountain I was trying to find when I realized that I was in the wrong city.  It was terrifying, frankly.  This was not on the order of misplacing my keys or forgetting my high school mascot.  This was dangerously like getting lost and not knowing how to find my way home.  In fact, that was exactly what it was.  This was a "no fooling" kind of memory loss.

At first, I was panicky with disbelief that I am experiencing failures of this magnitude already while still 30-something.  Then, I was bereft by the aplomb with which My Beloved accepted this lapse and the brief glimpse of what lies ahead for us.  Or, more specifically, what lies ahead for him.

This led to a sobering and decidedly un-romantic discussion about end of life decisions over fried pickles and green tomatoes.  We had discussed this before, but more in terms of options when we're incapacitated due to general frailty and weakness, not completely physically viable but mentally incapacitated.

My uncle just moved his MIL into a full-time care facility due to her Alzheimer's.  She is only 64.  I can be glib and joke that I'll be looking for homes for the under 50 crowd, but the truth is I am reeling a little bit.  The natural impulse is to do "something"...but there is nothing that can be done for this, aside from continuing to blog and record as much as I can.  I feel like this is a signal that we have crossed the rubricon from general to specific and that Plans need to be made like buying in to long-term health insurance or notarizing an advance directive.  In the days to come, it will be this story I relate when asked "how long have you noticed these symptoms?" It feels much like the beginning of my ending.  Granted, its (I hope!) a long novel, but, well, welcome to Chapter 1.

The Most Expensive Movie I've Ever Seen

I'm in graduate school for my second degree, this one in public health.  It's an executive program tailored for working professionals so we only meet for one day out the month for four months.  While we meet all day on those days, every hour is precious.

Imagine my sputtering disbelief when during February's class we watched a documentary movie for an hour and a half!



I'm surprised the professor would hesitate to assign the movie as homework.  We are regularly assigned reams of reading outside of class that we never seem to have time in class to discuss.  The day's agenda was provided beforehand, I was researched the movie and history of the controversy before class (duh.  that should have been the original assignment!).  During movie time, I pulled out my work laptop and got caught up on some minutes and other project management minutiae.  I figured I could put in a solid 30" while everyone watched.  However, after an hour, it was clear we were going to watch the whole thing.  I was so aghast that I took a picture:

That's the professor in the purple sweater at the front, also watching the movie.

At better than $1100 for each of these four classes, this is by far the most expensive movie I've ever seen.

Worse?  This is the *second* movie we've seen.

For shame!

Pain

This is where it hurts.

A friend and I have committed to do a triathlon together this summer.  On Tuesday, I jumped into the community pool for the first time in, oh, 3 years.  Since it was Valentine's Day, I only swam for about 20" then came home to My Beloved, a warm dinner, and The Warlords.

By Wednesday night, a raging sinus infection reminded me of why I stay away from public pools.  It hurts so much, it is painful to chew.  If you were a real friend, you'd come over here and put me out of my misery.

Full of Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing

This blog is supposed to be a friendly place where I keep in touch with my friends and family.  I try hard to abstain from overt ranting about topics that might offend.  Somedays it is harder than others.  Without expressing any particular viewpoint, here is a list of recent topics/events about which I have been sounding off at length:

• Paula Deen's diabetes and her paid sponsor
• Customer service on USAirways vs. United vs. Southwest
• The gas mileage on a 2000 Honda Civic DX compared to a 2012 version of the same
• Smoking at work
• Alec Baldwin and the use of "electronic devices" on planes
• TSA and the monetization of safety

(can you tell I've spent a lot of time on planes lately?)

• Freire's critical consciousness of education and social science theory in general
• Childhood nutrition and obesity
• The current revisioning of the DSM

 /end rant

Cramming

Lesson learned as an adult, #311:  A week's vacation from work is not really "getting paid for not working for 40 hours".  It's 80 hours of work crammed into one 40-hour week.

http://thispublicaddress.com/tPA4/images/04_07/gutmann1.jpg

GOPYW

This be where I'm livin' from now until the end of the year.

*sigh*

Storm Clouds

There's weather on the horizon...

Between now and the winter holidays, I have 5 x 4-6 page papers and 1 x 10 page policy recommendation due, plus two finals.  Up to now, I've finally found my rhythm with juggling the work and the school.  I have planned for this onslaught and my weekends and nights from now until then are booked.

What I have not planned for is the surgery and subsequent short term disability leave for a co-worker beginning next week through the end of the year.  All her clients have deliverables due either the last week of December or first week of January.  

I'm warning you now, there's weather coming.  Best stock up on provisions and batten down the hatches.

In Which I Lose My Mind for 30 Seconds

We recently stayed overnight at a friend's home in Connecticut.  It is a lovely home:  very traditional from the outside but redesigned on the inside to be full of unexpected architecture.  The house is decorated with an amazing collection of unique art and photos.  My Beloved and I were taking mental snapshots of the bookshelves, the picture frames, the color scheme.

In the morning, I lay in bed imagining how I could incorporate one of these design elements into my own home.  But, for a full 30 seconds, I could not conjure forth one mental image of my own home.  My own home, in which I've lived almost nine years!  Of which I am so ridiculously proud, thanks to My Beloved's efforts to make it our own!  At first, it felt like one of those moments we've all experienced when you can't recall a person's name.  But as the seconds ticked on and images of bedrooms and living rooms flashed in my mind (Hawaii, my SIL's, my parents'), I knew this was worse.  It was the lost feeling experienced as a small child when I grabbed a stranger's hand mistaking it for my mother's.  I thought of waking My Beloved, but how would I explain it?  I don't know where I live.  I don't know how to get home.  I tried picturing where I sleep at night, where I eat, thinking the memory of the action would provide the environment.  Nothing.  Nothing but glasslike panic.

And then, boom, I was able to recall a photograph taken by my MIL of the front of our home when we first moved in.  From there, I was able to re-build the interior in my mind.  This was four days ago and I am still shaken by the experience.

Oh, wicked senility!  Be quick with your dirty work!

Four Eyes

I can't read close up or small type far away.  Close up, it hurts my eyes to focus.  Far away, it's all blurry and no amount of scrunching my eyes will make it better.  Does that make me nearsighted?  Farsighted?

Last week, I went for an eye exam.  I recall the doctor talking me through his interpretation of these definitions, and we determined that my eyes focus beyond the back of my eye.  My prescription was + numbers, and, according to the intarweb, a + prescription means I'm farsighted.  Yet, the lady said "these are for distance" when I picked them up.  I've been all over Google tonight, and I don't think she's right.  Well, either she's not right or I have the wrong prescription. If I'm farsighted, why would she say "these are for distance?"  Also, the lenses are different for each eye, but I think they are too different (hence the splitting headache in my right eye).

For those who wear corrective lenses, here are my questions:

1. How long did it take to get use to them?
2. What does it mean if everything looks flat and I can see colors, particularly looking at black text on white?  Black doesn't look black, but a composite of reds, greens, and blues.  This happens with my dimestore magnifiers, but I thought it was b/c they were cheap glasses.  These new ones?  So not cheap.  I am not amused.

You're Going the Wrong Way!

Planes, Trains & Automobiles

I'm going about this all wrong.

If there's one thing that Hollywood has taught me, it's that with enough grit, hard work, and the right soundtrack, I can overcome any obstacle.  Lesson internalized?  Check!  However, the lesson I need to learn is how to work better with what I have.

At the Super Bowl party this weekend (at which I won twenty dollars!  whoot!), a friend shared her favorite saying from her sons' daycare:  You get what you get and you don't get upset.  So, The University won't let me do what I want.  Deal.  There is time, now, before the MPH starts, during in the Spring and Summer quarters to pack away some extra Communications courses.  I can pick up the 4 or so remaining classes within 6 mos after the MPH is over. What's the rush?

(Um, Hi.  I'm Juliane.  Apparently we've just met.)

In the face of this bureaucratic challenge from The University, I could zig and simply go to another school.

Gary "Figgsy" Figgis: You don't go down Broadway to get to Broadway! You zig! You zag! 

However, part of the award from the Masters in Public Health program, much like an MBA, is the contacts and relationships that are created.  I'll miss out on that opportunity if I complete an online program.  

I should embrace the challenge I am in and not be so focused on the one which lies ahead.  How can I appease the administration while forging ahead with what I want?  Not everything I'm going to learn through this adventure will be taught in the classroom.  The lesson is in the journey, right?

And So It Begins

I am presently trying to enroll in a Masters in Public Health (MPH) program at the same school where I am also pursing my Masters in Science Communication.  Yesterday, I contacted the Office of Graduate Studies to learn how to apply.  I was emailed the names for the advisor for the Communication program and the advisor for Public Health and told they could help with the process.

Tonight, my message to the advisor for Public Health was returned with this snarky missive:

Jill - I'm not quite sure why you're emailing me on this issue. I am the director of the MS in Public Policy, which is obviously different from both the MPH and the MS in COMM.  My guess is that you should contact [the] Office of Graduate Studies

First, my name is not Jill.
Second, the Office of Graduate Studies told me to contact you
Third, there is confusion about what, exactly, it is that you teach.  I suggest you confirm your area of expertise with your employer.

Turns out, I can't do it.  Quite literally, there is no process to pursue two, independent degrees simultaneously.  I have the option of combining them into a dual degree program (not possible with the MPH curriculum), or I can pursue them consecutively.  But, the university bureaucracy is so broken that it cannot accommodate more than one degree record at a time, and, so, it is either one at a time, or combining them into one.

Pardon me while I gape in awe at my inability to convince this esteemed institution of higher learning to, for the love of Fred, take my money.

http://www.thebadchemicals.com/?p=431

Shrink Wrap

Today was the worst day I have, thankfully, had in a long, long time, and that includes the night of my appendicitis.  Pick any area of my life: romance, health, work, money, school, all of it was failing.  As I sat in my car on campus having a good sob to get over it before facing the class, I asked myself: how will you manage a second degree program? a job search? the time for training for a triathlon?

Sometimes change comes into our lives gradually, like the fable told in Holes of the man carrying the pig up the mountain.  At first, as a baby pig, it is a small burden.  As the pig grows, the man becomes stronger, until it is no longer such a burden for him to carry it up the mountain.  We make room for the change and almost don't even notice the difference.  Slowly, we stretch to encompass the new activity.

Other times, change is sudden, like registering for 12 credits after a 15 year hiatus from school.  There is a tense period of adjustment.  That's a lot of stretch all at once.

No one walks around with their lives wrapped loosely around them.  We're shrink wrapped.  No wonder change can be so hard.

How Statistics Lie

I heard on the radio this morning that 2010 was the first year in recorded history that there were fewer cars on the road.

The irony of hearing this while stuck in some of the worst holiday traffic was cruel. Of course, that will happen when unemployment is so high. I'm beginning to suspect Greenpeace for the whole financial meltdown.

Wasting and Gifting Time

We closed on our refinance this morning and the process took twice as long as it should have, thanks to some sloppy work and slight-of-hand by the mortgage company.  We had paid some fees up-front so we would *only* be borrowing the cost of the home, but the final settlement papers didn't include those payments, so the numbers were all off.  Plus, closing was almost 2x what The Guy had calculated it to be. Now, some of that is on us because, looking at the estimate papers again this morning, there were some glaring inconsistencies.  Still...

What I'm most peeved about is how long it took.  Because the numbers weren't right, I had to go everything slowly and double check as much as I could.  Because the closing costs were off by such a large factor, The Lawyer had to explain everything, multiple times, using tiny words and hand gestures so I could understand what the real cost would be.

Sure, I'd like some of that money back, but mostly I want those 2 hrs.

Contrast that with our trip to NYC this weekend by train to see friends and the Rockefeller tree (see pic last post). After dinner, rather than taking an earlier train home, we decided to walk around to St. Patrick's Cathedral, and check out the window displays.  We took the 11pm train back to Philly, only to sit on the tracks for 1+hr because of an accident.  When we finally made it to Trenton at 1:50am (10 minutes after the LAST train of the night) we had to sit until 4am to catch an Amtrak.  We finally made it home to our bed by ~5:30am.  That's a looooong night.  But, spent asleep on the shoulder of My Beloved, it was the best time I spent all weekend.

Tendonitis

My Beloved hurt his wrist yesterday whilst working in the attic. I suggested he might have torn a tendon in his forearm with all the contortions and extreme angles the work required. When he first complained of the pain, I recommended that he wrap it and ice it. By the end of day today, it was swollen to baseball size and he commented that it felt better when taped.

Lord, I hate it when I'm right.