"ego vobis valedico, donuts."

that's latin for "see ya later, donuts."


today is my last day on the catholic-church-after-latin-mass donut job, and lemme just tell you - it has never felt this good to say good-bye.

this donut job has been a drag. a 100%, unadulterated drag.

do i feel badly about reneging on my commitment to bring donuts to the faithful at holy family catholic church in columbus, ohio? - no.

do i feel ashamed that i let a couple little hiccups in the donut plan ruin it for me? - no.

do i feel like Jesus would probably have handled this donut gig with a whole lot more grace than i did? - no.

no.

i think Jesus woulda been flippin' donut tables over right and left.

i think Jesus woulda said, "whaaaaat? We give you a body that's the temple of the Holy Spirit and this is what you pump into it? dough-nuts?"

i think Jesus woulda said, "listen here, you half-wits. when my Father (and yours, I might point out), when my Father said, "thou shalt not steal, He meant, thou shalt not steal." ("yes, I'm talkin' to you, church donut supervisor, who told nancy "if kroger doesn't ask for the check, just bring it back to the church.")


so, you see, i feel totally serene, totally sanguine, totally chillaxed about leaving the parishoners of holy family family church in columbus, ohio high and dry and in the lurch without their donuts.

(now, if it'd been pizza that i had been bringing to the church every sunday......if it had been greasy, double cheesy, triple pepperoni pizza that i had been bringing, well....... lemme just put it like this:

pizza is the food of God. not thee gods. GOD.)

do these glasses make my counter look smart?

i have been needing new glasses for quite some time now and the reason i have been needing new glasses for quite some time now is that abby's house ate my other glasses.

true story - my daughter's house ate my glasses.

or, more accurately, my daughter's couch ate my glasses. true story.

i remember the day perfectly......i was sitting on her couch, the twins were grabbing at my glasses, and so i took them off. i set them beside me on the couch, with the idea that i would put them somewhere safe in a minute. once i managed to get up off that couch with two toddlers hanging onto me.

well, that minute never came. by the time i got around to putting my glasses somewhere safe, they were gone. disappeared. vamoosed. outa here.

we searched high and frickin' low. we have searched high and frickin' low about a thousand times since it happened, but the conclusion is always the same: the couch ate my glasses.

anyway, yesterday, i finally went out and bought myself a snazzy new pair of glasses. the way i know that they are snazzy is that the flaming guy who sold them to me said, "oooooooooooo, snazzy! cute, cute, cute! if i liked girls, i'd take you and those glasses home!"  (true story)

anyway, the way i've got it figured, now that i've plunked down half a thousand dollars for these snazzy, cute, cute, cute glasses......the way i've got it figured is, when i go over to abby's today to babysit the twins, i figure i'll discover that their couch has suddenly tossed up my old glasses.

well, that's ok. they say you should always have an extra pair on hand anyway.

(although i can't see me ever taking off this snazzy, cute, cute, cute pair that some guy told me he'd take me home in. i don't care if he was gay.)

bad computer karma

fo sho, i have it.

in fact, i think i have thee worst computer karma on the planet. (shouldn't that be komputer karma? or computer carma? or carmen electra? carmen ohio.)

anyway, here's the latest example. you try and top this, ok? -

yesterday, i was working from home on electronic paperwork (ok, right there - "electronic paperwork" - if that's not an indication of what's wrong with the world, i don't know what is).......but i was working from home on electronic paperwork (ouch) and all of a sudden, my cursor started acting funny. it was jerking all over the place and acting totally rude. i thought that maybe it was because i actually had my laptop on my lap (which, ok, right there -  how many people actually put their laptops on their laps, right? if that isn't an indication of what's wrong with the world, i don't know what is).

but, ok, so anyway, i thought that maybe my cursor would behave itself if i put my laptop on a stable surface, so i put it on my desk. nope. didn't work. cursor's still bouncin' all over creation.

and then. then i realize what is really going on.......you are NOT gonna believe this (and if you do, that, right there, is an indication of what's wrong with the world)......

i realized that, you know how if you call IT for tech support and they will take "control" of your computer? how they can get into your computer and navigate their way around it as if it were their own computer? well.........that's exactly what was happening! somebody was inside my computer!!!!!!!! I AM NOT LYING!!!!!!!!!

all of a sudden, i realized that the somebody was clicking this and clicking that and deleting this and deleting that! the somebody deleted the e-paperwork that i had done up to that point! the somebody clicked me out of this window and that window! the somebody even shut down my directions on mapquest to my next client's home! my computer was haunted!

i have never in my entire, whole, altogether life seen anything like it. i was freakin' freakin' out!

bizarre, baby. bi -zarre.


so anyway, like i was saying the day before yesterday, how is this better than me grabbing a piece of paper and writing what i want to say on it?

who is ricky kincaid?

damned if i know, but i woke up this morning saying his name.

i was in a deep sleep - probably dreaming, but i don't remember - and my dog nudged me to get out of bed. my eyes flew open immediately and as they did, i said, "ricky kincaid."

what the?

i am not now nor have i ever been a member of the ricky kincaid fan club.

i do not now know nor have i ever known anybody even named ricky kincaid.

i knew a ricky skaggs once.

rick waln.

rick broderick.

there used to be a music store in my hometown called "kincaid's."

to my knowledge, neither ricky skaggs nor rick waln nor rick broderick ever took music lessons at kincaid's.

my brother took music lessons - clarinet - at kincaid's, but my brother's name is not ricky.

ricky ricardo?

ricky ricardo didn't take music lessons at kincaid's, but he sure as shootin' should have. (yowza! did you ever try to listen to ricky ricardo's non-kincaid's music without having your teeth go immediately on edge?)

anyway.......the question remains.......

who is ricky kincaid?

(and what instrument doesn't he play?)

if anyone knows why this is better, please let me know.

this is me, pretty much all of my career: grab a form, fill it out, turn it in. ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom.

this is me, pretty much all of last week:

find the form on the G drive.

try to open the form on the G drive.

ask the first person who walks by if she can help me open this stupid form on the G drive.

ask the second person cuz the first person couldn't open it.

second person can't open it.

go down to my boss's office to ask her to help. boss not there.

go back to my office and try again to open the form on the G drive.

walk two doors down to the IT guy and ask him if he can open the form on the G drive.

IT guy tells me to send him a work request.

go back to my office and send IT guy his bloody work request.

wait 20 minutes.

IT guy comes over, takes a look, and says, "ah, i see the problem."

i say, "i don't see it. what is it?"

IT guys says that i don't have access to the G drive.

i say i need access.

IT guy says he knows.

i say, now what?

he says, you gotta get your boss to send me a work request to give you access to the G drive.

i send boss an e-mail, asking her to send IT guy a work request to give me access to the G drive. no, wait. i scream, and then i send boss an e-mail, asking her to send IT guy a work request to give me access to the G drive.

go home and sleep on it. or, more accurately, toss and turn on it.

next day, read copy of e-mail that boss sent IT guy, asking him to give me access to the G drive.

1 hour later, read copy of e-mail that IT guy sent boss, telling her she has to ask him to do this via a work request, not via an e-mail.

35 minutes later, read e-mail from IT guy, telling me i now have access to the G drive. consider replying to the e-mail and telling IT guy that he needs to reply to me via a triplicate copy of the work request rather than via e-mail, but think better of it.

go to the G drive, find the form. try to fill it out. it won't let me fill it out.

scream.

go over to the IT guy's office and say, look, i don't have time to send you another work request. i gotta get this form filled out. i now have access to the G drive - no problem - but when i click on the form and try to fill it out, nothing happens.

IT guy sighs, which is the male version of screaming, and comes over to my office. IT guy clicks a few things and says, sorry - i forgot to give you access to the forms. you should be okay now.

go to the form. indeed, i am okay now. ("okay" being a relative term)

fill out the form.

filling out the form takes approximately 5 times longer than filling it out by hand would.

click "print."

try to find the right printer. there are 16 of them.

find the right printer - maybe.

click "print."

access denied.

boss just happens to walk by.......ask her to help.

boss takes a look......."oh, nancy," she says, "that isn't the right form."

"it's not? it says it is."

"i know. i keep meaning to change the name of it. it's not accurate. you need to use the form on the R drive instead. i'm sorry. i should have told you that."


repeat G drive scenario with R drive.


7 days later, form is filled out and printed........on the wrong color paper.

"i thought you said to print it out on yellow paper," i say to boss.

"yes, but not the light yellow paper, the golden yellow paper."


think to self how funny it would be to take all the light yellow paper and all the golden yellow paper in the world and t.p. the agency with it.

is the super bowl that thing with the commercials?

as i scrolled down my facebook page this morning, pretty much all i saw were comments about yesterday's games.

i didn't even know yesterday had games.

well, actually, that's not true - i knew it, but i didn't register it. i mean, why register games?

what i register are recipes.

i register "everybody loves raymond" and "the new adventures of old christine."

i register miles davis on a rainy sunday.

i register twins .

i register twins who are too full to eat chicken casserole but not too full to eat jello.

i register the way the sunlight falls on my kitchen floor.

i register pizza and pasta and more pizza and more pasta.

i register wine. any kind of wine. pretty much any kind of wine, and i register it.

i register 100% cotton against dried-out winter skin.

i even register registers, which dry out that dried-out winter skin.

what i don't register are games.

football games, basketball games, soccer games, ping-pong games.


actually, i do register ping-pong games. but they never have good commercials.

kids are funny

i babysat for the twins last night and lemme tell you somethin' - that's the best show in town. and free, to boot.

all you gotta do is sit down and let 'er rip!

olivia decided to mimic michael jackson's robot. she was jerkin' her head and jerkin' her arms with the best of 'em. (and the best of 'em would be michael jackson.)

olivia decided to jump on the couch.

charlie decided to jump on the couch.

olivia decided to jump on the couch, grab charlie, and throw him (gently?) to the floor.

charlie decided to scream, "i fall down!" when olivia threw him (gently?) to the floor.

they decided to repeat this.

15 times. 

olivia jumped, charlie jumped. olivia threw (gently?), charlie screamed, "i fall down!"

then, in the middle of the whole crazy shebang, charlie says, "time to go to bed," and i said, "you ready to go to bed, charlie?" and he said, "yep," and i said to olivia, "you ready to go to bed, too, olivia?" and she said, "yep," and off they went.

and abby says they haven't been sleeping well lately.

how's the new job goin', nancy? (or, all quiet on the western front) (or, zzzzzzzzzz........)

well, the new job is goin' good, thanks.

the new job is also goin' bad. (no thanks.)

all jobs, old and new, go good and bad, and this new one of mine is no different.


how's the weather up there?

well, the weather up here is good, thanks.

the weather up here is also bad, dependin' on who's talkin'.

all weather, winter, spring, summer, or fall, is good and bad, and the weather we're havin' up here right now is no different.


how's the car runnin'?

car's runnin' pretty good, thanks.

it's also runnin' kinda bad, depending on the day. and the um, weather.


how's your dog doin'? how're the cats?

dog's doin' good in some ways, bad in others. same with the cats.


your diet?

diet's good. diet's bad. back and forth. you know.


stayin' healthy?

for the most part, yes.

in some ways, no.

not bad, though. overall. you know.


anything new?

nope. nothin' new. 'cept for the job.


how's the new job goin', nancy?

goin' good.

goin' bad.

you know.

ok, so i have officially drop-kicked the donut gig into the end zone

i'm done with donuts. done, done, done. done, done, done, done, done.

it's always something, and yesterday it was the check that wasn't enough to cover the cost of the donuts. i'm done. i have officially resigned. i have told the church that i will finish this month and then i'm done.

done.


it's scary, really, that an organization that's supposed to assist you in seeing to it that your soul gets to heaven can't even get a donut order right. i mean, what the?

part of the problem is that there are too many cooks in the kitchen. there's the priest who tells susie how many donuts to order and there's susie who tells john to actually order them and then there's betty who susie tells to cut the check, made payable to kroger but sent to me, and there's cindy who sets the donuts and the coffee out and there's phil who tells cindy not to bother with the donuts and the coffee this week because we're not having donuts and coffee this week, even though we are, and it's phil who tells cindy to bother with the donuts and the coffee this week because we are having them, even though we aren't. 

and then there's elaine, who likes to stick her nose into everything.

i have tried many times, all of them unsuccessfully, to wake this donut committee up to the fact that it. isn't. working, but the donut committee doesn't care. either that or the donut committee is stupid. either that or the donut committee something. any which way, it. isn't. working.

it's bizarre, really. they can turn bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, for pete's sake, but they can't get a jelly-filled donut on the table.

(speaking of jelly-filled donuts, susie told john not to order any more jelly-filled donuts cuz nobody seems to like jelly-filled donuts so john doubled the order of jelly-filled donuts.)

i hope they don't have donuts in heaven.

gettin' sick of this donut gig

as most of you know, i am the "donut lady" at my church, which means that i go to kroger every sunday morning and pick up the donuts and take them to church for the coffee hour after church. it's not that hard. except that it is.

without fail, every dang week, it's something. sometimes it's kroger's fault, sometimes it's the church's fault, and never is it my fault.

either kroger doesn't make enough donuts or they don't make any donuts. either that or the church forgets to order them. either that or the church gives me a check for the wrong amount. either that or the girl who works in the bakery got fired because she was eating up all the donuts (true story).

the lady at church whose job is to set the donuts (and the coffee) out on the tables in the fellowship hall doesn't have it much better than i do. either somebody "in charge" calls her and tells her we aren't having donuts this particular sunday (we are) and so she doesn't need to come in early to set them out (she does) or somebody "in charge" calls her and tells we are having donuts this particular sunday (we're not) and so she does need to come in early to set them out (she doesn't). either that or her key fob doesn't work right and she can't get in the door.

yesterday, when i was at kroger doing my own shopping, i had a little chat with the manager about the donut problem. now, you might be wondering why, if i have had so many problems with kroger and their donuts, you might be wondering why i am only now getting around to having a little chat with the manager. ordinarily, that would be an intelligent thing to wonder about, but in this case, and when i say "this case" i mean "every case," the manager keeps changing. so far, and i have only had this donut gig about 8 months now......so far, kroger has breezed through 4 different managers, none of them capable. the current one is clearly no exception.

writing "donets" on his work order was my first clue.

"it's not o.k. to leave marks on your child, sir."

there's nothin' like meeting a client and his dad for the very first time and having to report the dad to children services right off the stinkin' bat - and in dad's presence - unless it's meeting a client and his very angry dad for the very first time and having to report very angry dad to children services right off the stinkin' bat - and in very angry dad's very angry presence.

but that's what happened yesterday and i thank my God-given stars that i am an experienced social worker, not some fresh out-of-graduate-school neophyte who doesn't even know the number to children services.

having to report a very angry man that you just met to children services is one of those things you hope you'll never have to do but if you do, you hope you're 56.

you hope your bag of tricks still has the "de-escalation magic wand" in it (it does) and that your hands aren't so arthritic (they aren't) that you can't wave it around (you can).

you hope that your 56-year old legs can still walk that delicate, precarious tightrope between being confronting and being compassionate.

you hope that you still know how to handle these things in that careful, skillful, part-art/part-science way that you know you used to be able to do.

you hope that you find just the right words and that you say them in just the right way.

you hope that you have played your professional cards well enough that, even though you are probably not this very angry dad's very favorite person at this very particular moment, you hope that very angry dad will, over time, become less angry and might even agree to work with you again.

what you don't hope for - but now you know you should - is that the chair you are sitting in while you are on the phone with children services and very angry dad is breathing down your very wrinkly 56-year old neck is, you hope your chair breaks and you land on your butt on the floor.

because i don't care how experienced you are, there ain't no social worker in the while wide world who's got a comic relief magic wand in her bag like that.

:)

THE shirt

it seems like every workplace has its polo shirt with the company logo on it. and it seems like every workplace gives me one that is 2 sizes too big.

st. vincent family center is no exception.

st. vincent gives you a choice of colors (black or white) and a choice of sizes (s,m, l, xl), and as nice as that is, it isn't nice enough. because i don't look good in those colors and i need an extra small.

i think it is proof positive that americans are getting toooooo fat when every single place you work has extra larges but none of them has extra smalls. (it's probably some form of discrimination for which i could sue (and win), but i won't.)

so, anyway, what i ended up with was a st. vincent family center polo shirt in white, small. i would have ended up with a st. vincent family center polo shirt in black, small were it not for the fact that the smalls only come in white. which is also probably some form of discrimination for which i could sue (and win), but i won't.

st. vincent has an interesting twist on the polo shirt/jeans on friday deal......you're allowed to wear jeans on friday provided you wear the polo shirt, too. it's an idea i haven't seen before and i gotta say, i think it makes sense. i like it. and when i say "i like it," i mean, "i don't like it."

i don't like wearing polo shirts. i don't look good in them. neither does abby. there's something about our body shape or our head shape or our necks or something but we do not look good in polo shirts. that's A.

B is, i especially don't look good in polo shirts that are not a size extra small.

and 3 is, i look like el crap-o in a white polo shirt.

so, the question is.......do i wear the requisite polo shirt and jeans today or do i forgo the jeans, wear something other than the polo shirt, and stick out like a sore thumb with a rebellious streak? i think the answer is clear - i absolutely must wear the polo shirt.

otherwise, i will not look like a "team player," and if there's anything worse than not looking good in a polo shirt, it's not being a "team player."

which, ok, i can be a team player as well as the next guy, but why don't my teams ever wear jerseys instead of polo shirts?

i look good in jerseys.

david nelson

david nelson, who played himself on the sitcom, "ozzie and harriet," has died. which means, part of me has died and moreover, part of an entire generation - the "baby boomers" has died, too.

wow.

it's not a small thing.

back in the 50s and 60s, when "ozzie and harriet" was on t.v., none of us - i mean, none of us - ever thought anyone would die, much less our favorite big brother, dave nelson.

if dave nelson can die, all bets are off.

the only thing that might be worse than dave nelson dying would be for his kid brother, rick ("ricky") to die, which, speaking of that, he did.

ricky nelson died in a plane crash many years ago, and, as awful as that was, it's not the same thing as someone dying a "natural" death.

everyone knows - even innocent, wide-eyed baby boomers who think they have the world on a string - everyone knows that terrible things like explosions and fires and airplane crashes happen. it's odd, in a way......we expect awful things like that to happen every now and then, but we don't expect one of our own to die of "natural causes."

especially not of something like cancer.

but that's what dave nelson did - he died of cancer. colon cancer, to be exact, and while i don't know the details of his medical history, colon cancer is usually one of those cancers that is very successfully treated - provided it is caught early enough.

"provided it is caught early enough." what baby boomer in his or her right mind thinks a.)he's gonna get cancer - any cancer - in the first place and b.)if he does, that he doesn't have all the time in the world to get around to taking care of it?

we baby boomers think we're gonna live forever.

at least, that's what we thought in the 50s and the 60s while we were sprawled on our tummies in the living room, watching "ozzie and harriet."

but, if dave nelson can die, anything can happen.

and if dave nelson can die of highly-curable colon cancer, then, well.......we all better wake up and smell the folgers coffee that mrs. olson told us about during the ads.

waiting for it to snow

waiting, in general, is hard to do, but waiting for it to snow is fun.

waiting for it to snow so bad that you have to leave work early - even if you did just start your job 6 days ago - is wonderful. it's even better than when it snows through the night and you wake up to find that it snowed so bad you can't go into work in the first place because when it snows through the night and you wake up to find that it snowed so bad that you can't go into work in the first place, you miss out on all the waiting. and the waiting is fun!

waiting for it to snow is a lot like waiting for it to be Christmas morning, but a lot less expensive.

it's like waiting for the first movie star to arrive on the oscar red carpet. no, it's like waiting for the first movie star who doesn't look ridiculous to arrive on the oscar red carpet.

when it snows, things slow down, but when you wait for it to snow, things begin to slow down, and that's half the fun. people at work start slackin' off which means you can start slackin' off, too -even if you have only worked there 6 days. and starting to slack off is a whole lot better than actually slacking off because when you actually slack off, you always got hell to pay later.

waiting for it to snow puts everybody on the same page - and, come on now, how often does that happen?

if you wait for it to snow on a day when you have a headache, suddenly you don't have as much of a headache.

your sinuses clear up.

your aching back? that feels better, too. until it starts to really snow and then you slip and fall down.

and then you have to wait in the E.R. for the doctor to see you.

like i said, waiting is usually hard to do.

orientation

today i have orientation at work. and by orientation i mean, disorientation.

when was the last time you had orientation and it oriented you? i don't know about you, but every time they try to orient me, i get lost.

i'm better off not knowing what year the agency was founded and who it was originally intended to serve and what group of nuns took it over and re-did the whole place after the year when everything flooded.

it really doesn't help me to know that the 3rd floor used to be the 4th floor but now the 2nd floor is the 1st.

all those forms and papers you're handing out? don't want 'em.

that tour you're taking me on? i've worked here a week already. i know where stuff is.

but the worst part of orientation? the worst part of orientation is the dreaded employee handbook.

the dreaded employee handbook reads like an adult-sized scolding. it tells you not to do this and not to do that and all that crap about an equal opportunity employer. it tells you you can't sexually harass anybody (damn!) and how if you have a grievance you can file it with HR but if you do, you're toast.

orientation puts you to sleep, but in some cases, that's a good thing.

after all, it is monday.

how long it takes me to get sick

snap! i'm sick.


people who know me know that i have the immune system of half a flea. make that the immune system of one fourth of a flea. one fourth of a sick flea.

i get every bug that ever came down the pike. and it seems that every bug that ever came down the pike is gunning for me and going at least 35 miles over the speed limit.

i returned to the work world this past monday - after a year and half absence  - and, ba da bing, ba da boom, here comes cold virus numero uno. (cold virus numero uno may be dressed up in a cute little sombrero and he may be munching a yummy looking taco, but he's still a cold virus. and he still makes me sneeze and he still makes my head ache and he still makes my throat sore. maybe cold virus nombre deux will at least have the good manners to bring me a crepe suzette or a nice bottle of burgundy.)

so, anyway, how long it takes me to get sick is, not long. 5 seconds.

funf sekunden, in german.

(do german cold viruses bring you a nice beer?)

sunday dinner

starting tomorrow night, and every alternate sunday night thereafter, abby, eli, the twins, and my parents will come to my house for sunday dinner.

remember sunday dinner?

sunday dinner is when you have roast chicken or pot roast or pork chops or swiss steak or something with campbell's soup in it.

sunday dinner is when you use the good china, but you wear your jeans.

sunday dinner is when all day, the house smells like, well, sunday dinner.

sunday dinner is when you have gravy.

sunday dinner is when you have seconds.

sunday dinner is when you sure are glad they invented the pillsbury dough boy.

sunday dinner is when you better go out and buy a tablecloth because sunday dinner is when you need one.

sunday dinner is when everybody goes home and gets up on monday to do it all over again but it's a little easier to do it all over again because of.....


sunday dinner.

still waiting for the evil one to appear

today is the 5th day at my new job and so far, everyone is nice. how can this be?

usually, by about day 2 (and when i say "day 2" i mean "day 1"), usually by then, somebody has already turned out to be a jerk.

somebody has usually let it be known that this is his stapler, not yours, and you sure as shootin' better not move it.

somebody has usually been irritated when you ask how to use the new fancy schmancy copier/fax machine. (sidebar here: social work agencies never have fancy schmancy anything but when they do, it is always the copier/fax machine. always. it is never the computer on your desk. never.)

usually by now, somebody would have gotten all "turf-y" with ya. they would've let you know your place versus their place - with the implication always being that their place is a much better place than your place - and you better not forget it.

by this time, somebody certainly should have stolen your lunch from the staff fridge.

but for some reason, so far, things have gone positively swimmingly at st. vincent family center in columbus, ohio. i know it can't last. i mean, can it? could there really and truly be a place where everyone is kind and patient and helpful and happy to see you arrive?

on earth, i mean.

the cutest kitchen

i love kitchens. doesn't everybody? if you don't like kitchens,there's somethin' wrong with you.

yesterday, i visited a friend's home and she has the kitchen of my dreams. my dreams, i tell you. and no, it is not upscale. it is downscale. which is why i want it so bad.

first of all, the kitchen is perfectly square. i love perfectly square kitchens. doesn't everybody? if you don't love perfectly square kitchens, there's somethin' wrong with you.

ok, so it's perfectly square (which is perfect) and then there's a side door to enter from the driveway. i love side doors to kitchens. doesn't everybody? if you don't like side doors to kitchens, there's somethin' wrong with you.

ok, so it's perfectly square and it has a side door and then, the kitchen table is  one of those built-in booth thingies. you know what i mean? sorta like the kitchen on "leave it to beaver," if you're old enough to remember that which, sometimes i think only God and i are. but anyway......

but anyway, so it has one of those built-in booth thingies and it forms a perfect square, too. so, what you've got is, you've got a perfectly square kitchen with a perfectly square kitchen table/booth thingie-do. who doesn't love that? if you don't love that, well...........you know.

the kitchen has hardwood flooring, but it's the original hardwood flooring - not some upscale, we-gotta-get-hardwood-flooring-because-everybody-else is-getting-hardwood-flooring kind of hardwood flooring. in other words, it's the good kind of hardwood flooring.

the wood of the cabinets and the floor and the built-in booth thingie-do match exactly which, off the top of your head, that may sound boring or like it's too much of a good thing but believe me, it works. the wood is sort of a medium, goldeny color and when you walk into that kitchen - from the side door - it's like walking into melted caramel. who doesn't love walking into melted caramel? if you don't love walking into melted caramel, stop reading my blog.

ok, so, we've got the perfect square, we've got the side door, we've got the built-in booth thingie-do, we've got the original hardwood floor, and we've got the melted caramel thing goin' on.

next, we have a country theme which, no, ordinarily i am not country, but wow, does it ever work in this kitchen! you know those stars that are so popular these days? well, this mom made a border (no, i am not ordinarily fond of borders) on the top of the walls, using stars. not painted stars, not wallpapered stars, but actual wooden stars, bing bing bing in a row, all around the kitchen. very nice. trust me.

the counter tops were the only thing updated - they were granite or, more likely, faux granite, but they looked great. they gave the kitchen just enough modern oomph to save it from being corny.

although, come to think of it, if this kitchen had been corny, that woulda made me happy, too.

nothin' like a perfectly square, enter from the side, sit at your built-in booth thingie-do with your orginal hardwood floor and stars over your head corny kitchen to make a person happy.

thinking about doing it/doing it

no, not that. get your mind outa the gutter!


i have found that, in general, thinking about doing something is harder than actually doing it. not that doing it is easy, necessarily, but it's usually not as bad as it sounded in your head.

take going back to work after you thought you were retired and you'd never have to work a day in your life again. just as an example.

the idea of going back to work after you thought you were retired and you'd never have to work a day in your life again is a pretty hideous idea. as ideas go.

the actual going back to work, while not falling neatly into the picnic category, isn't so hideous as it sounds after all. it's bad, maybe, but it's not hideous.

especially if you go back to the kind of work you did before you thought you were retired and would never have to work a day in your life again. if you go back to work like that, you'll be surprised how quickly the words "crisis plan," and "mental status exam," and "is he taking his meds like he's supposed to" come flowing back to you.

you'll remember that you can bill for the time you spend with the client and/or his family and/or fellow members of the treatment team but you can't bill for meeting just with fellow members of the treatment team. unless the fellow members of the treatment team that you are meeting with are from the CHPS program. or the TPPS one. oh! and the RHIS program, too - don't wanna forget about those guys!

it'll all come back to you how social workers almost always have lousy offices. if they have offices at all.

you'll be like, "oh, yeah.....i forgot about that!" when they tell you that medicaid won't pay if you write your name on this line but they will pay if you write it on this one.

the stale smell of the staff lounge will be familiar and so will the frustration of never being able to find the supplies you need.

when your computer says, "access denied," you'll be like, yep, it's all comin' back to me now.


but the other thing that is easier, once you actually get out there and do it, as opposed to just thinking about doing it is, the love.

it's easier to love a kid in trouble when he's right in your face rather than in your distant memory somewhere.

it's easier to help when you're, well, helping, than it is to just think about helping.


it's easier to serve God when you're serving Him, as opposed to just thinking that one of these days, if i have enough time, i might get around to serving Him.

hi-ho, hi-ho!

the next chapter - literally. well, not LITERALLY.

i go back to work tomorrow. i come out of retirement and go back to work. it wasn't supposed to be this way.

when we found out that my daughter, abby, was pregnant with twins and needed to be on bed rest, we decided that i would cut back from full-time to part-time in order to help her.

when the twins were born, we decided that i would take an early retirement - something i was always hoping to be able to do, anyway - and that i would give two days per week to helping abby with the kids. actually, the original plan was that i would take the twins off her hands entirely for two days each week - thereby freeing abby up to run errands, take a much-needed nap, go shopping, get a mani-pedi (i don't think that ever happened), or just do whatever she wanted/needed to do.

for quite awhile, that's how it was, but gradually, as the twins got older and one thing led to the next and to the next and then to the next, gradually my two days became much less a matter of me entirely taking over the child care and more of a cooperative, teamwork kind of venture between abby and me. we would often pile the kids into the car and go out for lunch or to the park or to the library or something. it was a great little team, the 4 of us.

and tomorrow, it is ending. because i am going back to work.

it wasn't supposed to be this way.

for reasons beyond my control and certainly not because i willed them, i have to return to work. i feel badly for all of us about that but perhaps especially for the twins......it is rare in this day and age when grandchildren can spend so much time with a grandmother (without the grandmother actually raising the children herself), and i like to think that these two years have been as important and as special for charlie and olivia as they have been for me.

that said, i know that they won't remember them.

they won't remember how grammy used to come over two days a week and we'd all dance to michael jackson.

they won't remember how grammy sang her old camp songs - songs they probably otherwise never would have heard - and how they loved those songs so much, they kept saying, "again! again!"

they won't remember the countless number of walks in the double stroller and how we learned about insects and trees and fire engines and architecture and automobiles and mailboxes and windchimes and bicycles and pumpkins and snowmen and, well, how we learned about life on those walks.

but maybe what they will remember - maybe what their emotional memory will remember is that, every step of the way, every poopy diaper change of the way, every spilled milk fiasco of the way......

their grammy loved them.


and that chapter will never change.

literally.

just when you least expect it

my life has been pretty darned wonderful through all the years and yet, on new year's eve, i always feel bad.

i always dread the burst of my "wonderful life bubble."

i worry that the new year is finally going to be the year where it all comes tumbling down, or at least, where i will be faced with some pretty stiff challenges that i'd rather not face.

i feel anxious on new year's eve - anxious mixed with sad mixed with gratitude. for me, it is thee most bittersweet day of the year.

and i always dread its coming.


and so it was, coming on the heels of the 12 straight most horrendous months of my life - with just one nearly unbearable heartache after the next - that i expected new year's eve 2010 - spent all alone and doing nothing - to be nothing short of the night from double triple quadruple hell.

but it wasn't.

it wasn't!

if anything, it was the best night i've had probly all year. you coulda knocked me over with a feather! just as i didn't see the agony of 2010 coming, so too did i not see the peace of december 31st coming.

it wasn't what i ended up doing  (watching old sitcom reruns) last night that made it such a great night. it wasn't what i drank (my usual 2 - ok, so i mighta pushed it to 3 - glasses of wine), and it wasn't who i spent it with (no one). it wasn't that i stayed up late and got a kiss at midnight (i was in bed by 9).

it wasn't that somebody unexpectedly called or dropped by or invited me to something.

it certainly wasn't the weather! boo, weather! it got into the 60s yesterday (blech!) and the sun was, if you can actually believe this at the very end of december, shining. boo, weather!

no, it wasn't any of those things, so i guess it must've been me. and by i guess it must've been me, i mean, it must've been God.

it must've been God who brought me through the valley of the shadow of death this year, cuz i know for a fact that i sure as hell didn't do it.

it must've been God who didn't tell me last new year's eve - when i worried that 2010 would bring the fall of my life-long happiness - it must've been God who didn't tell me, "yes, nancy, you're right." it must've been God who didn't tell me that because He knew i couldn't tolerate it if He did.

it must've been God who sat there with me on the couch last night and watched "everybody loves raymond, the new adventures of old christine, the office, gunsmoke, and bewitched."

it must've been He who waved his arm or blew His breath or did whatever God does when He wants to perform a silent miracle.

it must've been Him. because it certainly wasn't me. it certainly wasn't pajama-clad me, sprawled on the couch, chompin' on popcorn. (sidebar here: what kind of wine goes good with popcorn? any kind of wine.)

it must've been God who, on what is always the worst night of the year for me anyway and so this particular year, it shoulda been hell....it must've been God who dropped by (not entirely uninvited) and decided to hang out with me on new year's eve.

it must've been God.........

because i felt so good yesterday.

and i feel so good today.


and i expect to feel even better tomorrow.