pixie pug, 1996 -- 2007

Pixie lived with my brother and his family. In 1995 or 1996, before there were kids, there was June Bug (another pug), who died at an early age of some awful genetic neurological disease. My sister-in-law was distraught, and so our family contributed to the purchase of another pug. This was Pixie, who as a young pup went to live in Ecuador and helped welcome my nephew Santiago into the family.

There weren't many "bred" dogs in Ecuador, but one other pug, Bruno, lived across the street. Pixie and Bruno became good friends, frolicking in sight of the steep mountain ranges that ringed Quito.

Pixie moved back to the states with the family for a few years, and then moved with them to Costa Rica four years ago. She enjoyed the back yard, occasional walks, wildflowers, and again, stunning views of mountain ranges. She occasionally visited the states, but most often was cared for in San Jose when her family came home for brief visits.

Pixie died in her sleep Wednesday night, perhaps a blessed way to go. She leaves behind my brother, sister-in-law, nine-year old nephew, five-year old niece, and a companion kitty, Chessie.

meta blog

I've made a few small changes to the blog. You'll probably notice the color change immediately. You may also notice that I finally have a user profile. Let me know what you think.

I've also updated the set of links to other sites -- I've kept some old favorites, deleted a few that are defunct or that I never read anymore, and have added links to sites that I've recently started frequenting. And I've updated the link to my AIDS walk page. Yes, it's a new season; some of you will be hearing from me soon.

Enjoy!

environmental leanings

Just a note to say that I've become a guest writer on someone else's blog. The blog, Sudbury Earth Decade Committee, focuses on items about the environment, both news items and ideas about actions we can take. I'll be writing an irregular column called "A Single Step," after the journey-of-a-thousand-miles quote by Confucius.

My column will focus on small incremental changes we can consider making. One of the smallest ideas I've come up with so far concerns recycling old unwanted cell phones. (Check out http://www.collectivegood.com/ or just take your phones to Staples.) I may also write about larger ideas, but if so, I'll find ways to implement them in small pieces.

Anyways, if you're interested in these topics, stop on by. And of course, blaugustine will also continue at its usual irregular pace!

small town life

This morning, a friend and I arranged to meet at the local coffee house for a mid-morning break. It was such a lovely day that when we arrived, we decided to sit outside in the full sun.

Shortly after we sat down, a rather geeky looking guy came up to us and asked "Are you the two women I met a few months ago who live on Maple Street?" We quickly went through our mental rolodexes to figure out which women he might be confusing us with, said no, and before we realized what was happening, he invited himself to sit down with us after he got coffee.

He stayed for quite a while. He seemed a little --er-- like many of the software people I've dealt with over the years. He was sweet and somewhat engaging and talked a lot. My poor friend didn't quite know what to do or how to handle him. He finally admitted that he was married to a woman. (He was *not* pinging my gaydar, not to worry).

As we sat there, the two of us women greeted several people we knew as they walked by. One woman came and sat with us for a while, but was actually on her way to meet someone else. Finally, the guy left, and my friend, outraged, said "He didn't even *care* whether we wanted us to sit with him!" He probably did, but it didn't occur to him to wonder.

So my friend and I talked for a while until we saw a mutual friend who sat with us and gave us some updates on her recently upheaved life. She told us about a guy who hangs out at the coffee shop who feels like the town is a summer camp. In the morning, he gets up, comes down to the coffee shop (his "mess hall"), sees his friends, has breakfast, and gets on with his day. Our mutual friend left, and my friend and I talked some more until it was time for us to go, too.

I got back to my car and realized we'd been sitting there for 2.5 hours.

blossoming periwinkles

About a decade ago, the main employer in town moved its headquarters from a quirky million-square-foot collection of old mill buildings to a more upscale, modern building at the edge of town, and then through acquisition, abandoned that building too. Foot traffic at lunch plummeted, and the downtown suffered. Businesses closed; on some days, it felt like weeds were blowing through downtown. For years now, I've enjoyed seeing signs of life as the downtown mill has filled back up with small and even large businesses, people are out again at lunchtime, and small shops have opened up again.

We now have a lot of fun restaurants to choose from, all within walking distance from home. We also have a lot of "used stuff" stores, ranging on the cuteness meter. A few years ago, an "antiques and crafts" store named Periwinkles opened.

The owner, Susan, hailed from Oklahoma. She had married quite late and produced one son, now a budding teenager. Her store was adorable -- packed to the gills with real antiques, odd little paintings, Native American crafts from her trips home. She had a nice sense of style and you could spend a pleasant hour browsing through the store or chatting with her.

Soon after the store opened, I went in for a look around. Susan's mom was visiting, and every time I asked a question, Mom would say something like "Oh Susan, this place is so crowded, no wonder people can't find anything". She didn't seem to like the wares that Susan was selling. The store just wasn't good enough, and clearly for that matter, neither was Susan.

I was becoming increasingly irritated and finally said "Gee, I think this store is absolutely adorable and I really like it. It's just right." At that point, Susan's mother found a rocking chair, sat down, and sulkily said "Well. I'm just going to sit down and be quiet. Hmph." (Good idea, I thought.)

I couldn't shake this incident. For one thing, I've suffered a lot from the Not Good Enough Syndrome, and I know firsthand how it eats at people. For another thing, I thought Susan's mom was not helping sales at all; in fact, she was close to driving customers away.

A few days or maybe a week later, I went back and said to Susan, "I know I'm not your mom, so my opinion may not count for much, BUT I think this is a great store, and I admire you for putting it together. I'm really sorry your mom was so negative." Susan was very sweet and responded gratefully for what might have been seen as a cheeky intervention.

Over the years, I'd drop in from time to time to say hi or to buy one thing or another. I wasn't what one might call an excellent customer, but I was an occasional one. Truth to tell, Susan carried a lot of very sweet items that were quite appealing to me and that I would have bought had I not already had Too Much Stuff. But during my visits, I met Susan's husband and son a few times. Then one night, Robert was walking downtown with me and I introduced him to Susan. "Oh," she said, "your wife has been incredible. What a customer, and so very sweet."

And then a few months later, I saw signs in Susan's window about upcoming sales, and then the inevitable -- a sign said that Susan's little shop was closing. The last weekend coincided with a visit from Robert's parents. Robert's mom and I went for a walk downtown and stopped by to visit Susan, who along with a few other people was cleaning up the little shop.

Introductions were made. Susan said "You wouldn't believe how wonderful Liz is. She's been a great customer" She told the story again. A woman helping in the back of the shop stepped off her ladder and came over to us. "I'm Susan's mother-in-law. *You're* that person? It's so good to meet you. We heard the story when it happened and we're not fond of Susan's mother around these parts." I told the m-i-l how lucky Susan was to have her and she said how lucky she felt to have Susan as part of their family. We decided right there and then that we had quite a fan club going.

I bought a few last things, and Susan gave me a basket and put a few extra items into it. Then Robert's mom bought a few things too, blaming me all the while for causing her to spend money on her trip. I gave Susan my contact info so that she can let me know what her next adventure will be, and we parted.

It is amazing to me how such a small gesture could last and resonate for years. I am so glad to have made a difference. Perhaps this tiny act of kindness makes up in some small way for so many other acts that were not as kind -- through negligence, obliviousness, forgetting to think. Perhaps these things balance out in the grand scheme of things.

back and forth

My commute yesterday was two and a half hours. By the time I got into the office, I was in an unhappy enough mood that it was best not to have a lot of contact with coworkers initially. That, and a colleague who is losing the campaign to charm me started in on yet another judgmental rant to tell me that that's why he's never lived so far... when he was interrupted (blessedly) to go off to a meeting. Why does that guy get under my skin so much?

Anyways, I thought I'd write about my commute, because things have changed after years and years (15? 16?) of predictable 25-35 minute travels back and forth to work.

For the first time since the late 70s, I'm no longer driving all the way from home to work. The distance to my new job isn't that bad, but the traffic, narrow streets, and many traffic lights are. I'm now either driving to the subway, riding for five stops, and walking for 10-15 minutes, OR driving to the train station, transferring to the subway, and walking 10-15 minutes to the office.

In the morning, the minimum travel time, door-to-door, has been an hour and twenty minutes, regardless of mode of transport. I imagine that driving in would take the same amount of time but leave me in a much fouler mood. In the evening, if I leave work late enough, and if I've parked at the subway, I can sometimes get home in an hour.

Truth to tell, riding the train usually takes the longest, but it almost always involves a predictable amount of time and requires less than three miles of driving each way. Driving to the subway is the biggest gamble in that the time required is totally unpredictable and seems more dependent on weather than on the time of day that I leave the house.

But yesterday... we were in the midst of a nor'easter, with lots of wind and lots of rain. Because of the weather and the anticipated crowds for the Boston Marathon, I decided to take the train. When I arrived at the station, the scrolling message board said that my train would be 20+ minutes late. I thought I could live with that and decided to wait. I found an eave to hide under and talked to fellow wannabe passengers to pass the time.

After about 20 minutes, a guy came along who had called a special number and learned that the train would be 40+ minutes late. So what do you do at that point -- cut your losses? Or trust that just another 20 minutes more would reward us with a train? I decided to wait it out. The train ended up being an hour late.

It turns out that the train I was waiting for broke down. The next train was supposedly pushing the first train to get it out of the way. Neither ever came by. Finally, a train coming from Boston stopped, went up to the next station, turned around, and started the ride back to Boston. That third train was on time but was picking up passengers for three trains worth of people. Fortunately, because of the state holiday, there weren't all that many people waiting and the train wasn't that crowded.

I later heard that a colleague had attempted to drive to the subway and had turned around. I'm not sure if the traffic, the parking (or lack thereof), or the puddles made him decide to turn back, but I do know that my other option wasn't even an option yesterday.

Now that I'm getting used to a longer absence from home on days that I work, I will admit that I'm enjoying the commute time. Especially on the train (where there's always a seat and I've never had to stand up), I'm able to catch up on reading. I'm not yet finding a lot to take home from work, so I'm reading magazines and the occasional book. Sometimes on the commute home, Robert catches the same train and sits with me, so that we can decompress from the day together.

The subways are a different story. They're often crowded and I often stand up for at least part of the ride. Sometimes, if I'm lucky enough to find a seat, it's challenging to get off at my stop because of the crowds.

I imagine I'll continue to experiment with the commute in perhaps feeble efforts to shave a few more minutes here and there. For now, it's good to have options. And I can always hope that eventually, maybe someday, work will move closer to home again.

snippets from the past week

This week has been full of life, and not, rich as usual, with reminders of the love that flows between friends.

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For the "not" part, a friend's husband died about a month ago and his funeral was this week. He had had stomach cancer, had been declared cancer-free, and then stopped feeling well. There was much investigation without much result, and then I imagine the cancer made itself more apparent. The funeral was held in a beautiful old-style Episcopalean church with high, arched windows and spring-time flowers still perched up on the window sills in celebration of Easter. The bright whites, yellows, and greens contrasted lushly with the grey and white walls of the church, as did the hope and sorrow evident throughout the service.

Part of the service was in Spanish -- the man who died was Columbian and he and his wife had lived in Latin America for many years before settling near Boston. He was skilled and funny and passionate, though lived his last years working in jobs that we would call "beneath" him.

I met this man's widow when my friend Char was sick. She was a good friend to both Mark and Char and played MC at Char's memorial service, which I organized and where we both spoke. Years later, I bumped into her in the lobby of my office building and we renewed our friendship.

At the funeral, she appeared full of life-spirit, not joyous, not beaten down either. Her husband of more than 40 years is gone; I hope she continues to find her way back to this life.

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Also this week, I learned that my friend D had been terribly ill, but was starting to mend. He came down with pneumonia quite suddenly last Saturday and was taken off to the e-room by ambulance. He has fortunately started to recover and may come home soon. His loving and devoted partner, K, seemed surprised to discover himself tired after nearly a week's effort to manage D's hospital stay and work a little on the side. K is fortunate to have the loving support of his siblings, and I am fortunate to have K's and D's friendship for a while longer.

I live with the constant knowledge that life is short, but some days it is like a distant hum. D's illness, perhaps more than G's death, has yanked that reality more distinctly into my thoughts.

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In a typical year, our snowdrops bloom once. They are supposed to make their appearance on the anniversary of Mark's death, March 9, but that happens only rarely. Sometimes we see them in January, sometimes not until April. It all depends on when the snow clears. This year, they bloomed three times (but still not on March 9. They are obstinate, in keeping with Mark's cherished spirit). They are blooming now, perhaps for the final time until 2008.

We were supposed to have a nor'easter today. There is much rain, though little wind. But because the temperature is flirting with the freezing mark, we are seeing a little snow mixed in. We worry about tomorrow's marathoners, especially the inexperienced ones who may not know how to protect themselves from the damp and cold.

The wood stove is chugging along. The cats sleep through it all.

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Yesterday, we performed our first work share at the farm where we'll be getting vegetables this summer and into the fall. The day was cool, but the sun brilliant. We worked in the greenhouse for a while, moving around plants at various stages of growth. We moved some into their "halfway house" where they'll experience more of the hardships of a life lived outdoors, with some protection from the elements for a while longer. We briefly dug into wet clay to form raised flower beds. And we raked mowed raspberry beds to remove old canes.

And everywhere we saw signs of life -- in the sprouts and actual plants we were moving, for example. But we also uncovered worms in the earth we were digging and plant shoots while we were raking. We warmed up enough to strip down to our tee shirts and got good country air into our lungs.

When I came home, I felt just a little changed, perhaps a little more full of life and determination. We hope to go back next week.

fear of phones

If you've known me for a while, you've probably figured out that I have a slight phobia about phones, specifically about placing phone calls, especially in a social setting, but sometimes in a personal "getting things done" way too. It all started somehow when Mark died. I'm not sure exactly what started because I didn't have any trouble calling him, even when the news wasn't so great. But when he died, something snapped, and it hasn't gone back to its correct shape. It might never. I should note that this little quirk is not always easy on my friends, which makes it even harder for me.

The odd thing is that I'm fine with receiving phone calls. (I love getting calls!). I can make phone calls at work. I can make phone calls when I know the person isn't there and I can leave a message so that they will call me back. I can easily send email and often feel irritated if that's not an option. (What do you mean my grandmother refuses to get on the internet?). I sometimes even pick up the phone and call someone, especially if I think they're hurting. It's a big deal to me, but I try not to make it a big deal for anyone else.

And so... after our mild winter, I left work one really cold day to find that one of my car's front lights had gone out, at least my car's helpful info panel said as much. And I waited and waited to call the car place, where they're really nice, to make an appointment. I waited until I also needed an oil change and I needed -- oh yes, it turns out that my brake light was coming on too, but only on cold days when I accelerated through a right turn so that I didn't realize that I also needed new brakes.

One night I was on the verge -- really I was -- of making an appointment when Robert mentioned that he had an appointment to have his car fixed. So I spent my phone-and-car energy making sure he had a ride to and from the station that day and we also got his car back and forth to the repair place. OK, I wasn't suffering that much -- the train station is about two miles away and the car place is just between the train station and home. I don't want it to sound like I'm whining.

So I finally made the appointment. I remember that I didn't call -- I just dropped by, and they made it very easy and pleasant as they always do. On the day of the appointment, I borrowed Robert's car for the day, drove him back and forth to the train station, and all was well.

Then about two weeks later, I turned on my car and the helpful info panel said that one of the rear lights had gone out. I've lived with it, meaning to make an appointment.

Today has been a little dark, so on my way home from the day's adventures, I turned on the car lights and got that helpful little reminder. As soon as I got home, before I could not do it, I called the repair place. The guy who answered said that he didn't know what kind of bulb the car took, and that if they had it in stock, it wouldn't take long to fix. However, if they didn't have it in stock, they'd need to order it, blah blah blah, and really, it might be easier if I made an appointment.

I asked if they were busy, and he said not particularly. I asked if I could swing by and if they could just check the bulb. He said sure (I imagine he had more important things to do and wanted to get me off the phone.)

I arrived and was greeted sweetly by one of the owners ("Hi there. I don't remember what kind of car you drive but I should"). They brought my car in, found that it takes a bulb that they had in stock, discovered another bulb that was about to go, and replaced them both. And charged me $3.68.

I exaggerated a little earlier. I have improved about the phone since Mark died. But I don't always pick up the phone when I really should, just sometimes. Sometimes it takes a while.

addendum

This evening I was on my way out the door and went to say goodbye to my boss. She was very cheerful and said "I may not have told you this in the last week, but I'm so glad you're here. There was something you did today that reminded me of that." I told her I was glad to be there and that I have a very good job. We parted with the hope that the job will remain good for some time to come. The healing continues.

contemplating worklife

I've been extraordinarily lucky in my work life. The longest period I've been out of work was a time of my own choosing. I've mostly networked my way into jobs and have had supportive recruiters otherwise. I've felt extreme loyalty to companies and to bosses, but after two layoffs, I've had far less allegiance to the companies I've worked for than to the humans who've managed me.

An old boss to whom I still feel terrifically loyal once said "People join companies but leave bosses." When I ended my time at IBM, I broke this rule -- it really was because of the company. The bureaucracy had become so overwhelming that it was nearly impossible to actually get anything done. At one point, a short-term manager told me that I needed to find something to do because if you didn't appear to be busy, you were basically bait for layoffs. Nothing was ever said about actually doing anything useful, just looking the part.

But my last company -- now there was as good an illustration of the rule as can be found. I had a boss there who was personally very sweet. I actually liked her a lot. As a boss, though, she had what might be called shortcomings.

She didn't really understand our domain. Some people in that situation manage out -- they recognize their strengths and weaknesses, find people who can complement their skills, and create a team that is more powerful than any individual member. Others, and this manager was amongst them, manage in, limiting the team to their own abilities.

This woman had an extreme short-term memory. Often, she'd make a task a high priority only to forget it the next day. Some of her employees would wait until she asked three times for them to do something to make sure that she really meant it.

She could contradict herself several times in the same conversation or over the period of several days or weeks, so that in the end, regardless of what you did, she could (and would) yell at you. If she asked you to do something and it didn't come out exactly the way she had imagined it, she'd furrow her brow and often your work would be discarded or dismissed.

And because she didn't understand our work, she didn't always understand the significance of our accomplishments. There was one piece of work that I did of which I was quite proud. It was innovative and a quick solution to a problem that many groups can take years to solve. I even presented my work at a conference and got very positive feedback about it. Part of the technique that I used to do this work was to perform a "card-sorting" exercise, made popular in the information architecture world. She always called it my "little card game."

In my mid-term review last winter, she praised that work, telling me how happy she was that I had done it so quickly, how important it was to our group, and how it laid the foundation for a good deal of work that our group would need to do in coming years. Last summer at my next review, she criticized me for the same work, saying that I had worked too slowly, and that while taking too much time, I had missed the opportunity to do other work that was of much higher priority -- work that at the time she'd said had to wait until later.

At my last review, this woman also told me that I'm not very productive. Ordinarily, I'd be upset by this type of remark, but it was so patently absurd that it was hard to feel anything but annoyed. When I mentioned it to a coworker, he said "oh, she says that whenever she doesn't know what to say." Joy.

I finally realized that I was never going to succeed in this job, that even if I did something well and was recognized for it, there was no guarantee that the assessment would persist. At that point, I pretty quickly wrote my resume and started quietly pursuing other jobs. I was starting to ramp up my efforts when my newest job came along.

And so far so good. I feel like a grownup working with a bunch of other grownups. I'm expected to prioritize my work and get it done. I'm of course keeping my boss posted. She in turn is being incredibly encouraging and kind, and supporting my decisions (though it would be fine if she didn't). The point is that I feel like I'm collaborating again, not swimming against the tide.

I joke about the PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) that accompanied me when I left my last job. But it does feel like there's healing that's happening, and I definitely feel like I'm retraining my reactions to something more "normal" and appropriate.

And all the insomnia I was experiencing -- it was so easy to attribute it to being "of a certain age". It's just what happens when you're 49 and female. Except that it isn't. It turns out that my treatment at work was actually eating at me. It's so nice to be able to sleep again.

eating, ritually and otherwise

I wrote part of this post earlier this weekend, but when I clicked Save, the whole thing was lost and unrecoverable. Argh!! Then I had to leave the house, so this is my second attempt, several days later.


Last week was bookended by two important meals and a meal that had gone missing in action. We've also been struggling with what to feed the household animals.


On Monday night, we celebrated Passover at the home of a friend where we've celebrated for many years running. She's a wonderful cook, but not very big on ceremony. We traditionally work through the first half of an incredibly minimalist Haggadah until we get to the long-awaited passage, "We eat the festive meal" and then we dine royally.

After dinner, there's a search for the Afikomen and eating of dessert. Everyone rushes up from the table at once, we stand around talking a while longer, and then we all go home without finishing part deux of the seder.

Each year, our hostess does loads of research for recipes, buys huge quantities of eggs -- she bought four dozen this year -- and cooks for days leading up to the event. She gathers a fascinating collection of friends, and conversations are always lively and enlightening.


Spiritually, this friend's seder used to be balanced by Daniel's, at which we had many former divinity students, more Hagaddahs than people, each Haggadah different, and long discussions about various approaches to telling the story and celebrating the holiday.

Now, much as I enjoy our hostess' celebrations, I always feel a longing for the other half and know that we'll never experience it again. This is a good time to practice enoughness, gratitude for what we do have.


Another friend has started experimenting with a raw food (also called "Living Food") diet, which is much as it sounds, with the added restriction of being entirely vegan (thankfully). It seems to be the exact opposite of Macrobiotics, in which everything is completely cooked, even the salt. My friend decided to have a raw food dinner and asked me to help out.

So on Friday, I went to her house, food processor in tow. In the morning we made about five dishes. I took a break, went swimming, did some other work. Then I went back for another three hours, during which we created a few more dishes and did final preparations. My friend had also been working for the previous week, making food in her dehydrator. Apparently, food still counts as raw if it's only been taken up to 105 degrees.

Then the dinner party happened. There were nine of us, all of whom I'd met previously. The food was quite good and we had of course prepared way too much. Conversation was fun, and we talked way into the evening. Finally, when we were full and I was very very tired, we left.

Robert and I both had -er- digestive disturbances in the middle of the night. This is apparently not a diet that you should switch to all at once. I think it takes a while to learn to process an all-raw meal. And I don't think I could switch entirely to it anyways. I like brown rice too much for one thing, and I also like eating warm food. Nonetheless, it was a fun and wonderful experiment and a great evening.


There have been disturbances also in the pet food world, and there's been a huge recall of pet food over the last month. In fact, this topic came up for discussion at Friday's dinner party because we're all struggling with what to feed our pets.

As the story stands now, many pet food sellers contract to one manufacturer to produce one line of wet food. The manufacturer recently switched suppliers of one small component of the food they produce, wheat gluten, which is used as a thickener. The new wheat gluten apparently contains some awful poison that causes kidney failure in immune-weakened animals.

The problem affects at least 43 brands of cat food and 54 brands of dog food. And one of those brands is what I've been feeding my cats for their evening treat. As the story unfolded, the scope of the problem seems to have expanded and shifted so it's been hard to get a handle on the situation. But I was finally able to return all the remaining food I had on hand.

I've continued to feed the cats their high-end dry food, which is what they mostly eat. I did try some other high-end wet foods not manufactured at the suspect factory and the cats just turned up their noses. So now at night, they're getting food similar to what they were eating, except it's from the grocery store, and I'm sure my vet would ask me why I'm feeding my cats junk food. Except this is what they'll eat (barely, they probably still miss the food I took away), so we're sticking with it.

It's kind of scary to have an entire food supply tainted. And it makes me even more aware of how easily something like this could happen in the human food chain too. With all the consolidation that goes on at companies, it's quite possible that the selections we make in our own food aren't all that different from the items we leave behind on the grocery store shelves.

Eating "closer to the earth" does solve some of this problem. I've long been moving closer to that goal for the household humans, but the cats will continue to eat manufactured food for now.