weekend report

I developed a fever sometime between Friday night and Saturday morning. There were many symptoms, but unfortunately one of them -- rampant stupidity -- prevented me from figuring out what was wrong for several hours. I'm not sure if it was all due to the toothiness or the reapparance of the nasty bug I came down with two weeks ago. (I did manage to call my dentist and report in.) Fortunately, things broke by about mid-day Saturday. Much ibuprofen, many naps, and extremely happy cats later, I'm feeling nearly normal again.

One of the tonics this weekend was an article I read in the AARP magazine. Actually, I think it's called AARP, the Magazine now. It used to be called Modern Maturity, but maybe they figured out that just because you've turned 50, you aren't necessarily mature, and certainly not in any modern kind of way. They probably leave that to today's 10 year olds and hope that you've regressed to old-fashioned immaturity by the type you reach AARP age.

Anyways, this article was about collecting and frankly some of what was described could probably be cured by good drugs. I live with someone who borders on packratism himself, so this stuff frightens me. That, and I'm always reminded of what someone said when she discovered that a mutual friend collected figurines -- "Eeeuw. More dusting."

Anyways, buried amongst tales of people who collect dolls and antique radios -- the prosaic stuff -- was the story of a guy who runs a mustard museum. This guy's collecting habit started when he became fascinated with the first cow to be flown and milked in an airplane. He became obsessed and created a shrine to the cow, Elm Farm Ollie, in his living room, even writing an opera, Madame Butterfat. The article sadly notes that there just wasn't that much related to EFO to collect. (Can't you just imagine that the shrine consisted of about five items?)

The mustard museum was apparently "born out of a personal tragedy" -- the 1986 World Series loss of the Red Sox to the New York Mets. The collector, "stunned and depressed," stumbled around a grocery store in Madison Wisconsin at 2:30 in the morning until he came upon the condiment aisle and had an epiphany: "I thought that if I would collect mustard, that would somehow lead to the Red Sox winning the World Series. I had no idea what I was doing -- I was so depressed. Life was tenuous. I just knew I needed to collect some mustard."

The rest is history, both for the Red Sox and for the world, which is graced with a 5000-item mustard museum, courtesy of one man's facing up to his own destiny.

I can once again attest to the healing power of laughter. And I think the AARP membership has just paid for itself.

done!

The procedure is done. Many xrays were taken. The low drill, not the high squealy one, was used. I didn't feel a thing.

The two people working on me were very nice. My friend who picked me up and drove me, then came back and drove me home was lovely and right on time.

The actual thing that was implanted is pretty (this will be covered up by something more tooth-like in a few more months).

And thank goodness for the "don't care" drugs. I came home and slept for about three hours until the phone rang, not that I had it together to actually answer the phone. The cats have been good nursemaids, one sleeping on either side of me. Theo is sticking by my side for now.

I'm fine. It's nice to be on the other side of this event.

more teeth

You may remember that I had some dental crises last fall. At this point, I've had one tooth extracted, I've switched dentists, and my new dentist has installed two new crowns. I've gone from being a nervous wreck in the dentist's chair to being fairly relaxed, even giggly at times.

Tomorrow I go in for an implant. It's supposed to be "less traumatic" than the extraction; nonetheless, I will take something to "take the edge off" before I go to bed tonight and again just before the implant tomorrow.

I have no idea what the weekend will be like -- whether I'll bounce right back or whether I'll come home tomorrow afternoon, crawl into bed, and stay there for several hours, covers pulled up to my ears. I may go dancing on Saturday night; I may beg Robert to go without me.

It will be a "play-it-by-ear" weekend. I'll have two follow-up visits with the implant guy. Then some time in late spring or early summer, I'll get a new tooth -- actually a crown on top of the implant. Even if it's a fake, it'll be nice to have a tooth, and a functioning one at that, in that spot again.

Much as I like my new dentist, I will look forward to a time when I see him just twice a year on the occasion of my regularly-scheduled cleanings.

giving references -- the highs and lows

What with all the companies closing down, layoffs, and general moving around, I've been asked to provide several references for coworkers of late. It's always a pleasure, at least so far, because I love saying nice things about people I like.

Today, though, I was in a slightly awkward situation. Someone asked me for a reference. We worked at the same company between 2000 and 2004. I used to bump into him in the kitchen. We talked about all sorts of things, including work, hobbies, the kitchen, families, music. We've kept in very occasional touch with each other for the last four years.

However, we never actually worked together. From what I know of him, I would not hesitate to invite him to interview somewhere, but then he'd really be on his own. So when he asked for a reference, as kindly as I could, I replied that I could say some complimentary things about him -- he's smart, motivated, and very nice. But if anyone asked a specific question such as "So what did you two work on?" or even "And would you want to work together again?" I'd be at a loss.

He was incredibly gracious about the whole thing and I'm sure he'll find some good references. I believe that he'd be a wonderful addition to any company, but I just don't know that from first-hand experience. Still, I hope he gets the job!

valentine's day 2008

Sunday night, I was driving home from dinner with Robert and another friend and felt some nasty bug coming on. One instant I was fine and the next I was getting sicker by the minute. It was that quick. Oh yes, there was blinding, squalling snow through part of that drive, too. By the time we crawled into bed, I was exhausted and cold, the latter a little odd when you consider that there was a rather large human and two relatively smaller cats next to me.

I spent the next three days in bed, napping frequently, much to the delight of said animals. Yesterday, Valentine's Day, I made it to work and got through the entire day without a nap. Last night, I came home exhausted, though. If it were up to me, dinner would have been aseptic boxed soup or take out.

Fortunately, Robert had slightly more cooking energy than I did. I quickly dissuaded him from making parsnip stir fry (?) and steered him toward the dish that we've come to call "Indian comfort food". Its real name is Uppma (or Uppama). It's a southern dish, long on starch, short on vegetables, and consists mostly of cream of wheat. But it also has toasted mustard seeds, curry leaves, lemon juice, fresh ginger and toasted cashews. We served it with wine, Indian chutneys, and some Indian bread we had in the freezer, and ate by candlelight. Not bad for a no-energy night.

Valentines were exchanged. More to come. Today is also our anniversary, marking sixteen years of coupledom. Later today, we're headed to Provincetown for our annual Washington Birthday's trip. Another couple we know nearly always shows up on the same weekend at the same inn; they're coming this year, and we have a nice easy way of being together and apart throughout the weekend.

Uncle Cen will come to interact with the ever-affectionate, happy-go-lucky Theo and the elusive Koa, though perhaps Koa will be more in evidence this weekend than for past Cen visits.

Speaking of whoms, Theo is resting under my computer light (his personal heat lamp), nearly asleep. He occasionally rolls over and lets me squish his tiny belly and scratch his chest. Koa has been coming out of her shell, partly because Theo doesn't chase her *every* time he sees her. Sometimes, when he attacks her, she just sits her ground until he gives up and goes away. But I've noticed in the last few days that she will let me pet her more out in the open space and not just tucked against a safe spot.

A nice holiday, to be continued into the weekend.

blizardette

This afternoon, I was sitting quietly at home when the winds picked up out of nowhere, the skies darkened, and snow whipped around so densely that I almost couldn't see across the street. Just as I was gazing on the scene, the weather stopped and the sun came out. I left the house a short while later to meet Robert and another friend for dinner. On our return, the scenario repeated while I was driving. Fortunately, I was in a short line of cars and we all slowed down, but I think the visibility was even poorer than it was the first time. I turned on my headlights, all my fog lights, and my blinkers. Just as quickly as it had whipped up, the weather cleared once again and we were on our way once again.

boom. bust.

Oh, and a few nights ago, I had yet another dream about helplessly watching an airplane crash. This one was full of passengers. After takeoff, it tried valiantly to reach altitude and just couldn't get high enough before the force of gravity took over. The plane crashed into a major highway, sliding underneath and leaving barely a trace. There were obviously no survivors.

These dreams come to me at strange intervals, all with the same storyline but with different subtle variations. Today, the dream seems like it must be connected to Idiom, the little startup that never did.

the more things change

On February 8, 2007 -- a year ago yesterday -- I went to work at Idiom Technologies for the last day before heading off to n2N Commerce. As I recall, I had already carted my stuff home by that day. There was a lunch, a present, a few cherished cards. I had a few forms to sign and some decisions to make. Sometime mid-afternoon, I slipped out the door for the last time.

If you've been following the saga, the company I went to, n2N Commerce, n2Ended less than a week after I resigned to go to my current job. Yesterday, on that all-important Idiom anniversary date, most of my former colleagues at Idiom were called into a room and told that yesterday was their last day.

It turns out that during most of the time I worked at Idiom, we the young upstart company, were competing heavily with another company (which I'll call LSD, not its real name). It was clear that LSD noticed us. They hired a few of our employees, tried to steal our code, and tried to beat us in any way they could.

It turns out that recently, they bought Idiom. The layoffs yesterday were (according to the rumor mill) the contingency that allowed the sale to go through. Idiom's product will eventually disappear. We've heard that the employees who were kept on are engaged with fulfilling existing customer obligations; presumably they will be gone before long too.

Last night, a friend said that I need to find another line of work. Besides finding no line of work or something unpaid, I think I'm in the right area and have narrowly escaped two layoffs. Maybe my latest company will provide a slightly calmer environment in that regard?

but it was so minty fresh!

I thought of another embarrassing moment. Fortunately, none of these stories so far have involved the wrong substance coming out of the wrong body orifice at the wrong time. Nonetheless, they're still embarrassing.

When I was in first grade, our teacher, Miss Proulx, wanted us to do everything exactly the same. We read Dick and Jane. We had math worksheets. And we had "art". I can't even remember how often we had "art" but our projects were all completely consistent with each other. She'd show us how to make the "art" and then the people who did the best job of imitating her example would have their work displayed on the bulletin board. (Similarly, if you did a good job on your math worksheet, that was displayed too.)

So, for example, at Thanksgiving, we had to trace our hands and draw in a turkey face on the thumb -- that kind of thing.

In the spring, we were supposed to make a kite. I think it involved large rectangles of construction paper with smaller squares of construction paper affixed to a string, or affixed to a string that was on a larger piece of paper, something clever like that.

We were each given all the materials and a piece of scrap paper with a big dollop of paste on it. Miss Proulx stood at the front and showed us how to "create" our kites. It was, even for a six year old, kind of boring. So I scooped up a tiny bit of paste and put it in my mouth. Interesting. I took another little scoop. Before Miss Proulx had turned around to face the class, I had eaten all my paste.

We hadn't even started to make our kites, and my paste was gone. I had to call her over and ask for more. But I ask you, if they didn't mean for people to eat it, why did they give it a mint flavor?

another one

Years ago, I drove a small, bright yellow car that looked kind of sporty to me, but that probably looked dorky to most other people. I worked full time, had a volunteer job, lived in the suburbs, and went to school two nights a week, usually in Boston.

One night, I left work a little late and was trying to cut every known corner to get to class on time. I was fine with being a little late except that the class was fairly crowded and the last few people to arrive had to sit on the floor. (I seem to recall that the crowdedness eased part-way into the semester. It probably wasn't the most brilliant course I took.) It was early spring; our wintry deep freeze was lifting, people were wearing light jackets, and it was still light out.

One of my shortcuts was to drive along the river on the Cambridge side, cross the river into Boston, turn left down the main street and continue to my garage. The main street had a wide median strip with trolleys running in either direction.

You couldn't actually turn left directly. At the place where you wanted to turn left, you were supposed to continue straight across the intersection, loop around a semi-circle, and eventually turn right. Depending on traffic and lights, that loop could add precious minutes and I couldn't take the risk. I really didn't want to sit on the floor for several hours.

I figured that given my adherance to the rules the rest of the time, and given that there was no oncoming traffic, I could make the left turn without getting caught and zoom over to the garage, ensuring myself a seat in the classroom.

Except, when I turned left, I ended up on the trolley tracks. Did you know that the pavement under those tracks drops away fairly quickly after the intersection? I had never noticed that before, and I didn't realize that I was on the tracks until the pavement dropped away to large rocks. Oh cool!, I thought, I'm driving on the tracks! Until I wasn't. The rocks fell away a few more inches and I was stuck at a jaunty angle half way between two intersections. The equipment under my car was resting on the tracks and my wheels were dangling in the air.

I saw a cop driving down the road. Because I was so stuck I didn't even care if I was busted for turning left, I flagged him down. He pulled up, looking confused about why anyone would think to stop him and talk to him. I'd studied some Spanish, and remembering that many things in that language just happen (My keys dropped themselves, My book lost itself), I said "My car seems to have become stuck on the tracks." His look went from confusion to boredom. Yawning, he said that he'd call a tow truck and drove off.

Did I mention it was a warmish night? I sat in my car, the windows rolled down. Then the first trolley came. Of course, it couldn't get past my car. People started getting off the trolley so that they could at least make progress by walking. A few of them started jeering at me. I rolled up the windows.

Then the other trolley came, headed in the opposite direction. It couldn't make any progress either. More people streamed off. It was kind of hard not to notice my bright yellow car sitting exactly where it wasn't supposed to be, but I tried to disappear, and I almost did, at least in my own mind. I stared straight ahead as if I had no idea where I was or how I got there.

And then, four enormous men strolled up to my car -- the kind of guys who long ago stopped playing football and started watching it, who probably drink lots of beer and get riled up after a game, the kind of guys I typically try to avoid on the street, for whom I typically make myself invisible. Without communicating much with each other beyond grunts, they each stood at a corner of my car and lifted the whole thing up with me inside. They carried me to the next intersection, I feeling like I was in a royal coach. Then they put me down, told me to get out of there, which I was only too happy to do, and vanished.

I drove off as fast as I could, parked my car, grabbed some dinner, and got myself to class. I was not only on time, but I got to sit in a chair -- it was the people who came after me who had to sit on the floor.

a lovely glow on the cheeks

I've just torn myself away from reading an endless stream of "was I ever embarrassed" stories posted as comments on someone else's blog. I've of course been reminded of a few of my own.

One happened a few years ago. My boss' boss' boyfriend owned a kayak store on the North Shore, so a bunch of us went to their very picturesque town one evening for a little harbor adventure. We got outfitted. I seem to remember I was pressed into wearing a smelly damp rain jacket for warmth (it was fairly cool on the water). Then we went down to the water and got into our individual kayaks.

I seem to remember that once you were in, you were pretty much sealed up. There I was sitting in my kayak on the shore. I had on a "skirt" over the rain jacket. The edge of the skirt was tucked around the opening in the kayak. I was one with my little boat, holding onto my paddle, and waiting for someone to push me from the sand into the water.

For some reason, I tried to turn around to look over my shoulder, but instead, I lost my balance and went over on my side, taking my kayak with me. It kind of reminded me of that guy on Laugh-in who would fall over when he was riding his tricycle. I couldn't move. And neither could my coworkers because they were laughing so hard.

Finally someone came over, righted me, and shoved me and my boat into the water. When I finally figured out how to paddle effectively, I was able to move fairly quickly. When we got back to shore, one of my coworkers told me that he was pretty worried about my ability to survive the evening, given my earlier performance!

bits and pieces from a quiet weekend

The birthday fairy has struck again. A late present arrived and I love it. It's from a company that makes Pendleton Indian blankets into vests and jackets. Robert had a vest made for me out of a blanket that starts with a black base and has diagonal geometric patterns heading up and out from the center. It's reversible, with buttons on both sides, and the colors are very bright and varied. It's soft and super toasty warm. Just wonderful, very thoughtful.


Last night, we went to one concert in a series called "What Makes It Great." The guy who runs these events, Rob Kapilow, is every bit as nerdy and caffienated as many of the computer geeks I work with. It just so happens that his love is music. Last night focused on four Gershwin songs. He pulled apart the melody, the harmony, the words, the rhythm, then put them back together again so that we heard them completely differently. He had us clapping out the rhythms and singing the "bad way" (his way) and the "Gershwin way" (the great way). And there were two bonus songs he threw in at the end.

He observed that classical music never changes. Performers use very subtle techniques to make the music their own. By contrast, modern music thrives by being changed. A performer makes a piece his own by altering everything but the true essence of the piece. He also mentioned that he'd been part of a symposium about the U.S. Constitution as contrasted with music, in which the participants discussed whether the Constitution is more like classical music in that it should never be changed, or more like modern music in that it should move and adapt to modern times.

The evening was just wonderful. We'll hope to catch more of these WMIG performances in future seasons.


We went to the local Audubon sanctuary today where they have a model farm and a lot of injured wild animals held in captivity. We saw a stunningly beautiful red fox that was black and grey (apparently, a rare coloring, as one might imagine from its name). We stood and blinked it at for a while and it seemed to calm down, especially after the loud lady left who kept talking about how cool it would be to turn the animal into a coat. Good thing for her that there was a fence between the fox and the human. And good thing she beat it out of there -- I might have knocked her over with my glares.

I had my camera with me and noticed people "checking out my equipment" as if we were in a very high-end gym. (The farm is in one of our wealthiest suburbs.) It happens that I have a very low-end digital SLR and I received a few bemused looks, though people were kind enough to continue talking to me even after noticing my -er- equipment.

We thought there might be some baby sheep or goats, but not quite yet. There was a goat who was pregnant with twins and about as wide as she was long. Robert said he noticed the babies moving inside her. There was a little boy carried by his father in a backpack who became terribly frightened in the chicken coop when the rooster announced himself. We also went to the deer enclosure and observed three deer who persist in foraging even though they're well fed every day. They're deer -- it's their job.

The horses were wearing thick winter coats. One was posing for other visitors. We saw that the barn cat was still around, as evidenced by her food and water bowls, but she was probably hanging out in the loft, waiting for us all to leave. There was one pig in the new pig barn, a female. The other pigs were in a trailer, about to be moved. I think they were being moved to "chillier climes" after a final adventure. This is the reality of life on a farm.

It is nice to visit in the quiet of winter. There are always a few people hanging around, but it's good to skip the summer crowds.

one month on the new job

On my most recent job at n2N, many of the people I worked with had been on teams together, some three or four times. Rather than form a clique, they opened up and made me feel like a member of the team. There were of course frustrations -- wasn't it KAH who said that if it was all fun they wouldn't have to pay us? But when I got that job, I had the longest honeymoon period on record, from about last February til September. And then, well, we hit a wall, the company went under, blah blah blah.

The new job is a mixed bag. There's really been no honeymoon, though I have hopes for things being less mixed eventually. In fact, things may have started to improve already.

I was brought in, in part, to help lead the writers on the team to use a new technology and style of writing and tool (DITA and XMetaL for those in the know). The last few weeks have been bumpy. Each person on the team is in a different place with learning and with accepting the new way of doing things. (Oh, and by the way, we'll be doing some things the old way, which means that I have some learning to do too.) We also have a team of onsite translators. While some of them are very very nice, many of them are angry because to them, more writers means more words to translate, and more work. So some of the translators are not nice, and in fact, won't even look at me.

To help the team prepare for the New Way of Doing Things, I've been giving classes, evaluating homework, helping with information architecture, meeting with writers, and I even went on a field trip with some of my colleagues to meet with writers in a sister company. I've also been working with the toolsmith, himself recently hired and a great ally, to ensure that the group has the technical support it needs. Basically, I've been focusing all my time on teaching and leading and advising and almost no time on the subject matter about which I'll be writing.

My boss has been a great ally of the process, but has her own level of understanding of all the New Stuff. She is learning too. And I think in the beginning, she was a little wary of me, not sure that I knew what I was talking about, and concerned about making things work in a way that meets the needs of the group. Truth to tell, she wants to get us started very quickly, with much less time to prepare (at least since I've been there) than many groups might take. This is not a bad thing, but it can be stressful.

And finally, I've been working with a woman who, in the words of my nephew a few years back, "has tissues." We've already had at least one stormy scene, requiring my boss to intervene and have long conversations with both of us. Oddly, when I acknowledged the work tissues to my colleague, much of the tension dissipated, evaporated almost. And when I talked to my boss about the tissues, many of the tensions with her seem to have eased as well.

But the good news is that every person I've dealt with is well-intentioned. Most people (except the afore-mentioned few translators) smile at me in the hallway. I am starting to meet some of the non-word people I'll be dealing with (engineers, product managers). And the overriding feeling I get is that people *are* on the same team, that they are very busy, but as time allows are willing to be helpful. This is a very good starting place.

Last week, the tensions were so high that I was already starting to dread coming to work. This week was much better, and I'm nervously eager to go back to work on Monday. As I say, it's mixed. Perhaps when we start doing "real work" (writing, reviewing, editing), I'll get more integrated onto the team and into the workflow.

Isn't it funny? The work is fine, but it's the personal environment that I'm reacting to. I'm hoping that I will feel continue to feel more comfortable in that environment before long.