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 |  Chaos is that voice at the end of the day that says, "Bet you didn't see that coming." |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "It turns out that an eerie type of chaos can lurk just behind a facade of order - and yet, deep inside the chaos lurks an even eerier type of order" ~Douglas Hostadter I imagine that chaos and order are like those Russian nesting dolls, and they fit together to some infinitesimally minute level at which we must just give up ever grasping what lies at the core. Still . . . if I had to bet, my money would be on chaos. "Our real discoveries come from chaos, from going to the place that looks wrong and stupid and foolish." ~Chuck Palahniuk I know that place well . . . every wrong, stupid, and foolish acre of it! I used to think it was a dead end, or worse, a complete navigational failure, but sometimes that place was exactly were I needed to be. So what does any of this have to do with me, my blog, or the entries that will follow? I don't know, but pull up a chair. I'll invite some chaos, and we'll see what happens. "It's a cruel and random world, but the chaos is all so beautiful." — Hiromu Arakawa |
| I had to take the boy-child shopping for back to school clothes today. Once again, I find myself incredibly frustrated by the schools ill conceived standardized dress code. More to the point, I'm frustrated by the fact that the stores haven't stocked items that meet the dress code. The kids are required to wear solid polos in white, black, gray or maroon. Only 2 or 3 buttons are permitted. No pockets or logos are allowed. You'd think that would be easy enough, but no. Pants were a whole other nightmare. At best, any given store might have one single pair of dress code compliant pants in his size. I went to 4 stores and got him 4 polos and 2 pair of pants. A stunning success. I came home and ordered 3 more pairs of pants and 2 pair of shorts. Hopefully they'll fit because otherwise we're screwed. School starts August 31st so I'm down to the wire. As usual. I still need to find him two black polos and a pair of shoes that meet the dress code. Shoes are the worst. It is almost impossible to find solid colored shoes that he will wear (and they must be solid and in the approved colors because they don't want the kiddie gangstas flying colors). Fortunately, my daughter is at the age where she isn't really growing anymore so she'll wear what she wore last year. All she's asked for are a couple more black polos and a pair of black shorts. They started this standardized dress policy a year ago, but the district has not provided any empirical data to support its effectiveness in reducing misconduct and promoting good citizenship. But they all claim it has enhanced the learning environment in a less tangible sort of way. |
| Today at work we had a general office meeting that focused almost entirely on the fact that Pennsylvania still doesn't have a state budget. Without a budget, the state cannot spend money. Without money from the state, things are getting really ugly. Many school districts are saying they may not be able to re-open this fall because they do not have the cash flow to cover the cost of pay-roll, and operations. The county Drug and Alcohol program is nearing the end of their credit line and will be forced to furlough employees and close their doors by mid-September. My agency hasn't had to tap into our line of credit yet, but the projection is that even with the line of credit we won't be able to meet payroll by the second half of October. The situation is the same for human service agencies and school districts throughout the state. Positions are going unfilled, bills and rent are going unpaid, and supplies are being rationed. Meanwhile the legislative budget committee does nothing. They won't even meet again until they have solid numbers regarding August revenue to work with. Once they pass an actual budget, we can expect it to take the better part of a month for funds to be dispersed. It is a very short distance from lean and mean to gaunt and sullen. |
| Today I had a meeting at Zack's new school. Since he is going in to 5th grade, he is transitioning up to the middle school. Zack will be fully included in regular classes this year. In past years he has been pulled of class for small group instruction in math. It is actually his best subject, but the curriculum they insisted on using at the elementary level did not work well for Zack so he's been follow a different and much more concrete curriculum up until this year. None of this had really been worked out until today (School starts August 31st here) when Tony and I showed up for an IEP meeting. The thing is, Zack's school district has had issues with timeliness around IEPs. Zack's IEP should have been done back in the spring. When we finally met, Tony and I decided to request a comprehensive re-evaluation since Zack hasn't had one since first grade. It was decided that the IEP should be put off until after the re-eval. When the re-eval came back, it was missing some critical pieces which the psychologist agreed to add. This pushed the time frame back yet again. I didn't realize this at the time, but it also put me in an excellent negotiating position. You see, when you show up for an IEP meeting several months past when it should have been done, there is the possibility that the meeting might be attended by the Superintendent of special education for the district. That makes it especially uncomfortable for the school when they have to lead off with asking you to sign a waiver agreeing to have the IEP meeting without any of the students teachers in attendance. Excuse me? What the hell is the point of having a meeting without his teacher. Needless to say, we did not sign the waiver. Instead, we had a discussion about classroom placement. Turns out they fully intended on putting Zack in an "Inclusion Classroom" - fewer students, a reg. ed teacher and a spec ed. teacher co-teaching, and overall, a slower pace. This was discussed back in the spring as some of you might remember. I was told that the only options available were the inclusion classroom or a regular ed classroom of 24 students to 1 teacher with no additional supports. I was not happy with the options presented then, and I was no happier to have the same options laid out for me this morning, but this time I was prepared. Armed with Zack's testing scores from last year, and several key pieces of information provided by his former teacher, I made my argument for a regular ed classroom with an instructional aid to provide additional support and facilitate curriculum modifications for Zack. The vice principals initial response was predictable. "We don't have that," she stated reflexively, and then her eyes cut up the table to superintendent lady. "But if that's what he needs," she continued "we'll make it work." Excellent answer!  I'm in the process of updating "Invalid Item"  in which I describe my experiences with Zack and my trials with the schools. It currently leaves off at the start of third grade. That is probably because third grade was such a painful year. Things like that are easier to write about upon reflection. At least that's the theory. The reality is that it is still painful and I shed a few tears writing about his third grade experience. I hope to finish it up and post the update this weekend. |
| I am constitutionally incapable of feeling sympathy for certain types of people. It is a relatively short list that includes people who complain that winning the Powerball Jackpot was the worst thing that ever happened to them and progressing on through the ranks of GM executives who've lost their private jet privileges due to cut-backs. Fairly high up on this list are the folks who claim to be devastated by losing everything that matters most to them when an extramarital affair comes to light. So when the gal at work - who has been openly discussing her tryst with a guy from lawn & garden at Sears for the last several months - starts sobbing hysterically in the hallways because her husband wants to divorce her . . . and she won't have anywhere to live . . . and she is going to lose her daughter . . . and her own mother won't speak to her . . . and . . . and . . . Well, I just don't give a shit. If the home and family were so important to you maybe you should have thought twice before jumping on the ol' Yard Machine and taking it out for ride. Am I just being an intolerant bitch when I send an IM to her supervisor suggesting that she needs to pull the woman aside, offer her employee assistance, and otherwise tell her to shut the hell up? |
| Yesterday we drove down to Easton for Pappy's 90th Birthday celebration. Pappy is one of my favorite old people. I've always considered him to be compensation for the fact that my own grandparents were less than enjoyable. Pappy is Pennsylvania Dutch and has always called me "Rotkopf," which is German for redhead (or so I've been led to believe). I'm pretty sure he knows my name though I've never heard him use it. Anyway, Pappy was able to celebrate this special birthday with 70 of his closest friends and family members. I recognized maybe 25 of them. Of those, there are made a dozen that I can actually converse with. The rest of them . . . well I tried, but many of those conversations went a lot like this . . . "So, are you and Tony still living up there in . . . in the same place?" "Yep. We're still there." "You and Tony had what . . . two kids?" "Yes, a boy and a girl. We still have both of them. They're 10 and 14 now. "No kidding, huh? They do grow up fast." "Yes they do. Quite a crowd here today, isn't it?" "Yeah, it's nice to see everyone get together for a happy occasion rather than a funeral." And with that, we lapse into awkward silence. Repeat that sequence over and over again and that was pretty much the party experience for me. I'm not so good with small talk . . . or large social gatherings . . . or the religiosity of Tony's family, but I got through it. |
| Today started out all crappy and rainy, but then a strange thing happened. The sun came out! Sure, it poured again later, but we had hours of sunshine before that happened. Katie and I took advantage of the sunshine with a little backyard badminton. Do you remember my mention of the "MONSTER" Badminton set with the over-sized rackets and the enormous shuttlecock? Well, to oblige and earlier request for a picture of that enormous shuttlecock, I had my daughter take this picture . . . ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Majestic, isn't it?  |
Z.˚rz   has an entry today about pick up lines which is always a fun topic, but it is especially appropriate for today. And not just because it's Friday either. I once thought that using a line was just a singles thing, but I've been married a good long while now and I still haven't heard all of Tony's looking-to-get-some lines. He prefers to call them "compliments," but I know better! Oh sure, there were the years of no-romance when the kids were young and the looking-to-get-some line was "How long is the Cinderella video and do you think she'll sit and watch the whole thing?, but like all things, it evolves overtime. Take for instance, this morning . . . I was in the bedroom getting ready for work. I was wearing a brown camisole, and brown pants, and I was ironing the shirt I planned to wear. Tony walked into the bedroom and leaned back against the dresser to watch. He took his sweet time looking me over. "Damn you look good." He pushed off the dresser and came up behind me. Pitching his voice low, he ran his fingers down the length of my bare arm and said, "You're like a chocolate vision." He is lucky I didn't burn us both with the iron during the laughing fit that ensued. I think I'm officially the whitest woman to ever be hit on using that line! p.s. if I ever get superpowers - like maybe as a result of a horrible industrial accident, or advanced bio-engineering - I hope I get chocolate vision. That'd be so much awesomer than laser vision. |
| I thought if I put off blogging until the very end of the day something might happen. Instead, I'm here at the end of the day and I'm thinking back to morning trying to reconstruct events so mundane that they're already fading into the background of all the days before - like a dream I can't fully remember. Except my dreams are usually more interesting. |
| "What have you done for your marriage today?" I saw the question in tall, bold letters on a billboard as we were driving home from the beach on Sunday. I've been pondering it ever since. What do I do for my marriage? What does anyone do for their marriage? I started to do a mental inventory today of all the things I do for my marriage:  I woke up after the second snooze so that I would be done in the bathroom before Tony got back from the gym. I replaced the empty roll of toilet paper I used the towel furthest from the shower so that Tony would have a fresh towel close at hand after his shower. I unloaded the dishwasher, and then gently pointed it out to Tony so that he would know not to annoy me by putting his dirty dishes in the sink instead of the empty dishwasher. I added new music to Tony's iTunes library because he requested a couple songs. He relies on me entirely for all iPod related activities.Some where in the course of the day, I had another thought . . . Are these things I do for my marriage, or are these things I do for my husband? Is there a difference? Okay, the toilet paper thing is something I do for myself. I'll admit that. Tony could leave the roll sitting on the tank until it was empty and he wouldn't care. I put it on the holder because that is where I want it to be. Pointing out that the dishwasher is empty is also pretty self serving. I tried to remember the web site associated with the billboard. It was a Catholic thing and focused on the shared intimacy of praying together. Well, unless we can count crying out "Oh God yes!" during sex as the shared intimacy of prayer, I'm not sure there's much hope for me and Tony. I thought about it some more and decided to revise the inventory. I touched, hugged, kissed, and smiled at Tony at least a dozen times today. I conversed with him over dinner. I shared things about my day and listened to him talk about his day. And now, I'm going to get off the computer and go to bed with him.  It is a short list, but I think it does nicely. |
| ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Those would be my toes in the surf. The color on my toes is called "Crush," and it was a vivid coral orange color. Unfortunately, in the picture, it looks red again. Screw it . . . it all looks red. Today was my first day back at work after the vacation. I only had two voice mails, but 227 emails. One of them jumped out because the subject line read "to whoever left the dead bug on my desk" Being me, that was the first email I read. I wasn't ready to think about work yet anyway . . . maybe tomorrow. So the email went something like this . . . "I want to thank whoever left the dead bug on my desk. I'm sure my son Thomas will love it." Weird. So a little bit further down there is another email from the same woman with the subject line "Dead Bug" I open that email . . . "I was not being sarcastic about the dead bug. I really did appreciate it! My son Thomas is collecting unusual bugs - both living and dead - for a 4H project. I have a container on my desk specifically for bugs and I thank everyone who has brought in specimens for Thomas. I hope this clears things up." And to think I missed a whole week of that crap. |
| Today is National Lighthouse Day. Since we are at the beach, we recognized the day by visiting the lighthouse on Assateague Island. We rode our bikes out to the lighthouse, and hiked the mosquito infested trail for the privilege of climbing to the top of the 142 foot lighthouse. The views, not to mention the breeze, made it well worth while. It was breathtaking - and not just from going up all the damn steps. From the top, we were able to see wild ponies grazing along the marshes. We also watched the flight of a bald eagle flying over the Assateague channel. The view over the cove, and out to the Atlantic beyond, was awe inspiring. I am not able to post my pictures yet, but here is a link to the official assateauge island lighthouse web site. http://www.assateagueisland.com/lighthouse/lighthouse_info.htm Tony and I reached a critical decision on the way back down the lighthouse stairs. We decided that once we reached the bottom, we were going to run for it! The mosquitos that had been swarming us on the hike in didn't bother us at all as we ran back down the trail, and jumped back on our bikes. After lunch, we are taking the boy-child out for ice cream, and then it is off to the beach again.  |
| Todays attempt at skim boarding was a learning experience. I learned lots. I just didn't learn how to skim board. My object lessons were more along the lines of "what not to do." 1. Find a secluded stretch of beach to practice It's okay if there are some people around, but crowds are bad. Really, it is best if the people who see your first attempts are people you will never see again. 2. Do not attempt to skim board on a child-size skim board Bonnie and I noticed that all the skim boarders on our portion of the beach seemed to have bigger boards than ours. If you attempt to use a smaller board, it will simply bottom out in the surf as soon as you step onto it. The abrupt stop doesn't look very graceful, but at least I managed to stay upright. 3. Don't take advise from the two gals who are skim boarding for the first time ever. Bon and I saw two gals who seemed to be having some success, but who still looked shaky enough as to appear approachable. Bonnie asked them for pointers. They giggled and shrugged and said this was there first time, but the guy over there gave them some tips and we should ask him. Well, the guy over there was a very hot, young guy. Bonnie and I watched him for a bit. He obviously knew what he was doing, and probably could teach us a few things, but Bonnie and I wanted to spare our pride so we asked the two gals what tips he'd given them. They shared their full wealth of skim boarding knowledge in about five minutes. They agreed that our board was probably too small and offered to let us try their board. Bonnie went first. She through the board into the surf and took a fully committed leap onto the moving board. In the next instant, she was landing on her ass. She wasn't hurt, and laughingly suggested that I give it a try. I threw the skim board into the surf. We'd gotten pretty good at throwing the board by then. I stepped tentatively onto the moving board. It was like stepping onto a sheet of ice . . . a moving sheet of ice. Yeah, it was that slippery. I went down immediately. It was a spectacular wipeout. Ass over tea kettle with a half twist. I did NOT stick the landing, but I avoided serious injury. When I looked up to where Bonnie stood laughing at me, I saw Tony, He just happened to be taking a walk on the beach. He shook his head, looked away, and kept walking as though he didn't even know me. 4. Men are bastards. See number 3 above. 5. Friends will let each other do all kinds of stupid shit. Bonnie and I are going to get a bigger skim board and we ARE going to try again. And then next . . . we are going to go to a climbing gym. After that, who knows! There is really no stopping us. Tony and I went out to dinner tonight and then we met up with Bonnie and Mark at a bar for karaoke. It was fun. Bonnie is sharing a rental with her mother and sister and their husbands. Bonnie wasn't convinced I'd met her mother before and tried to make introductions. I assured them both that we'd met quite a few years earlier. I was hoping they'd leave it at that, but Bonnie's mother couldn't remember meeting me. Possibly this is because we previously met at a male revue. Anyway, after the karaoke, Bonnie, Mark, Tony and I went to play a round of miniature golf. I came in dead last. I would have done even worse if not for the 5 stroke limit. But we had a really good time! |
| For the past few years, I've watched with a certain fascination as folks attempted to skim board along the shore. For those who aren't familiar with skim boards, they are thin flat wooden boards. The object is to throw the board onto a receding wave and then jump onto the board to ride it as it skims across that bit of water. There is obvious a trick to the throwing as well as the obvious challenge of jumping onto the moving board and balancing. It is something I've wanted to try, but 1.) I don't have a skim board and 2.) I have this little voice in the back of my head that says this might be a good way to seriously hurt myself. Well, this year my friend Bonnie is here at the beach with me, and she wants to try it too. Also, there is a skim board at the house we are renting that is crying out to be used. Tomorrow, Bon and I are going to take that skim board and find a nice, flat, and preferable isolated stretch of beach, and we are going to give it a try. After all, I'm not going to get any better at it by NOT trying it. Besides, what could possibly go wrong? |
| I spent the day on the beach |
| Yep, it's dead. Fifteen years of marriage finally killed it! I should say that 15 years of marriage to ME finally killed it. My husband has always been the romantic one, but somewhere along the line must have decided that the effort was wasted on me. I remember our tenth anniversary. He stopped by my office at lunch time with a bouquet of flowers. Then, he took me to a local public garden and set up the picnic lunch he'd lovingly packed. It was all very sweet. But what a difference five years makes. This morning, when I went into the bathroom, I found a card with my name on it. It was one of those sappy, romantic cards. "Crap!" I thought, "Now I've gotta remember to run to the store and buy him a card at lunchtime." So lunchtime came and I made a quick stop at Walgreens. I can't buy the romantic type cards so I went for the you've-got-a-nice-ass" type anniversary card. I brought it home and signed it and left it prominently on the kitchen counter. My daughter gave me that knowing 14 year old smile, "You just went out and bought that didn't you." "Yep." "Did you see your card?" "Yep." "I saw it in the bathroom. There was a pen laying right next to it too. I'm pretty sure Daddy signed it while he was on the toilet." "That's okay," I told her. "I'm pretty sure I read it while I was on the toilet." Anyway, tonight we left the kids at home so we could go out to dinner. I love that fact that my daughter is now old enough to babysit her little brother! |
| Today we had to put our dog Carter down. Although we've all had teary moments, there is an underlying sense of relief. Caring for a sick animal is stressful. We can still feel his presence in the copious amounts of dog hair that can be found throughout the house. In fact, I fear he may always be with us. If we gathered it all together we could probably make a new dog. Sure, he wouldn't be as affectionate and he couldn't terrorize the cats or knock stuff off the coffee table with the enormous force of his tail, but he'd be just as good at playing fetch. Carter was a mixed breed. He was definitely part golden retriever, but the rest was a mystery. The vet thought there might have been some St. Bernard in him. It would explain his block shaped head and barrel chest, but since Carter never brought me any booze, I'm skeptical of that theory. My daughter thought he was part goat because he loved to eat grass. Whatever breed he was mixed with managed to cancel out any genetic predisposition to retrieve. But with the bad comes good. The young man I blogged about last week is going to be transferred tomorrow to a specialized Bio-behavioral unit where he will receive a full evaluation - including a neurological - in an attempt to better understand and treat his disorder. Sometimes being unreasonable and demanding pays off because under the circumstances, this seems like the best possible outcome for him. Also good . . . As of tomorrow, Tony and I will be married 15 years. It's funny because this summer has been so quirky and cool, but the year we got married we were having a very hot summer, and the hottest day of all was the day Tony had to put on that black tux. Since I had a past history of fainting in situation were I became overly warm or had to stand for too long, there was some friendly wager as to whether I'd keel over mid ceremony. I did not, and at the reception, at least, was air conditioned. On a final note . . . Special thanks to peachbug for the "Inspiration" merit badge! Right back at ya, Janie! |
| I'm not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow, but the consolation is that next week at this time, I will be at the beach. I can hardly wait, and yet at the same time, I'm feeling very stressed about everything that needs to happen this week in preparation for the trip. In the end, it won't matter though. What gets done will be done, and what doesn't get done probably won't matter anyway. This years vacation is going to be a little weird. We always go down with the whole fan damily which means my mother, and my brothers along with their families and mine are renting a house together. The weird part of this is that my friend Bonnie and her husband are going to be on the island too. Less coincidentally, my daughter's boyfriend's family planned their vacation so that they'll also be on the island next week. So, even though we're getting away, practically everyone we know is going to be there with us.  |
| This morning I woke up early so I could go for a hike and get back home before I lost my daughter/babysitter for the day. I was on the trail by 8 AM, and at that hour things were very quiet. I didn't see another person on the mountain until I reached the top. Contrary to conventional thinking, it is almost never lonely at the top because the top is such a spectacular place to hang out. True to form, there was a man taking in the view and giving his dog some water. I settled myself on a rocky ledge, and the two of us were soon having a conversation about the dog. She was a 6 month old golden retriever aptly named Joy. He told me that he hoped to train her as a therapy dog. She certainly has the disposition for it. Joy came over to where I was, walked right up behind me, and rested her head on my shoulder. When I reached up to scratch her head, I got lots of wet puppy kisses in and around my ear. As nice as it was to talk to Joy's owner, I was hoping he'd move along soon. I had my camera and I wanted to take this weeks foot picture. I realized it wasn't going to be easy to get a picture of the view that included my foot, and I really didn't want an audience. I was already feeling a little self conscious about being barefoot. I sipped my water and snapped random pictures of the river below, and eventually Joy and her owner headed back to the trail. I quickly went about taking my picture. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I heard a voice behind me say "All the times I've been up here, that's one thing I've never seen." "What's that? I spun around with my camera at the ready thinking the new arrival might have spotted something of interest like a bear, or an eagle, or a copperhead. The man approaching carefully over the rocky outcropping was probably in his sixties or so and he had a nice, easy smile. He was hiking alone. Funny how I've never run into any other women who are out hiking alone. Maybe they know something I don't. The man's smile widened and he leaned on his walking pole. "Did you just take a picture of your foot?" "No," I lied, "that would be weird." With that, it was time to put my shoes and socks back on and hike down the mountain. If he suspected I was lying, he was kind enough to let it go. I wonder if he is a blogger. Maybe he has spun the awkward little encounter into his own entry about the strange, red-head on the mountain who fibbed about photographing her foot. |
| The way our office is laid out at work, we have a large open area with cubicles, and a row of offices around the periphery. It isn't a big office. There are only 12 cubicles and six offices. Only two of the offices have windows to the outside, but all of them have a large window looking into the cubicle area. The windows have been bare for the 12 years I've worked there, but suddenly, last week, they installed these accordion shades in all the windows. Now we have privacy options. Now we can have sex in our offices. At least that's my theory about why so many managers are closing the blinds. I suppose they might just be surfing the net. |
| I'm always a little torn about these types of entries because our humor at work is not only very context specific (I can't always be sure it will translate), but some of it is just so very wrong. For those who don't know, I work in human services. My job is administrative in nature which is my preference because I'm not a great people person. Our department deals specifically with folks who have developmental disabilities. On Wednesdays we now have to meet to discuss "capacity management." We have a fixed number of slots to serve people. It is vital that we ensure full enrollment in those slots at all times or else someone might decide we don't need a slot and take it a way. In that way, we risk losing capacity. Rebecca, the capacity manager, showed me the spreadsheet that she will be using to track all of this at our Wednesday meetings. One of the names listed was in a category labeled "pending death." Well really, aren't we all? Anyway, I asked her about it and she assured me the woman was highly likely to check out at anytime. I suggested that maybe she should rename the category "receiving hospice" or something less ghoulish, but it gave us a great idea. We are having an "Agency Day" in September and each department in the agency has to create some sort of presentation that will provide information about what they do. There are bonus points for doing this in an entertaining way. So here is the idea . . . We're going to make a video The scene opens on a sickly woman who appears to be at deaths door. A dark figure enters the room carrying a scythe and proceeds toward the horrified woman. "Are you here for my soul?" the woman asks. The dark figure pulls back the hood revealing Rebecca. "No, I've come to reap your slot." And then they break into a musical number. We haven't decided on the song yet, but we are leaning toward a parody of "Tomorrow" from Annie. Your funds will be freed To-morrow Spend your final dollars for To-morrow you'll be dead. We also want to have at least one scene in the video run really fast so we can set it to the Benny Hill theme music. It's all a work in progress though. Well that's all I've got except that today is also my WdC Birthday. Three years ago, I joined the site having some vague idea that I needed to find my voice. Well that turned out to be a bunch of crap. I don't think I needed to "find" anything other than the motivation to write. The rest, as they say, is history. |
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