what am I going to be when I grow up more?

I am way too old for "what am I going to be when I grow up". I am now starting to turn my thoughts to what am I going to be farther down the road. I am retiring from my current job in 7 years. I will be 55 and eligible for retirement. I definitely want to take it, but at 55, I will be far too young to stop working.

So what's phase II? I don't think I want to stay in IT beyond that point. I have found it interesting, frustrating, challenging and boring, depending on the task and the day. It has been a good living, and I am thankful that I lucked into the field. It has afforded us a pretty nice life. But I have been doing it for more than 20 years, and that's plenty.

I am thinking community college administration, or some sort of administration of distance education programs. Maybe. Or Consulting. Business process re-design, maybe. I have 7 years to get the necessary credentials/education to do something different. So I don't have to rush to decide, but I do need to start thinking it that direction.

a walk in the woods

The weather cooperated this weekend, and I got to spend some time in the outdoors. It makes such an immense difference to my mood. It really and truly restores my spirit. I feel in harmony with the world when I walk in the woods. The scent of damp earth, the crackle of leaves below my feet, the crunch of stone paths, the incredible green green smell of growing things. It wells up and fills every rough edge, every disjointed spot in my soul.

Sometimes I think the basic thing wrong with the world is that we are too removed from this. Simple things like wind on your skin, sun on your back, bird song filling your ears. We need it at a basic level, to remind us of who and what we are, and of our place in things. Spend too much time removed from it, and I think we forget. We start to see ourselves as bigger, stronger, smarter than we are, and then we start thinking off-shore drilling is no big thing, another skyscraper is just what we need, and we can master wind, water, earth.

We need to see ourselves as part of the natural world, not opposed to it or over it. The best way to do that is to just get out in it. GO OUTSIDE and play. It's good for you.

reunion thoughts

I went to my 30th high school reunion last night. It's the first one I have been to. I haven't stayed in touch with more than one or two people, so it was an interesting experience.

I went to a very large suburban high school in a fairly wealthy area. My graduation class was over 700 people. It was filled with cliques, and I didn't really fit in anywhere.

I didn't have a good time in high school. I felt very different, an outside trying desperately to be an insider. I had a job from the time I was 15, and that left very little time for typical high school activities like clubs, sports or socializing. I dated very little, and usually only a few dates with any one person.

Wanting to fit in, I tried to hide large parts of my self. I pretended I was dumb, as much as possible. I even shaved points off my own test scores, getting a few wrong on purpose, so I wouldn't get 100s. I don't think anyone knew I was addicted to reading, and read just about everything I could get my hands on. I definitely hid my love of sci-fi/fantasy/comic books.

I desperately wanted to be blond, wear the right clothes, have the right boyfriend, go to parties and be cool.

Last night was fun. I got to see what 30 years does to change some things. And how some things don't change at all. I watched the cool girls, who pretended I didn't exist back then, still look right through me. 30 years ago, I found that crushing. Now I was kind of amused. Some of these women seemed so sad, so pathetic. I saw how some people blossomed, and some withered. The surprise successes and the equally shocking failures. Some folks hadn't seemed to grow or develop at all. In 30 years.

There were people I couldn't recognize at all, even though I knew them. And the same was true in reverse. There were people who remembered me, that I could not recall; and people I knew, who didn't remember. Some folks really did not age well at all; others looked better than they had in high school. It was like some vast science experiment -- we applied 30 years to this group, and here is what happened. Fun to observe, at least in the abstract.

I had been dreading going, really regretting that I had decided I needed to go. But I really did enjoy it. I loved the feeling that I was free. High school really is over and done with. The yardstick I used then measured all the wrong things and I could finally toss it out.

politics and the prosaic

It really is beginning to bug me how the GOP is holding up all progress in Congress, and how spineless some of the Dems are in standing up to them. The idea that we can water down a bill, add concession after concession, and then it still doesn't pass. ARRRGGGHHHH. We need real change, and I am beginning to think it means a total overhaul of the rules. How do we get corporate money and the corporate agenda OUT of our politics? After 8 years of letting big money control our country, our economy is in the toilet, our world standing is in the gutter and we are barely speaking to each other. Clearly, the past attempts at letting corporations self-police, and doing whatever big business needs done, DID NOT WORK. How about we try something different?

When I can't control anything else, I retreat to my kitchen. So today's little recipe is for a very healthy tuna salad.

Tuna with White Bean Salad

3 cans of tuna packed in water, drained
1 15 oz can of cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
3-4 tbsp of italian parsley, chopped
2 tbsp of red onion, chopped fine
2 tbsp of olive oil
1 tbsp of newmans lemon/olive oil dressing
black pepper to taste

mix well, serve on lettuce, or make sandwiches.

48...

Today, I turned 48. I thought it might depress me, but it didn't. It did make me think, though. what have I done, what haven't I done? I have very few regrets. And most of those center on times when I did things I knew were wrong, or when I didn't do things that were hard.

I still have lots of things on my bucket list: travel lots more, learn to ride a horse, get scuba certified, finish my master's degree, write a book, take voice lessons (not so I can sing well, but so I can sing AT ALL), drive across the country, visit all the national parks, hold a grandchild

and I have goals, mostly around shape: get in shape, get my finances in shape, get my house in shape

I know myself better now than I did even 5 years ago. I am comfortable with who I am, and how I am. I am more confident. I can ask for help occasionally. I can say NO and mean it. I can let people take care of themselves. I don't have to run everything.

To me, this is my best age -- the age of contentment.

16!!

Today our son is 16 years old. I find this remarkable for lots and lots of different reasons. It seems impossible that I am 16 years older. It seems impossible that the little baby boy I brought home from the hospital could possibly have morphed into this lanky young man. How could he have changed so much in such a little bit of time?

All I know is that I have gotten so much more out of the whole parent thing than I ever expected that I could. I am madly in love with my husband, so I thought I understood this "love" thing. I didn't know there was a very different kind of love, and that I could feel it so strongly. I didn't know that I had so much to learn. I didn't know there were so many experiences that I had missed.

I knew kids changed your life. I just didn't know how much. And I didn't know how wonderful the whole journey would be.

Today, I am grateful. And I thank our boy for 16 amazing, incredible years of joy.

so much more

This weekend was a much needed break for me. I did a lot of puttering, spent time with family, got together with friends, ate, drank, read a lot. I got some rest. And as a result, I got a nice attitude adjustment.

Life is so much more than I ever expected, so much richer, and fuller than I ever thought it would be. I have exceeded all but my wildest childhood dreams. How many people can say that?

obsessing about the new

I am going through another wave of obsessing about the new. For those who don't know me well, this is a period where I start wanting a new job, or a new house or a new car or a new career goal. Every few years I go through this. Sometimes it leads to a new house or a new job or a new car. I really can't do any of those things right now, and I know it.

I want to stay at my current job, so that we can pay for college for our son. I want to stay in the house I am in because really, I love it, and the neighborhood it's in. I would love a new car, but I really don't need a car payment.

At the same time, while I KNOW all this to be true, I am obsessively looking at ads for mountain cabins, visiting car websites and reading reviews, looking at want ads, and position vacancies. Because knowing I can't or more truthfully, shouldn't, doesn't mean that I want to shake things up any less. In fact, it makes it worse.

It really isn't about "new" and it isn't about dissatisfaction. It's about choices making other choices unavailable. It's about that innate thing I have that makes me push back when pushed. That makes me say NO, even when I want to say YES, just because I am being pushed to say YES. It's a universal "you're not the boss of me". You can't make me, even if it's "you can't make me" do what I want to do. Senseless, but there it is.

Just because you understand what makes you do what you do, just because you recognize your own patterns, or can see your own flaws, doesn't mean you can change them.

cubanos

Cubanos

just a really satisfying summer meal/sandwich.

Ingredients:
thin sliced smoked ham (3 slices per sub)
roast pork loin (great way to use leftover roast pork, 3 thin slices per sub)
bread and butter sandwich slice pickles (2-3 per sub)
jarlsberg or other good swiss cheese, sliced (1.5 slices per sub)
dijon mustard
butter
sub rolls (1 per serving)

Directions:

split the sub rolls and spread open
butter one side and spread dijon mustard on the other
starting from the mustard side, place 3 slices of ham, then 1 1/2 slices of swiss, then bread and butter pickles, then 3 thin slices of roast pork. close up the sandwich. (and yes, the order really does matter, but I don't know why)

Heat a large frying pan over medium heat,

add 1-2 tsp of butter
place the subs in the pan
Place a very heavy pan on top of the subs (or a tinfoil wrapped brick or two -- poor man's panini press)
cook 2-3 minutes per side, or until crisp and brown and the cheese has melted

you can also use a pannini press instead (it's easier, but not nearly as interesting as coming up with your own weights)

serve with sweet potato fries, vinegar-based slaw or black beans and rice with sauteed greens

vanity

I really try to accept myself as I am. I really do. I have resisted the stray urges to enhance, fix, fake, color, reduce. But I am struggling mightily in the last few weeks. I have... a potbelly. I have been fatter than I am now. I have been more out of shape. And through all of those phases, I have never, EVER, had a belly. And now I do. A noticeable, round, tummy bulge.

I suspect age and genetics rearing their ugly heads in this. Instead of gaining weight in my ass, or my thighs, the places I have always gracefully carried my extra poundage, I am watching this round little tummy thing happening. And I hate it. I find it embarrassing, disturbing, as if my body is publicly betraying me. And I am not sure how to counter it. I have relatives who have taken on this shape, at about my age. What if this is just what my body is programmed to do.

I think I am about to become addicted to situps and crunches. Maybe that will help. But what if it doesn't? What if I end up a barrel-shaped Italian peasant woman? what then?

farmer's market breakfast

This time of year is wonderful, if you like to cook. There are just so many wonderful fruits and vegetables available. This morning's breakfast comes courtesy of the farmer's market.

Ingredients:

fresh apricots

multigrain ciabatta
low fat whipped cream cheese
zucchini
yellow squash
onion
1 egg + 1 egg white
olive oil
pinch of rosemary

Directions:
cut fresh apricots into quarters and set aside

split the ciabatta and spread one side with whipped cream cheese

heat tbsp of olive oil in pan
add thin sliced zucchini and yellow squash (less than 1/2 cup total)
add very thin sliced onion
saute until soft
add pinch of rosemary, salt and pepper
beat egg and egg white together, then add to pan
cook (scramble or omelet, makes no difference) just until egg sets
place on roll, serve with apricots on the side

why I hate BP

I try not to waste time or effort in hating anything or anyone. But I feel an uncharacteristic emotion when I watch footage of the Gulf Oil Spill -- hate. Absolute venom for those responsible for what I can only view as a desecration. I don't use the word lightly. I am an unbeliever, an atheist, for lack of a better word. I don't believe in God. I don't believe in worship or prayer. But I do love the earth and all it's myriad living things, in a deeply profoundly spiritual way. The Earth is my religion.

And BP has done an unspeakable thing to my planet. It may be 40 years, 50 years, before the Gulf can recover, if it can recover. Rationally I know this is not just BP's fault. It is the fault of regulators, of employees, of management, of our own insatiable desire for cheap and plentiful gasoline. I know that. Really. But I don't FEEL it.

What I feel is rage. I actually understood the guy who urged everyone to go pee on BP gas stations. I think it's petty, but I understood. I want BP to pay, to suffer, like my beautiful and beloved Gulf is suffering. I want them bankrupt, the CEO fired, criminal charges filed. I really do.

This isn't the kind of person I want to be. And these are not the emotions I want to feel. I just can't seem to summon up kindness, or empathy or understanding right now. Maybe in a few months. But not now.

a perfect meal

I have cooked a lot of meals. Once in a while, I feel like I have gotten it as good as it's going to get. Tonight was one of those.

The menu: vidalia onion tart, oven roasted asparagus, sliced tomatoes from the farmer's market.

ingredients:

1 pound fresh asparagus, bottom inch of spears removed
tbsp olive oil
salt
pepper

4 large vidalia onions
tbsp olive oil
4-6 oz of gruyere cheese
1 pillsbury refrigerated pie crust
1/2 tsp of rosemary

2-3 fresh tomatoes, cut into wedges, sprinkled with salt and pepper


in an ovenproof pan, place asparagus. Drizzle with olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast 30-45 minutes in a 350 degree oven (longer if you like more tender)

while the asparagus is roasting, saute 4 large vidalia onions in a tbsp of olive oil. Cook the onions until soft, but not browned. Add a pinch of rosemary, salt and pepper and cook another minute

grate 4-6oz of gruyere cheese
place a pillsbury refrigerated pie crust on a cookie sheet. sprinkle a third of the cheese on the crust, keeping about 1/2 inch of outer edge of crust cheese free.
top with the sauteed onions.
top with remaining cheese.
fold the outer edges of the crust up and over,pinching lightly to hold in place, to make a rustic tart
Bake for 30-45 minutes until crust is lightly browned.

serve with asparagus, sliced fresh tomatoes.

time slips into the future

This week has been a reminder of the steady passage of time. I have a reunion looming -- my 30th high school reunion is in July. Our son is finishing 10th grade, a school year that went by in the blink of an eye. I registered him for driver's ed classes. A dear friend's mom passed away. Co-workers left for other jobs. I registered myself for my last graduate class in the Fall.

Time slips by so quickly. I see flickers of my own mortality in that realization. Contrary to the avowals of my younger self, I really am going to go someday.While I hope that someday is very far in the future, I cannot deny that there is an end to all things. What will people say about my life? Will I look back with regret, or satisfaction? Will my being here have mattered in any real fashion?

I wonder.

time for an old idea

It's time for an old idea to gain traction again. It's time we considered shunning, or social exile, as a way of expressing our extreme disapproval with a person's behavior. A person sells drugs on your corner? Shun him. His family, his friends, his neighbors, should all refuse to have anything to do with him until he mends his ways. We could clean up our neighborhoods pretty quickly. Everyone wants approval from someone -- from a friend, from a mom or grandmom, from a neighbor. What happens when they don't get it? What happens when you are excluded from everything? When people around you won't look at you, won't say hello, ignore you like you aren't even there?

I'm not expecting shame from the perpetrators. I think many are incapable of feeling it or acting on it. I do expect that even a hardened criminal can't live without social contact, without anyone at all.

hope in the singular

I love people. I really do. But individually, not groups. I have little faith in groups of people -- I distrust Congress, companies, crowds, the majority, the congregation. So many seem to abandon themselves to the collective will, and in so doing, lose their individual values. Groups seem capable of actions that a person would never contemplate. Lynchings, torture, genocide, war; all actions of the group.

But where I distrust the hordes, people, in the singular, are my hope for the future.

A single person can turn the tide of history. A single act of kindness can change someone's life. I hold onto these truths, and use them as my touchstone in difficult times. Always and everywhere, there are good people. Single voices raised against the darkness. Our future, our hope.

the oil spill as object lesson

The recent oil spill in the Gulf is an object lesson -- corporations exist in opposition to public welfare. The problem is that the corporation is like a virus; it's sole purpose is to grow and survive. Corporations cannot consider ethics, or public well-being, just CAN'T, unless this can be seen to be beneficial to growth and or profit. This is not because the corporation is blind, or callous, but because legally it exists to benefit its shareholders, and only its shareholders. Spending corporate profits to install protective devices to safeguard wetlands is a poor corporate decision, but a good decision from a human standpoint. The cost of the clean-up may change the corporate cost/benefit analysis, but probably not.

Private companies can make choices that benefit the community, or the planet, because the owners can decide to reduce profits, or slow growth, if they choose. They can operate ethically, be loyal to employees or customers, because they are controlled by the owners. This is not to say that all private companies are good, and all corporates are bad. There are corporations who feel their long term profits and growth are tied to being good citizens and stewards. And their are private companies that rival BP in their quest for profits above all else.

But companies can at least ask the right questions. The corporation can't even ask.

selective default?

I was watching TV the other night, and I saw a story on "selective defaulting". This is where you walk away from your mortgage because your house is worth less than you owe on it. This is different than foreclosure or defaulting, where you cannot make payments because your circumstances have changed. No, these people CAN pay, they just don't want to.

This bugs me. You borrowed the money. The bank agreed to lend it to you. You agreed to pay the loan back at so much money per month for the term of the loan. The bank does not promise you that you will make money on your investment. Some investments don't work out. You can look at my stock purchase of CISCO at the absolute peak of the internet bubble as an example. I bought stock for over $300 a share, because it was a "can't lose" proposition. Analysts rated it a "buy" when I bought it. It's worth about $40 a share now. That's how the universe works sometimes.

When you walk away from a debt that you have the means to pay, you are cheating the system, and to a lesser extent, you are cheating all of us. Because the money comes from somewhere. When you stick the bank with a worthless property, instead of paying your obligations, the bank has to charge more for services, or tighten up on foreclosures, or give fewer loans, or fail. When you signed those loan papers, you gave your word. You promised that you would pay off what you borrowed.

To be clear, I am not talking about people stuck in the nightmare of foreclosure or bankruptcy. If you can't pay, you can't pay. Shit happens. You aren't in control of all the circumstances of your life. People get sick. They lose jobs. They suffer runs of bad luck that eat at savings. The agreement with the bank says you will pay if you are able, and the bank will foreclose if you can't. In bankruptcy or foreclosure, both parties have held up their sides of the agreement.

This is different than the people who simply "walk away" from their responsibilities; the ones that have the means, have the ability to make payments but just don't want to. Be ethical, be responsible, and pay what you owe. Otherwise you are no better than the wall street thieves that helped cause the housing crisis, and almost destroyed our economy.

Largo's Airedale Spotlight

One of our facebook groups has picked Largo for it's spotlight airedale. Every dog owner gets the spotlight eventually, it was just our turn. I had to write his "story" for it, so I thought I'd post what I wrote here.

Largo is our first airedale. He is also our first dog. For years, we didn't get a dog because of my husband's allergies. And then we had a child, and thought he was too young for a dog. Then we moved to Baltimore City. Our nieghborhood has sidewalks, and trees, and big yards. And dogs. LOTs of dogs. Seems every neighbor had a dog. Before too long, my husband, who works at home, decided he "needed" a dog for company. Our son was older, and he too wanted a dog. And I had wanted one all along. So we started searching for a breed. We wanted something not too small, active, hypo-allergenic. We put all our searching into identifying the breed, not so much on a breeder.

We did absolutely everything wrong. I found an ad on-line, an airedale hobby breeder had puppies available. The price was right. So my husband and I drove out to West Virginia (way, way out) to a little farmette. And they had airedale pups. One little 'dale came running from the edge of the pond, and leapt on my husband. He was just so joyful. We named him Largo, after a character in a web comic called MegaTokyo, and fell in love. What we did not do was check into breeding records, get a health guarantee or a first check-up before buying our pup. We were too excited to drive him home.

Largo had lived in a barn with his brothers and sisters, but he had gotten house time, and family time.He had a pond to splash in, but hadn't learned to swim. He had also had some hunting "training" -- they shot shotguns over the pups heads so they would get used to the sound. This turned out to be perfect training for city life. Largo does not mind firecrackers, or gunshots.

We settled in right away. Largo was housebroken in two days. He hated going inside, he was so used to the "great outdoors" that he only likes going on grass. He tried to make friends with our cats, but they weren't overjoyed by his efforts. He was always trying to lick their faces. They were not amused.
We figured to have a long happy life together. He seemed a little low energy compared to what we had read, but that was okay. He was plenty energetic for us.

we took him for his first puppy checkup, and our bubble burst. Largo had a severe heart murmur. We got a referral to a cardiologist, and had a cardiac workup. Largo had a hole in his heart, a genetic defect called VSD. This means he wasn't getting enough oxygen in his blood. It wasn't fixable, but it wasn't fatal either. We would have to let Largo decide how much activity was enough. Oh yeah, and he shouldn't have anesthesia.

Which caused problem 2. Largo needed to be neutered. The vet decided the operation was so short, that Largo should be fine. His heart stopped almost immediately, and he needed an injection to jump start him. They were able to finish the neutering, but it would be his last operation. Period.

Since then,we have had a lot of vet visits. Largo is what happens when breeders don't really know what they are doing. He has hip dyplasia, first detected at six months. He has chronic eye infections, because his eyelids are too deep. He is night blind. He has had a wicked bout of pancreatitis. He has arthritis in his back and hips, despite being only 4 years old.

BUT. We would do it all again. All of it. Because whatever the breeder did wrong, she did something very right. Her dogs are bred for temperament, and it really really shows. Largo is charm personified. He is good with other dogs, with cats, with babies, toddlers, old folks. We take him to a lot of concerts, festivals, city events. He works the crowd like an old school politician. He poses for pictures, kisses the babies, shakes hands. He lets toddlers pull his ears, and stick their fingers in his nose. He doesn't mind the noise or the crowds. He loves it.

Despite his huge size (a 101 pounds as of this week), he is a perfect looking 'dale. He has literally stopped traffic. We have had cars stop on the street, roll down their windows, and ask what kind of dog he is. Or can they pull over and pet him. We still laugh about the woman who pulled her car over, parked, and asked if she could SMELL our dog. Seriously. She sniffed him, much to the embarassment of her teenaged son, who was sitting in the car. We had a group of Japanese tourists take their picture with him, each one posing with him individually. Somewhere in Japan, there are a lot of vacation albums with pictures of Largo.

He is joyful. He would rather play than anything. Even on days when he can barely walk, he will carry around a tennis ball, hoping he can con someone into throwing it for him. He is always up for a car ride, a walk, a splash in the river. He never did learn to swim. He does like to wade though. If his ball floats into deep water, he just tries to drink the whole lake to bring it back. He likes to chase rabbits and squirrels, even though he hasn't got a prayer of catching anything.

He can't jump, so has never been on the sofa, or on the bed. We have to pick him up to put him in the car. Our backyard only has a 3 ft fence, and that's plenty to keep Largo in bounds. He can get into the bathtub, but can't easily get out.

Largo hates to cuddle, won't sit on a lap, doesn't give kisses, but if he leans against you, or gives you a head-butt, you know you are loved. He will sometimes sleep with his head on our feet, and it makes you feel like you won something.

He is loyal, protective, stubborn, smart as can be. He is a perfect 'dale, and we wouldn't trade him for anything.

playing professional

I hate when how I feel, or what I think, runs contrary to how I am supposed to behave. This happens a lot at the office. I am a mid-level manager. I report to someone, and have two people who report to me. I attend a lot of meetings, where I have to be tactful, polite, look like I'm paying attention when I am not, I have to look like I respect everyone's opinion, even when I don't. This is part of being a "professional". From time to time, I have to wear clothes that make me uncomfortable. This is part of being a "professional". When something happens at work that I absolutely hate, I have to act like I don't mind, or that inside I am not really really pissed off. This is part of being "professional". I have to get along with everyone, even people I think are missing some brain cells, or who are truly horrible at their jobs. I am required to send polite, carefully worded emails instead of nice flaming balls of rancor. I don't get to say "no" -- I have to say, "I'm sorry, I really wish I could" or "I can't do that, but I can do this instead". Not "forget it", not "no way in hell". Of course I do realize that I could substitute the term "grown-up" for the term "professional".