Measured in Moments

Seeing you stand, against the railing of the escalator, waiting.  Not in the crowd, but somewhat further back.  Checking for a familiar face  - catching a glimpse of the me you thought I'd be.

Holding you there, just for a moment.  Everything stopped, and then full speed ahead. Getting my bag. Sitting next to you.  Finally.  Meeting your family.  Knowing your stomping grounds.  Seeing your history through your eyes. Talking.  Laughing.  Crying.  Staring.  Watching.  Falling into the ocean.  Sleeping.  Sighing.  Sharing.  Listening.

Our life together is not measured in minutes but by moments.  We have already had so many.  We'll have thousands of thousands of thousands of thousands of thousands more.

Bring it on.

The Cat Burglar

Well it seems we have a cat burglar in our neighborhood.  Not just "in our neighborhood", actually, but in our home.  Right now, in fact.  I can even identify this cat burglar.

We once called him "White Kitty".

Now we call him "Murphy".

Since the great Summer power outage of 2012, Murphy has called our downstairs his home, his bachelor pad, his very own man ... er ... cat cave.  Now that he lives under our roof with us, I've learned a few things about him.

(1)  He's strong.  When I hold Shiloh, I'm aware she weighs more than a cat should, but it's not "solid" weight - it's fluffy and soft.  Holding Murphy feels like you're holding a solid muscle.  He's buffed out.  If he lived on the beach, he'd be working out every day.

(2)  He's inquisitive like cats are, but very timid.  He wants to see what is going on, but it also terrifies him.  He wants to play with his "fish on a line" toy, but the noise it makes freaks him out.  He wants to meet the other kitties in the house, but he doesn't know anything about cats.

(3)  He's VERY nocturnal.  From the time I leave for work to the time I come home, it appears that he sleeps.  He also sleeps from the time I arrive at home until about 9pm.  At 9pm, he's as pleasant, as cuddly, as wonderful as any cat can be.  It kills me that I can't stay up with him until midnight or so just to hang out with him.

************
A weekend or so ago, the Awesome Fiance and I went to our favorite frame shop to drop off some art and then to the store for a few things.  Having just recovered from the power outage, we needed to restock.  Shiloh was, as usual for that time of day, sound asleep in her room.  Tabby had the run of the upstairs and Murphy had the run of the downstairs.  (Caring for three cats that either don't know or don't like or can't be trusted enough to be left together can be a REAL pain.)

We returned a few hours later.  Knowing that Murphy could easily be waiting by the door and could maybe dart outside, I went in first.  After a brief glance at the bottom and top of the stairs to see if it was "Murphy-free", I pushed open the door at the top of the stairs which leads to our kitchen.  I rounded the corner and noticed a bit of Tabby-colored fur.  This time of year, it's not unusual to find a tumbleweed of kitty fur, but as I looked further, I noticed another small fluffy clump ... and then a third and fourth.  "Uh oh" I muttered.  I glanced into the living room, expecting to see Tabby somewhere but, instead was met with a lovely pair of large, bright blue eyes.

Murphy was sitting on the chair, waiting like a character from The Godfather.  He was expecting me.  A glance at his coat seemed to indicate no obvious injuries.  I turned back to the kitchen and was met with a lovely pair of even larger, bright green eyes.

Tabby was sitting under the table.  She seemed to have an expression full of questions on her fuzzy face.  "What IS that?  How did it get in?  What the hell IS that???"  These were good questions.  How DID he get upstairs?  By this time, the Awesome Fiance was in the kitchen, too.  He was ... un-amused.  I escorted Tabby past Murphy (who was still waiting for me while he sat on his chair) and we went to our bedroom.  Tabby was completely pissed off as she stomped by Murphy for a brief exchange of words, but she was, at least, uninjured.  Just upset.  "No seriously - what the hell WAS that thing?" she seemed to continue to ask me as I checked her out and tried to calm her down.

I went back to the living room to Murphy, who had two tiny Tabby-sized claw marks on his nose, and we went downstairs.  I pushed the kitchen door to allow us downstairs and, for a brief second, thought "he opened this??? but ... no ... it's a heavy swinging door.  He'd have to run fast after opening it or it'd start to close on him."  We sat downstairs and, after a moment, Murphy went to a favorite spot to hide away and nap.

************
Since that event, I've envisioned (in almost cartoon fashion) what this must have been like to see:  Murphy cautiously darting up the stairs after he is sure we'd left.  Tabby sniffing under the door and then walking into the living room for a nap.  Murphy hearing Tabby and pushing against the door, not realizing that it'd open and then, when seeing it would, butting his head against it until he flopped through.  The door closing behind him - locking him in and sealing his fate.  Tabby, alarmed by the commotion, re-enters the kitchen and they exchange looks.  Murphy tiptoeing past Tabby, while she yells at him for breaking and entering.  Shiloh waking up and demanding to know what's going on.  Murphy turning his head in Shiloh's direction and then turning to Tabby, who smacks him in the face and squarely on the nose.  Murphy telling Tabby to knock it off, causing Tabby to purposely fluff her fur in an effort to look larger than she is.  Murphy scrambling onto the living room chair, not daring to reenter the kitchen where Tabby is still yelling and not able to hide in the hallway where he's hearing Shiloh.  He sits, trapped in the chair.  Tabby sits in the kitchen, trapped by Murphy's location.  Shiloh, having missed the excitement, is bummed out and goes back to bed.  We return home to witness the aftermath and wonder about the goings-on.

But today, some of it came true in an even funnier fashion.  As I was washing his breakfast bowl out, I noticed a noise behind me.  I glanced to my right and saw the kitchen door swinging closed, and then open again as it was being pushed by a strong, muscular, all-white paw.

Oh he IS a smart ninja kitty, he is.

Go To Hell

It could be worse.
No one is on fire.
No one is shooting at me.
No limbs are at risk.
No lives are at stake.

I embrace that.  Really, I do.  I am now, and have always been, the glass-size-is fine type.  I have found silver linings in the darkest things.  (Health issues?  Thank heavens for well-informed doctors.  Car troubles?  Automobiles are a luxury.  Airplane delay?  Travel is amazing in this century and airports are great for people-watching.  Bad hair day?  What a cute hat!)

Along with a good portion of the state, The Awesome Fiance and I lost our electricity late Friday evening.  It was hoooooooooooooot that day.  We scrambled Saturday morning, calling vets to see about boarding the cats (no dice - no power there, either), rearranged the entire house to move the felines into the basement (yay!  moving hot, angry cats to strange parts of the home is sweaty work!), picked up dry ice for our home (and two others), adjusted our whole weekend plan (more jam-making) and tried to keep our heads on straight.  We skipped dinner (it was too hot to eat) and spent the night in two different homes (notice I didn't say we SLEPT in different homes ... there was very little sleeping where I was due to bouncy kitties and a not-comfortable sleeping surface).  Sunday morning started early with setting up a generator to power the bare essentials in three homes (not including air conditioning unfortunately) and lots of sitting in the dark trying too not notice it was 87 degrees inside the house before Noon.

Oh - and our air conditioner was having issues last weekend, too, so this was the second weekend in a row with too-much in-home heat.

And I drank a big gulp of sour milk (accidentally).  And got chewed up by mosquitoes.  And The Awesome Fiance walked into the corner of a dresser and bruised the heck out of his arm.  And we sweated.  A lot.

By Sunday mid-day, we were done with it.  We went out for lunch and to a bookstore - mostly for the indoor cool air.  We reluctantly headed back home and re-rearranged the feline population, recognizing it was too warm inside for them to be too angry at each other.  The house properly trashed (boxes everywhere, hastily arranged drapes, cardboard blockades in stairwells), we gave up by 9:30pm and tried to get *some* rest.

So of course the power popped back on at 10pm.

Thus began the un-trashing of the house, the un-hooking of the generator, the re-re-rearrangement of the now totally over it felines.  Showers were taken, fans were strategically placed and by Midnight, we were nearly back to normal.  I awoke at 4:45am to relocate the final feline (once the air conditioning had done the trick upstairs) and pretty much was up from that point onwards ... just in time for work.

So go ahead and tell me to be grateful that the power is restored (I am) and that the air conditioning is even available (of course).  Remind me that there huge wild fires eating up a good portion of Colorado (I'm aware of that) and that we're lucky our water service was never interrupted (I agree).

And I will still tell you to kindly shut the fuck up.

"That" Day

I don't have a big, scary "where I was" story for September 11th, 2001.

I was getting ready for work.  I saw the reports on TV.  I continued to get ready for work because I didn't want to watch the events unfold in a loop all day (as they did ... for several days).  Also what was being shown wasn't happening anywhere close to me.  I was perfectly safe.

I drove my 3-mile non-bridge/tunnel commute and parked my car in a largely-empty parking lot.  I got to my desk, turned on my computer and listened to my voicemail - nothing dramatic was waiting for me.  I checked in with my parents and my sister (just to let them know I'd gone to work) and eventually would start calling sales team members, to see where they were and how they were doing and, mostly, to get them home as safely and easily as possible.

Having come from a large company, my boss and I had business practices that, as it turned out, came in real handy that day.  We had current cell phone numbers *and* at least one emergency contact number of a family member for each individual on our payroll.  Human Resources fought us for it, saying it was unnecessary and an invasion of privacy.  We countered that since we were paying for that cell phone, we had every right to cross-check the number to ensure we weren't being double-billed.  As for the additional contact number, cell phones frequently got lost or were left uncharged and service areas were NOT nation-wide.  Since I was in charge of keeping the 48-page org chart up-to-date (due to being the most advanced user of the application used to create it), I knew who we employed and who they reported to, even if they weren't in my department.

I remember sending out a blast email - without checking with management - to everyone who was a supervisor, saying (essentially) "here are the names and numbers of those who report to you.  Make contact with them to confirm their safety and location and send me an update by Noon PST."  I didn't have a plan as to what I'd do if anyone didn't get back to me, but it turned out to not be necessary.  Responses flooded in.  "All of Marketing is accounted for".  "Financial Services checking in as alright".  "IT has checked in."  "Human Resources is here".  I'd learn later that day that our CEO was sent this info from the head of HR, with no indication that she wasn't the originator of the effort.  I didn't care for her taking credit but I wasn't surprised by it.  (I learned later in the week that my own boss was forwarding the messages - with my action-to-be-taken request email - to the same CEO so, as it turned out, he knew about the background anyway.  I tried not to feel too smug about that when the head of HR was asked to leave later in the month.)

The biggest, most spread out team was mine ... Sales.  We had four regions and more than 50 team members.  The receptionist and I broke up the list and, starting with the East Coast, began dialing.  We'd get busy signals, or no answers, or recordings of "your call is unable to be completed at this time".  We had a travel report as to who was booked on which plane to be in what city to meet with whatever customer and started tracking our team that way.

Around lunch time, our management ordered out for lunch for everyone there who wanted to stay and help with locating staff.  Whoever wanted to go home was free to do so.  Most stayed because, I suspect, they didn't want to stare at the TV all day.  They wanted to DO something ... anything.  Staff that had never had the need to book travel were renting cars in cities everywhere to ensure that SOME kind of transportation would be available.  We didn't realize air travel would be halted, but we weren't having any luck getting through to re-route existing itineraries so we figured we'd just eat that cost if necessary and at least have a car waiting as a "last resort".

We accounted for all of our employees and, as luck would have it, renting the cars turned out to be a good move.  In the weeks to come, I'd see receipts with notes like "only reimburse 1/2 the gas since the guy we caught up with in Cleveland paid 1/2".  I don't think any life-long friendships were made in those times, but I know that strangers were kinder, quieter and a little more comforting in the weeks that followed.  I remember the sudden appearance of American flags ...a LOT of American Flags.

It's hard to believe that was a decade ago.  I'm glad I was a West-Coaster at the time, because it felt so removed and far away.  I'm glad I was younger when it happened ... that I had the patience and naivety to feel so safe and measured ... as though I'd done something like that before.

Today, I'm an East-Coaster.  I still haven't seen NYC.  I don't know that I need to.  I don't wanna lose that "so far away from me" feeling.

A Laborious Rambling

I looked it up.
Labor Day was the dream child of one Mr. Peter McGuire from the AFL (American Federation of Labor ... NOT American Football League).  Seems Mr. McGuire got the idea from the Canadians, who had an ALF (Annual Labor Festival ... NOT a brown, furry puppet).  Building from smaller state-wide observances, President Grover Cleveland signed it into Federal Law in 1894.  This was right about the time that the nation also started having white sales, too.  (*sigh* no ... not really.  Sarcasm just doesn't work on the Internet.)

Somewhere along the way, Labor Day also ushered in the new school year, the end of Summer, the last great BBQ and my mother's birthday.  As a kid, Labor Day also signaled the countdown of days until Halloween and then Christmas.

I have had jobs that have allowed me to not work on Labor Day and I've also had jobs that rewarded me/expected me to work on Labor Day.  Those who do not get Labor Day as a paid holiday tend to be quite bitter about it, as though those who don't labor on Labor Day are somehow undeserving of such luxury.  To which I reply "you forgot to ask me if I wanted fries with that order".

(Again ... sarcasm.  Mostly.)

My mother was employed for most of her life, with a few chosen exception periods of time to allow for the proper care and upbringing of her children.  She would have liked to have had more help from my father, I'm sure, but he worked about 10 days a month.

As a firefighter.

He averaged 10 24-hour watches each month ... sometimes less but most of the times more.  When he was home, there was a never-ending list of large tasks to do for the house and surrounding land:  Build a new fence and electrify it for the horses, continue to shore up the retaining wall, repaint the shed, take down the scaffolding on the back, insulate the attic, remodel the bathroom, fix the shingles that were put up wrong, re-tar the side driveway that leads to the back of the house oh, and in your spare time, could you borrow a backhoe and dig out underneath the dining room for that second garage you keep saying you really want.  They weren't exactly things my mom and her two challenging brats could do alone, so we did them as a family.

I don't remember a lot of family vacations but I remember helping my folks celebrate paying the last mortgage payment.  We maybe didn't camp or take ski-weekends, but we would go get Sunday Doughnuts together or one of us kids might be invited for a last-minute run to the hardware store.  We stayed home a lot but ... home was fun and big and there was lots to do and we all kept busy.  Hell, we didn't even have cable TV ... but we had critters and we had imagination.

I don't remember us having a lot of relaxing down-time but we spent years of weekends working on that land, building that fence, slopping that tar, and digging the second garage.  (That's NOT sarcasm.  We really did that.  It's why my parents have an upstairs garage and a downstairs garage.  We worked moving that dust and rock bucket-full by bucket-full so much that my sister and I still know the smell of the land and can both remember finding it in our ears and noses.  We worked so much that we ALL remember the time my mom challenged my uncle to an arm-wrestling match after our Thanksgiving meal to see who would do dishes ... and she unapologetically kicked his ass.)

Back to my dad.  It'd be easy to say that, based on days worked in a month, my father wasn't a "full-time" employee and maybe didn't *deserve* Labor Day off.  (An empty argument ... he didn't get it as a holiday anyway.  If it was on his regular watch schedule, he worked it.)  But there was no "Firefighters Day" to celebrate at the time.  (There is now - May 4th.  I looked that up, too.)

But I put this to you:  When your car is on fire ... when your child has stopped breathing at the mall ... when you're stuck in an elevator ... when the smoke from the kitchen gets to be too thick and you have to call someone for assistance, who shows up?  Look at an average emergency situation sometime and count the responders ... 9 times in 10 you'll see a firefighter.  It makes sense - they're local, they don't usually patrol outside of their district, and they're ALWAYS waiting for your call so the dispatch transfer doesn't eat up valuable time.  Next time you really need help, give your checkout clerk at the market - the one who feels he's EARNED Labor Day off - a call and see what happens.

And it's not just Labor Day, either.  I can count on one hand the number of Christmas Days we celebrated ON December 25th.  Family birthdays, Anniversaries, and pretty much all the other "special" days *still* have a 3-day window of happening within the ACTUAL day.  Old habits die hard.

So maybe Betty Bitter and Paulie Pissedoff should just take a moment from bagging groceries, pumping gas, driving their bus, working the takeout window, answering the help-desk, or whatever their supposedly thank-less job is, and look around.  Unemployment is STILL in the 8% average for the nation and if Betty and Paulie are that bent out of shape about working on a holiday that they feel must take a stand, they should do it somewhere else so the next person in line can take that job and be thankful for the opportunity.

The thing is that this country, like my parents home, was built by all sizes of hands.  If you don't wanna get yours dirty or feel like you deserve a pat on the back for just doing your job ... well I recently learned that Canada has an ALF for you.

This Isn't Closure. This Is Just Death.

Not surprisingly the news has been saturated with just one topic.  No, I don't mean the Royal Wedding.

I'm not a pacifist, though I believe in peace.  I'm not a liberal, though I admit that I lean that way more with each passing year.  I believe in karma more than revenge.  I believe in justice more than judgment.  I believe it takes more courage to walk away than it does to stay and fight.

It's a murky pond I swim in, I realize, and I'm only treading water.

I guess I believe that there's no such thing as a winnable war, that two wrongs make two wrongs, that might is nearly never right, and that an eye for an eye means, at best, that we'd all lose our depth perception.

From the interviews I've read, even those who were AT the Twin Towers or families who lost members are all nearly in agreement that the wound hasn't healed or eased with the recent actions taken by the US.  Perhaps that is something that only the passing of time can provide.  Perhaps it never heals at all.

At some point, I just know that I'd like to see someone step onto high ground and say "yeah, we could display the body or photos, but - out of *human* respect - we're choosing not to."

But, honestly, I don't believe that any being currently in a role of power has that much courage.


No wrap up today ... just brain-drippings.

Publically Private

*deep breath*

So here's the thing: There are public places, like shopping centers, and private places, like businesses. Public places need to be accessible to (duh) the public. No one is denying that. Private places can (but don't have to) allow the public "inside the doors" - if they desire.

What happens when these public places and these private places are under one security umbrella?

Example: When I worked at a Fortune 25 company, many years before the tragedy of 9/11, your vehicle was photographed as you parked in the company-provided parking structures. You were greeted at the front desk (even if it was just a nod and a wave) and that was as far as you could go without either a company escort or an employee badge. You couldn't access the elevators, the cafeterias, the bathrooms or even the back door exits into the campus without a badge or someone who had a badge.

Keep in mind that this was not a "private" company, in that they were publicly traded ... but they WERE private as far as their security was concerned. Now it's also true that if one was friendly with the receptionist staff and one had said, in advance, something like "my parents are coming to visit today and they want to meet me for lunch. Can you let them into the cafe in the forth building and tell them I'll be a few minutes late?" that it wouldn't be a big issue, but even so - for the most part, no badge, no entry.

*another deep breath*

I visited the Awesome Boyfriend at work recently. He works in one of those types of public/private facilities. I parked about a mile away and boarded a company-funded bus, where I was driven to the center where several buildings meet. This was shortly before Noon, and there were a total of four people on this bus, including me. The driver and the other two passengers had badges on lanyards draped around their necks. I did not. No one blinked at this at all, and as I exited the bus, I was wished a good day.

I opened my notebook to recall the instructions the Awesome Boyfriend had written as to which building I was to go to and, after refreshing my memory, I walked past the guard shack, where I noticed an individual wearing earbuds and reading a newspaper. This person never looked up at me, never saw me walk past, and likely wouldn't have heard me if I'd asked a question. I may have taken note of them but I saw no indication they took note of me.

I walked to the correct building - there were several to choose from, entered through the doorway, and saw the elevator bank. I pressed the button, got onto the elevator (alone), and exited a few floors up, where I'd been told (by the Awesome Boyfriend) a cafe would be. I walked to a small cluster of chairs outside the cafe area, checked my messages and let the Awesome Boyfriend know I'd arrived, and then entered the cafe. I set down my purse and notebook on a nearby table, strolled over to the cash register area, and purchased a cookie and a beverage, using cash. I returned to my table and nibbled at my cookie while reading from my notebook. I sat alone for about 20 minutes, then caught up with the Awesome Boyfriend who dropped by for about 10 minutes. After he departed, I continued to sit alone for about 30 minutes.

At the appropriate time, I got up from my table, gathered my items, and decided to freshen up in the restroom. As I had time before my meeting, I brushed my teeth and my hair and, since it was warm outside, cooled down with a paper towel dampened with water. Afterwards, I again gathered my belongings, got back into the elevators (this time it was not empty), pressed the appropriate button and exited at the correct floor.

I found my meeting location (where no one asked me if I had any difficulty in getting there - or where I'd parked) and had my meeting. Of the four individuals I was meeting with, only one had ever met me before. When the discussion was concluded, I left the room, exited into the hallway alone (since no one offered to escort me) and got onto the elevators. I'd decided to refresh myself with another cool paper towel and got off on the "cafe" floor, and revisited that same restroom. I returned to the elevator bank, got onto a fairly crowded elevator, and exited on the ground floor.

I left the building, walked past the guard shack (where a guard was having a sports-related discussion with someone standing outside the window), and waited for a bus - which arrived after about 8 minutes. I boarded, with about 7 other folks, most of which were still wearing their badges, and we were returned to the parking lot. I paid my parking fee (in cash), got into my vehicle, and drove away.

As far as that time period went, one would be hard-pressed to prove I'd ever been there at all.

Yes, it's possible that there are cameras in the halls, parking lots and elevators, but those don't prevent access .... they just identify who has done the accessing. I had every right to be in the building at the appropriate time, but I honestly had no business using the company-provided bus, or the cafe, or even exiting on any other floor but the one my meeting was on.

And yesterday, some terrible things happened at this facility. Not in the building where I'd been, but in a building where the same "security" procedures are (supposedly) in place. Do I want to tell someone how flawed their "security" is? Absolutely I do. I wouldn't know where to start, and don't mean to frighten anyone but I'm not exactly stealthy and I wasn't try to be invisible or secretive. I just strolled around that facility looking like I knew what I was doing and no one ever asked me if I did. It was easy.

In fact, it was too easy. It shouldn't be that easy. More importantly, we - the post 9/11 public - can't afford for it to be that easy.

As for the whole "going places where people have no business being" topic, I'll save that for another day.