Moving Sucks

I know.  There's really no earth-shattering point to be made about moving and how much fun it isn't. Every move is unique and yet each one fills us with dread. The organizing, packing, purging, lifting, toting and cleaning all crammed in a matter of a few days.  Oh sure, you can get started early.  I did.  I found that the misery just started earlier and lasted longer.  After 2 months of preparation, the movers arrive tomorrow morning to do the heavy lifting.

We picked up the keys to our new place yesterday.  We had dinner and will sleep here tonight.  Tomorrow night, we'll have furniture instead of camp chairs and a 42-in plasma tv for movie viewing rather than a 17-in laptop screen.  We'll be a long way from settled in and still a week or so from surrendering the keys to the old place but, like the pain of childbirth, the moving memories will start to fade. I'm working hard to retain the data on the car loads we donated and the mountains to trash we purged so that when, a few weeks from now, when I am cussing the fact that we have too much stuff, I'll be able to remember how far we've come.  In the meantime, I will continue to chant, "Moving sucks."

Out of My Element

As a single parent, I have faced a lot of unanticipated challenges.  I suppose my kids have, too.  I remember stocking up on feminine protection products so my daughter could take some to Dad's and not have to talk to him about buying them.  I also handled most of the underwear shopping for the same reason.  Those were easy because I had experience and knew what I was doing.

Skating Jump

It's different with my son.  I have had to step out of my comfort zone more often because his interests are diverse and his dad is not local.

A couple years ago, he took up skateboarding.  I was terrified for awhile.  I eventually got the lingo down. I knew the difference between a deck and a truck.  I learned decks came in different sizes and shapes and I knew my son's preferences. I got him a helmet and a Road ID to help protect him from injury.  I also got some great photography as he mastered various stunts at the skate park. In a way, we learned skating together.  The biggest surprise for me was when the guys at the skate shop told me it was good to be able to get 6 weeks out of a pair of shoes.  Yes, that's how long it took for him to wear through the soles of a pair of skate shoes when he was skating every day.

Rec Basketball

After skating came basketball.  He had played recreational basketball in 5th grade.  There wasn't much for me to learn there.  They got uniforms as a part of registration.  My biggest responsibility was transportation to and from practice.  In middle school, his passion for playing basketball hit a new level. Rather than playing on his school team, he started playing at our fitness club with men.  His skills blossomed but so did his shoe budget. I have invested in some shoes that, for the price, ought to buy him a slot in the NBA.  He now has shoes for each day of the week and what I hoped was a favorite sport. I like basketball. I like watching basketball.  I understand basketball.  So, of course, it was time to try other sports.

His first Nikes and his latest Nikes

Several months ago, he participated in his first football tryouts.  We had to buy cleats, a mouth guard and, worst of all, a cup. Both he and I got through the experience but it was touch and go for awhile.  Standing in Dick's Sporting Goods looking at a wall of cups, I wasn't surprised to learn that they came in sizes but was left wondering how we were going to figure out the right size.  I was also very surprised to learn that you can't get that little piece of plastic for $10 like I expected.  Maybe there is some correlation between shoe cost and cup cost. I don't know.
He didn't make the football team, news he took with a lot more grace than I did. He quickly moved on to his next sports interest, the one that took me right to the edge of maternal sanity. He wanted to learn to box.  I didn't even know where that happened.  I had honestly never even seen an actual boxing ring. I had seen them on tv but never in a setting that indicated I would want to be there or that I would want my children to be there.
I stalled for awhile.  I made claims of needing to do more research.  I googled boxing in my town.  I got back a list of places with out-of-service phone numbers and For Lease signs in the windows. I broke down and asked a friend, who is a retired police officer.  He was able to point me towards a facility that has a boxing program and is a part of the city recreation system.  That felt close to reputable so we went to take a look. After 2 minutes, my son was ready to sign up. Thankfully, membership at the rec center included the boxing so I could tell myself I wasn't paying for boxing lessons. He now trains 3 nights a week.  His coach says he's pretty good and may be ready to compete in 3-4 months. We have been able to reuse the mouth guard purchased for football. All the other gear is unique to boxing. We've purchased wraps, gloves and clothes (I've been told I shouldn't call them an outfit). He is also an official member of USA Boxing. Everyday I think "how much worse could it get?" But then, I remember, he's going to need boxing shoes and a "protective belt" (think "cup" super-sized and at 3 times the price). I'll be headed back to Google to figure out where we get to go shopping next.

So much for having a plan

Last weekend, I ordered a new external hard drive online. When I  made the purchase, I opted to have the item shipped to my office where there is always someone to sign for it.  I live in an apartment where the packages are usually left at the leasing office, which closes at 6pm.  I don't always make it home before 6pm and always leave before the leasing office opens.  I can handle the delayed gratification that comes with shipping but I can't handle the frustration of knowing my items are close but inaccessible.

The Sunday night  purchase included two-day shipping so my hard drive was scheduled to arrive Wednesday. I thought that would work well since I would then be home for the long Thanksgiving weekend with plenty of time to install the drive and move my photo and music files to it.  On Monday, I learned that the meetings I had scheduled for Wednesday were cancelled.  This meant I didn't need to work that day.  Since schools were out on Wednesday, I knew I would rather stay home with my son than go to work while he slept in.  I promptly decided to take the day off.  But, my  package was due to be delivered on Wednesday.

The receptionist was very understanding when I explained the situation.  I asked her to send me a text message when the delivery was made so I could stop by and pick up my stuff.  She was totally agreeable to that and went a step further to give me the second key to her desk.  She would lock up my package if I didn't get to the office before she left for the day.  I could stop by anytime and collect my new hard drive.  It was a great plan.

As it got later in the afternoon on Wednesday, I wondered if she had forgotten me as I had no text, call or email.  I sent her a text.  She replied immediately to let me know that no delivery had been  made on  her watch.  She also noted that if someone else received a delivery while she was at lunch or on a bathroom break, they usually let her know.  Okay, I needed a little patience.

As 5:00 approached, I decided to check the website to confirm that the package was on schedule.  I was surprised to learn that FedEx had delivered the package at about 1:30.  The record indicated that it had been left with the receptionist and signed for by C. Huff.  I don't know anyone by that name at my office but there are a few new folks.  Anyway, I dropped my son at the gym and headed to my office to retrieve my package.

By the time I arrived, just about everyone had left for the day.  There were only a few dedicated souls  who apparently weren't feeding the masses at their house the next day, Thanksgiving, who were still on the job.  I went immediately to my office expecting to see a package sitting on my desk.  Nope. My desk looked just like I had left it.  I check in the cabinets and drawers.  No package.  I moved on to the receptionist's desk armed with the keys to access her locked cabinets.  No package there either.   I walked around checking cubicles and offices throughout the suite.  No luck.  I went back to my desk and looked again.  I logged into my PC and double checked the FedEx tracking information.  The information was the same, signed for by C. Huff.  I pulled out the office phone list.  There was no C. Huff on the list.  Maybe it was delivered to the suite down the hall.  My badge can get me in there, too, so I went snooping. Still no package.

After an hour, I gave up my search.  I called my boss at home.  He's a good guy so I knew he wouldn't mind. I  left a voice mail asking if he had maybe locked up my package in his desk for safe keeping.  He called me  back an hour or so later.  He didn't see the package but he did have information about it.  I share my office with a women who is very responsible.  She had asked the boss about the package.  She wondered if she should take it down the hall on  my behalf assuming that this was a work purchase rather than a personal one. He confirmed that this was not a purchase for the office.  With that information, my helpful roommate  decided she would secure the package by locking it in her desk until Monday.

I tried to make a reasonable plan to get my package by dealing with the one person I expected to have hands on it, our receptionist.  Somehow, my plan fell apart.  Someone whose signature was interpreted as C.Huff was kind enough to intervene, sign of the package and deliver it to my desk.  At that point, my roommate took responsibility for the safety of the package.  She didn't think to give me a call or send me a text.  She  opted to lock it in her desk.  Had I seen this possibility, I would have had it shipped to my home!

Now, I have to decide my next move.  I know where the extra keys are  kept.  I could go to the office, find the spare key, open her desk and get my package.  This is a tempting option.  There is a downside though.  My helpful  roommate would be flipped out to know that it was that easy to violate her space.  The violation would  put our relationship at risk.  We aren't best buds but we get along.  There is a degree of trust between us.  I don't think that trust would be there if I was able to access the locked areas of her desk.  But  I  want my stuff.  I'm angry at her for keeping it from me.  I resent that I have to consider her feelings in this.  I also resent that I wasted an hour looking for the stupid package.  She could have just contacted me! For now, I'm going to sleep on it.  Maybe Thanksgiving will bring clarity.

Efficiencies Lost

Thanks to the wonders of technology scheduling a meeting is as easy as creating an email.  Decide who to invite, the date and time along with a title for the meeting and hit "send."  In an instant, the appointment is set on each invitee's calendar.  It seems to simple.  Maybe even too simple.

I am a mid-level government bureaucratic.  In an attempt to be responsive and accountable, I have set my work calendar  to forward appointments to my Google calendar, which I can  access through my phone.  If someone schedules a 1:00 pm meeting while I am out to lunch, I will know that I need to be back.  I consider this the act of a conscientious employee.  However,  my experience of the last few weeks is causing me to rethink this practice.

I am involved in several regularly scheduled meetings that include senior and executive managers, people who have assistants to schedule meetings and answer the phone.  One would think that with professional assistance, scheduling meetings would be a breeze.  Apparently, some of these people were in the restroom when Appointment Scheduling 101 was covered.  Either that or these assistants have committed the remainder of their careers to their manager.

Why would I draw that conclusion?  Well, here's what happens.  The assistant is directed to schedule a weekly meeting with several individuals including me.  The assistant sends out an email to the invitees indicated that he/she  has been directed to schedule said meeting and that the appointments will  follow. While I consider this an unnecessary step, I don't take issue with it.  My issue is with the appointments that follow.  For the next hour, my phone pings as five years of weekly appointments hit my Gmail account.  That's over 250 appointment messages.  An identical number are in my work email waiting for my acceptance.  Really?  Does anyone really think that I am so responsible and conscientious as to commit to attend meetings in November 2016?  

I have been a government employee for over twenty years.  In that time, I have come to accept that the one constant is change.  Change will occur such that the weekly meeting won't be weekly.  The invitees will no longer hold the positions or have the responsibilities that mandated their attendance.  Most importantly, I will be eligible to retire long before those appointments run out.  With this knowledge, I systematically accept all the appointments through 2012.  I tentatively accept appointments for 2013 and I respectfully decline any appointment beyond that.  I am too optimistic to think that I will still be available every Wednesday morning for a thirty minute meeting on this topic in 2014.

Growing Older with No Relief in Sight

The annual  physical happened this week.  Generally, everything seems okay.  I still  have to have  the blood work done to check various levels of this and that.  I'm not worried.  What bothered me most this time around is the follow-up information related to last year's news.  Last year's blood tests confirmed that I am through menopause.  I did the happy dance last Fall when I  assumed the challenges of hormonal change were all behind me.  Little did I know that post-menopausal did not mean post challenges.

In a chat with my doctor this week, I learned that the curse of the hot flash can stick around forever.  She even  shared the plight of one patient who continues to have hot flashes in her 90's!!  Now, I'm wondering if I should think of hot flashes like herpes, laying dormant until that first date or when I'm wearing that new shirt.  The sudden flare-up has me dripping in sweat as if I just stepped from the shower. Ugh.

I used to say that I really only enjoy a beer after some physical exertion in the heat, like mowing the lawn, cleaning out the gutters or painting.  Now, I find myself popping the top on a cold one as it's the one thing that feels great during or right after that flash.  I don't have a solution for those flashes that happen as I'm getting ready for working in the morning.  I am hoping the cooler weather of fall will help.  I am not quite ready for a brew with my morning bagel.

Where do we commune these days?

We, like most middle income  families in America, have multiple ways to stay in touch.  I can update 70 friends and family members with a simple post to Facebook.  My son, with the same post, would reach over 200 of his closest friends.  With my phone, I can talk, text or email almost anyone I've ever met or tweet with millions of strangers.  In many ways, we've never been more connected.

Today, I did something I hadn't done in ages.  I sat in a friend's living room and visited.  We talked face-to-face for several hours without having any sense of the time that had passed.  Besides sharing stories of our pasts, we talked a little about our frustration with our attempts to spend quality time with a group of friends.  After much conversation, I boiled the issue down to one of location.

Living in a major metropolitan area has it's benefits if you are willing to travel, across town, to the suburbs, into downtown.  What's tough is finding a place that is convenient to just sit and visit.  We have structured most social events around food and drinks.  Getting together for dinner or happy hour can be fun and filling but it doesn't lend itself to just chatting.

Getting to know someone and really connecting requires time and attention.  As a told my friend, you need to be able to share upcoming plans and then have the follow-up conversation.  How was that movie?  Did you enjoy your vacation?  Have you finished that book you were reading?  These are the conversations that would happen around the kitchen table or over the back fence forty years ago.  Today, to gather in that relaxed setting requires planning and travel.

We couldn't even think of a public place to meet for conversation.  The local Starbucks might work if there are only two or three gathering.  If its four or five, maybe not.  Libraries have meeting space but local budgets require that a fee be assessed by the hour.  It's hard to have a casual conversation while watching the clock and your wallet.  Whole Foods has space but it feels pretty institutional and open, not conducive to sharing.

I would love to have people in my home.  Unfortunately, I live in a gated apartment complex at the top of three flights of stairs.  This has proven to be an obstacle to casual gathering of any kind.  What I really want is for my friends to live in the same neighborhood,  if not on the same block.  I want to walk next door to borrow a cup of milk.  I want to sit on my front porch and have the neighbors, my friends, stop by to just sit and share the evening.  I don't want to drive thirty minutes or thirty miles to just share a glass of wine before turning in.  I want my friends to be able to step into their kitchen to show me the new seasoning they found for Chinese food.  I also want to be able to say, "It's time to go," without production,  packing or calculating the  drive time.

Just like Rascal Flatts, I miss Mayberry.

Too Many Choices or Too Few

I often hear people talking about feeling overwhelmed.  There's too much to see, too much to do and the fear that we're going to miss something really good.  If you haven't felt overwhelmed lately, you must not have been to the grocery store.  A single stroll down the cereal aisle should prove my point.  Send the kids down that aisle  and you won't hear from them for thirty minutes as they pace up and down trying to decide on the one box they want to take home.

The choice I find frustrating of late is found  a couple aisles over from the cereal in the paper products.  When I  was a child, my mother was rigid in her toilet paper choice.  There was only a single brand that she would bring in the house.  When I left home and started buying my own, I trusted her choice buying the same brand through my 20's.

In my 30's, I began to assert my independence both from my parents and from ex-husband #1.  I tried several brands based on multiple factors including the cuteness of their ad campaign.  Then, one day, the search was over.  My daughter and I agreed that the latest purchase was the one and only paper we ever wanted to use.  She was so committed that she refused to use the restrooms at school.  I think we can all  agree that institutional paper products are their own brand of torture but for her, the difference was too much to handle.  She wasn't going to settle for anything less than what we now had at home.  I was less rigid but did take great pleasure in the home experience.

Sometime, several  years after we settled on our toilet paper brand, I was doing the regular shopping.  Suddenly I noticed that there was more than one version  of our brand.  Today, there are multiple versions. My brand now comes in strong, soft and extra soft, double rolls, jumbo rolls, 16, 24 and 48 packs.  While I  don't deny anyone the  right to diversify, I  think they  have  gone a little too far.  I've heard that companies believe we are always looking for the "new, improved" product and therefor strive to keep their products fresh but seriously.  The jumbo rolls don't even fit on the typical dispenser.  Bigger is not always better!

Most of  all, I can't figure out why they insist on requiring us to buy a year's supply at a time.  When you pick up that 48-roll package,  the cart is instantly full.  If you happen to drive a smart car, you may have to make two trips to get all the rolls home.  And, once you get them home, where do you put them all?  If you have an apartment, I suppose you could use the pack as an end table.  What about older Americans trying to get those big packs in the house? That's clearly a safety risk.

My final issue with these huge packages of toilet paper is one of cost.  Since I get paid once a month and am not very good at money management, things are often pretty tight that last week of the month.  If we happen to be low on toilet paper, I would like to buy enough to get through to payday, maybe a 4-roll package.  Unfortunately, that is a choice I don't have.  The paper companies have decided that the average American family has three or more bathrooms, several household members with diarrhea and a need to stockpile paper in anticipation of a natural disaster.  That's not me.  I have a household of two people.  Neither of us is home full-time.  If I have $50 to supply us with food and other necessities that last week of the  month, I don't want to shell out more than 20% on toilet paper!

This is clearly an example of too many choices but still too few.  I want to purchase the excellent quality product I love in a quantity I can carry and store.  Is that really too much to ask?