you're only a day away

For only the second time since starting my current job 18 months ago, production will commence for a new customer. Tomorrow, my company will be making 10,000 jars of premium goodness for a different company to sell under its own name. That is my job. I sell my company's goods and manufacturing capabilities so that other companies can have delicious specialty foods with their own brand on them. It's called "private label."

I've been working madly for 18 months to build the business. In that time, I've only signed on two new customers. And, as of last week, my largest existing customer officially discontinued the last of the items we were making for them.

There are a lot of other projects that are in the hopper now, getting hotter by the day. I just need one big customer to approve one item, and it will make a huge difference. Of course, what I really want is for all of the customers in the hopper, big and small, to give the go-ahead, so that I can inundate my poor R&D, production, and distribution teams with too much to do. Let's make 'em all sweat!

time to purge

There are 11,311 messages in my personal email box. Oh don't worry. Only 4,749 are unread. Hey, don't I get credit for at least opening 6,562 of them? Among the unopened are daily headlines from the New York Times, real estate listings, Sirius satellite radio program updates, LinkedIn connection updates, and messages I send to myself from work (recipes, reminders, topics to blog about, links to articles, etc.).

This is in contrast to my work email box, which ebbs and flows depending on a variety of factors, but rarely gets above 100 and rarely holds anything that hasn't been read within hours of arrival. The box was getting a bit big (75), but today, I managed to chip it down to 16 messages (and all of them read). It was not easy. The reason the messages were there was because something needed to be done with them.

Oftentimes, that something is a series of things (make a call, update a task, create an appointment, build a spreadsheet, create a file, you get the idea). Sometimes, it takes an hour to put away a single email.

Obviously, I don't make such time for my personal email. Probably twice a year, I plumb the depths and do some serious deleting. Time to do that again. If only I had time.

love

Silly. Most people talk about sweethearts around this time of year. Husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, secret crush. But at this moment, I profess love for the company where I've worked since the summer of 2008.

work

No entry that even approaches the highly intellectual and psychologically enthralling experience of the "peep" posts. Important meeting at 8:00am tomorrow requires much preparation. I wonder what tomorrow night's blog entry will be like? Could go one of several ways.

moonlighting

Not sure what I was thinking when I agreed to writing for my company blog. I should have known better than to believe I could write one entry a week in any less than six or eight hours. Why can't I go faster? Gah.

So, now with no time to write my own entry, I'm again cheating with a peep. Tonight, I'll do my best not to think about the fact that one of my favorite jazz singers is going to be a few hundred yards away from my home this Wednesday, and unless Ted has some great secret up his sleeve (i.e. tickets), I won't get to see the performance. Feel like wailing like a big baby. I WANNA' GO! I WANNA' GO!

But that wouldn't be dignified. And would hardly help the situation. I hope you enjoy our fair city, Mr. Elling.

two-timing

It could be called 'feast or famine.' I went a full year with only two blips on the blogosphere radar. Then almost like a switch was flipped, daily posts have magically appeared. Almost like a resolution. (By the way, I don't make resolutions.) But now, there's more. As of today, I'm also writing for my company's blog.

Interestingly, writing blog entries for work feels much less like a chore than writing blog entries for sanguinary blue. Perhaps because it's so easy to find things to talk about when it comes to the wonderful company where I work. It's much more complex to write about my own life in a public forum: there is a lot of internal editing that stops the presses before they even run. Meanwhile, ask me about my favorite chutney or the beautiful gardens or the amazing chef who taught class last night, and off I go to the races!

* Photo by Katie Ring, Stonewall Kitchen photographer

it's slipping away...

The muses are gone. Even the part-time one, who inspires meek anecdotes and easy YouTube embeddings. I'd hoped that this lovely lady sketched by Deeleigh over at Well Rounded might be enough to stir the lazy muses from their slumber. Alas, not. Or not yet -- not that I have it in me to wait around for it.

It's easy to say that available free time has decreased now that I'm well into a real, full-time job again. Especially given the depth to which my subconscious is submerged in my new industry (I have dreams about huge kettles full of cooking fruit, tiny jars packed with delectable condiments, and Excel spreadsheets brimming with pricing formulas. Every day. No, really... every day. Without exception. For coming-up-on half a year.) But I managed to shake the muses loose with reasonable frequency when previously employed in a real, full-time job. What's different this time?

There's no answer to that question, because the muses, well, they've taken leave. Even the second shift one whose sole responsibility is making excuses.

It's not for lack of topics.

* Family... ah, family
* Friends (present, past, former [different from 'past'], and maybe even future)
* A new president
* The wild (and barely tolerable) winter weather
* My rapidly growing dissatisfaction with our living quarters
* The single song I play repeatedly despite having a library of over 20,000 songs
* Poems that make me ache
* Cute cats
* Messy storage units
* A highly successful venture into making meatloaf
* Problems whose aching manifests as bouts of hives
* The sweetness in the world
* The overload of everything in the world
* The year of the landmark high school reunion
* A thick skull that remembers less and seems to only grudgingly adapt
* The imminent demise of one of my favorite size acceptance blogs
* Newly updated lists
* File boxes that look organized from the outside
* Unread books gathering dust
* The burden of truths that can never be shared

This could go on forever. Not actually writing anything interesting or insightful. Just listing the general topics. I've got this one song on repeat on my iPod so as not to wake up Ted. It's 58 degrees in here, and despite my fluffy slippers and layers of long fleece, my toes are cold. And once again, I've escaped the potential for a full night's sleep by rambling about nothing until the calendar turns.

What's the point?

And so with that, I suspect that sanguinary blue will likely come to an end. Not following Paul's suit. I've floated the idea before. Now I just need the overly pert motivation muse to kick me in the ass so I'll actually take the site down.

I'm elsewhere in the ether. One way or another, I can be reached if need be. Good night.

workin' for a living

I'm searching for the next step in my career. It was 1994 the last time I enacted a major job search (other than the occasional change within the company where I worked for 13 years). Back then, the best tools in one's job-searching arsenal were access to a nice word processing typewriter, a stack of 24# eggshell linen paper (with matching 9" x 12" envelopes), and a copy of What Color is My Parachute? When all was said and done, I landed a position at the aforementioned company through a temp agency.

The tools this time around are much more interesting. There are websites like LinkedIn, The Ladders, and Jobs 4.0. There's the more casual online connectivity of Facebook, MySpace, and Plaxo. And what if a potential employer finds this silly little blog? But wait, that's a conversation for another day.

So, one of the sites I found is Jobfox. It differentiates itself from the others by bombarding the potential candidate with approximately two kajillion questions and analyzes the results. Apparently, it does something similar with job postings from potential employers, and then magically finds the strongest points of similarity, thus directing the perfect candidate to the perfect job (or the perfect employer to the perfect candidate). Kind of like eJobHarmony.

Amongst the tools Jobfox provides for the eager jobseeker is this interactive chart.



Ooooo... cool. Now, what do I do with it? Oh well. Off to do some more work.

But before I go, Happy April Fool's Day! Here are a couple things I found online that were particularly amusing:

A collaborative effort from Richard Branson and our friends at Google: Virgle. You simply must read the detail on every page. Follow every link.

And the always entertaining Motley Fool, whose entire site was loaded with silliness such as sections on "Kittens and Puppies," "Guitar Hero 101," and "Spatulas and You: A Buying Guide." This "ad" is also on the home page.

tweet!

Dear Twitter,

You're really cool. I mean, really cool. Like, um, one of the coolest kids on the block. Like an ice block, get it?! Ha, hah... um, huh. Anyway. So you're not really new, but newer than other older stuff like Blogger, which is also cool, in an older sort of a way (and I know you're related to each other, or at least you're connected somehow, but I don't know if a few more degrees gets you to Kevin Bacon or anything).

I saw you on some other people's blogs and stuff last year, and thought "wow, cool." I don't know why I didn't Twitterize myself then because I can always stand to be made a little cooler. But I have now. Actually, last month! I started Tweeting. How cool it is to send 'tweets?' So anyway, sometimes I tweet. Well, kinda' sporadically. OK, I'm not wicked consistent with it. But it's always fun when I do!!! And I completely plan to tweet more. I'm going to become a tweeter, er, twitterer of epic proportion!

So, this it a tribute to you, Twitter. You rock my world and make it ultra-cool (like hip cool, not cigarettes or anything gross to do with tobacco). Cool like Inc. Magazine. I couldn't say it all in just 140 characters because you're too cool to condense. You know, like condensation, which is what happens when something that's warm gets, you know, cooler.

I hope that my rockin' and wicked articulate-slash-eloquent dedication to your coolness holds me in good stead with the Head Twitterers in Charge, and that they/he/she/it don't think I'm trying to, like, suck up or anything. I really just wanted to tell my vast audience of the awesomeness of Twitter coolness.

conflicted

Here are some things that I've thought about in the past few days, any of which I could write up in detail were I capable of allowing it to stand apart from the pack. Alas, they all mix together in a confusing and perplexing manner.

1. Virginia Tech massacre. There is nothing I can say about this without merely repeating all the sentiments of horror and disbelief being broadcast by every medium in America. The high school where two of my nephews and one of my nieces attend was locked down yesterday because of a bomb threat. Scary, scary. And so very sad.

2. Everest: Beyond the Limit. I just spent three days watching this series, which we TiVo'd last year, and have been dreaming about it every night. I came to two conclusions about these climbers: [1] They are all insane, and [2] If they survive any portion of the attempt, whether or not they summit, they are among the toughest people on earth. Still insane, but tough.

3. Planet Earth. Another riveting series (no, I don't just watch TV).

4. Hygiene, etc... . I no longer use any post-shampoo product (conditioner, mousse, hairspray) and do not blow dry my hair. I only apply make-up if I'm meeting someone I know. If I do not need to go out of the house for the day, I also save showering (but only for one day, never for two). I will not get my hair cut or colored until it's time to start interviewing. I am also only wearing my casual clothes (see next point), so as not to increase any wear and tear on my "professional" wardrobe. This may be mildly useless, as I hope to procure a new wardrobe before I re-enter the work force.

5. My recent housewife-ish day. I met a friend for lunch, then went to the grocery store, Costco, the post office, gas station, and Trader Joe's. I did household chores, cooked dinner, cleaned up afterwards, and spent a lovely evening with my husband. I was a marvel of domesticity. I went out in public wearing a sun dress and keds, but the chilly air required more so I threw on my suede jacket. I thought it was a weird combination, until I saw a woman at Stop & Shop wearing lounge pants and a fur coat.

6. Food fight. It's hard finding anything with less than 140 milligrams of sodium per serving. Go ahead, try it. Look at every box, bag, or can in your pantry, fridge, and freezer, and tell me how many you find. And I'm not even talking bout "bad" food. Try finding spaghetti sauce, cottage cheese, deli meat, or soup. "Reduced sodium" in Campbell's world means 660 mg. per serving (because regular soup has 900 mg.).

7. Christmas gifts. I have procured my first eight Christmas gifts and approximately 20 stocking stuffers. Only 251 days 'til Christmas.

8. House dreams. There is a house for sale I can't stop thinking about, even though its asbestos roof needs to be replaced, along with every single drafty, 80-year old window (about 42 of them, if I'm counting correctly). I want to live in this house. Oh yeah, and we both need new jobs as this house is approximately 200 miles from our current location. Minor detail.

9. Sanjaya was finally voted off last night. It was just wrong that LaKisha and Blake were in the bottom three. Interestingly, they seemed to be very close -- first holding hands while center stage awaiting the ejection, which didn't seem out of the ordinary (other than the fact that LaKisha was not also holding Sanjaya's hand), until we saw Blake wiping away LaKisha's tears while Sanjaya sang his goodbye. Isn't it interesting how a quick camera shot here or there can create an impression all its own, even if it's not the right one?

10. Our cats are incredibly cute. Recent evidence includes Woodle's routine of snuggling up against my bed pillows mid-morning and staying there all day long, the tuxedos performing simultaneous head baths, and Sadie randomly waking from her naps to chirp a request to be petted.

11. It's way too late for me to be up and rambling about the juxtapositions in life. Good night.

Song: "Seven Days" by Sting
Reading Material: "The Audacity of Hope" by Barack Obama
Other: See above list

version one of three

For someone who fancies herself a wordsmith, I've been foundering for days as to how best to announce my departure from the company. Nothing sounded right, and so now I'm allowing that flimsy excuse of a sentence to do my dirty work.

My last day is tomorrow (Friday, March 30th). I have enjoyed the variety of challenges I've had during my 13 years with the company, and most of all, will miss the camaraderie.

I don't yet know what I'll be doing, and I am equal parts excited and uncertain about my future! I hope that we'll have the opportunity to cross paths again, either professionally or personally – perhaps both.

Please stay in touch, and don't be surprised if you hear from me!

All the best,
Kelly

when you wander on the web

My vacation began at 12:00 noon yesterday. Well, actually, it was about 12:45pm before I left my office. And then after I drove home and had lunch, I started working again (from home) at 2:30pm. I had a conference call, launched a post-meeting survey, finalized an attendee list, finished up a few other tasks. So, with the exception of a long lunch, my vacation actually started at about 6:00pm last night.

This morning, despite my intention to sleep in, I arose at 5:30am when Ted left for work. What did I do? I logged onto work and did a little more. I stopped around 8:30am, at which time, my actual vacation commenced.

What a loser I am!

After my burst of work this morning, I proceeded to do precious little. I think some portion of vacation should be about just that, and I succeeded! I watched two movies. One, inspired by my recent car listening (once I start listening to this CD, it's nearly impossible for me to stop), and the other a chance encounter on a movie channel. I can honestly say that Hugh Grant is one of my favorite actors.

I surfed the web a bit and found some interesting things. To wit:

• A boogying baby
• Crazy backflip dude
• Crazy cat lady backlash
• Bill Nye the Science Guy
• Creative College Student Gets Cool
• Legal Guidelines for Bloggers

Tomorrow, there is a list of things for me to do. I won't get it all done, but I will do my best to accomplish as much as possible. If motivation alludes me or is fickle, or if I'm somehow able to finish things more quickly than I anticipate, I may well blog again. If I manage to stay focused on my tasks, it will likely be a week or so before I return to this page.

Whatever the case, in the interim, I am posting some pictures that my brother and sister-in-law sent to me. They were included in a long line of email forwards, and thus do not attribute each picture to its photographer. Pity. It would be nice to give credit where credit is due.


Lighting sunset


Mountain blanket


He holds the sun

For more amazing pictures, check out MSNBC's The Week in Pictures. You'll find things like this:



So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye. The sun has gone to bed, and so must I. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye!

achoo!

Still sick. Having my performance review at work today. It should be interesting having a two-hour conversation in a closed room with my Vice President, while I sneeze and blow my nose. Then there are three meetings to attend, four and a half hours in total for those. Oh yeah, and then maybe do some work. Supposed to get the car back tonight. Where have I heard that before? Must run away and start the day now. Wish me luck.

thirteen days since

I haven't blogged since the 5th. I have barely breathed since then. I have prepared for, run, and followed up on a major corporate conference. The upside? A tremendous outpouring of positive feedback. The downside? No life. And the subsequent illness that stopped me in my tracks yesterday. A couple 80-hour work weeks will inevitably lead to one day of complete nothingness, although it would have been better had it not fallen on a Friday.

But I'm back. In my office (that is, my space at the company headquarters), working on a Saturday morning. I'd like for things to calm down a bit, now that the massive effort of last week's conference is behind me. But, alas, it is not calm. And I don't have the time to bemoan it in my journals, public or private. I just wanted to drop in, and note a weird coincidence.

I haven't watched the news in the last few weeks. Read the paper. Listened to NPR. Heck, I didn't even check the forecast. I've been a work hermit. So, I don't know what's been going on in the world. That said, here's my weird little story.

As I was driving into work this morning, I passed this house. It's a nice house, cedar shingled, the kind that populates Northeastern sea shores (although this one is about a mile from Long Island Sound). Years ago, when I first starting driving by this house, I had the crazy idea in my head that it belonged to Rosie O'Donnell. Other than the fact that I knew she owned a house in the same town, I'm not sure why I thought that this particular house was hers. At the time, she was very much in the spotlight with her show and magazine and celebrityness. Of course, I doubted that she would live in this particular house, given its ease of access (I imagine her actual dwelling to be a bit more remote and secure than this house plunked down right in the middle of a fairly dense neighborhood). Despite the rationale, and even though I know it's not hers, I still associate this house with Rosie O'Donnell.

So, it had been a while since I took the road on which this house sits, and consequently I hadn't thought of Rosie O'Donnell recently. Today, I took the route and did. I thought, "it's been a long time since I've heard anything about Rosie O'Donnell. I heard that she married her partner in San Francisco last year, but other than that, it's been quiet. She must have retreated into family life and out of the limelight." Really. I put that much thought into it, just driving past this house. My brain is fried (see previous reference to 80-hour work weeks).

When I got to the office (and after piling through some email accumulation), I flipped through some of the old news in my mailbox. Lo and behold, there was an article about Rosie O'Donnell, blasting Kirstie Alley for lying about her weight. I find this funny on so many levels, but I won't go into that now. Anyway, in the process of reading the article, I discovered that Rosie is a Blogger! Contrary to my little thought process this morning, Rosie's not completely out of the public eye. And I think it's kinda' cool that she's using the same tool I am to rant and rave about stuff... even if she gets more comments on one post than I get traffic in five months! :-) Blog on, RO!

no bugs bunny for me

It's Saturday morning, and as Saturday mornings go, it's early. I'm an official grown-up now, so it shouldn't be of any consequence that I didn't sleep in on this Saturday morning. Where even the official grown-up in me has gone psycho, though, is where by 7:45am, I have already been working for nearly an hour and a half at my office. No, not my home office. My office at my company's headquarters.

When I left the office yesterday, I was planning to put in a solid six hours of work today: I have a ton of things to do. Somehow, the plan shifted from me -- outfitted with lounge pants and sweatshirt -- working in the comfort of my home office with the cats close by for the occasional distraction, to me getting showered and dressed and driving 11 miles to the office where I work five days a week (excepting the occasional telecommuting day).

If you haven't already astutely noted, I am currently not working... I'm blogging! This is a minor diversion, however, as I really do have a boatload of things to do.

But the desire to attend to at least a few things in my personal life has drawn me into the Blogosphere. Maybe someday soon, I'll actually be able to vacuum our house, reorganize our garage, finish our taxes, file year-old paperwork, or address any of the hundred undone chores at home. So alluring is the concept of relaxing personal time (because it's way at the bottom of the pigpile of things to do), that I found myself reading a book at midnight -- despite the fact that I knew I had to get up at 5:15am this morning.

That's enough random chat for now. I must get back to my warehouse of things to do. Perhaps I'll return for more scintillating blogging later.

fallacy

I worked from home today. Once in a while, I do that. It's easy enough, given the simple technology that keeps me connected to all my electronic files and communication means. Yet every time I do it, I shake my head thinking about those people who believe that telecommuters work less than if they were in the office.

HA!

For starters, I got up at 5:30am and spent half an hour reading and responding to emails that arrived overnight from my associates in Japan, China, Australia, and New Zealand. I organize so I can efficiently handle the stuff that will come in during the day. I take half an hour to shower and get dressed (albeit more casually than if I were going into the office and with less effort toward make-up and hair). Then, taking advantage of the relative calm that is the period between 6:00am and about 7:30am, I start working on projects. Documents that need updating, forms that need completing, databases that need entering. When the emails and voice mail messages start around 7:30am, I turn my attention to them. The rest of the day is a juggling act between the two.

And for some reason -- perhaps to disprove the theory that telecommuters work less than people in the office -- I work almost without cessation, usually through lunch and often beyond the typical end of the day. I'm not walking to meetings, fax machines, copiers, and other people's desks intermittently throughout the day, or fielding people at my own desk. I often get so entrenched in my work that I forget to drink water -- a habit deeply ingrained in my office routine. I don't even eat lunch, and I'm at home; a weak stone's throw away from my own kitchen!

Today, I managed to get a whole hour for lunch (something I don't do even when I am in the office) only because I had to go to the post office (to send important overnight package) and drug store (to get supplies for sick husband). The lunchtime and pre-snowstorm errand-runners clogged the streets, parking lots, and checkout lines, and thus I managed a one-hour lunch. But when I returned, I immediately picked up where I left off.

I just finished for the day -- at 5:45pm. Taking away the half hour for getting ready in the morning and the hour for lunch, I worked 10 hours and 45 minutes. This is typical of my experience working from home: I find I am significantly more productive. Yet somehow, there are people who think I would do less here than I would have done in 8 hours in the office. Go figure.

the collapse

Work this week has been turgid with tasks. I like to be busy, and I don't usually pull the martyr routine about having too many things to do. But this week exceeded a healthy level of busy from the get-go. The last few weeks have led up to this, and I saw it coming. The travel and the accident set me back enough to know that I would have to move awfully fast to keep from having the whole thing cave in on my head. So, this week, I ran. And ran and ran and ran.

Yesterday morning, I arrived at my office around 6:45am and was immediately bombarded with more than 20 task reminders. Before 7:00 o'clock in the morning. I can't rehash the whole day, or my typing will trail off and I'll be left staring blankly at my computer, babbling incoherently and possibly drooling.

Here's an indication of the day. By the time I stopped working at 6:15pm, I had sent and received approximately 500 emails. In one day. And email isn't the only thing I did during the day. I was updating databases, creating documents, reviewing contracts, having conference calls, taking phone calls, fielding requests from people who showed up at my desk... I even provided computer support for three people, including the Co-Founder of the company. Among other things. And my lunch consisted of an apple that was already at my desk, leftover from the previous day. At one point, I think I remained seated for more than six hours. To say it was a full day would be like saying that the Empire State Building is kind of tall.

Despite running and running and running to keep up with it all, I had a little moment about 3:00pm when my husband called to tell me that we spent $50 for the vet to tell us he doesn't know what the bump is on Milo's shoulder, but we should make an appointment to have it biopsied. That little emotional hiccough (and the $400 it will cost) brought tears to my eyes. And when I started thinking about the rest of the stress, I just had to end the conversation.

My husband told me to grab my cell phone and go outside and call him. I tried to, but as soon as I turned around to leave, there was someone at my desk who wanted my attention. Me, with moist eyes and blowing my nose. I made up a story about having a reaction to the feathery leaves I'd just removed from my bouquet of roses. I think she bought it.

It was five minutes before I could leave, and I couldn't bring myself to go outside. So I sought an empty conference room. The closest one was occupied, so I ducked into someone's empty office to make the call. It was at this point that I lost it. I started crying -- balling, really. Like a little kid. I tried to meltdown quietly, but was horribly unsuccessful, sobbing and wailing. There was a Vice President in the office next to me (I could hear his voice through the wall). I knew that, as long as I was talking with my husband about this stuff, I would continue balling. So I literally hung up on him.

Then I spent a solid five minutes hiding in the corner of this person's office, trying to compose myself before I went out where people might see me. He didn't have any tissues (who doesn't have tissues at their desk?), so I used the hem of my skirt to dry my face (so as not to soil my more obvious shirt sleeves). I made a break for the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and use paper towels to dry everything off, but when I got to the door, I could hear a couple people having a conversation inside. I couldn't do it. So, I raced back to my desk. Using my compact to assess the damage, I saw that there was no hiding what I'd been doing. My face was hugely puffy and red, and my eyes were almost completely bloodshot. I calmed myself and managed to log in another three hours of work.

The morale of the story? I don't think there is one. Sometimes life piles up on top of you, and sometimes, that pile collapses.

ack! february already!

I underestimate the amount of time it takes me to get reacclimated to all parts of my life any time I return from a trip. It took me two weeks to catch up from one week in Hawaii (details to follow). Part of that was work backlog, and part of it husband backlog. Throw in a dash of sick Dad, and it takes not only keen organizational skills, but emotional fortitude to plow through it all. Dad, by the way, is feeling better.

As for Hawaii, I'd say it was worth it. I just have to be realistic about when things get back to normal. So, when I said the true test of my dedication to blogging would be dictated by my speedy return from post-holiday business travel, I may have been a bit short-sighted. At least I'm here now, offering this meager entry, until which time I can dedicate a few hours to writing a more meaningful one.

singing and writing a happy life

The New York Times has an interesting op-ed piece on Christmas music. I’m happy to say that my personal collection is much more varied than the ASCAP ranking. I do go through phases, and admittedly, the “chestnuts” Passy references comprise one of those phases.

Today, however, my proclivity is gospel (Mahalia Jackson, Take 6, The Boys Choir of Harlem, Mervyn Warren). Although I’m listening to a mix of genres thanks to iTunes, the volume goes up whenever a gospel song starts. Even Harry Connick, Jr. gets into the gospel spirit with I Pray on Christmas.

I pray on Christmas that the sick will soon be strong
I pray on Christmas, the Lord will hear my song
I pray on Christmas that God will lead the way
And I pray on Christmas, He’ll get me through another day

I can’t help but to clap my hands, stomp my feet, and sing along loudly. Well, I sing along loudly when I’m by myself. If I did that at the office, I’d probably be limiting my career options, and if I did it at home, I’d probably be divorced. My high school band teacher prided himself on regularly proclaiming that I could sing correctly (right notes, right phrasing, right rhythm), but the quality of my tone was just really bad. I was the accompanist for my high school chorus, and the choral teacher finally resigned to keeping me behind the piano after attempting to give me singing lessons. I can admit it: I wasn’t born to sing in public.

Writing in public, now that’s a different thing. Hence, sanguinary blue. I haven’t been able to dedicate as much time to blogging as I’d hoped, much in the same way I’ve struggled with dedicating the time to my journals or even the occasional stab at prose or poetry.

This can be attributed primarily to two reasons. The first is the volume of work and holiday projects I’m currently experiencing. So the test of that excuse -- um, I mean reason -- will be how well I re-enter the blogging practice after the holidays and my big January business trip. The second reason is the amount of time I spend writing. The first draft is easy: unhindered, I can type well over 100 words per minute. But I’m freakishly meticulous about editing to the final product. A simple newsletter article, for example, will take me 20 minutes to write and three weeks to edit.

My lottery fantasy is that I would be able to concentrate exclusively on writing (and taking as much time as I need for editing). The random windfall is doubtful, and so instead I must dedicate myself to reprioritizing it within the confines of my current job/income/lifestyle. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m not buying a PowerBall ticket today.

I’m inspired by both good and bad writers. The good ones stir my soul and make me yearn to write something that might be equally stirring to someone else. The bad ones remind me that my writing can be (and often is) better than these people who have somehow managed to get themselves published (and paid to write). This sounds egotistical, but at the risk of exacerbating that impression, it’s true.

About eight years ago, I self-published a chapbook of my poetry. My inspiration was the then-recently-published chapbook by one of my college professors, which I purchased. It was dreadful (sorry, Dr. Reilly). I didn’t connect to it at any level: his style was unpleasant, his content was dry, and any passion he might have had for his subjects was not apparent. He only occasionally made good use of the splendid words the English language provides. I remember scouring every poem to find something – anything – that was provocative in any way. I found a single phrase that I liked, but it was surrounded by countless morose and stagnant phrases. I’ll stop short of saying that his writing is unilaterally bad because I’ve only read a portion of it (because he is frighteningly prolific). But what I’ve read, well, let’s just say I wasn’t impressed. So, I thought I could do better.

My chapbook was entitled She Gathers Voices. I love the image of that phrase. It was well suited to the variety of poems I included in the book, which ranged from a handful of haiku and other reasonably new poems to a sampling of older ones that went as far back as my high school days. It’s only slightly ironic that I didn’t write the title (a friend in my online poetry group wrote it as the first line of a haiku about me, and yes, he gave me official permission to use it in the book). I also made no attempt to work with a publisher. I formatted, printed, and trimmed each page myself, and I bound the books by hand (a technique I learned at church camp in 1975). I cannot attest to their durability, as I neither made a copy for myself (too work-intensive) nor made any attempt to followup on those purchased by my family and friends.

Another irony is that the only other notable English teacher in my life, Ian Veitenheimer, is an amazing writer. Stunning, really. He was a huge influence on me, not only because he was my teacher (twice, Freshman and Junior years) and my advisor (in my four years on the school literary magazine, two as Editor), but also because he’s a complete word wonk like me.

When I was in elementary school, any time I opened the dictionary to find a word, I’d end up spending half an hour flipping through the pages and reading more definitions. I would read the dictionary. I thought I was mildly insane for this little hobby of mine until I met Mr. Veitenheimer, who showered upon me and my classmates 10 new vocabulary words every day of the year in a publication he called the “SAT Lexicon.” So enamored with it was I, that I convinced Mr. V. to give me copies of the new ones even after I’d graduated. So, why wasn’t this good influence my inspiration for the chapbook? Timing, really. And I did dedicate the book to Mr. Veitenheimer.

I read yesterday’s The Rural Life piece by Verlyn Klinkenborg in the New York Times. I really enjoy his writing style and admire the content. In part, this article about winter on the farm reads thusly:

No matter how unprepared I am, I always imagine preparing for a winter you can't muddle through. It's a deep, wooded season. Time pauses and then pauses again. The sun winks over the horizon, glinting on a snow-swept lake - just enough light to wake the chickadees.

The eaves are low all around the house that this winter comes to, and I've surrounded the entire house with cordwood, leaving gaps for the windows and doors. Winter will go nowhere until I've burned through it all.

I have no plans except to rake the snow off the roof after the next big blizzard, and carry out the ashes from the woodstove, and read everything I've ever meant to read.

Of course, a daydream like this isn't really about winter or snow or firewood or even the feeling of having prepared every last thing that needs preparing. It's about something far more elemental, the time that moves through us day by day. It's an old human hope - to have a consciousness separate from the consciousness of time. But it's always a vain hope.

I'll never get that much cordwood stacked, and never need to. Winter comes and goes in the same breath, condensing right before your face on a day when the temperature never gets up to 20 degrees.

And with that, it’s time for me to go do some more Christmas preparation. Ted’s at work this morning, which makes it a perfect time for me to wrap his presents. And I have to get to Costco when the door opens, so as to avoid the thickest of the Saturday-before-Christmas rush.

lips chapped by the wind

Half of a chicken salad sandwich on wheat bread with lettuce and tomato, a handful of mini pretzels, and a Fresca. It must be lunchtime.

I went to Chicago over the weekend. It was actually a business trip. I stayed at the hotel where we’ll be hosting our big meeting in 2006, met my contact there, and walked through the conference space. I also went to the Field Museum to observe a caterer as it prepared for a formal dinner for 1,300 people. A co-worker of mine who is on the planning committee for this conference volunteered to join me there, as she is not only a Chicago native, but also has actually catered events at the Field!

She was a tremendous tour guide and font of event knowledge. I got to see the Magnificent Mile, including the only buildings left standing after the Chicago fire, lots of great architecture, and more stores than should be legal on one road. We also wandered through lots of cool neighborhoods, including the little one that Wrigley Field is plopped right in the middle of. I had already seen Soldier Field because it’s directly across the street from the Field Museum. It looks like a space ship crashed into a Roman temple. But I digress. She also shared a couple small-but-fantastic eateries, one for Saturday dinner and one for Sunday breakfast (mmm, Smoked Salmon Benedict, yum).

Despite being a mere 24 hours long (I arrived at the Sheraton at noon on Saturday, and was back at the airport by noon on Sunday), it was a good trip. My feet are a bit sore, and I had a killer muscle cramp in my right calf, but it’s all good. And yes, Chicago being windy in the meteorological sense (as well as the political one), my nose was roughened from all the blowing and my lips chapped. I’m keeping Wyeth and Proctor and Gamble in business.

I am already booking another trip to Chicago in February (whose idea was that?) to see another caterer in action, and actually get to taste food from them and the one from this past weekend. If only the convention I’m attending in Hawaii was after my February visit to Chicago. I know... boo-hoo, poor Kelly has to go to Hawaii in January.

Lunch is over. Back to work! Didn't even get in a game of Bejeweled. Oh well.