As if there hadn't been enough drama in my life lately, in the middle of moving, I lost a cat.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have two cats, Mia and Brianne (Brie). They are both scaredy cats, quite literally. Most of my friends and family have seen only glimpses of them. Repair people never see them. They love me, but they really don't like other people. So they hide. Under beds. In closets. Anywhere they believe they won't be seen.
Moving day was, I'm sure, a very stressful day for cats who prefer things left alone. Most cats are not fond of change. As a general rule, cats prefer life to be very routine and comfortable. It's one of the reasons that I have people come to my hosue to feed them if I travel, rather than taking them to a kennel or something. They would rather be alone for days on end, and only fed once a day, than be uprooted. So change is not their thing.
And moving requires monumental change. First, the house had been devolving for a couple of weeks. Boxes everywhere. Paths across spaces were no longer available as boxes multiplied. Closets were being emptied, which meant not only were comfortable spots being taken away, but there were less places to hide. Quite a few strange people had come to the house to give estimates for various move-related things and to fix last-minute things that needed fixing. Lots of change. Lots of new people. Life was definitely not normal and routine.
On top of that, I was home all day. Well, most of each day. That too was change, but change they could get behind. My cats, after all, do love me. The more of me, the better.
So June 5 was move day. The movers came about 9 am, and we spent 3-1/2 hours getting everything I owned into the truck to move to the new house. The front and back doors were open for most of that time, of course. At one point, I did go looking for the cats and found them both in closets upstairs. Empty closets, but I guess still protection from the big, bad movers.
The movers and I got in our respective vehicles and traveled across town to unpack in the new place. Another 3-1/2 hours later, all was settled in. Since I wasn't really the owner of the house yet, I had only an agreement to move my stuff into the house. The cats and I were not allowed to stay there. So I had booked us a hotel for a few nights until I actually closed on the new house.
I was debating about going to the old house and getting the cats that Saturday night. I was thinking that it might be better for them to just stay where they were, even if there was no furniture to speak of in the house, just because it was familiar. While I debated, I went to get something to eat. I decided that, at a minimum, I had to go feed the cats. While I was eating, though, I got a wave of homesickness. Since I didn't have a home right then, I figured the best way to cure my homesickness was to at least have my furry kids with me. So I headed over to the old house to pick them up and take them back to the hotel.
Brie greeted me - crying of course - at the front door. One cat in carrier. Whew!
Mia was hiding. Big surprise. Mia is always hiding. Especially during the day. I had thought that, since it was dinner time, she might come out if I pretended to feed her. So I shook a food bag and popped open a can of food. Still no Mia.
Then I went looking.
Upstairs closets. Empty. Under the vanity. Empty. Tub. Empty. Downstairs bathroom. Empty. Now, that's really all the spaces for a cat to hide in the house. Except...behind the furnace.
Behind the furnace is actually one of Mia's favorite places in the whole world. She would sit outside the laundry room door and dry to get into that room - just so she could hide behind the furnace. In another blog entry, I talked about trying to leave for a flight to California, and Mia getting behind the furnace and not coming out for an hour or so. So once I couldn't find her in any of the closets or other rooms, I figured that must be where she was. I couldn't hear her, but if she was traumatized enough, she wouldn't be "talking". She would be very mad at me for all the commotion. Stubborn tortie.
So I left food in the laundry room and, panicking more than a little, left the house. I called my parents, crying about my missing cat. My mom drove down from Maryland to stay with me, and we formed a plan to go back to the house late that night and see if we could get Mia to come out. There was some advice, too, that if she had gotten outside - I didn't think she would have gone out, but had to be realistic about the options - that she would show up in the middle of the night. There was also a thought that she might have been packed up with the last-minute boxes. So I went to the new house and torn open every box that I hadn't packed myself. No Mia. But at the same time, I did get a blanket that would smell like me and the cats to try to lure Mia out.
Saturday night, Mom and I headed over to the house about 11 pm. We hung out on the front stairs (one of only a couple of places to sit) and just chatted amiably for a little while. I wanted to at least hear a cry from Mia. Just to know she was inside. Even if she was hiding. I went into the laundry room and called and called for her. No Mia. I thought I heard a cry a couple of times. But nothing confirmed.
I wouldn't say I slept much that night. Mom, Brie, and I were pretty restless. Brie, I'm sure, missed her sister. I was miserable thinking Mia was outside and scared out of her mind. I was thinking about how to reconcile myself to never seeing her again. To having only one cat. It was a horrible thought, but I had to be realistic. If Mia had gotten out, to a place she had never been before, there was a real possibility that she would never make it back. Or be killed by a car. Or a raccoon or fox or some other wild animal. And I would never know what happened. Also, all the information online about lost animals said it could take weeks for them to show up again. Well, this wasn't going to be my home anymore after another couple of days. I couldn't sit on the front steps in the middle of the night for a week and hope that Mia showed up.
Sunday morning, we got up early and went over to the house to see if the food had been eaten. Or the litter used. No sign that either had been touched. No crying cat. No Mia anywhere.
We went to the new house and printed up Lost Cat flyers. We posted them around the neighborhood and told everyone who was outside about the lost cat. Then Mom went home, having done all she could do to help me.
I was despondent, but still convinced that the cat was in the house. On Monday, I had an appointment at the new house, and was going to need to take Brie with me as I was changing hotels. So I went to the pet store to get a collar and leash for her, and optimistically, bought one for Mia too. While there, I talked to my animal rescue friends, and they agreed that Mia was probably inside the house somewhere. I heard lots of stories about lost cats showing up inside of homes, having been hidden in the strangest places. I called my real estate agents and told them that, at closing, the new owner may get more than just a house. She might inherit a house with a cat in it too.
Sunday night, I went back to the house and hung out in the living room. Just me and the computer, listening to some music, playing some games, and reading a book. I thought that, if I made noise like I was just hanging out, Mia would come out to see me. After a couple of hours, no Mia. I left.
But I had talked to my niece and had decided that maybe I needed to spend the night there. I went to my niece's house to get an air mattress, pillows, and blankets to camp out on the living room floor.
When I got back to the house, I heard a cry. Crying cat. But it wasn't coming from behind the furnace. It was coming from the kitchen. But we had opened every cabinet door! And then I heard it again. And I moved the fridge. And out came a cat. A very scared cat.
I grabbed her and put her in the carrier. There would be time for kisses later. I wasn't taking any more chances.
I called everyone who had helped with the search. I posted on Facebook to let everyone know Mia had finally come out.
Drama over. Sisters reunited. Lost cat found.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Things You Keep
I am moving in a couple of weeks. So I'm packing boxes and making decisions about what gets moved and what doesn't. It's always a time of revisiting the past too as one decides what to throw away and what to keep.
I had already done a fair amount of purging before I started packing to move. In preparing my house for sale, I cleaned out closets and stored away a bunch of things to make my house seem bigger and cleaner. So some of my memory lane has already been traversed.
But today I found another treasure trove. A stack of magazines and newspapers that, at one point, had meaning in my life. Here's the inventory:
- Newspaper section of the Washington Post from 1/1/2000 about the change in the millenium
- The Opinion section of the Washington Post from the turn of the millenium
- George magazine's tribute to its fallen founder, John Kennedy Jr.
- The Industry Standard from 1999 with a list of the top IPOs, one of which was a company I had worked for
- The front section of the Washington Post from September 12, 2001
- A Washington Post magazine's special edition of views from all around the city
I kept the special section on the millenium. I'm not sure I'll ever look at it again, but it's an interesting piece of history. I kept the WP from 9/12/01. Again, it's a look at history. I don't personally know anyone who was killed, thank goodness. But I know people who do and I certainly still remember the horror of that day. I kept the George magazine too. I'm not sure why, but I remember that magazine quite fondly. It was a fresh take on politics at a time when I was involved to some extent in my work at Hart Research. I never had much of a crush on John Kennedy Jr., but I appreciated his position in history, which tragically became even more significant with his death. Finally, I kept the Industry Standard. Not so much because of the IPO from a company with which I no longer have any affiliation, but because of that era in the Internet's history. 1999 was a time of great change in our technological history. And so I thought the magazine would be interesting for that reason.
The things you keep. No really good reason for my keeping any of these items. And yet, I couldn't bear to throw them away. Until the next move...
I had already done a fair amount of purging before I started packing to move. In preparing my house for sale, I cleaned out closets and stored away a bunch of things to make my house seem bigger and cleaner. So some of my memory lane has already been traversed.
But today I found another treasure trove. A stack of magazines and newspapers that, at one point, had meaning in my life. Here's the inventory:
- Newspaper section of the Washington Post from 1/1/2000 about the change in the millenium
- The Opinion section of the Washington Post from the turn of the millenium
- George magazine's tribute to its fallen founder, John Kennedy Jr.
- The Industry Standard from 1999 with a list of the top IPOs, one of which was a company I had worked for
- The front section of the Washington Post from September 12, 2001
- A Washington Post magazine's special edition of views from all around the city
I kept the special section on the millenium. I'm not sure I'll ever look at it again, but it's an interesting piece of history. I kept the WP from 9/12/01. Again, it's a look at history. I don't personally know anyone who was killed, thank goodness. But I know people who do and I certainly still remember the horror of that day. I kept the George magazine too. I'm not sure why, but I remember that magazine quite fondly. It was a fresh take on politics at a time when I was involved to some extent in my work at Hart Research. I never had much of a crush on John Kennedy Jr., but I appreciated his position in history, which tragically became even more significant with his death. Finally, I kept the Industry Standard. Not so much because of the IPO from a company with which I no longer have any affiliation, but because of that era in the Internet's history. 1999 was a time of great change in our technological history. And so I thought the magazine would be interesting for that reason.
The things you keep. No really good reason for my keeping any of these items. And yet, I couldn't bear to throw them away. Until the next move...
Monday, May 10, 2010
Cold Feet
Today is May 10. Last week, the temperature hit 90 degrees. Today, the high was 65. That's reasonably typical for spring in the DC area. The temperature outside yo-yos pretty significantly this time of the year. So not a surprise that it was hot last week and cooler this week.
What is not typical is frost. This morning, there was frost on our cars. Frost! In May!
Last week, my office moved across the street into new offices. In our old offices, everyone had their own radiator and could regulate the temperature in their office. In our new offices, we are on a single thermostat as is more usual for office buildings.
The problem is that it is FREEZING in our offices. Today, on May 10, I wore the same clothes I would have worn in February - long pants, knee-his, boots, long-sleeved shirt, and a camisole. And I was still cold. About mid-morning, I decided it was crazy to be cold, and so I put on my outside coat. The coat that I had worn to combat the frost this morning!
And I was still cold. So I broke out the leg warmers. And put them on my feet over my boots.
Because if your feet are cold, you are cold.
What is not typical is frost. This morning, there was frost on our cars. Frost! In May!
Last week, my office moved across the street into new offices. In our old offices, everyone had their own radiator and could regulate the temperature in their office. In our new offices, we are on a single thermostat as is more usual for office buildings.
The problem is that it is FREEZING in our offices. Today, on May 10, I wore the same clothes I would have worn in February - long pants, knee-his, boots, long-sleeved shirt, and a camisole. And I was still cold. About mid-morning, I decided it was crazy to be cold, and so I put on my outside coat. The coat that I had worn to combat the frost this morning!
And I was still cold. So I broke out the leg warmers. And put them on my feet over my boots.
Because if your feet are cold, you are cold.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
To Honor Mothers
Tomorrow is Mother's Day. In thinking about this day, I realized that I know a lot of mothers and that they are a diverse crew.
First, there are the traditional mothers. I actually don't know very many of those, perhaps because I am not one. My mother fits that category. She and my father are going to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary next month. Not many people can say that. I have a few other friends who are what one might call traditional mothers - married to their first husbands, mothers of children by that husband, and living happy lives in suburbia.
While I definitely appreciate and honor the traditional mothers, I am in many ways more moved by the non-traditional ones.
I have several friends who are stepmothers, including my sister. It's not easy to become a mother to a child who already has one. Some stepmothers have to step in and become the mother for the child, whatever the reason. Some stepmother have to tread that difficult line of being there for the children in their lives without taking over a full parenting role. Either way, it's not an easy role and yet, with divorce as prevalent as it is and more men wanting to continue to be involved in their children's lives, there are many women who are in this important role.
Other mothers I know have adopted children. My extended family has become quite diverse from these situations. One cousin and his wife adopted twins from Guatemala and a little girl from New Orleans. Another cousin and her husband adopted a boy (not a baby, but a boy) from Russia. It takes a special person to adopt a child.
The last category of mothers in my life are the most non-traditional. They are the fosters and caretakers of animals. Now, you might argue that being a foster parent to an animal is not the same as taking care of a child. And in some instances that may be true. I myself have been a foster mom to kittens several times, and I wouldn't necessarily equate that to being a mother of child - even if I did have to worry about their growing up, their health, and getting home promptly to take care of them. But many of the fosters of animals that I know are fostering animals who need special care. Maybe they have a health problem. Maybe they have a behavior problem. Both of these situations require more devotion than that of an average pet-parent. Mothering, if you will.
So on this Mother's Day, I say thank you to all the mothers - whatever their situation. Regardless of the other being - human or animal - in their care.
First, there are the traditional mothers. I actually don't know very many of those, perhaps because I am not one. My mother fits that category. She and my father are going to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary next month. Not many people can say that. I have a few other friends who are what one might call traditional mothers - married to their first husbands, mothers of children by that husband, and living happy lives in suburbia.
While I definitely appreciate and honor the traditional mothers, I am in many ways more moved by the non-traditional ones.
I have several friends who are stepmothers, including my sister. It's not easy to become a mother to a child who already has one. Some stepmothers have to step in and become the mother for the child, whatever the reason. Some stepmother have to tread that difficult line of being there for the children in their lives without taking over a full parenting role. Either way, it's not an easy role and yet, with divorce as prevalent as it is and more men wanting to continue to be involved in their children's lives, there are many women who are in this important role.
Other mothers I know have adopted children. My extended family has become quite diverse from these situations. One cousin and his wife adopted twins from Guatemala and a little girl from New Orleans. Another cousin and her husband adopted a boy (not a baby, but a boy) from Russia. It takes a special person to adopt a child.
The last category of mothers in my life are the most non-traditional. They are the fosters and caretakers of animals. Now, you might argue that being a foster parent to an animal is not the same as taking care of a child. And in some instances that may be true. I myself have been a foster mom to kittens several times, and I wouldn't necessarily equate that to being a mother of child - even if I did have to worry about their growing up, their health, and getting home promptly to take care of them. But many of the fosters of animals that I know are fostering animals who need special care. Maybe they have a health problem. Maybe they have a behavior problem. Both of these situations require more devotion than that of an average pet-parent. Mothering, if you will.
So on this Mother's Day, I say thank you to all the mothers - whatever their situation. Regardless of the other being - human or animal - in their care.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Cute Boy
So I'm trying to decide whether the cute salesman from one of the moving companies I've been talking to was flirting with me because he was trying to make a sale or flirting with me because he was interested.
First, let me say that he's probably too young for me anyway. I'm a terrible judge of these things, but I don't think he was over 40. I have no problems dating a little younger, but that might be pushing it. That being said, it's interesting to consider the possibilities. Now, let's examine the interactions and see what conclusions we can come to.
We started inventory for the move on the main floor - living room, dining room, kitchen. He said he was taking notes about how many boxes I would have, in addition to furniture, so we glanced through kitchen cabinets. He noted that my cats were well fed - there was a full supply of cans in the pantry. First personal comment.
Moving into the living / dining room, I noted that I collect vases and wondered if I should move them or whether they would. He said they moved State Department people around the country, so he thought they could handle a few vases and pictures (I asked about those too). A salesman kind of thing to say, of course. Name dropping, as it were.
We went downstairs, where he noted that the cats were not "people" cats. Which is true. Big chickens, both of them. I guess he noted this because he didn't see them. Hmmm.... Not sure what that was all about. I have an exercise ball in my downstairs. He asked me if I actually used the ball. I said that I did, actually (I had used it just the night before). Another personal comment. (FWIW--he was obviously a bodybuilder)
We came upstairs to the bedrooms. We talked a little about the challenges of moving the big armoire in my guest room. He thought it would be okay (other mover wasn't so sure). I opened the closets to show him the clothes and stuff (to determine boxes and wardrobes). He said they would dismantle and put back together the beds - nice! Conversation confined to moving.
I showed him the little closet in my master bedroom. He commented that I didn't have *that* much of a shoe collection. Of course, that's only the summer shoes. Then we went to the big closet, where the rest of my shoes are and my boots. His comment - he'd seen more shoes; I didn't have *that* many. But then he picked up my pink suede boots and said "But I'm not sure about these." To which I replied "I have a matching sweater". And he said, "You need a sun dress to go with them too". Interesting...
Back to the kitchen to talk more specifics about the move and for him to give me a brochure. He pointed out some of the more salient parts - things movers aren't supposed to move (did you know that includes jewelry - interesting) and some other things. Like loaded weapons and ammunition. He said "You don't have any ammunition, do you?" I said, in flirting mode, "No, but I do have some nunchucks. The State of Virginia considers those weapons." Ha, ha, ha. Now, normally when I bring up my martial arts background, guys say something really stupid like "Oooh, I'm afraid of you". Yuk! He said "I like a woman who can protect herself". Right answer!
Then he scratched his back. He explained (not that I hadn't noticed; his nose was bright red) that he'd gotten a sunburn this past weekend and it was now starting to peel - hence the scratching. I noted that I had gotten some sun over the weekend too driving around with my top down. Now, the last guy I had just met that I said that to made the retort "Top down? Oh, you mean the car". Which I think was meant to be cute, but just came off as a little sleazy. This guy said, "Yeah, you need to be careful about that." Much better. I said that I had gone out on Saturday and gotten a little too much sun with a t-shirt on, so on Sunday I went out with a tank top to even out the color on my arms and avoid a farmers tan. I didn't mean that to be provocative, but it kind of came off that way. He said that I couldn't really cure all my tan lines driving around in my car, because if he saw someone (me?) driving without a shirt on, he would drive off the side of the road. Why did I not see this as a sleazy comment? Not sure. We were flirting. It was cute in flirting mode. I said that, even when I'm wearing a top with spaghetti straps, I notice guys checking out my bare shoulders and seeing whether there is anything else to see. He said "Well, if a good-looking woman like you were driving down the street with bare shoulders, I'd check it out too. Well, really I'd check you out anyway." Now, that's really getting personal, no? We went on to talk about something else (not important), and then we getting ready to go I put my sunglasses in the collar of my shirt (I do that all the time rather than putting them on my head or back in my purse), and I guess it brought down the neck of my shirt a little more because he said "Yes, you did get a little sun this weekend, didn't you?" Now, with the other guy, that would have annoyed me. With this guy, I guess I was okay with his noticing my cleavage.
During the course of our walking around, he also mentioned that it's just him and his dog (we were talking about not having a really big bed - height-wise - he liked my platform beds). That's the kind of personal detail that I would drop if I wanted a guy to know that I was single. Same for him? Hmmm.... Or he could have just been creating empathy by making himself similar to me - single with pets. Trying to make the sale.
So now I wonder? Flirting to make a sale? Flirting because of possible interest? If I do hire these movers, then I'll see him again to finalize the deal and get boxes from him. But if I do hire these movers, I think I will not try to explore anything more than flirtation until after my move. Because I wouldn't want it to be awkward if he wasn't interested. Or even if he was. Because if he was, he also might not be willing to show it unless or until the move was over. To avoid a conflict of interest, as it were. So things to think about.
But mostly, it was fun to flirt again with a cute boy.
First, let me say that he's probably too young for me anyway. I'm a terrible judge of these things, but I don't think he was over 40. I have no problems dating a little younger, but that might be pushing it. That being said, it's interesting to consider the possibilities. Now, let's examine the interactions and see what conclusions we can come to.
We started inventory for the move on the main floor - living room, dining room, kitchen. He said he was taking notes about how many boxes I would have, in addition to furniture, so we glanced through kitchen cabinets. He noted that my cats were well fed - there was a full supply of cans in the pantry. First personal comment.
Moving into the living / dining room, I noted that I collect vases and wondered if I should move them or whether they would. He said they moved State Department people around the country, so he thought they could handle a few vases and pictures (I asked about those too). A salesman kind of thing to say, of course. Name dropping, as it were.
We went downstairs, where he noted that the cats were not "people" cats. Which is true. Big chickens, both of them. I guess he noted this because he didn't see them. Hmmm.... Not sure what that was all about. I have an exercise ball in my downstairs. He asked me if I actually used the ball. I said that I did, actually (I had used it just the night before). Another personal comment. (FWIW--he was obviously a bodybuilder)
We came upstairs to the bedrooms. We talked a little about the challenges of moving the big armoire in my guest room. He thought it would be okay (other mover wasn't so sure). I opened the closets to show him the clothes and stuff (to determine boxes and wardrobes). He said they would dismantle and put back together the beds - nice! Conversation confined to moving.
I showed him the little closet in my master bedroom. He commented that I didn't have *that* much of a shoe collection. Of course, that's only the summer shoes. Then we went to the big closet, where the rest of my shoes are and my boots. His comment - he'd seen more shoes; I didn't have *that* many. But then he picked up my pink suede boots and said "But I'm not sure about these." To which I replied "I have a matching sweater". And he said, "You need a sun dress to go with them too". Interesting...
Back to the kitchen to talk more specifics about the move and for him to give me a brochure. He pointed out some of the more salient parts - things movers aren't supposed to move (did you know that includes jewelry - interesting) and some other things. Like loaded weapons and ammunition. He said "You don't have any ammunition, do you?" I said, in flirting mode, "No, but I do have some nunchucks. The State of Virginia considers those weapons." Ha, ha, ha. Now, normally when I bring up my martial arts background, guys say something really stupid like "Oooh, I'm afraid of you". Yuk! He said "I like a woman who can protect herself". Right answer!
Then he scratched his back. He explained (not that I hadn't noticed; his nose was bright red) that he'd gotten a sunburn this past weekend and it was now starting to peel - hence the scratching. I noted that I had gotten some sun over the weekend too driving around with my top down. Now, the last guy I had just met that I said that to made the retort "Top down? Oh, you mean the car". Which I think was meant to be cute, but just came off as a little sleazy. This guy said, "Yeah, you need to be careful about that." Much better. I said that I had gone out on Saturday and gotten a little too much sun with a t-shirt on, so on Sunday I went out with a tank top to even out the color on my arms and avoid a farmers tan. I didn't mean that to be provocative, but it kind of came off that way. He said that I couldn't really cure all my tan lines driving around in my car, because if he saw someone (me?) driving without a shirt on, he would drive off the side of the road. Why did I not see this as a sleazy comment? Not sure. We were flirting. It was cute in flirting mode. I said that, even when I'm wearing a top with spaghetti straps, I notice guys checking out my bare shoulders and seeing whether there is anything else to see. He said "Well, if a good-looking woman like you were driving down the street with bare shoulders, I'd check it out too. Well, really I'd check you out anyway." Now, that's really getting personal, no? We went on to talk about something else (not important), and then we getting ready to go I put my sunglasses in the collar of my shirt (I do that all the time rather than putting them on my head or back in my purse), and I guess it brought down the neck of my shirt a little more because he said "Yes, you did get a little sun this weekend, didn't you?" Now, with the other guy, that would have annoyed me. With this guy, I guess I was okay with his noticing my cleavage.
During the course of our walking around, he also mentioned that it's just him and his dog (we were talking about not having a really big bed - height-wise - he liked my platform beds). That's the kind of personal detail that I would drop if I wanted a guy to know that I was single. Same for him? Hmmm.... Or he could have just been creating empathy by making himself similar to me - single with pets. Trying to make the sale.
So now I wonder? Flirting to make a sale? Flirting because of possible interest? If I do hire these movers, then I'll see him again to finalize the deal and get boxes from him. But if I do hire these movers, I think I will not try to explore anything more than flirtation until after my move. Because I wouldn't want it to be awkward if he wasn't interested. Or even if he was. Because if he was, he also might not be willing to show it unless or until the move was over. To avoid a conflict of interest, as it were. So things to think about.
But mostly, it was fun to flirt again with a cute boy.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Working From Home Stinks
I am, at heart, an introvert in the strictest definition of the term. That is, I get reenergized, not from being around people, but from being by myself. At the end of a long work day, I want nothing more than to sit on my couch, eat what I want to eat for dinner, watch what I want to watch on TV, and snuggle up with my fur children. The fact that there are no other humans in my home is usually a good thing.
That being said, I could not do this working from home thing full time. I've been working from home since last Thursday. Our offices are moving, and the move hasn't been completed yet. So the staff that's usually together in the office isn't together.
There are days when I'm working on something and everyone else is working on their things, and there's not much interaction amongst us. And that's fine.
But today, we have a deadline to get something completed. And not being able to see each other and being isolated in my home is not a good thing. In fact, it's a very bad thing.
I have heard much speculation as to whether working from home makes one more productive or less productive. In my experience, most of those discussions center on whether the person working at home is distracted by the home environment - kids, laundry, etc. I'm sure that affects productivity significantly. But for me, today, my productivity in working from home is not affected by me or any home distractions. Rather I am affected by the fact that I cannot walk into my colleagues' office and find out what's going on. Nor has anyone been responding to email. And only limited response to phone calls.
So today, right now, in this moment, working from home stinks.
That being said, I could not do this working from home thing full time. I've been working from home since last Thursday. Our offices are moving, and the move hasn't been completed yet. So the staff that's usually together in the office isn't together.
There are days when I'm working on something and everyone else is working on their things, and there's not much interaction amongst us. And that's fine.
But today, we have a deadline to get something completed. And not being able to see each other and being isolated in my home is not a good thing. In fact, it's a very bad thing.
I have heard much speculation as to whether working from home makes one more productive or less productive. In my experience, most of those discussions center on whether the person working at home is distracted by the home environment - kids, laundry, etc. I'm sure that affects productivity significantly. But for me, today, my productivity in working from home is not affected by me or any home distractions. Rather I am affected by the fact that I cannot walk into my colleagues' office and find out what's going on. Nor has anyone been responding to email. And only limited response to phone calls.
So today, right now, in this moment, working from home stinks.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
30 Years Of Running
I realized today, as I was running in the ridiculously hot May DC weather, that I've been running for 30 years now. And I have yet to experience the so-called endorphin high that I've heard runners experience. Good thing that's not why I run.
I started running in college. My reasons for starting were many. First, my sister was a runner, and being 9 years apart in age, we didn't have much in common when we met up again in the Boston area at 18 and 27, respectively. She was getting a Masters at MIT. I was an undergrad at Boston University. My freshman year, I was her Calculus tutor, having just taken it in my senior year of high school, since she'd never had higher math in her life. I wouldn't say that either of us was ever very good at it, but we got her through the course. Which was the important part. Other than Calculus, we spent the occasional weekend day together and, somewhere along the line, running became something for us to do together. Boston has many paths on which to run, including several around the Charles River - the border between Boston where I lived and Cambridge where she did. So we started running together.
My second reason for running - and probably the impetus for starting, though I don't specifically remember this - is that I was overweight. And my sister was not. She talks about having been overweight at some point in her life, but I don't remember it. I think her version of being overweight was probably 10 pounds over her ideal. I was more like 60 pounds over mine, tipping the scales at over 200 lbs. Not that I looked that fat. But I was in fact that fat, much to my disgust and shame. So running with my skinny sister was an attempt to do something about that.
My sophomore year of college, I was a 10k - the Bonne Bell. Carol ran it too, easily and much more quickly than I did. I did actually finish it at a run, though it was a close thing and mostly through sheer force of will. Up to that point, I think the furthest I'd ever run was about 2 miles. I warned my boyfriend at the time that he might have to carry me up to my fifth floor walk-up dorm room. As it turned out, it wasn't that bad. But it would be many years before I would brave such as distance again.
Interestingly, my running actually started that particular boyfriend running too. He was also overweight (I was still overweight, though perhaps only 50 lbs by now) and wanted to do something about getting in shape. Running for him would become a lifelong passion. He would eventually become a distance runner, something I never achieved. When he and I dated again after college was many years past, just before my 29th birthday, I did try to get my mileage up so he and I could run longer distances together. At that point, I got up to 6 miles. But it was not comfortable, and I abandoned those distances shortly after he and I broke up for the second time.
And yet, running is still my default form of exercise, especially when the weather is at all nice outside. I am much more likely to put on my running shoes at the end of the day and take a 30-minute run, than I am to head to gym after work. And running, and a much stricter diet than I ate in college, has contributed to my being more fit. I gave up weighing myself years ago, but I think I'm not overweight anymore. Or at least not by much. On average, I run somewhere between 2 and 2-1/2 miles. 30 minutes most of the time, at a reasonably slow pace of 11-minute miles. Today, I ran for almost 40 minutes, getting ready for summer when clothes are much less prevalent.
So for 30 years, I've run about that far (somewhere between 2 and 3 miles) at least once or twice a week. Would it have been too much to have experienced at least one moment of euphoria from it? Apparently.
I started running in college. My reasons for starting were many. First, my sister was a runner, and being 9 years apart in age, we didn't have much in common when we met up again in the Boston area at 18 and 27, respectively. She was getting a Masters at MIT. I was an undergrad at Boston University. My freshman year, I was her Calculus tutor, having just taken it in my senior year of high school, since she'd never had higher math in her life. I wouldn't say that either of us was ever very good at it, but we got her through the course. Which was the important part. Other than Calculus, we spent the occasional weekend day together and, somewhere along the line, running became something for us to do together. Boston has many paths on which to run, including several around the Charles River - the border between Boston where I lived and Cambridge where she did. So we started running together.
My second reason for running - and probably the impetus for starting, though I don't specifically remember this - is that I was overweight. And my sister was not. She talks about having been overweight at some point in her life, but I don't remember it. I think her version of being overweight was probably 10 pounds over her ideal. I was more like 60 pounds over mine, tipping the scales at over 200 lbs. Not that I looked that fat. But I was in fact that fat, much to my disgust and shame. So running with my skinny sister was an attempt to do something about that.
My sophomore year of college, I was a 10k - the Bonne Bell. Carol ran it too, easily and much more quickly than I did. I did actually finish it at a run, though it was a close thing and mostly through sheer force of will. Up to that point, I think the furthest I'd ever run was about 2 miles. I warned my boyfriend at the time that he might have to carry me up to my fifth floor walk-up dorm room. As it turned out, it wasn't that bad. But it would be many years before I would brave such as distance again.
Interestingly, my running actually started that particular boyfriend running too. He was also overweight (I was still overweight, though perhaps only 50 lbs by now) and wanted to do something about getting in shape. Running for him would become a lifelong passion. He would eventually become a distance runner, something I never achieved. When he and I dated again after college was many years past, just before my 29th birthday, I did try to get my mileage up so he and I could run longer distances together. At that point, I got up to 6 miles. But it was not comfortable, and I abandoned those distances shortly after he and I broke up for the second time.
And yet, running is still my default form of exercise, especially when the weather is at all nice outside. I am much more likely to put on my running shoes at the end of the day and take a 30-minute run, than I am to head to gym after work. And running, and a much stricter diet than I ate in college, has contributed to my being more fit. I gave up weighing myself years ago, but I think I'm not overweight anymore. Or at least not by much. On average, I run somewhere between 2 and 2-1/2 miles. 30 minutes most of the time, at a reasonably slow pace of 11-minute miles. Today, I ran for almost 40 minutes, getting ready for summer when clothes are much less prevalent.
So for 30 years, I've run about that far (somewhere between 2 and 3 miles) at least once or twice a week. Would it have been too much to have experienced at least one moment of euphoria from it? Apparently.
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