It Was a Good Run

Two weeks ago, I gave my notice at 451 Press. This morning, I published my final post at LongRelationships.com.

I view the handful of months writing for a blog network as a valuable learning experience. I appreciated the challenge of writing on a single topic with a deadline of 10am every morning. I enjoyed the camaraderie that came from the community of writers. I gained my first exposure to social networking sites and I was forced to view my writing from the perspective of what might draw readers. I feel better equipped to write on the fly, tie up a concise argument on a small scope, and use WordPress. I am absolutely grateful to everyone who stopped by the site, left comments, and e-mailed me articles to reference. As an exercise, writing for the network was a successful one for me.

However.

I didn’t enjoy writing on a topic about which I only have experiential expertise of a narrow set of circumstances. JG was my only really serious boyfriend and we’ve only been married for two years. Sure, my stories might have their own appeal, but did they give me inherent credibility? I shied away from posts of the “Ask RA” variety out of fear that a reader would pose a situation that might require serious intervention or therapy, neither of which I am able to diagnose nor provide. I felt uncomfortable wearing an unearned badge of knowledge because I wanted to be a reliable resource.

On top of that, I’m working to be a better writer, not a marketer. The double-duty position of both supplying content and getting the world to notice it was a detrimental combination for me. I’d write what I thought was useful or compelling with the grim knowledge that it would never float to the front pages of social networking sites. Then, I’d try to conjure articles that might draw votes on those sites, but I didn’t quite believe what I was writing. Ultimately, I felt like both my writing and my stats suffered, which was such a lose-lose situation. I know that some folks can write and market simultaneously, but I am an introvert in real life as well as online. Asking others to read what I’ve written is anxiety-producing and not because I don’t believe I’m a skilled writer. I want my words to speak for themselves; I don’t want to prop them up with a tag line.

At the end of the day, I felt like I lived with my fingers tapping on a keyboard. After a full day at work, the time spent writing, doing auxiliary research, voting, and responding to comments grew to be more than I wanted to handle. Some might turn down their noses at my inability to commit more time, but I am not a full-time writer who is able to sink deeply into a project. Trying to massage my ideas about relationships into a palatable format for the sake of votes was not the plan. Searching newspapers, columns, and blogs for anything relationship-centric that I could quickly summarize just to get to the point where I could close my laptop was not the plan. Going to bed hours after JG and saying good night to a slumbering body was not the plan.

All of this is not to say that I have hard feelings toward 451 Press. I’m actually really curious about how the network will progress over time. Simply put, writing for a network, even with ad revenue, was not the right fit for me. I’m proud of quite a few articles I wrote for the site, including my final one, so perhaps I’ll revisit them in the future. I’ll continue to plug away in these parts, but most importantly, on my own terms.

Capturing Kennett Square

As I’ve mentioned before, I love our little town of Kennett Square. Aside from the town’s fascination with fungi, the town’s charm oozes through quaint Victorian houses and the local restaurants full of people and food, and both very good. Ever since I got my bearings after we moved in at the end of October 2005, I’ve wanted to go around the one-street-wide downtown area to snap pictures of local color. But, as they usually do, the excuses crept up. It’s not sunny enough. I won’t find a parking spot. There are no charged batteries. And so it goes.

In a move that was very unlike me, I made plans this afternoon to have dinner with two co-workers. (I will appreciate a respectful pause to note my outrageous spontaneity. I mean, who plans a dinner out just two hours before it occurs?) My co-workers happened to be spending the afternoon at Longwood Gardens, a tourist attraction that is no less than ten minutes from where I live. When I jumped at the chance to recommend a restaurant, the three of us* planned to meet up for dinner at the Half Moon.

Suddenly, I found my chance to wander Kennett Square in gorgeous weather. I zoomed home, changed into jeans, grabbed my camera, and spent a blissful hour strolling around, snapping pictures, and greeting the friendly outdoor diners. I garnered my share of strange glances – I mean, I would have viewed a seeming tourist the same way – but simply being outdoors was so refreshing that I ignored the stares. I felt more energetic than I had during the entire workday.

After a tasty dinner, I made the short drive home in a strange state of fuzzy relaxation. The sun left behind a fiery pink sky in my rear-view mirror and a round, pockmarked moon rose before me in a deep blue sky. Those are two pictures I would’ve loved to have captured.

It was a good day.

I like that I can say that.

- - -

* Unfortunately, JG was left out of the fun because tonight was the first meeting of his summer graduate course, which sadly convenes twice a week, from 6-10pm. Gah.

Recollection

As much as I enjoy it, having Monday off always throws me for a loop. I wake up, groggy as ever, with those Monday blues swinging through my brain, and then, the dawning realization that it is not Monday makes that grogginess seem, well, not as bad. It’s a slight improvement that I am willing to accept. Needless to say, I’m a bit disoriented after this long weekend.

Our time with JG’s family was a whirlwind of, um, lying around. I kept myself occupied (so to speak) by eating well, toasting marshmallows, and relaxing on a hammock. Oh, how I covet the hammock. Alongside his siblings, JG and I had our first experience with the Wii and I was completely unsurprised to find that it exposed my utter lack of coordination and depth perception. I was satisfied with cheering people on and taking fuzzy action shots. All in all, I couldn’t complain. We’re still working through the awkwardness inherent in having parents who are not used to having children who happen to be adults – or is that just weirdness that we have?

On Monday, we went to a friend’s house for a cookout, where there were hardcore games of badminton and quoits, mounds of yummy food, and a sweet border collie that I petted voluntarily. Reward, please! Despite a heavily humid morning, the soggy air cleared to reveal a gorgeous afternoon and an almost-full moon. JG hovered around the grill to show our host how to make “killer grill marks” and I brought a dessert called Berrymisú – a sweet combination of white cake, mixed berries, and whipped cream. It was appropriately red, white, and blue for a patriotic holiday but it was eaten so quickly that I have no photographic proof. I’ll have to keep that recipe around.

Dare I go there? All right, I will. I did, indeed, have a memorial weekend.

(Oh, that was pretty bad. I’m groaning with you.)

An Early Start

I didn’t mean to, but I’ve taken today off from work. (Woo!) See, I had every intention of working from home in the morning before JG and I leave for the weekend, but my laptop decided that it didn’t like our wireless network. It also didn’t like being connected via Ethernet cord. After some trial and error, I realized that my computer didn’t like to connect to anything that was not the docking station at my desk at the office. Which totally defeats the purpose of having a laptop. Argh.

Resigned, I submitted my helpdesk ticket to the tech team and turned in a revised time off form. In the end, I think it’s for the best for my sanity. This computer glitch gave me a four-day weekend and a whole morning to do laundry and prep what I needed for the weekend, and that’s always nice. I tend to be a miser when it comes to vacation hours, so this is probably a good exercise in not having control, even if makes me twitch.

Anyway, JG and I are headed up to Jersey this afternoon to spend the next few days with his family for the Memorial Day weekend. There will be grilling, hiking, and lying by the pool, and we’re coming home in time for a cookout with friends on Monday, so I believe we will have done our civic, American duty by reaching – nay – exceeding our fun quota. Booyah.

Happy Memorial Day! Best wishes for cool beverages and hot grills!

Finding the Right Words

I love to receive cards in the mail and I am incredibly picky about choosing them for others. For standard holidays or birthdays, I start hunting very early, in several stores, to make sure I find the best one for the person in mind. If I find one that’s perfect, but out of season, I stash it in a hiding place for a future appearance. There’s a sense of accomplishment that comes with finding the best card that fits my aesthetic demands and contains an appropriate greeting, with bonus points for color coordination with wrapping paper.

Sometimes, sniffing out the right card is really difficult. Purported humorous cards usually aren’t and I refuse to buy anything that blasts a song at me like a handheld MySpace page. My least favorite cards usually involve many layers to open up, piles of glitter, or a 20-line poem dripping with sap. I automatically reject cards on the basis of Too Many Words.

This week, I faced my biggest card-searching challenge: the sympathy card. The father of our college friend passed away very suddenly and unexpectedly, while at his son’s college graduation weekend. Our friend is getting married in two months and the whole situation is just indescribably sad. They don’t make cards with that much sympathy.

Instead, I have to choose from sanctimonious, preachy cardboard rectangles with watercolor images of lilies and butterflies, reassuring us that memories live on forever. Is my friend supposed to feel better by seeing curly script in the form of, “You’re not alone,” even if she feels like she’s alone? I need the card that says, “I’m so sorry and I know there’s nothing I can say that will be right, but I’m going to hope that saying something will help, even just a little bit.” Unfortunately, that one wouldn’t sell so well next to the card depicting a calming ocean scene.

Finally, I found a simple blue card that read, “Caring thoughts of sympathy are with you now.” Oh, relief. In times when words fall so short of the occasion, it’s not about the number of feel-good phrases or pretty packaging. I just wanted a place where I can write a line to let our friend know that we’re thinking about her. I’m glad that it’ll be on its way tomorrow morning.

The Plot Thickens

As if a weekend of fun with friends and ant massacre weren’t enough, I have set aside what I think is the most intriguing part. You see, there has been a proposal to amend the Dog Agreement.

It all started when I began petitioning to add Walter to our list of potential dog names. JG is against this name-listing because he is a firm believer that one can’t name a dog without seeing it first. I can understand that logic, but it doesn’t hurt to have a few names up my sleeve just in case. Am I right? Of course, I am.

I love Walter as a dog name because I think it can be good for any type. It conjures up all sorts of mental images for me: sensitive, literary Walter from Rilla of Ingleside; Walt Whitman; and – er – Walter Cronkite. Much to my chagrin, JG thinks that Walter is “only for a dumb, dopey dog, like a Basset hound.” What! So I started lobbying, only to find that the crowd was pretty evenly split along pro- and anti-Walter lines. Hmph.

On Sunday morning, JG and I were talking about our eventual dog ownership and the merits of certain names when he turned to me suddenly and said, “Would you agree to get a dog this year if I let you name the dog anything you want?”

I was stunned into silence.

“I could name it anything I want?”

“Well, I trust that you won’t name it anything stupid, like Mrs. Puffball.”

“Hey, that can be shortened to Puffy. Or Diddy, whichever we like better.”

During our discussion of the terms of this new proposal, we agreed verbally that all of the clauses from the original agreement would still be in place except the first, which required JG to finish his master’s degree before getting the dog. The new timeline would land the dog at our house in the July-ish realm. In practical matters, I conceded that I could handle feeding and a daily walk. JG agreed to buy a designated dog blanket for the couch (so as to minimize the shedding situation) and to refrain from holding this naming privilege over my head in the future. Baths and doctor visits would be shared responsibilities.

Normally, I wave off (the constant) pleas to get a dog sooner, but JG has thrown out a surprisingly large bargaining chip in giving up the ultimate naming power. I am not sure what my next move will be.

Weekend Wrap-Up

Friends of ours held their first bonfire of the spring season and JG and I attended rather reluctantly because we were kind of tuckered out (I think that’s what they call being old) and we thought there would be a whole gang of people. As it turned out, it was just us and the hosts, so we had a relaxing night of toasting marshmallows, eating s’mores, and playing with the border collie that decided to hang out with us. The night smelled like summer camp and freshly-cut grass. It was great.

- - -

I went to a purported “spectacular” yard sale on Saturday morning and the event was rather falsely advertised, in my opinion. Among the scattered random junk, I found a solid wood end table that did not boast a price tag, so I hunted down the owner, who I found to be a rather gruff older lady.

RA: How much are you asking for this end table?
Owner: Oh, no price tag? $5?
RA: I’ll take it!
Owner: Oh, I should have asked for more than that. $10!
RA: I’ll give you $5.
Owner: There’s another one for sale in the house, you know.
RA: Really! I’ll take the two for $10, then.
Owner: The two will be $15 together.
RA: But two for $10 is the same as your original price.
Owner: Fine, $5 for the first and $10 for the second!

At that point, I had a feeling we were entering the twilight zone and I gave up on it. Who the heck raises a price at a yard sale?

- - -

Our house seems to be under the 2^nd Annual Ant Siege and, judging from other folks, we’re not the only ones who have had to deal with it, as if that’s any consolation. Ugh. Having grown up in the middle of the woods, I used to think that I could handle any level of ant infestation, but now that the little soldiers have marched their way into our dishwasher, the creep factor has risen considerably. JG has officially declared war on the ants, but I wish they’d get the message and die already.

- - -

JG and I got to hang out with two of our best friends (here, on either side of me) at our house for Saturday and Sunday and the four of us had so much fun. It’s not that we went out and did a lot of stuff or had a crazy time, but because we only get to see them a few times a year, we take advantage of the time to just catch up on life and rehash all of the old inside jokes. Good times.

Knowing My Limits

Yesterday, I received a fat envelope in the mail with photos from our vacation, all ready to be preserved for posterity.

I imagine that I could be a pretty good scrapbooker. I like doing graphic design-type things, I have a penchant for pretty paper, and I can be crafty if I put my mind to it. I think I would like accumulating all of those fanciful sticker-things, hole-puncher gadgets, and acid-free pens in all colors of the rainbow. I certainly enjoy the end product.

There’s just one problem: I really hate being behind.

Maybe I’m oversimplifying, but it seems to me that scrapbooking is an exercise of endless catching up. There’s nothing you can do ahead of time because you have to see how the pictures turn out. I just couldn’t deal with that.

So, this weekend, I’m putting my photos into a regular photo album. Maybe it’s not as glamorous or whimsical as a scrapbook, but I can stay on top of the flow of pictures much more easily. Plus, I like the fact that people sit through my commentary since I don’t write convenient captions in the margins. I do, however, fire up my handy-dandy label-maker to make labels for whole events. I can’t go completely without gadgets, can I?

Our Standing Date

Tonight was sad and momentous. Tonight, JG and I watched the series finale of Gilmore Girls.

I know that the show has its enemies. Some can’t stand the rapid banter, the goody-two-shoes daughter, or the unlimited spending power of a single mother. I know this last season has lagged in action and sensible flow, but I stuck with it because I loved the characters and I cared about what happened to them. At the risk of sounding pathetic, Gilmore Girls was more than a television show to me; it was a commitment. It meant -

• Rushing home from lab to watch with my roommate during freshman year
• Debating whether Dean or Jess was better or worse for Rory
• Glorying at the fast-paced conversation
• Wondering how Lorelai and Rory ate so terribly and stayed so darn thin
• Nodding at how Mrs. Kim was the summation of every overbearing Asian mother I had the pleasure of meeting
• Commiserating with Lane because she was nervous about dating a white boy, nice as he might be
• Setting a tape (yes, an actual VHS tape) if I had to miss an episode for whatever reason
• Cheering for Luke and Lorelai, moaning at every time they just didn’t work out
• Wishing I could live in Stars Hollow and eat at Luke’s diner

But most of all, Gilmore Girls means watching it with JG. He’d like our friends to believe that he simply tolerates watching this show with me, but the truth is that he really enjoys it. Originally, Gilmore Girls was my show, but over time, the show’s charm won him over. JG holds his own in arguments about whether Logan was a good guy for Rory, even if I staunchly hold that Marty (a.k.a. the Naked Guy) was really the best choice. JG is a prime Gilmore Girls buddy and I love our standing date at 8pm on Tuesday nights.

My favorite part of watching with JG would take place in the first few minutes. I’d snuggle up next to JG and he and I would sing the theme song together. I can’t help but smile when the tune comes to mind. Gilmore Girls, I’ll miss you, but I’ll miss singing that theme song even more.

If you’re out on the road,
Feeling lonely and so cold,
All you have to do is call my name,
And I’ll be there on the next train.
Where you lead, I will follow
Anywhere that you tell me to.
If you need me to be with you,
I will follow where you lead.

Super Saturday

This weekend rocked.

It’s a strange thing for me to say. Usually, the two days fly by without so much of a “how do you do” and then the workweek smacks me in the face. JG and I were really busy on Saturday, but it was full of things we wanted to do instead of things we had to do. Instead of doing chores, mowing the lawn, or catching up on bills, we actually did fun things! For once, I’m ready for Monday.

Climbing
A few weeks at the climbing gym has made JG and me lean, mean climbing machines. We’re not sore to the point of paralysis anymore! However, our friends, who came with us and had never gone before, were a different story…

Dinner out
After climbing, a group of us went out for dinner at a local restaurant that has a giant menu and correspondingly large portions. We rolled out of there after collectively consuming onion rings, French fries, a table-sized stromboli, and sundry other entrees. It was fabulous.

Book club
I ran to my book club meeting as soon as we got home for dinner. We were discussing Life of Pi, so everyone brought pie! Not one to miss a nerdy opportunity, I made an encore presentation of pi-shaped cookies and an accompanying pi-shaped cheese dip! The pictures came out all scary and pasty-looking (how attractive can a cheese dip be?), so you’ll have to take my word for it.

Late-night showing of Spider-Man 3
After I raced home from book club, JG and I met friends at a 10:15 showing of the new Spider-Man movie. There were two guys in the row in front of us who talked constantly. How can you possibly have endless commentary on everything that is going on? Apparently, they were riveted during the previews, but the movie was either completely confusing or boring. I tapped on one of the guy’s seats and said firmly, “Excuse me, could you please be quiet?” and then interrupted his response of, “Excuse me, but mind your own business,” with a sharp, “Thank you.” Ugh. People. And I wasn’t even impressed with the movie. Boo.

When JG and I got home, we both observed that we haven’t seen the 1am hour in a very long time and just about fell into bed. Forgive me if that makes us seem lame, but … well, what can I say? Party on, I guess.

Rattled

My office is on the second floor of a three-story complex with a variety businesses, so it’s common to hear the goings-on of surrounding units. Today, though, is different.

I hear a sound that I think would sound like a big man rolling giant metal gears over a coarse gravel driveway. Or maybe it’s an army tank clanking with a lot of loose parts as it drives across a field of scrap metal. When that noise stops, it’s replaced by the sound of an enormous rocking chair, squeaking all the while. Occasionally, there’s the sound of a super-sized socket wrench. There is creaking and thudding, which wouldn’t be so bad on its own if it were not for the accompanying shaking and movement. My desk is unsteady and my eyes are struggling to focus on a trembling monitor.

Maybe the suite below us is doing construction. I think I saw a new storefront down there, so that would make sense. In that case, the distracting noise and shaking is temporary, right?

A co-worker just took a walk to investigate and he reports that the noise is coming from a new martial arts studio. Apparently, there are three giant punching bags and correspondingly giant guys who are getting good use of them as I type here.

And that means the noise, vibration, et al, are not temporary.

Shudder.

Honorary Tech Team Member

(Alternate Title: Why I Have Flowers on My Desk)

Among the host of frustrations that made last week a struggle, the greatest involved walking in to the office on Wednesday to find that we had no connectivity. That meant no access to e-mail, the server, intranet, or Internet. I don’t exaggerate when I say that my co-workers were essentially paralyzed.

My office is a satellite of a San Francisco-based company, so all of our technology resources are on the west coast. Also, I am the default tech person in my office. It’s not in any way part of my job, but when you work for a small company, you tend to do whatever needs to be done. For me, that usually means troubleshooting network or printer issues and setting up workstations for new hires. Whenever there’s an office tech issue, I’m usually on the phone with the tech guys because they know that I can understand their language and I try to be a quick study. It’s a friendly relationship and I enjoy being an honorary tech person.

So, at 9am Eastern, I found out which tech guy was on duty and reluctantly called his cell phone. From the rustling and murmuring, I could tell that he had been asleep prior to the phone ringing. “I’m so sorry,” I said, “but we don’t have access to anything over here. There is no connectivity.”

He told me to hang on, that he’d check out a few things and call me back.

With a cell phone pressed up against my ear, I stood in an ill-lit closet packed with servers and cords, trying to follow the instructions on unplugging, resetting, logging in, and writing rules. After five hours of troubleshooting, we finally had connectivity, and I was completely exhausted. I downloaded my e-mail and left for home. JG had called to check in on me and after I described the experience as “the worst day ever,” he had a bag of gummy bears waiting for me.

The next day, I came in to work and realized that, yet again, we did not have network access. People streamed out of their offices and asked me what was going on, why there was still a problem. I answered sharply, “I don’t know. I can’t even talk about this right now.”

I got back on the phone.

As it turns out, the previous day’s problem had reoccurred in the San Francisco office, but our configuration was such that the issue affected my office, too. It was small consolation that we didn’t have exactly the same problem – that is, that I didn’t break anything – but, oh, I was tired. Ultimately, we had access back by lunchtime and lost working hours for the week totaled at eight.

Yesterday, the UPS man brought me a surprise package that bloomed into tissue-papery irises in purple and yellow. Every time I look up at them, I notice a new petal uncurling and a fresh bloom exposed. The card reads:

You are our Superhero! We are so grateful – the Tech Team

Because I usually talk with this team about systems requirements, documentation, and software updates, getting a bouquet of flowers from them is simultaneously incongruous and completely flattering. I am so pleased and almost speechless.

I realize now that being so exhausted gave me a mindset based on survival. I’d grit my teeth and think, Must get through the day. But this week, I can look at this gift and be reminded that the effort doesn’t always go unnoticed.

Besides, I think it takes a lot for a tech team to send flowers to a girl. I’m enjoying these while they last.

My Kennett Square

I know I’ve been silent lately; my brain gears have been spinning too rapidly to form something coherent. I tried four times yesterday, but to no avail. Thankfully, I read a post that prompted me to think about my hometown, which I interpreted as the town in which I live now. The thought exercise shook me out of my funk, so thanks, Janet!

- - -

My Kennett Square, PA

• Age: 20-something
• Occupation: Proofreader
• I lived there for: 1.5 years, so far
• I lived there because: It’s halfway between JG’s and my jobs, so that’s where we bought our first house
• My neighborhood: Stenning Hills
• My favorite restaurant: Half Moon
• If you go to this restaurant, be sure to order: Definitely the crab nachos. They also have a huge selection of Belgian beers
• My favorite museum: Brandywine River Museum, even though it’s not technically in Kennett Square
• My favorite tourist destination: Longwood Gardens, which has way too much prettiness per square foot, especially around Christmas
• Best insider spot: The Farmers’ Market in the spring and summer
• My favorite area: State Street, the one-street “downtown” area
• Best place to go shopping: The Mushroom Cap and The Paper Market
• When you visit, don’t forget to pack: Good walking shoes for the First Friday Art Strolls
• But leave room in your suitcase for: Yummy mushroom goods like soup mix or infused olive oil
• The one local cuisine you should try when you’re in town is: Anything mushroom-centric at a local restaurant like Newton’s or Challie’s
• The best way to get around: Driving is really the only option, sadly
• If I had to describe this city in one word, it would be: Quaint
• I tell my friends to stay at: Our house!
• The one thing most outsiders don’t know about this city is: If you see mushrooms at your supermarket, there’s a 50% chance that they were grown here or in neighboring small towns.
• They say “Virginia is for lovers.” So fill in the blank: Kennett Square is for present and future mushroom fans. (And we celebrate at the superfun festival every year!)

#50

Sometimes

Sometimes, your husband will ask how your day was and you can say honestly, “Fine, actually.” Sometimes, your brain is so exerted that you have no words for how much you dreaded driving in, how much you wished the day would end. Sometimes, you’re beyond griping or venting because even you’re tired of the story and it doesn’t quite seem fair to subject someone else to it, again. You might plop on the couch and ask for hug, but when the tension of the day washes over you, you can’t help it that your eyes fill with tears and dot your husband’s shirt. Sometimes, you have too many words for how hard the day was and you sting your husband with the barbs you kept inside for eight hours. You try to explain that you’re not mad at him, but it doesn’t feel that way at all.

Sometimes, you savor the time spent with co-workers because they are funny, smart people who are doing their best. Sometimes, a missed appointment here and a snide comment there will make you vacillate between being irritated and irritating. Raw emotions lie just under the surface, just waiting to burst out at the slightest prod. Sometimes, you say things you don’t mean and make faces you don’t intend. You’re mean. You hurt people.

Sometimes, you know what you’re doing for a living is making a difference and that no one could do the job as well as you do. Sometimes, you wonder if you actually like what you’re doing. You visualize something you’d like to do better and ask yourself if it’s really worth it to put yourself back out in the meat market. Sometimes, you think back to that time after college when the job search was more about survival and benefits than a fulfilling career path. You don’t relish retooling your résumé for every job possibility, tracking your application history, being rejected, and sneaking around to interviews.

Sometimes, it’s just easier to stay in a familiar situation, even if it doesn’t make sense anymore. Sometimes, the comfort of the known is so much more desirable than the craggy overhang of the unknown. Sometimes, you prefer your ergonomic desk chair to jumping off into thin air.

Sometimes, you reach the end of your rope.

And then you dust off the résumé.