Co-workers and ham steak... and sometimes cheese

I work with a group of five women with the same sense of humor as myself, (which is a good thing - for all of us).  We are sarcastic, irreverent, and tend to be somewhat loud and obnoxious.  We laugh at things that are not funny, and we jest about things that are terrifying.  Nothing is off limits and we tend to take the frivolity to extremes.  That being said, don't get the wrong impression of the six of us though.  We work hard, take pride in our jobs, and each other, and we strive for excellence.  We provide a solemn and sedate service for our employer, and we are all excellent at what we do.  Nevertheless, after a while, as the day drags on, things tend to get tedious and tense, and sometimes we need a break from all the seriousness and I think a little venting of steam is warranted.

We often help each other with the workload and we work well as a team.  We joke and say we are interchangeable, because we each step in to fill a need for another,  but really we just work well together.  Because we have affection for one another, we very often do nice things for each other.  However, we have one unwritten rule:  no spending lots of money on each other.  Birthdays, Christmas, or something special, we do not spend more than five dollars. 

This forces us  to be creative when thanking one another for a job well done.   The gift giving is usually symbolic of the event being commemorated, the person giving the gift, or the person receiving the gift.  Most items are purchased at a dollar store, or somewhere similar, but not always.

On one occasion, I wanted to thank a coworker for something especially gracious she had done for me, but payday was three days away.  I was desperate to show my appreciation, and didn't know what to do.  So I opened my refrigerator looking for something to make her.  I was thinking of some kind of dessert, like a cake, or brownies, or maybe cookies.  But I was out of ingredients, and as I said, payday was a ways off.  The only thing I had in my fridge to give away was a ham steak.

I often times shop at Costco because I love a few of their products, and I love to buy my toilet paper in three hundred roll packs.  The only problem with buying that much toilet paper - is storing it.  Where does one store three hundred rolls?  I can't leave some of it out, because my dog Max will eat it (the damn dog will eat anything), and I do not want to clean up that mess .  But I digress....

I bought some ham steak at Costco and it comes in a three pack.  Meaning, three ham steaks come (individually wrapped) in a nice little handy net.  I think it's to make it easier to carry.  Earlier in the week, I had pulled out a ham steak from the freezer and set it in the fridge to defrost.  I was going to use it for dinner later in the week.  My eyes landed on the ham and I knew that's what I would give as a gift to my dear friend.  But I didn't want to give her the whole steak, because I needed it to make dinner.  So, I cut the ham steak in half and put it in a baggie to take to work.  (The other half I used to make pork fried rice... very tasty).

The next morning, I set the "half of ham steak" on my co-worker's desk and waited for her to arrive.  I was anxious and nervous about giving her such a cheap and stupid gift.  I was expecting ridicule, mockery and utter contempt.  I berated myself for thinking such a gift would be acceptable.  How could I be so dense as to think she would like such a thing.  For goodness sakes, it wasn't even a whole steak!

She sat at her desk and discovered her present, and with excited eyes, looked to me and exclaimed, “Ham.  Wow, I love ham.”   I was shocked to discover her delight, as I figured she would turn her nose up at the gift.  She opened the baggie and dove in.  She enjoyed every piece of the ham steak.

Still to this day, we laugh at the ridiculously stupid gift.  Sometimes we even give cheese to each other and we all laugh at that as well. 

monster under the bed

When I was a little girl, a monster lived under my bed. He was mean, vicious, had sharp teeth and bad breath. He breathed fire and sometimes his dark, feathery wings seeped out from under the box spring.  One Tuesday night, a clawed talon reached out and snagged a pink sock. I heard munching noises and a small burp as he gorged on the ribbed cotton material. I never saw that sock again. The next night, the other sock disappeared. Try explaining to your mother why all your socks disappeared over time. She never believed me, and I'm sure to this day, she still doesn't.

I called my under the bed monster Glog, (Ok, I was eight).

I wholeheartedly believed if I kept my arms and legs from hanging off the side, and tucked under the covers, Glog could not get to me. He was smart though, and clever. At dusk he would try to pull the covers off the bed, to the floor, knowing I would have to get on the floor to pull the blankets back on the bed. He could get me then. He could get me when I wasn't covered up. Even though Glog was tricky, I outsmarted him. I eventually learned how to tuck all the blankets under the mattress corner, so he couldn't pull them off the bed.   Then, after I pulled the blankets back onto me, I tucked them around me, creating a moat, so I was on my own little island. It was genius! For some reason an eight year old was able to out-smart a centuries old monster.

As I considered how to rid my room of Glog, I figured if he did not have a place to live, he would have to leave my house, and he would no longer frighten me. So I devised a plan. I stuffed everything I owned under the bed. Shoes, coats, clothes, blankets, my little brother, (ok, not really him, but some of his stuff). I collected things from the yard, the kitchen, even the garage. I think I put an old bicycle tire under there, and most likely a coffee can or two. My plan was working. Glog surely had no place to live down there. With all the junk under the bed, he could not possibly breath or move. I was pretty sure he moved out. I was sure to keep my feet on the bed though, and well hidden under the covers, just in case.

However, my plan was soon foiled. My mother vacuumed my room one day, and discovered the junk and debris under the bed. Oh boy did I get in trouble. Have you ever tried to explain why your little brother's favorite shirt is under your bed, or the dog's missing water bowl? Or why there is a hammer and a box of construction nails under the bed? Not fun, and especially not fun when your mother finds two full cans of premium coffee, pilfered from her kitchen when she wasn't looking. I still remember the look on her face when she discovered everything. I think it was somewhere between horror and pure anger.

When you are eight, everything seems exaggerated, and distorted. Things are bigger and wider, and longer. As we grow up, and return to places we visited as a child, things are no longer big, but seem somehow small and somewhat diminished. Time has a way of filtering emotions and memories, but I vividly remember my mother being very upset with me, and I got in a lot of trouble. As I try to recall this incident, I can remember everything that happened up until this point. I don't remember the exact words she used, or my punishment, but I remember it was severe and long. I think I was grounded for more than a month. And the worst part of it was, I had to clean all the stuff out from under the bed. My safety net, my security - was gone.

Glog would now to return to his home under my bed, and I was sure he would bring some of his friends over to my room from my little brother's room. I think they had some sort of secret meeting place during the day. A place where all the house monsters would meet for coffee and donuts (or mice and moths, or whatever house monsters ate) and a good laugh at how they scared all of us the night before. I'm pretty sure the meeting place was the basement. More specifically the laundry room, or the space under the stairs. I could never decide which was more scary.

Next blog.... how I finally killed Glog.

Your head is on crooked...



I was creeping through the web looking for an interesting topic... and came across this writing prompt.  The directions say to write a caption (or story) about these stick figures.  The first thing that came to my mind? 

"Your eyes are on crooked again, roll your head over to me, and I'll fix them."

Even through we cannot see any eyes, we know they are there... just picture two eyes on the same side of the head on the ground, (the man) and the figure with a head (the woman, of course), is going to re-arrange things and make everything all OK again.

Whenever my husband and I ride our motorcycles, he usually asks if his helmet is on straight.  I think this is a funny question, and I laugh almost every time.  "Well of course your helmet is on straight honey, it's your head that's crooked.  Just straighten out your head, and then you'll be fine."  I snicker as I see confusion in his eyes.  Then he shrugs and climbs on his bike.  I am the meanest wife in Denver, maybe all of Colorado. 

Also, notice the woman's arms are pointed up, and the man's pointed down.  I'm not sure what this means, but it must be significant.  Actually, my first thought?  Women raise their arms and say, "Do I have to do everything myself around here?"  And the man replies, "Now honey, just calm down, I didn't mean to."  He's trying to get himself out of trouble.  Well at least this is how it works in my house.

Now, before you get all angry and upset about me making the headless stick figure a man, I asked my husband to give me his insight into what's happening in this image.  I ask, "What do you think these people are doing?"  His reply?  "The man lost his head, and his wife is helping him."  Ha - what do you say now? 

I'm still the meanest wife in Denver.

Flashes of brillance

We are all sealed in our own little melancholy.
      - Taylor Hardin

Cloud-to-ground lightning bolts are a common phenomenon—about 100 strike Earth’s surface every single second—yet their power is extraordinary. Each bolt can contain up to one billion volts of electricity.

Colorado receives nearly 500,000 lightning strikes a year, equaling a strike to every 4.8 miles. I cannot calculate those numbers down to the second - but I know it is a lot.  Sometimes, in unguarded moments, flashes of brilliance strike me so bright and awe inspiring, I cannot get it down on paper quick enough.  The inspiration flashes through me and out of me quickly and dissipates rapidly: if I do not capture it in written form, I will never be able to re-create it later.  Like lightning, it strikes then fades away.

Hot flashes of surging electricity make my fingers itch and I have to stop what I am doing and make a note.  I cannot wait until I can sit at a computer and start fleshing it out.  If I am lucky, the image is still in my mind, and I can get it on paper exactly as I saw it.  Most of the time, however, the picture emerges much different from the original image.

I feel as though a bolt of creativity has struck me.  Wonderfully bright ideas flash through my mind, strike with force and violence (one billion volts of electricity will do that), and as fast as the flash comes, the brightness dims, and I am left with aftermath and wreckage. 

If we could remove the destructive force behind lighting and the damage this phenomenon causes, we would be left with the brilliant flash.  That is how I think of my inspirations.  I tend to act on the inspiration (the flash), then when I actually take a moment to look at the inspiration, I am left with an impression, a ghost image in my mind, but it will not focus.  Like looking at a bright window for a few seconds, then looking away.  The negative image burned into the retina and all you can see is the backward and oppositely colored image. 

Then when my vision clears, I see the destruction and burned rock and landscape.  This blog is an example of a brilliant flash of inspiration, and now I deal with the debris and emotional fall-out.  I have created for myself a way to release my inspired energy, yet am fearful I will fall way short of my mark and my goal.  (Which is total world domination… ha, just kidding).

What about you gentle readers?  Ever have a flash of brilliance and decided to act upon it?  How did it turn out?  Did you enjoy the process and the eventual outcome?

 

Inspiring Friends

"It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"
                  - Winnie the Pooh

When I mentioned today's blog title to my husband, he stopped rummaging through the refrigerator, and turned questioning eyes to me.  "You mean friends who have inspired you?  Or friends you've inspired?"  As I thought about his question - I realized I meant both.

I have a wonderful friend who inspires me greatly.  She is a mother to two children and step-mother to three.  She is a professional, works full time, takes care of her household and provides love and support to all concerned.  She also participates in triathlons on a regular basis, and dedicates many hours to her physical and mental health.  Her husband is a fire-fighter and spends several nights away from home at a time, so all parental responsibilities fall on her lovely shoulders.

Recently, her small dog, Gus, escaped from her house.  With five kids coming and going, and people in and out, the poor little guy was on the lam for seven hours before anyone noticed he was gone.  His sister, Lacy, stuck around the house and kept her mouth shut about Gus' escape.  Eventually he was arrested for Disorderly Conduct and had to spend the night in puppy jail.  Or maybe he was arrested for Indecent Exposure, I can't remember.

We bailed him out of jail during lunch the next day.  He was so happy to see her, his little body literally vibrated from his tail wagging so hard.  His whines and whimpers actually caught the attention of the workers at the detention facility, which I found surprising, as they must see twenty or thirty such reunions a month.  She handled the situation with grace and ease and I am glad to call her friend.  She inspires me in numerous ways, and I someday hope to return the favor.

There's a first in everyday....

Some of you know me, most of you don't. 

I am the back seat driver, the squeaky person behind you in the grocery store check-out lane... the person who squeezes the tomato you wanted.  How does that always happen?  I see a perfect piece of fruit from across the lane, but by the time I get there to claim my prize, some other grimy shopper puts her chubby fingers all over it.  Feeling it, fondling it, bruising it... then discards it.  Humph... Just my luck. 

Anyway, back to me.... as you know, it's always about me.  (just kidding, sometimes it's about my dog).  I live in Denver, where the sun is always shinning, and the sky is mostly always blue.  Sometimes gray, but mostly blue.  It's nearing the end of summer and the weather is slightly starting to cool.  The approaching fall always makes me melancholy for some reason.  I think it's because it signals a change.  Change in weather, attitudes and kids go back to school.  Remember when you were a kid, and summer ended and school was about to begin?  Did it make you sad the summer was over?  Or happy because another year was about to unfold?  I was right in the middle.  Happy and sad at the same time.  It seems a small little body couldn't hold those two conflicting emotions... I think some leaked out at points in my life.  That's why I have so little emotion left as an adult.  They all seeped out of me through the little, and not so little, cracks of my life. 

Ok, so back to today's blog... "There's a first in everyday"  The first hazy moments of conscience thought, the first realization you are awake, and not asleep.  The first lick from your dog.  The first smell of brewing coffee.  The first stretch and feeling the blood flow through your toes.  Now, the first sip of coffee. 

My feet hurt the first few steps I take in the morning.  I'm not really sure why.  Maybe because they've been tucked under a blanket for the past eight hours?  Who knows.  All I know is the first few steps of the day are painful for me.  How about you?  Are your first steps painful?  Or do you bound out of bed ready to great the sunny day?