You Can’t Transition-Proof Your Life

I’m beginning to learn more and more each day that life is about transitions, and how I deal with the transitions is what shapes me as a person… as a functioning adult in today’s world. I still think that it’s strange to refer to myself as an adult. I know I am of that age group and actively functioning as one, but part of me still feels fresh out of college barely prepared for the responsibility handed to me. At what point does someone transition from a “punk college kid” to a “makin’ it in the world adult”? Does the Mary Tyler Moore theme suddenly erupt as you’re walking in to your office one Monday morning? Does it become really truly adulthood when you buy your first new car? Make your first mortgage payment? When you have your first child?

Like a lot of things being an adult is a state of mind, one that needs to be transitioned in to. Here in the U.S. you can drive at 16, help decide who runs our government and be sent to war at 18, and drink legally at 21. The rates on car insurance go down at 25 and you can join AARP at 55, retire and collect social security at 65 and then what?

In the past two weeks the reality of the working during a recession hit my company, and for the first time I experienced companywide layoffs, gracefully masked as a “reorganizing”. Fortunately for me I was spared the pink slip but returned to the office missing the 15 people that had been let go. Talking to one of my coworkers who works at another office in Arizona that lost 27 people, a large majority of their office staff, he compared it to grieving the loss of someone to death. Suddenly they’re gone and the reminders of them are everywhere but you have to pick up the pieces and move on. It is a horrible thing, but you learn from it and hopefully your company is better for it, and you all transition together to making it work.

Shine On, Harvest Moon

Fall arrived on swift wings to Portland this year. One week it was sunny and in the low 80’s, and then suddenly the leaves on the trees are turning gold and red and the highs will hit the upper 60’s if we’re lucky. It all seemed very sudden, and I couldn’t help but feel a little blindsided by it having to change out my wardrobe so quickly. Personally, I like an easing in to my seasons, I think it helps me to mentally process that there’s going to be a different type of weather pattern in the near future. This year, ready or not, Fall is here.

I’m not ready, give me back my summer!

I'm just sayin'

I get so frustrated with people who leave voice-mails at my office with message like: “This is my tenth phone call and no one has called me back.” So, knowing that it’s something I can help out with, I call the person back… and it just rings and rings and rings. How would they know if someone has called them back or not if they don’t have a voice mail system for me leave them the information they need. Or, better yet why don’t they call during the business hours that I leave in the out going voice-mail so that I can help them out then? Help me help you. Sheesh.

Tigger

It can be frightening, really, if one stops to think about it for a moment about how brief a pet’s life is when compared to the span of a human’s life time. When I adopted Tigger from Hubby’s mom back before he was hubby the thought never entered my mind that she wasn’t always going to be there with me. As years wore on and my life’s circumstances changed she was always right there, a static and predictable aspect of my home life. It seemed though, that there was always room for more love in my life. Anyone who knows me will agree that I’m an un abashed animal lover and if I could I would open my home to many more than I currently have. Which is why when Hubby and I moved in to a house we adopted a dog, and then six months later another cat.

I feel a bit guilty, in retrospect, for being selfish and bringing more animals into our home, but at the time I couldn’t have known how Tigger would react. With the two other animals in the picture and vying for Hubby and my affections Tigger became more reclusive choosing to spend her time alone in the sleeping in the bay window or on the back of the couch in the other room rather than in my lap or on the cushion next to me. We joked that she was just becoming a crabby old lady cat, but I made sure that her spot next to me was available at night, and most times she took it.

A month ago Tigger started throwing up every two hours or so and acting very lethargic. It wasn’t like her at all, and it worried me. Hubby and I drove out to the emergency vet hoping it was something easily cared for. After two hours and inconclusive x-rays we drove home with her still sick and instructions of hopefully care for her to make her better.

The next day Hubby came home for lunch to check on her to discover that she was still throwing up regularly. He took her back to the emergency vet to have blood tests done. Her blood pressure was so low they had difficulty drawing her blood, but what little they did get confirmed that she had developed feline diabetes and her body was essentially shutting down. I was at work, crying my eyes out trying to decide what to do. She was my baby, she had always been there for me even if she didn’t know why, and here I had put her life in question because I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe that’s just my guilty conscience talking.

In the end my amazing boss drove me to the emergency vet so I could be there with Tigger and Hubby and make the decisions necessary. Ultimately, it came down to five days in the veterinary ICU and a lifetime of two insulin shots a day for her or end her suffering. If money hadn’t been a factor I would have done anything possible to make her healthy again. But, as it is with everything in life there are no guarantees. And as I held her, and looked down at her I asked her what she wanted. Unquestioningly, I know she wanted us to let her go. So, we did.

Ultimately, she lived a good eleven years and was a very happy spoiled cat for most of them. I know we made the right choice to let her go because it was what she wanted. I still miss her terribly, but I know she’s in a better place now.

Holly Hobby

I often wonder if I have too many hobbies. When I was younger just about any craft that you put in front of me I would instantly become infatuated with. Often my mom would take me to Michael’s and we would wander the isles and I would say, like most children, “Oh Mom, can you get that for me?” She would take one look at the drawstring bag, or the beaded necklace, or piece of doll house furniture and respond “You could make that.” Now at this point in my life, fifteen or more years later, I don’t know if she was saying that as a way to get me to stop asking her for something or if she honestly believed that I could make everything I wanted. To this day, I still hear those words ringing in my ears when I go shopping.

I explored many, many crafts in my youth including: sewing and quilting, scrapbooking, cooking, baking, making miniatures for my dollhouse, flower arranging, writing, drawing, painting, collage, decoupage, gardening, and beading or jewelry making. I still practice a few of these hobbies to this day, and I may have picked up some new ones, and part of me is thankful for my Mom’s voice ringing out that I could make anything I wanted.

Now when I walk through a craft store my mind reels with all of the things I could make - oh that charm would look great on a beaded necklace, oh that fabric would make a nice skirt, etc. Truly, it’s a dangerous thing for me to walk in to a craft store unattended. I am glad though, that I have learned the importance of the reality check, because really I could make all of those things I want given the time and money. However, seeing as I have a full time job with an hour commute each way and a husband with three pets that don’t take too well to me ignoring them for long periods of time.

So I’m left with a mere few choices for my creative habits, but that’s okay with me. It is far less expensive, far less time consuming, and far less crazy making if I limit myself to the number of crafts I do. On the other hand, I can’t limit myself too much or I find myself crying out inside for a creative outlet. As it is with all things, hobbies come down to a balancing act.

Jesus and Buddha walk into a bar...

I was thinking this morning on my walk from the MAX station to work about a conversation I had with one of my coworkers about two weeks ago. I happened to mention in passing friendly conversation that I was a Religious Studies minor in college. Typically I’m reluctant to mention this fact to people, especially coworkers, considering it is a touchy subject for many and I don’t think it is very appropriate to discuss religion at work. In fact, it just may be against the law. Actually, I don’t really remember what brought it up but what I do remember is the conversation that ensued.

A little background on me: I was raised in a Christian family, and was quite active in the church up until I went to college. My beliefs went through an adjustment period as I grew and changed and came into myself as an individual. Hubby’s family is, for the most part, Jewish with the exception of Hubby’s Mom who practices Bon. When asked, I typically respond that I am a Buddhist because the majority of what I believe is encompassed in Buddhism. I’m not going to get in to the deep recesses of why I believe what I believe, suffice to say that it is my choice and I have put A LOT of thought in to it.

Let’s get back to where this all started - that conversation. What it came down to was me trying to explain to her as how I viewed the Buddha in terms similar to Christianity. Somehow, I managed to end up comparing the Buddha to Jesus. This may seem to be a strange bridge but allow me to explain. Christians generally believe that Jesus came to earth as a means by which God could save the sinners from Hell. Similarly, Buddha found a way to escape Hell – in Buddhist terms this would be continual reincarnation and the suffering that is life – and shared. That is not where the similarities end. Both taught to love, be kind, be spiritually faithful, and one can escape from Hell. Now, to clarify, I’m not saying that the Buddha is “the savior” in the same respect that Christians consider Jesus to be their savior. Buddha (which means the enlightened one in Sanskrit) would be more of a prophet or a teacher, the one that figured out the key to enlightenment for the everyday practitioner (or Average Joe Buddhist). Buddha came in to the world as a Hindu and didn’t necessarily intend to start his own religion. Similarly, Jesus was raised as a Jew and probably had little intention of starting his own religion either – he was sent to put people on the right path.

I realize that comparing Christianity to Buddhism may seem like comparing apples to a prickly pear, but my personal understanding is that most religions when you take away the dogma all come down to two things: answering the question of powers larger than us as humans, and being a good person.

As ShoeDiva would say: “I’m just sayin’…”

What's in a Genre?

As I have mentioned before, I love books. I love to read and do so quite a bit more frequency than I used to. With that in mind, also knowing that I used to work at a small used book store, and being the daughter of an English teacher has made me a bit of a genre snob.

After yet another foray with my book club and a bottle of wine mostly between me and ShoeDiva we took a stroll around Powell’s to sober up. Giggling at the counter culture nick-nacks with ShoeDiva and FishSticks I started to think about my lack of experience with genres outside of “Literature” and “General Fiction” (This could have been a result of a conversation they had been having but the alcohol has wiped that memory from my mind). When the giggles died down I turn to FishSticks and ask if she could recommend a good bodice ripper to me. She looked at me and a smile spread across her face as she began to ask questions and lead me over to the Romance section of the store. I sighed to myself wondering slightly what I had gotten in to and sheepishly answering her questions.

Up until recently I looked down my nose at the Romance and Sci Fi genres, I could see why people might enjoy them, but it wasn’t something I could get in to. In fact, while I worked at the used book store I had women who came in regularly to trade the romance novels they’d blown through for a new set. I couldn’t help but wonder at the time what the draw was. I turned to the back cover to read the description on a Nora Robert’s book and had to keep myself from laughing too hard at the novel’s synopsis. Maybe I took myself too seriously, maybe I took my reading habits too seriously, but I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to read anything in that genre. Now though, the notion strikes me that as in all genres there are different levels of quality, and what better way to find out than to ask some who I know and trust?

Having fettered down her options down to a manageable queue of likely possibilities, FishSticks starts to hand me books from the shelf when I have two in my hands and she’s going for a third and I can’t help but say: “Wait!” I didn’t even know if I could finish one of these let alone three and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint my friends after a tentative step into the Romance novel wading pool.

It was three days ago that I walked out of Powell’s having purchased my first Romance novel. I’m sure this book is training wheels for the likes of me – a story of a woman who wakes up a vampire and some innuendo thrown in. So far it has been a quick and overly simple read. I believe I shall now refer to the bodice rippers as the “Brain Candy Genre”.