Embarrassingly, I have yet to read any of the fine works of Susan Sontag. Even so, I knew the world suffered a great loss with her passing. And in her memory, William Drentell has written a stirring tribute based on his own personal relationship with her that I feel is well worth reading for all of us. And then, if you haven't already, go read some of her writings.
Going on day three. My first shower in those three days will be tomorrow at the office. I could go tonight (it's 11:30 PM EST) but I'm too tired. The mere thought of looking at the kitchen or any other part of the house that needs to be cleaned seems too overwhelming at this point.
I actually cleaned some dishes earlier today using a combination of hot water (the water came from one of those 2.5 gallon containers) and soap, and used what was leftover in the container to rinse. Felt just like camping. But even at the camp sites we go to, they have working showers. I don't think I've felt this unclean since my early days of college. But really, this just can't go on. Sure, we are spoiled by modern conveniences like running water and electricity but this is punishment enough. For what, I don't know. Ask the water company who's been digging up the street a block away, while our neighbors and ourselves struggle in this unfamiliar, waterless world.
They say it'll be back on tomorrow. I pray for a shower at home in the morning. If not that, work will be fine. I'll take what I can get.
Okay, so it's actually Starbucks and the 'mall' isn't in the suburbs but right downtown. They don't even call it a mall but 'The Gallery.' In any case, here I am. I should be at the office but I left my ID at home and decided coffee first, then back home to get my ID and then back to work. It's a holiday week and there's not a lot to do, so the laissez faire attitude works for now.
As I see it, there's some catching up to do here. I recovered from my little bout with spinning rooms and can tell you that 2 mg of Valium doesn't do much to me. Certainly helped with the spinning but that was about it. Xmas was good. The kids got the gifts they asked Santa for, including Liam's surprise request for a helicopter. The favorites, as far as play time, have to be Liam's Thomas the Train tracks and Izzy's Barbie Princess and Pauper dolls. Liam has great interest in the Pauper doll but I think it's mainly because of the song she sings. That, or he just likes pretty girls, real or not. Liam also got the car from The Incredibles and loves his dinosaur book. Izzy also got a Talk-a-Lot CareBear which she enjoys and she was really excited about her Snow White dress-up. (She now has, I believe, all the Princess dress-ups except for Jasmine from Alladin). Karen got her down comforter and her other gifts are on the way. I was going to pick them up on Friday and ended up instead in the ER. My best gift, besides giving to my family, was the Apple Airport Express which allows me to play the music from my laptop on our stereo speakers in the family room. And that is just too cool for a gadget freak like me. We spent Xmas afternoon playing and then went to K's brother's house for a holiday get-together. It was fun and it was good to see everyone. They live in Damascus which is a suburb about fifteen miles (I think) north of DC.
On the job front, I left my portfolio with a firm in Chelsea (23rd and 5th) and we shall see. The best part of it so far was it was the catalyst for me to really rethink my samples and finally put a little money into my book and put everything on boards. The brochures and invites which were once presented loose are now in plastic sleeves mounted on boards. Each board has a 3.75“.x9” slip of paper (card stock) that briefly explains the problem and solution. The portfolio looks great in my mind and hopefully in the mind of potential employers.
I keep playing the New York thing out in my mind. From a career point of view it would be an excellent move if I get an offer in the price range I'm looking at. But the real question is, as before, is the price worth the cost of less time with Karen and the kids. If it's just for the short-term, with the end plan being a job and family moving-up there, or my coming back here after a year or two with the New York experience on my resume, is it really worth it?
Family is important but so is our long-term financial stability. I don't feel like we have enough in savings and other investments, and I'd rather risk a short-time away to build stability, if that's what it takes. I can be back here in just a couple of hours or so, especially for the kid's school events, etc. Amtrak does offer a monthly rail pass so if really necessary I could commute every day. And maybe get home early enough to see the kids before they go to sleep. Especially since it's not cheap in NY. Whatever the pay, the total combination of cost of living, rent, quality of life, etc.... would have to be far greater than anything I could get here to make it worth the effort. Reality at this point is that it's just a portfolio sitting on someone's desk and nothing more. Decisions can be figured out later, once an offer is made or not made. I certainly can't let geography limit my search.
While I'm on this long-winded post, I might as well mention my review. There were no surprises and actually things were pretty much as I thought they would be. It's funny how management won't admit that their own choices may have been bad or that the situations I was placed in as a manager were impossible situations for almost any manager. What I found most amusing was our MD's (Managing Director) admission that the designer I was made to work with wasn't a very good designer. Yet, despite my original comments and concerns to that very point, no one ever admitted that the designer was not a good choice and was better fitted for the role of a production person under my management. Our very conflicts, beyond the old manager being in the same office and his impeding my ability to manage, were based on this very issue. Where was the support when I really needed it? (Rhetorical question).
It makes me angry to think about this. I did speak-up only to feel as if I was the one with the problem and that I was wrong or doing a poor job. (Of course now I know for a fact that wasn't the case which I may have to bring up in my review of my review). Really at this point, I have nothing to lose in being honest. I'm vested and I'm ready to move on. So, why bother? I'd really only be doing it for myself and it's not going to win me any points. But I do feel like I need to do and say things, because they are the right things to point out. And it will give me closure when I do finally move on to the next big thing.
So, here I sit, awaiting the nurse in Univ. of Maryland's spanking new ER. The rest of the family is getting ready to go to children's mass (Izzy is playing an angel) and I'm here because the room keeps spinning. This is known as vertigo as opposed to being dizzy. And as I've learned today, there is a distinct difference.
I suppose I can actually type without too much trouble is that the screen is close and as long as I'm staring right at it, things are somewhat stable. But, sorry to share details, I can feel the expected nausea creeping into my stomach and actually looking at the computer may be the cause. I think the best thing to do is chill-out, stop my 'hey, look at me' behavior and just close my eyes.
So, the diagnosis was definitely an inner ear problem. The surprising, at least to me, prescription was not anti-vert but Valium. Christmas Eve and I'll either be a total zombie and asleep or just oh so mellow.
Happy Holidays to all. Pics from this visit to come tomorrow or later tonight.
Little known to those outside the tribe, the greatest custom of the celebration known as Chanukah is a little pancake made from hand grated potatoes, onion, mazoh meal, kosher salt, and eggs all mixed with love. Yes, love. Hand grating potatoes can be a painful experience, especially for the soft electric blender.
But grating by electronic means does not yield the same consistency of ingredients that makes a latke so awesomely delicious. For my own tastes', the best latke is crispy and brown on the outside, soft and warmly delicious on the inside and topped with sour cream. (Apple sauce is also a popular topping but my preference goes to the sour cream).
Achieving perfection in a latke is an art that goes back to the lessons of those that came before the age of electricity and modern conveniences. And oy, do they taste good. Happy Holidays all!
Jenn:
I relive my own last days with my father reading your blog. The frustration of watching him losing his battle in front of my eyes. The feelings of helplessness as I lay by his bedside that first night in the hospital, freshly off the plane. My mind wandered back and recalled the things we'd been through. The differences of opinion, the ski trips, the let downs and the moments of love between father and son. I thought about the time I was five and fell of the top of a snow bank into the driveway and into the path of my parent's car. They stopped in time as they returned from a house hunting trip. I recalled the sadness in my house the day I scored my first basket in basketball. I was SO proud of myself, it was my birthday, and my Dad had been layed-off. I couldn't comprehend why anyone would be sad on my birthday and the day I scored a basket. (Selfish as it was.)
Through 40 years the road winded through love, hate, frustration, anger, disappointment, pride, joy and the realization that my father was who he was. He had left his mark in the way I interact with my own children, and his own relationship with Izzy. He would never be the father I dreamed of, for that man did not exist. And I could not hold that against Dad. Not any more. I finally realized that despite his faults, he had for the most part done the best he could as a Dad. With tears in my eyes I told him over and over, 'thanks for being god Dad and sharing that gift with me. I love you."
I held his hand firmly, it's cold dampness foretelling a future that no one can ever truly prepare for, praying my words would work their way through the ever increasing fog of the morphine. Each drip announcing itself loudly as it flowed downward through the tube attached to his now pale, weakened arm. Every fifteen minutes someone hit the little switch to start the drop of mind-numbing relief down the long slope, much like the hills we skied together years before, that took him far away from where he really was. It was only us there who were witnesses to his slipping away.
Later, my Mom (his ex-wife) came in with my sisters. As my Dad slept-on through his drug-induced sleep, she came over to the three of us and said one thing. "You need to tell him it's okay to let go." It's okay to let go. In sadness comes the relief of the long-battle being over. Just let go. It's okay. "Dad, it's okay, you can let go."