Patrick's Letter, July 13, 2006

Hi.

I was thinking today while standing in formation that the army isn't for me. I have too much of a free will. I want to laugh whenever I can, talk whenever I can, sleep whenever I can, eat whenever I can, smile whenever I can, and just think for myself and to be an individual and not some robot made identical to every other robot here. I only have one hour to be myself...but that's not enough time. I want the whole day. I feel way too restricted, and you know how I hate feeling restricted. I'd like to look around, to observe what's around me and take it in but I can't.

On Sunday I'm going to talk to a chaplain. Get my options and see what I can do. I want to pursue my musical talent. I could've gotten a record deal before I came here, and I feel by the time I get out of AIT my opportunity will be gone. I don't want that. Not at all. I was rolling like a perfect cylinder...now I just feel I hit a bring wall. Like I'm going nowhere. And upon that wall, in big while block letters, is the word "ARMY"...

Oh no! Kent told me this happens with ALL recruits the first week. We told him to hang in there. I don't know if he did see the chaplain, but his next letter was more encouraging.

No title, no sun, just rain

fotograf by imran 2006

This is (was, I wrote this June 3 but finishing it on August 2) my weekend to surf photoblogs. It's incredibly inspirational. I visit ddoi almost daily found some new ones today. I like the work this guy, imran, is doing. I know he's Photoshop'ing to some extent but I'm now sure how. Dodging and burning? LAB corrections? Some of it is pretty real. And disturbing.

Anyway, that was a month ago. Since then, amazing, wonderful people have given me insightful advice and shared their own tragic stories, and few words express how much I appreciate all the support and friendship you've given me. I'm sure this is just the beginning of a new journey with my adult sons who are so different from one another and who are, in many ways, a lot like me.

Patrick graduates this week, plays for two weeks, then is off to basic training at Fort Eustis, up the road about 20 miles. Nick has a job interview on Monday (!!) and I'm going to spring for some decent slacks and nice shirt so he doesn't turn them off with his surfer shorts and oversize t-shirt. This much I'll do. I'm thankful we don't have drugs to deal with. He has a very supportive friend in Jason, who I consider our "other" son, and who I think helps keep him on the (mostly) straight path.

Work. A week or so ago I finally broke through my funk and am kicking ass and taking names. The national manager position was posted, Friday, for our team (I'm a regional manager). It's been filled on an interim basis for six months by one of the other regional managers. The first week of January the previous nat'l manager unexpectedly terminated. So, I may go for this. I don't have anything against the current guy, and I wasn't, and am still not, disappointed that he was picked to take that role. Six months ago I don't know that I was ready for it. But it's more strategic, less day-to-day ops, and I can actually look forward to doing a Six Sigma Green Belt project. This would finally get me on the six sigma-related process path I REALLY want to be on. I'd miss working with my database and metrics, but at that level I can actually define those things, instead of implement them. The recruiter was on vacation, but I need to find out if they already have someone slotted for the spot (the interim guy, for instance) or if it's really, competitively open. If so, I can nail this. If not, then I have Plan B: keep scouring the postings for something in the Q&P organization, and (Plan C) if there is someone who transitioned over from MBNA, then impress the hell out of the new guy. The other thing about moving into the nat'l manager spot is IF we outsource the move/add/change work I'd help define how that will be implemented. Kind of a lesson's learned from outsourcing some of the other technology outsourcing implementations. I've been engaged in some kind of outsourcer management for eight years so it's not like this is new territory. In the current environment it's a very real possibility. Do more with less and less.

Big long paragraph. Yes, I'm excited.

Let's see, what else...I've lost 15 pounds on purpose so that's been a very nice achievement. It's so nice to notice that some of my mainstay shirts a a little looser around the hips, that my jeans need to be replaced because they are, officially, too big.

I'm obsessed with the geometric patterns created by a group of five shipyard cranes across the Elizabeth River. I noticed them a few weeks ago during a meeting in the river-facing conference room. Beautiful blue sky with cotton-ball clouds, and these five cranes. I figured out one way to shoot them but I'm looking around for alternatives. There's a parking garage on the river and I took some images from the top deck but it wasn't the right angle.

Anyway, here are some images of mine, and some I've run across recently, including THE DaVinci Manure shot across from Rosslyn Chapel.

What I did on my Memorial Day Weekend

Curtains. We sewed more curtains. We're designing with fabric! We (and this really is a Kent & Erin joint venture, not just a "we, a.k.a. Erin") were prompted in our actions by new neighbors.

Thelma lived in the house on the east side of ours, so for five (?) years we've been here and she's been spending 50% of her time at her place in Nags Head. Great gal, that Thelma, older than dirt, a little 5'0" crotchety thing but generous to those who were kind to her, very plain spoken, and drove a big 2002 F150. I'd seen her drive and it was a scary thing. Really incongruous to see her and that truck, though. Anyhow, Thelma passed away a few months ago. That was very sad for all of us on the block because we liked her. The family had an estate sale and I couldn't bear to go over there with all the other vultures and pick through her things for the best second-hand value. I don't have that problem with other estate sales, so it must be because we knew her.

The house sat on the market for six or seven months until Kelly & Al bought it at the beginning of May. They've been renovating like crazy, which frankly has us inspired. More than that, though, is that they stay home! And they use all their rooms! And some of those rooms on their second floor look into the bathrooms on our second floor! Eek! Except for our bedroom because there's even more exposure, none of the windows on the east side of our house has window coverings, and except the kitchen none of the windows on the west side of their house has window coverings either. We're pretty exposed to one another on both first and second floors.

We dug out our drapery plans. I picked up "frosted" window film for the bathrooms and then picked out sample fabrics for the windows in the living room. I'd been down this curtain-construction road before so I feel pretty comfortable nowadays. And, this is Memorial Day Weekend, which means EVERYTHING IS ON SALE, including decorator fabric. Seven one-yard swatches later, we decided on a lovely burgundy with embroidered-gold twining flowers in polyester that looks a lot like Dupioni silk, which I love but can't afford. This is for the living room and looks amazing with the gold-toned walls, especially if we use it unlined with shears behind. We had a 12-yd bolt of a great looking flower pattern on yellow damask that went well in the dining room. Back to the fabric store for drapery lining, a full twelve yards of the burgundy ("merlot"), thread, and weights. We found fabric for the shears, too, a pale gold with similar self-color twining flower pattern. Over to Lowes for rings and rods, then home to measure, cut, and sew. Saturday was all about acquiring the implements of destruction. Sunday I finished the first of four yellow panels for the dining room.

Sunday night was a bonfire/cookout in Chesapeake with the cast of the Durang one-acts that Kent is doing (Kent acting, opens June 9). Getting to this place in Chesapeake from Norfolk is like from Bremerton to Horseshoe Lake using half highway and half back roads. It doesn't look like much on the map but dang it's way out there, just a mile or so from the NC border. Terrific small get together, theatrically typical.

Nick

Nicholas has returned. Oh joy, oh rapture. Sort of. He called at 9:30PM, Saturday, April 29, and said "I want to go back." Okaaaayyyy....So he wants to rejoin the human race, as he said. I went to visit him, took him to dinner, invited him to spend the night. The bottom line was that the mother of the boy he was staying with told him that he couldn't stay there anymore and he had to be out on Monday. No one would give him a job because they didn't want a deserter. He didn't want to go back to the Army, per se, but wanted to be discharged out of the Army the right way. We bundled him off to Fort Knox, where they out-process guys like him, and he returned on May 7th. So now he's looking for a job.

I should be joyous and enthusiastic, but what I feel is drained and wary. Wary because we've gone through this finding a job thing before, exactly this time last year in fact. And it hasn't been fruitful. There doesn't seem to be any sense of urgency. I want him to be DESPARATE to find a job. I want him to be desparate to get his own place. What I see is sleeping in late, playing computer games, making a few phone calls, and nothing of any consequence happening.

He and his friend Jason have a deal where they'll get a place together at the end of June, when Jason's current lease expires. That's his deadline, but for Jason to accept him as a roommate Nick has to have a job. We're losing sleep over this because it's as if we've turned back the clock and we're pre-Army again. I'm not encouraged. So he's been home for two weeks and no job. He's submitted one application, to Dycarp. Jason works there and there is an open position.

Scotland Day 1 of 9, Part One

My numbering makes no sense. The REAL day one in Scotland is the morning we arrive, 8:00 AM local time. Our guide, George, met us at the airport and laughed over the amount of luggage we had, wanted to know if we were moving in. Accent? Oh ya. Heavy accent. They went to the what? the toolit? And who the hell is Mum?

I need to back up. The flight was wonderful. The last time I took a trip with my mother I was about 12 or 13 years old and we (Michael, Mom, me, Carolyn, 1976?) drove the old Mazda to Disneyland and listened to Beatles all the way. That's how I remember it, anyway. This, on the other hand, was Grown-up Travel. And I'd never traveled with my grandmother. I sat between Mom and Grandma on the plane, rubber-necking back and forth, soaking up the face to face time. I don't remember a single thing we talked about, but that isn't important. Important was the nearness and the touch and the smile.

All seven hours of it.

There were two movies, the names of which I don't remember but watched anyway. One was...Diane Keaton, Dermott Mulroney (what a hottie!), ding-dong from Sex and the City, Matthew Broderick's wife. I like her, don't get me wrong, I just don't remember her name. Oh, and that guy from Coach, I like him so much, he does those wonderful "Real Man with Grudging Vulnerability" roles. Mom knows his name. Craig? Ah. Craig T. Nelson. I would never have placed him in a movie with Diane Keaton. Never ever. I'd have called it a total mismatch but it seemed to work. But hell, I was on a plane, it was probably cut to shreds, and they were handing out dinner in the middle of it. Why couldn't they have done that during the other, less interesting movie?

I am my mother's daughter. We talk alike. We laugh alike. We think alike. We like the same style of eyewear, a la Elvis Costello. Or Buddy Holly, depending on your generation. We buy the same types of things even though we don't know the other is doing it. We love movies and British comedy...but then where do you think I got that, hm? We would continue to notice these little things and laugh over them through the entire trip, and I think it was a little disconcerting to Grandma sometimes. 12 years and 3000 miles apart and I grew into the adult I admired most. A lot like her.

Mushy mushy mushy. Mom and Grandma took cat naps; I may have dozed a little but I'm not an airplane sleeper.

Touch down. Pretty clean landing in the middle of a pasture. The Edinburgh airport is surrounded by pasture. Not a little bit of pasture. A lot of pasture. Green rolling hills and evergreens, and white fluffy dots that on closer inspection were sheep. We get off the place last, which makes sense because we'll be the slowest. You'd think we'd be the slowest, but Grandma was up and off! Didn't look back just marched down the aisle, off the place and into the wheelchair. She was three or four people ahead of us before we knew what happened. The took very very good care of us. Rolled us right up through immigration and customs, no waiting, thank you very much, have a nice visit, mum!

Baggage claim was strangely quiet. I looked for "no shouting" signs. Everyone was so...reasonable. Standing quietly waiting for their luggage to appear on the conveyor belt. The baggage was all right side up when it came out. No one crowded. Stepped up, took the bag, pardon me, thanks, and went off. The fellow who was handling the wheelchair for us set the break, got a baggage cart (free, hello) and did a fine job hauling our luggage off the belt and onto the cart. No no, you just stay right there...another fellow joins us and asks fellow number one if he needs a hand, which we do, and now we have two: one fellow for the wheelchair, one fellow for the baggage cart. Then we find George and it's beginning to feel like an entourage. George, Grandma, Mom, Me, Fellow #1, and Fellow #2. We take a quick bio-break, then to the car where the Fellows peel off too fast to leave them a tip. Bye, have a good stay! More about tipping later.

We're flushed and tired and excited and dazed. Right off I tried to get in on the driver's side of the car. I stood there thinking that something is wrong with this picture but I can't put it together. All the other countries in the EU drive on the right-hand side of the road, like the US. But not the UK. Stubborn asses, still on the left side. I suppose there's just too much infrastructure to change it at this late date. I wonder what the history is about driving on the left? Or driving on the right, for that matter.

Drive drive drive Do you want a take-away? We stopped at the BP off the motorway. It's not a highway. It's a motorway. Anything that isn't a motorway is a track. Coffee sounds pretty good. Three Americano's for the three Americanos...drive drive drive oh shit where's my wallet? Somewhere between getting the coffee and returning to the car I leave put my wallet somewhere and now I can't find it. It's not in my big green bag, it's not in the back seat, it's not anywhere nearby. While George finds a place to turn around and head back to the BP, I'm thinking. Ok, first the backup plan. I don't have a backup plan so I make one up: Call Kent and have him wire money into Mom's checking account so she can cover my expenses. This actually would work because I had set up bank transfer approvals so that I could wire money to her to pay for the trip. I'll have to call collect and it'll cost a fortune but it's my own damned fault anyway, and I'll have to walk Kent through the process because I don't think he ever logs in to that particular bank account! Back at the BP. There is one on each side of the motorway, with a pedestrian bridge. The pedestrian bridge is disgusting and stinky and dark but George and I cross it and look for the red wallet. It's more of a small-ish red purse, about 6x9 with a yellowish/orange interior. Bagallini. It has a detachable strap which was, at the time, detached.

George and I look everywhere in the BP minimart, around the gas (fuel) pumps, near where we parked. George talks to one of the officers who hang around for safety. We walk back across the stinky, disgusting, dark dank pedestrian bridge back to the car. I'm horribly upset. I have a backup plan, but I'm still devastated. George is beyond devastated, I think. He's a sensitive guy. I open the car door. Oh shit.

I imagine that there's this little applet running in the background, in my brain. When I set something down, this applet runs the "set down-pick up" routine. The routine has a natural break in the middle where it is waiting for the cue to "pick up." Sometimes the cue is conscious, I look over, reach out my hand, pick up the object, the routine finishes, and I consciously know exactly where my pocket book is. Sometimes, the cue is not conscious; something trips the applet so that "pick up" runs anyway, and correctly I might add, the hand reaches out, picks up the object, tucks it under the arm or wherever, although I'm not paying attention at all. Not for a millisecond.

Under the front passenger seat is the corner of my red wallet. To say that we were relieved is an understatement of significant proportion. It takes us a good fifteen or twenty minutes wring ourselves out from our first trauma. The "set down-pick up" applet ran exactly as designed.

I don't think I'm overplaying this too much, really. Back me up, Mom. There was only one other trauma during the trip. Stay tuned.

Next episode: Luss, Loch Lomond, Dunoon, and The Dhailing Lodge, Day 1 Continued.

Lesson #2: They don't have "to-go." Rather, they have "take away."
Lesson #3: If you don't understand, tell them to speak slower.
Lesson #4: Know where your purse/wallet/handbag is at all times. Keep it attached to your body. Not because someone might steal it, but because YOU might set it down and forget it in all the hubbub of getting Mum situated with her coffee and out the door with her walker.

Black Pansy

Scotland Day 0 of 9

All was well until I got to the gate at the Norfolk airport. There was no place. It was late arriving FROM Newark to take we who were waiting TO Newark. Which wouldn't have been a problem except that the late departure ate up all the wiggle room I had between flights. I really thought I was going to miss my flight out. I set up a contingency plan with the folks at the gate so that I could take the next flight out if I missed this one. In fact, I had been removed from the original flight because, based solely on schedule, my Newark flight arrived after the Edinburgh flight departed.

But wait! The Edinburgh flight was also delayed by about thirty minutes. I got to the gate just in time to begin boarding. Mom was sweating bullets. She'd called Kent, who knew he couldn't call me because I did not take my phone with me, but he did tell her that the flight was very late leaving Norfolk. Not much a person can do except hope that it all works out. Which it really did. We all got on the plane together, Grandma and her walker, Mom hanging on to hers and Grandma's carry-ons, and me with my roller bag and shoulder bag. We had lots of STUFF. The flight over was pretty uneventful, but those first few hours before we left the ground in Newark were nuts.

Lesson #1: Avoid Newark/Liberty Airport at all costs.

That Scotland Trip!!!

It was soooooo fun! My pictures are here. In case the link doesn't work, copy/paste the following into your address bar: www.wildiris.org/galleryhome.html. I converted them all to jpg and just loaded them up. Like I've been telling everyone, I have a disclaimer: I haven't sharpened, color corrected, tweaked, replaced clouds or sky, removed people, added objects, or otherwise messed with these images at all yet. I'm still cataloging. I tried not to include duplicates but I'm sure I missed a few. I sent Mom three CD's full, and I'm processing photos for Grandma but it's taking longer than I'd hoped. This weekend maybe I can finish that.