Little Bit Sparkly

Sometimes at work we order lunch from The House of Ing, the Chinese restaurant across the street.  The other day my bosses daughter went to pick up our order, and the little Chinese lady who runs the place was admiring Erin's diamond engagement ring.  "Pretty nice," she admitted, flashing quite a bit of bling herself.  "Little bit sparkly..." We all laughed because Erin's ring is more than just a little bit sparkly.  It's quite a stunner actually.  And I'm a pretty good judge of sparkly.

I like jewelry - in fact, one of my most cherished possessions is a tiny birthstone ring my uncle bought for me on my 6th birthday.  I have it still, although the band is bent and scratched from playing outside and riding bikes while wearing it.  I especially love jewelry that's meaningful, which is why right now I'm wearing my mother in law and my aunt's wedding bands on my right hand,  my grandmother's engagement ring atop the eternity band Jim gave me when Brian was born, and a pendant necklance made from my mother's engagment ring.  All these pieces connect me to women who were important in my life, and wearing them reminds me all day long of their love and their lives.

But sometimes, jewelry is just fun.  And that's what these little sparklers are.  I got them from LuShae, an Austrailian based jewelry design company.  They have some wonderful pieces, unique designs and beautifully made.  Not just earrings, but pendants and rings as well. 

Check them out and get yourself something that sparkles - a little bit, or a lot.

Back to the Grind

Two days have whizzed by since we returned from Florida.  The trip home was itself a small slice of hell.  Our plane was four hours late leaving the airport, meaning we didn't arrive home until 2:00 a.m.  To add insult to injury, we had to dig the Charger out from under eight inches of snow that had fallen in our absence.   Jim's peronalized license plate on the car was the only thing visible, and it's message (In Chrg) was an ironic reminder of how little we really are- in charge, that is. Not of the weather, certainly, for it has continued it's snowy, blustery, murkiness ever since we got home.  The snow was swirling like a dervish this morning and there were cars spun out all over the road as I made my way to the office.

Not of our jobs, either, for mine has continued on it's perilous spin out of control.  Work, work, work...and never get caught up.  A control freak's nightmare.

But enough of all that.  It's Friday night, I'm home safe and sound with lots of recorded stuff on the TiVo.  Who watchs Big Love out there?  Did you see last Sunday's episode?  I was riveted to my chair - what will happen to those Henrickson's next, I ask you? 

I had two books waiting for me in the mail delivery - copies for review later on this month over at Bookstack.  As well as a shipment of my favorite coffee, to keep me warm and caffienated while I read.

Small and simple pleasures, but all part of the daily grind of which I am at least a little bit in charge.

Write On Wednesday - Hard Labor

I haven't been loving my work lately, so it has indeed been hard labor.  Of course I know that's all relative, and my Puritan genes have been pinching me in displeasure for even begrudging one moment of having a relatively good paying job in this economy.

But.

I'm as human as the next girl, and I would really like to find my work at least moderately rewarding.  For the past several months, it's been just a big pain in the you know where.  And I mean that quite literally too, because for most of my day I'm stuck in a chair staring at a computer screen and clicking my way through infinite varieties of electronic files and folders.

Part of my dissatisfaction stems from changes that were thrust on me willy nilly without any warning.  I was upset enough at the time to raise a mini ruckus about the whole thing.  Alas, my foot stomping was mostly in vain, because my boss (like the benevolent dictator she is) listened politely and then effectively said, "Well, that's all very nice dear, but we're doing it my way anyway."

Right.

On our way out to dinner last night, we found ourselves quoting lines from an old movie that's quite a favorite in our family.  Office Space is one of those satirical, sort of frat-house takes on life as an office worker.  Anyone who's ever spent their days ensconced in a cubicle can't help but laugh out loud at the incessant memos about the cover sheets on TPS reports, Melvin's mission to hang on to his Swingline stapler, and (the classic) line from Lumberg, the boss, who ends all his edicts with the phrase, "That would be greaaaat."   When we got home, we popped the DVD in the player and relived a few of our favorite moments.  At least it's comforting to know I"m not alone.

Working in American has taken a whole new twist, hasn't it?  Used to be we thought we could have it all - a good paying job,  security for the future, even something called personal fulfillment.    But the rules have all changed, and sometimes it's hard to play along without feeling as if you're being taken advantage of.   I was raised to work hard and be honest, to fulfill my responsibilities, to make personal sacrifices if necessary in order to get the job done.  My dad owned  a small business for almost 30 years, and I watched him working nights and weekends, rarely taking vacations, doing whatever it took to make sure his customers were satisfied.

So while I've been here in Florida enjoying some sunshine and celebrating my son's birthday, I've also been working, doing my equivalent of putting cover sheets on TPS reports.  My husband looks askance at me, as he takes his lemonade out to the lanai and I sit here typing furiously away.  Right now, he's feeling (understandably) less than loyal to the idea of working all out for the good of the company.  "It gets you nowhere," he says somewhat bitterly.  "I'm here to tell you, nobody appreciates it in the end." 

One of the hardest things about labor for me is finding the right balance.  I know I tend to go overboard with my work - whether it's music or writing or stupid "TPS" reports, I toil away past the point where others would throw in the towel and take some time for themselves.  Maybe I do work too hard for my own good, and so the feelings of oppression I end up feeling are largely of my own making.  Keeping a balance between work, family, and personal time to do the things I love - that's the key to staying sane in the modern world.

It's hard work, but I'm trying to make that happen in my life.

How about you?  What's your work life like these days?  Has it changed in the current economy? 

Hard Labor

This is the week of my son's birthday, and there have been a rash of new births among my friends and their children.  So my mind turns to thoughts of labor and delivery, but also to labor in general.  What's the hardest work experience you've ever had?  What role does hard work play in your family history?  What's particularly hard about your work right now?  If you've given birth, what was that experience like for you? 

Write about

Hard Labor

Love-liest of Days

The penultimate thing I love about February is today -my son's birthday.  It's nearly impossible to imagine that 30 years have gone by since the morning I awoke a naive 23 -year old and went to bed 14 hours later a mother. Wow.

Becoming a mother isn't just about giving birth or changing diapers or toilet training or packing lunches or helping with homework or tying neckties or furnishing the dorm room or making the list for wedding invitations.  It's about loving someone more than you've ever loved anything on earth, about being willing to throw down the gauntlet before anyone or anything who might hurt them, about putting aside all your own fears and misgivings to support their hopes and dreams.  It's about turning your life upside down every single day if you have to for the rest of your life.

But it's also about feeling the deepest love and the most wonderful pride, it's about laughing the hardest you've ever laughed, and crying the most you've ever cried.  It's about a heart that bursts with joy one minute and pain the next.  It's about life in all its miraculous glory and deepest despair.

In short - it's amazing.

I was a young and stupid mother, wasn't prepared in any way, shape, or form to take on the responsibility of a child.  I was nothing like most young women today, who plan their pregnancy and childbirth to the hilt, who research all the latest gadgets and gizmo's, who arrange playdates and choose pre-schools before the ink on the birth certificate is even dry.  I didn't "register" for baby gifts, didn't interview my obstetrician, didn't choose environmentally friendly or safe substances for the nursery linens. 

My son was the first infant I'd ever held in my arms. 

But in spite of my ignorance, he grew- physically and mentally.  He was strong and healthy and smart and amazingly beautiful, with clear blue eyes and a stunning ability to think and create and imagine.

Thirty years later, he's all that and more.

Amazing.

So I count today as the love-li-est of all February days.  I wish I had been better prepared, had been smarter, stronger. I still wish for wisdom I don't always have to give.  But I'm more thankful than I can say for the end result, and for all the days in between.

Happy Birthday to my love-ly boy.