Trifle with Fortunes

On M’s birthday In November, I got a recipe from the lovely yogini, and then gathered with another lovely yogini, whom I sometimes call Cake Boss, and we made what is quite possibly the yummiest cake ever. It weighed 11 pounds, and each of those pounds contained chocolate, sugar, cream, and other richness worthy of a 21st birthday.

So when a fund raising dessert event came along recently, I thought I should make that very cake.   I didn’t have Cake Boss to help, and probably due to this, the cake, all three layers of it, got stuck to all three pans.  With the first layer, I thought, meh, it doesn’t really matter -- I can fill in the gaps with frosting.  So I frosted it with rich chocolate creamy buttery goo and used raspberries to fill in the deeper canyons.  

When I got to the second layer, also stuck to the pan, I again solved it with frosting and berries.  By the third layer, this was just the way I did business.  I was accustomed to solving problems in this manner. In fact, I was feeling cocky, like, bring it on, world.  There isn’t a problem that can’t be solved right here, right now, with frosting and rasperries.  I squished the crumbs out of the bottom of the pan and pressed them onto the place where I had hoped the cake would be, and began to frost this loosely smushed together collection of crumbs.  I wanted it to look festive.  Not to stray from the topic, but this reminds just the tiniest bit of my life. I won’t go into that here, though. 

Note how I've carefully used parchment paper around the base
of the cake to keep the plate free of crumbs.   

Anyway, you know how it goes when you do that smoosh thing on unconsolidated cake bits.  I’m not a real physicist, but there’s something about the way most objects are strongly attracted to the butter and cream in frosting that makes this procedure fail.  The crumbs follow the frosting everywhere, leaving air in the space where there was formerly cake.  For some reason, this triggered a major laughing fit where I couldn’t breathe.  That’s pretty rare for me, the laugh-until-you-can’t-breathe-when-home-alone thing.  (I say that just so you know.  I’m not like that.  I’m not that person you see outside the bus window, standing alone on the corner, laughing.)  I was laughing because I had a flashback to another time when I used the same unsuccessful strategy.

My kids were little, young enough so that R. still took naps.  M. and I decided to make Christmas cookies for our new neighbors during his nap one day.  The nap is only mentioned because it helps you understand the urgent conditions we were working under.  At any moment, a cry from R. would mean we'd be done cooking.  I still had hope for friendship and shared bowls of soup with these neighbors, because it was before they cut down the tree that I planted on the day we moved into this house, and before they got that half cat/half cougar pet that strikes fear in all of us, and causes the UPS man to deliver their packages to my house because he’s too chicken to get out of the truck. Yes, it was before all that.

I wanted to have a really special plate of treats, the kind that marks the beginning of a long neighborly thing.  We made brownies, and then tried to create the round buttery white balls that you only see at Christmas time.  We mixed the ingredients, rolled them into eyeball-sized globes, and put them in the oven to bake, and they did what any scientist could have predicted.  Butter melts at high temperatures, so they flattened onto the pan, and devolved into a thin crispy mid-western landscape of butter, nuts, and sugar.

Some people would have tossed them, but M. and I decided, hey, it still contains all the proper ingredients.  Is it a problem if we form them into the balls again after they’ve been cooked?  No, of course not.   So we scrunched the melted, semi-burned buttery mash into sweet orbs of goodness, rolled them in powdered sugar, made our cheerful little plate, and delivered them next door.  It wasn’t until later that evening that I thought back on it and realized that it was the wrong thing to do.  The cookies didn’t look at all like something shouldn’t be given as a gift to a near stranger.  M. and I seemed to realize it at the same time, which is a little pathetic because she was about four and I was about 34, and I'm guessing that the epiphany should have come to me way before it came to her, which was part of the reason for my own hysterical laughter.  At any rate, it became one of those things where just the mention of it could make us laugh uncontrollably.  A week or so later, I got a note from the neighbor saying, “The brownies were delicious,” confirming my concerns.  And then the rest happened – the tree, the angry cat, etc.,  So maybe I started it.

But back to this cake.  I hunted down Cake Boss, because I know where she can be found on Saturday mornings.  “Trifle,” she said. And she’s the Cake Boss, so that's what I did.  I chopped the cake into chunks, layered it with whipped cream and more frosting, dressed it up with raspberries, and our lowly little cake fetched a goodly sum.  Cake Boss is like that.  She sees the potential goodness in everything, and teaches me that it's all about reframing things, or in this case, refrosting them.  

I like to claim that the cake fetched $195, but really, it was on a team of cakes that earned about $1,200.  If you’re not a very accomplished baker, it’s good to do the cake auction as a team sport, and try to get on a team with delicious chocolate mousse and lemon meringue pie and other yummy things.

"This delicious trifle is for people who either are joyful, or wish they were.  It’s a cake about making the best of the large and small disasters that come into your life, and not just making them into lesser disasters, but into something magnificent.  This is the cake that represents how life is really much better after the problem than you ever knew it could be beforehand.  It’s full of fine quality chocolate from a far away land, and butter, and raspberries, and cream.  Not only that, but this cake comes with a story, and 10 table fortunes, one for each of your dining companions.  So if you ever were a child, have an inner child, or have heard the word child, you should probably contribute generously to claim this cake.  Although the name says trifle, think not about sad English sponge cake soaked in sherry, but rather, about a highly-evolved, multi-stage culinary event.  Something you wouldn’t, or let’s say, couldn’t even begin to duplicate at home."

Boobs and broccoli

Yesterday, I listened to rantings from protesters outside of the Supreme Court building on the radio, and they sounded crazy.  “If we let Obama make us buy health insurance, where’s it going to end?  Next thing you know, he’ll make everyone buy a Chevy Volt.”  

 “Heh, crazy talk from the whacko fringe,” I thought. 

Today, I heard a similar thing on NPR, but sadly, it was Antonin Scalia making the argument. (Substitute broccoli for Chevy Volt, and it’s the same frothing, three-cornered hat, 'don't tread on me' stuff.)  Yes, that Scalia, the one who sits on the highest court in the land.  Not that I’ve ever been a fan of his, but still…  (I just spent a while on the internet trying to learn the name of that gesture that he used on the press, the one with curled fingers under the chin that suddenly become unfurled.  Since the gesture had no name, I decided not to write about it, but that’s the classy justice we’re dealing with.)  

I like it better when the lawyers dress the ridiculousness up in intelligent-sounding, confusing arguments, like “jurisprudence blah blah blah the courts recognize blah blah blah doctrine blah blah blah judicial extension of doctrine blah blah blah based on so and so v. so and so. It would be easier to stomach,  because our attention wanders with the mention of the word, “jurisprudence.” Broccoli, on the other hand, we understand.  We pay attention when Nina Totenberg’s report involves a common vegetable.

Because here's the deal: if you need broccoli and you don’t have it, you either go buy some, or do without.  Either way, it won’t lead to financial ruin for you, and it won’t create a strain on the other broccoli eaters.  People don’t show up in the emergency room because that was the only way they could obtain broccoli.

Health care, on the other hand, isn’t like that.  You get a terrible disease while uninsured, and ome combination of four things happen:  you receive sub-standard care, you suffer financial ruin, care providers lose money, and cost goes up for insured.  Why does trying to fix this problem promote such a vitriolic response?  

Not to mention preventative care.  Today, I went to the mammogram trailer, which by the way, was parked in front of a movie theater in Redmond.  The kindly woman flattened my boobs into a vast, single-cell-thick pancake through an excruciating maneuver that involves large pieces of Plexiglas, a vice, and a “gown” (nothing you’d wear to a ball).  Anyway, this procedure isn’t something one could access in the emergency room. “Emergency! I haven’t had a mammogram in 2 years!” 

Anyway, I’m not going to go into a long rant about the whole health care thing, because you guys already know all of that, but really, comparing the requirement to carry health insurance to buying broccoli?   It seems awkward.  

In which Joey drives a car

A few weird things that have happened this week:

I saw Joey driving while I was walking.  He seemed excited about the change-up, and waved gladly at me.  I, on the other hand wasn't as thrilled.  I got a whiff of how it might go down after my job ends.  I envisioned myself hitchhiking to town for a drink or 17 first thing in the morning, and Joey giving me a ride.  That, and Joey driving at all is a scary thought.

Speaking of drinking in the morning, here's the second thing:  I took R. out to breakfast at the Buzz Inn, where we seemed to be the only people drinking coffee.  Everyone else had beer or other tawny liquids adorned with swizzle sticks.  At about 9 am on a weekday.  R. and I watched Nascar on t.v., because it was there.   I guess  any behavior can seem normal if you surround yourself with people doing that same thing.  I'm alternately alarmed and comforted by this.

With any luck, I'll complete a cake and a story today, and maybe share that.

Spring-o-scopes

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Okay, every time I see a picture of Anne Romney, I think yeesh, she looks like the mean back-stabber on an overly-dramatic soap opera.  Then I saw this picture of her in 1964, and all I can say, Aries, is what happened?  I wish I had the stomach to really study photos of her over time and overlay them on a timeline of her life, because yikes.  there must have been a particular food consumed or something.  Luckily, Aries, you remain young and lovely, so don't worry your pretty head about the fact that this isn't a real horoscope.  Just don't let a genuine smile turn into something horrible.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): In the freaky news department, Nokia has patented a tattoo that acts as a receiver for text messages.  Okay, not that I'm cheap, but how many different cell phones have you had in the past few years?  Wait, I know, you're thinking, huh?  Nokia wants to turn me into a cyborg, and she's worried about replacing the tattoo?  Anyway, Taurus, nothing lasts forever, and thankfully, that holds for this week, which is long.  The first day will seem like three days, and then the second day will seem like one long day. . . I think my favorite quote from The Jerk is this:

I know we've only known each other four weeks and three days, but to me it seems like nine weeks and five days. The first day seemed like a week and the second day seemed like five days. And the third day seemed like a week again and the fourth day seemed like eight days. And the fifth day you went to see your mother and that seemed just like a day, and then you came back and later on the sixth day, in the evening, when we saw each other, that started seeming like two days, so in the evening it seemed like two days spilling over into the next day and that started seeming like four days, so at the end of the sixth day on into the seventh day, it seemed like a total of five days. 

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Does it feel like everything is happening at once?  Or at least, two things are happening at the very same time, and there's one thing you think you should do, and one thing you want to do, and the one you want to do should make you feel so much better that it might be worth feeling bad about not doing the one you should do, but then again, it's hard to say?  This can be expressed in an equation:

W - G > S + B

where W = what you want to do
          G = guilt
          S = what you should do
          B = Bonus points,  (usually equal to zero, except to the person who accrues them.)

Yay!!


Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Last week I got a beautiful envelope in the mail, and inside it was a beautiful poem, and it all came from Madame Librarian, and pretty much made all of last week, and on into part of this week.  It makes me wish I were the sort who would send lovely poems in hand-decorated envelopes to my friends and relations, but alas.  This is as close as it comes.


Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I've been trying a little harder to open my heart center to Pinterest, because I know some of you lovely people are fans so I don't want to get all Arizona about it.  I asked N. the other day, "Hey, what do you think of Pinterest?"

"Is that on the Internet," was his predictable reply.

So I started explaining from scratch -- actually, before scratch.  "So, N., you could have a Pinterest page, and tag a fishing pole that you like."  (N. is a lot happier if fishing is in the conversation.)  "Then, other people who like that same fishing pole might also tag it, and I guess you'd see that they liked that pole too.  Maybe you'd make new fishing buddies."

"Or maybe I'd just make some new 'like the same fishing pole as me' random people on the internet."

This is possible, yes.  But is there a downside to that, Leo?

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):   One time I tried opening my heart center to Gogol Bordello, and for a while it worked.  I was completely joyful listening to gypsy punk.  Then I started to feel like it was too much punk and not enough gypsy.  Virgo, rejoice.  Your week will be so full of gypsy that it will feel begin like you're sleeping in a tent and reading palms for a living.  Enjoy it while it lasts.  


Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Oh Libra.  That was some yummy looking food you made. This week, amidst all the swirling, be thankful you aren't Mitt Romney's dog, Beau, who was lashed to the top of the station wagon for that 12-hour drive.  Or that monkey who went to space.  (Does it seem like I know way too much about the Romneys?  Please forgive me.)


Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  My dear Scorpio, it's been a long, dark winter, and you should get out of here  and go to Hawaii.  I'm serious.  Send me a post card! Or at least a text message.


Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Rick Santorum is praying for Dan Savage.  Dan Savage says, "Rick can pray for me. I'll gay for him. And we can call it even."  Sag, your week will be a little like that.  A little pray, a little gay.  Don't get bogged down in the details. Focus on the happy bits, gather them like confetti, and toss them back out there for someone who needs them.


Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Today, I went to talk to my boss about who is going to take over a particular thing I'm working on, and somehow the word "posthumously" came up.  But it came out of my mouth in a way that was wrong, like post-humously, with a long "o".  Neither of us could really remember if it was a word, or what it was about.  He got all squinty, and said something like, "Now, is that the stuff you put on pita bread, or in the garden?"  Which was kind of funny because he had the wrong mix-up.  The actual mixup was about how it should have been "pahsthymously" but he was reverting back to that old standard, the hummous/humus confusion, which is what we do in the government, refocus on the mixup we know.  Oh, I just remembered what it was we were talking about.  Capricorn, this will happen to you all week long.  Remembering way too late to be interesting.  Just go with it. 


Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Yeah, what it was that I remembered was why we were talking about post-humously.  Yes, we got on a little tangent about the mormon religion and the posthumous baptism of Anne Frank and Elvis, because it turns out that some big information will be revealed at work today.  Big.  Like the oracles!  I know!  I probably won't be able to write about it, but new religions will potentially be formed.  Anyway, back to the story.  Did other mothers pack up their children and a bucket of chicken to go to the Hill Cumorah pageant?  Is it wrong to go watch another person's religious ceremony as theater?  It was before the days of real special effects, so the thunder was pretty amazing and always woke me up, which reminds me of your week, Aquarius.  Your week will first put you to sleep, and then wake you directly up.  


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I've been writing suck-up-y e-mails lately, writing to people saying things like, "Hi!  You don't know me, but I have briefly met someone that you supervise three steps down the ladder, and seriously, you would totally like me!  You have a pancreas, and so do I.  You have molars in your mouth, and I find them in my sink.  So much in common, you and I.  You probably should hire me, because I think of myself as the sort of person who, plunked down into a work place, any workplace, would find something useful to do.  If someone needs a shot administered (or consumed!), sure, I could figure it out.  A report written or read?  Bring it on!  Need me to stand there wearing a 4G apparatus?  I'm on it.  I know!  You really shouldn't let this opportunity pass.  Let's do lunch, shall we?!!"


Pisces, it's all making me feel tired and a little shrill, so you really don't get too much of a horoscope.  I'm sorry.  

Does this 4G device look okay with my chicken costume?

Okay, it doesn't look like the bottle cap thing is going to work out, so I'm considering being a wireless hotspot.  I believe I have the requisite skill set.  If possible, I could combine that with wearing the chicken suit and dancing in front of a KFC, although I guess KFC isn't really the hot spot demographic.

Still thinking. . .

The first response

Hey Betsy,

Thanks for your feedback about our sayings and pictures on our bottle caps.  We currently have 40+ different caps out there – and are looking into some new sayings, so we’ll be sure to take yours into consideration.  As for the trash can, I’ve never thought of that until now, and it’s a pretty funny take on the Washington silhouette.  Keep ejoying the ESB!

Cheers, 

Marketing Communications Manager 


I guess I need to keep looking. . . 

First job effort

Dear Redhook,

I’ve been meaning to contact you about your bottle cap messages.  Thanks for doing that.  I know, the word, “but” doesn’t belong in a thank you or an apology, so without diminishing that genuine appreciation, could you make them a little more interesting?  

If you open an Inversion IPA, it says, “Bravely done.”  Now that’s a good message! The first time I got it, I was all, “Wow, I know!  That was brave, wasn’t it?” But then, I became disillusioned, getting the same message every single time. The bottle cap seemed to think that everyone else in the room was brave too.  It started to feel like the cap didn’t think I was special.  Redhook, it seemed disingenuous.  And no one wants to be sucked up to by a freakin’ bottle cap.

You guys, on the other hand, offer variety in your bottle cap messages, which is good.  But as a reader, and I say that because I’m a person who read other things besides your bottle caps – like tea bags, speed limit signs, and the New York Times, for example.  Oh, and this really long book called The Meaning of Night. Seriously, it is one long book. (This is the part of the letter, in case it’s escaped your notice, where I establish my credentials.) Anyway, I feel compelled to let you know that it’s very disappointing to just get that forecaster guy.  Or, for that matter, any silhouette.  We want words, Redhook.

I was at a party recently, opened an ESB, and got the silhouette of Washington State.  Here’s the thing: a few of us thought it was a trash can.  I know.  I’m not proud of that.  Other people knew instinctively that it was a state, but they just weren’t sure which one.  After way too long, we identified it as the state we all live in.  Make fun of us all you like, but hey, we’re your customers.  Write for your audience, they always say.

Which brings me to my point.  I think you may want to hire me to write bottle cap sayings. Here’s a free one, just so you can get as excited as I am about this project: 

"Let the magic begin"

Even if you don’t want to hire me in this capacity, please just put that on some ESB’s.  It would truly make the world a better place.  

Sincerely,

Betsy

Texts From R.

R:  How would you feel about me getting a different car?

Me:  I can't contribute money to that, if that's what you're asking.

R:  No, that's not a problem.  I'm just thinking of getting rid of the Hyundai for something with a bit more pizazz.

Me:  Oh R.  Don't be that guy.

R:  The guy who goes after what he wants? 

Me: The guy who wants shallow material stuff.

R:  It's not about looks, I just want something that might have a chance at passing another car.

Me:  What's wrong with being the back-line leader?

R:  It was fun for the first two years, but I feel like I have front of the line potential.

Me:  There's always a car ahead of you. 

R:  And I intend to catch up with it. 

Who's got the bacon?

Besides the recycling bins, the other thing on my mind is Other Ways to Make Money.

Alas, I still need to bring home actual bacon for R., who would eat that stuff every day if he could.  

I started with the “do what you love and the money will follow” theory, so I made a list of what I love:

Chocolate cake.  Especially if it has many layers and one of them contains raspberry sauce.  Its hard to see where the money is here, but I guess I could start eating it more often and just see what happens.

Stories.  I love stories as much as I love my opposable thumb, particularly if they’re true, and even more so if I’m lying in bed and someone is telling the story to me, which is why I’m so grateful for all the excellent podcasts these days.  Again, it’s a little hard to see who would pay me for that though.    I think if there was money to be made here, I'd already be rich.  But if you see this ad, please contact me:

WANTED:  SOMEONE WHO WILL LAY AROUND AND LISTEN TO INTERESTING STORIES.  MUST PROVIDE OWN PILLOW AND BLANKET.

My list is much longer, but it seems like “do what you love and the money will follow” only works if what you love is investment banking, surgery, or inventing the iPod, so I decided I should generate a list of possible jobs that I wouldn't have to love, but maybe the job and I would like each other well enough to keep it going.  Here it is:

1. Dog walker.  This would be a chance to get outside, get exercise, and so on.  I do like dogs, but I’m not very excited about carrying the plastic bag and all that's involved there.  And, I’m afraid that the kind of dog who has to hire someone like me might not be in the best spirits.  I’m also not sure if dogs pay very well, and they would definitely want to keep the bacon for themselves.
2. Tarot card reader.  This seems hard because of all the cards.  But, all the job hunting gurus talk about "transferrable skills".  For example, maybe you've never cooked before, but you've been involved in the restaurant industry, and by that, you mean you eat lunch out every day because you're too lazy to make a sandwich.  I think I’ve built up skills in the astrology arena that could be used in developing a Tarot card reading resume.  I think those people are anti-bacon, though.
3. Dancing outside of a business dressed as a chicken or a cow.  I’d get to listen to my iPod all day and dance, so this might be worth looking into.  I may need help making a chicken costume though, if you aren't busy.  
4. Write sayings for bottle caps. The words on the inside of the bottle cap are so often disappointing that I believe there’s a need for this.  I almost gave up on the idea, because when it comes down to it, what would I write?  But I hang out with some very smart funny people, and decided I could just listen and steal little phrases.  So I went to a party the other night, and I wasn’t there for long before Dr. D. said, “And the magic takes over.”  Score.  Imagine if you got that message when you opened a beer!  So I found a napkin and a pencil and wrote it down.  (Sadly, no one seemed to think it was odd that I was taking notes on the napkin at the party.  I know.)  Someone else said something good, too, and I wrote it down on the napkin.  And then someone, and it could have been me, spilled beer on the table, and I used that very napkin to wipe it up, which was pretty sad.  All their ideas, soggy.  But everyone was kind enough to come up with a few more, which, if you promise not to steal these (again), I’ll share here:

"Huh?”

"That’s a little business in the front for me"

"She was clapping on the one and the three like white people do."

"Some like it luke warm"

And, my personal favorite:  "He was kind of aggressive and my parents didn’t like him, so we ate him."

Anyway, this is me networking.  Tomorrow, with any luck, we'll all learn one way or another if we have jobs.

The bins

Work is strange these days because we’re playing that musical chairs game where managements says, “the music is going, sing along everyone, but just to let you know, at some point, it will stop and we’re going to remove somewhere between 5 and 22 chairs.  Enjoy!  It could be today, or it could be another day, but soon.  Anyway, get back to work everyone!”

That really brings the best out in everyone, as you might imagine.  People spend a lot of time eying the remaining chairs and making a subtle case for how their butt is deserving of at least one of them.

We know this game so well, because we’ve been downsizing for years – from 400 people a few years ago, to 100 now, and each time, we go through the same exercise, which involves endless speculation and scenario-building. Due to the union contract, layoffs are entirely based on seniority, but there are complicated rules, like Calvin Ball, so it’s never clear-cut.  Everyone has gone through this scenario so many times that sadly, we pretty much have everyone’s adjusted union membership date memorized.  We speculate on who might or should retire. Twenty seven percent of our office consists of people over age 60 now, and after this next round, it seems like they may need special accommodations for walkers and pill storage.

Rumors circulated that the music would stop Wednesday, and we did observe the now familiar pre-layoff behavior, which involves all the Big Guys going into each other’s offices and closing doors and not making eye contact with anyone, but nothing happened, so we were hoping it would happen on Thursday. At the end of the day, we learned that they’ve sent the names for “pre-approval” downtown, which sounds good, right?   Like, “based on your outstanding record, you’re preapproved!”

It’s hard to explain the whole workplace without delving into way too much minutiae, but just picture a cross between The Emperor’s New Clothes, Alice in Wonderland, and The Hunger Games.  Sort of a sketchy post-apocalyptic, drug-induced fantasy without the drugs, if that clarifies it.  I know, that’s a little hard to wrap your brain around, so let me just give you an example. 

Anyone who’s worked in a bureaucracy before knows that there’s some level of dysfunction built into the system, and you find little ways around that.  The thing here is, we’ve stopped working around it.  


As an example, we have a copy room that has two large recycling bins in it. That’s convenient, right? Recycling in the location where some paper is generated?  But last August, the recycling bins were observed to be upside down, making them impossible to use.  Someone, probably trying to be helpful, righted them.  In a household, this would be the equivalent of replacing the toilet paper – something you see needs to be done, and just do it without being asked.  But this act was followed by a global e-mail explaining that we aren’t to do that without proper authorization, and it won’t be authorized, because the recycling contractor finds it inconvenient to empty the bins from the copy room.  Of course, I do recognize that as public servants, we’re here for the convenience of the recycling contractor, the contractor who emptied these bins from this location for the previous 10 years.

But something changed, and now we’re allowed to have one barrel right side up, and one remains upside down.  I guess they’re willing to be mildly inconvenienced to do the recycling.  Let’s remember that this is a bureaucracy that requires everything to be submitted in triplicate.  Our barrel fills quickly.

For a few days, people were curious about that, but now, it’s just how it is.  Huh, we have two bins, one over-turned, don’t wonder about that.  

There are so many weird things that we really don’t have the strength to get worked up about most of them, but here’s another example.  A few weeks ago, they sent e-mail out saying that we’re down 22% in permit volume from last year, so they’ll need to lay off accordingly.  Staff, though, looked at the permit history, which is a public record, and noticed that we’re actually up in numbers from last year.  Here’s how that went down:

Staff:  Hmm, why did the e-mail say that we’re down in permit volume when the numbers are actually up from last year?

Mgt:  Ohhhh.  Where did you get that, that we’re down in permit volume?

Staff:  From the e-mail that management sent out. 

Mgt:  OH.  So you thought that when they said we’re down 22% in volume that we actually had fewer permits.  OHHH. 

Staff:  Uh-huh.

Mgt.:  OH.  No, that’s not it at all.  We’re just actually down 22% in complexity of review required.  So even though permits are up, complexity is down.

Staff:  Really?  How would you know that?  No one has really asked us about how complex anything is.

Mgt:  Well, we have a formula to figure it out.

Staff:  Wow.  Can we see the formula?

Mgt:  Well, actually, it’s embedded in an Excel spreadsheet.

(At this point, N. turns to me:  “Do they call that a logarithm or an algorithm?”

Me:  Shush, N.  )

Staff:  So, could we see the formula?

Mgt:  Yeah, see, it’s embedded in this excel spreadsheet.  We don’t have enough paper in the building to print it out.

So anyway, you can kind of see how things are going down.  There was another little document available to the public, a financial summary showing that on January 1 we had $11 mil in the bank, and have make $100K since then, and permit volumes are on track.  N. had the same conversation with a different guy about that:

N:  So, it looks like we’re doing okay, based on this.

Mgt:  OH.  So you thought when it said we are making money and permits are on track that we’re doing okay.  Well, actually, that doesn’t take into account a lot of factors.  We’re actually losing money.

N:  So when it says we started with $11 million and now we have $11.1 million, we’re losing money? I’m confused.

Mgt:  Yeah, see there are a lot of factors that aren’t shown there.  Like our move.

N:  You mean the move that’s being funded by adding 5% to the cost of all permits?

Mgt:  well, actually, it’s going to be very expensive to move.

N:  Wait, but I thought we were moving in order to save money.

Mgt:  Well, we are. We will save a lot of money, but it’s going to cost a lot of money.  We’re going to need to take out a loan.

N:  So, do I have this right?  We’re moving in order to save money, but it’s going to cost so much that we have to take out a loan? 

Mgt:  Yeah, see, there’s a formula we’re working with. . . 

One of the questions that no one has asked, though, is why are we keeping these bins anyway?  They’re big and ugly and take up space, and we aren’t allowed to use them.  Like, wait, we finished the last olive.  Why is the jar of brine still in the refrigerator?  Are we saving that for something?  That’s the kind of thing I can think about.  No logarithms or algorithms, just  a tiny concrete little problem.  So I went around today and asked people what they thought.

I started with Tennis-Man.  

Me:  Hey, what do you think the deal is with the over-turned recycling bin?

T-M:  We just got an e-mail that they won’t be repairing the color copier that we all use.

Me:  Really?  What happened to “reduce, re-use, repair, recycle?”

T-M:  I think the County cars are next.  Next week, you’ll be driving a County car, and if something goes wrong, just leave it, get out your bus pass, hitchhike, whatever you need to do to get to your next field site. Be prepared for that.

Me:  Thanks for the tip. What about the bins, though?

T-M:  Yeah.

I leave and go over to Ms. Clicky Click, whom I sometimes borrow hair from. 

“I’ve got to know what you think about the overturned recycling bin,” I begin.  But asking that question drew a small crowd.  I was all, “I know.  You guys are as worried about the bins as I am.”

Everyone looks at me blankly, and someone says, “We aren’t thinking about those bins, Betsy.”

“Really?  Come on.  It’s pretty much all I can think about these days.”

My boss gives me that look (the "Medication.  She needs medication." look), and someone says something like, “Really, Betsy, why is this coming up now?  Those things were turned over last summer.”

I’m not sure if I should actually confess out loud to these people, but I go for it.  “Remember Hogan’s Heroes?  That doghouse wasn’t really a doghouse.  You know?  It wasn't actually a doghouse at all.  Do you see where I’m going with this?”

And everyone’s looking at me, shaking their head, and I can tell they’re thinking, wow, she’s gonna have a lot of trouble getting a new job.  

But really.  

Guidelines for Breaking Up

As I mentioned, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to teens, relationships, and breakups, and I’ve decided to pen some instructions here.  (Do you like how I used “pen” as a verb?).  I’ve been on both ends of the break up so many times, and consider myself a rather sorry expert on the matter.  

So here goes, guidelines for decency.

For the Dumper:

Be sure you mean it before you break up.  There’s nothing more cruel than using your partner as a yo-yo.  If you think there’s any chance of continuing the relationship, don’t do it!  It’s hurtful and unkind.  Once in a while, after a break up, you learn more about yourself or your partner, and are honestly compelled to try again based on new information.  That’s cool, but don’t use breaking up or the threat of it as a tool, and don’t be cavalier about ending a relationship.  That’s just wrong.  

If you aren’t sure whether your discontent is break-up worthy or not, consider these questions:

Have you tried to communicate about the issues that bother you?  Have you felt listened to and understood, or do things remain unresolved?  Sometimes, you momentarily feel generous enough to move on without resolution, but the same things will come up repeatedly until there’s either acceptance or resolution. 

Are things unresolved because, when it comes down to it, you have different values, communication styles, needs in a relationship, or are lacking the tools to work through things together?  Sometimes, the issue that sets things off is pretty minor, but in trying to resolve that, you learn something worse than the original problem, like that your partner doesn’t have the capacity to listen with generosity and an open mind, and accept you at your word.  

Do you still enjoy each other when you spend time together, or is it effortful, stilted, awkward?  Have the unresolved issues eclipsed the fun and/or highlighted qualities that don’t work?  Do you admire him/her?

If the answers to these questions suggest this isn’t a good fit for you, don’t linger!

A sidebar about breakups.  They're always mutual, but sometimes there's a problem of rectifying the mutual-ness on the time-space continuum.  One person has already figured out that it's not a good match, and names it.  The other person also knows it isn't working, but is either willing to settle for less, is just generally more optimistic about the prospects for change, or, things are working for them.  (This deserves a side bar within a side bar, but that’s not the kind of blog this is.  No no no.  But maybe if I can garner the focus, I’ll come back to it later). 

In the name of bringing more peace and kindness to the world, don’t drag it out, because that’s cruel.  Think horse with broken leg.  But first, prepare.  Prepare by summoning all of the compassion you can muster, because it’s painful to be on the receiving end of a break-up.  A breakup touches the persons’ deepest core of worthiness. Be kind. As someone once said, “It’s like smashing a kitten.”  I know.  If you’re having trouble coming up with compassion for the person, think about their inner kitten.

Also, try to understand the true meta-story line that allows each person to leave the relationship with their dignity intact.  Because that story is always there.  A break up is about two worthy people, each right for someone, just not each other.  Sometimes, you have to squint through your irritation, sadness, and frustration to see it, but if you do one thing at all, figure this out before you talk to the person. For example, “you and I want different things out of life”, or “our communication styles are so different that it leaves us both frustrated,” or, “we are looking for different models of a relationship – you seem to be looking for X, and at this point, Y is what I need” are non-judgmental explanations that don’t degrade the other persons’ self-worth.  And, the work of identifying that story will help you in the future.  Trust me on that!  (Oh wait, I'm the one about to get all the cats.  But really. . . )  Don’t plan to use a tired old untruthful cliché, like, “it’s not you, it’s me,” because everyone deserves better than that.  

Do it in person.  Even though you might be tempted to e-mail or call, show up and give the person the chance to honestly talk to you.  

Don’t be surprised if your ex lashes out.  This is, thankfully, pretty rare rare, and its a sorry indicator of your ex’es maturity level, but keep in mind that they’re doing the very best they can, and try to have compassion.  They’re obviously hurting, and it’s probably related to wounding that happened long ago and far away, unrelated to anything you’ve done or said -- you've just pulled the scab off.  But the sad fact is, they’ll try to hurt you back.  Remember that Dreikurs, who identified the levels of discouragement and matched them with types of behavior?  Yeah, the ones who are only mildly discouraged do attention-getting things, but the people who are extremely discouraged try to hurt others.  Think of him/her the way you would a drowning person.  They’re swimming for their emotional life, and will suck anyone they can down with them, especially you, because in their mind, you’ve pushed them off the boat.  

Sadly, this behavior confirms that you’ve made the right decision, and soundly eliminates any opportunity you two would have had to leave the relationship with everyone’s dignity intact, or maintain any kind of contact, let alone friendship.  Distance yourself from the person as much as you’re able.  Efforts at explaining your side will go nowhere with the angry drowner, because their primary goal is to hurt you.  Even though it’s tempting to try to defend yourself against the barbs that he/she will sling your way, don’t go there. It’s okay to name the obvious, though, e.g., “This behavior right now illustrates why we can’t be together.”  At all costs, don’t get pulled down to their level. It may take extra effort to manage your own hurt, anger, and frustration in this scenario, but try to picture your ex as the angry toddler that they've become.  Be the adult.  Remember, it’s how you behave in the difficult times that reveal who you are. Everyone can be easy-going when the going is easy.

A much more common scenario is when the person has a lot of questions for you. Be patient, and keep coming back to the positive story that you’ve teased out of all the heartbreak and disappointment.  See if it resonates with them, and if not, see what, learn their thoughts on the meta story.  Don’t get bogged down in details, because they can be hurtful.  This person is trying hard, through their hurt and disappointment, to be mature, but it’s not easy.  Appreciate that. Try to gently encourage your ex to look at the bigger picture:  that you’re both lovely people, but incompatible romantically.  Even if you think it might be helpful for their future relationships to tell him/her something distasteful about the way he/she behaves, smells, or dresses, don’t be tempted.  This isn’t the time or place for that.  Even if the pants do make their butt look big, and they should have pitched that hairstyle in 1983.  Confine your comments to the truth, and to what's positive about your ex and the relationship you shared.  

Rules for the Dumpee

If it’s a decent relationship with a mature person, you won’t be surprised when you have the breakup talk, because you’ll have been involved in difficult conversations that remain unresolved, and you won’t be enjoying each other’s company any more.  So when your ex tells you the relationship is ending, stay calm, and learn what you can.  This will be useful to you later, as you begin to heal and move on. Be grateful that they had the courtesy to end things cleanly, rather than let you two nit-pick each other to death.  Forgive them for taking on the nasty task of breaking up, and recognize that they, too, are losing a relationship that started with hope and optimism.

Don’t delve into the details, because you’ll learn nothing that helps you.  I’ve mistakenly gone down that road and learned that various people found me fat, unattractive, unable to hold a smile for long enough (I know!), am low-energy, not very interesting, and not athletic or funny enough.  None of that has been particularly useful to me.  

If you’ve been dating a chicken-shit, you may be completely shocked when they end things, because they haven’t brought up a single problem or issue.  Maybe they’ve seemed a little busy and unavailable lately, but you thought they really were busy. The good news here is that the people who surprise you with the break up never do it in person.  You’ll get a text, e-mail, or phone call.  At least you don’t have to face him/her right away -- you'll have privacy to gather yourself before seeing them.  Be grateful for this, and realize that, as inconsiderate as it feels, they too are doing the best they can.  This is all the conflict they can handle, and they’re afraid, as ridiculous as it sounds, of hurting your feelings. I know, like the sting is removed if you’re dumped over a text message…

Remember that no one owes it to you to be in a relationship.  Unconditional love is for parents to give children, but a peer-to-peer romantic relationship should be one that both parties enjoy.  Forgive them for wanting more. 

Try to understand and come to terms with the meta-story of why you aren’t right for each other.  If you're quick on your feet, you can even help the person who just dumped you see it in a more global way.  Remember, this is a mutual break-up -- they just said it first!  

For both parties

Remember who you are, and keep your sights on who you want to be.  Some of the less mature humans on the planet blame their ex for their poor behavior.  Like the abusive guy who is driven to beating his wife because “she asked for it”, some people feel like the behavior of another gives them license to act poorly. Don’t let someone else cause you to behave in any way less than awesome, thoughtful, respectful, and full of self-worth.  If your kids or your mom knew how you were behaving, would they admire you?    

Take care of yourself.  Spend time with friends who love you, do things you like to do, talk to a therapist, eat ice cream in bed.  In short, do what you need to move on gracefully without antagonizing your ex.

There.  Not that was one long preachy blog post, but that's what's on my mind right now.  Thanks for reading.