An Airport Metaphor

Last weekend, after listening to me vent about my current workload and stress for a breathless 38 minutes, Jack suggested that I return to blogging. Even if my entries are quick or incomplete, he reasons that I like seeing my growth and progress as reflected in my own writing.

So I will try. Blogging takes a lot of time but I'm willing to get back into the habit.

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My brain lately has felt like an airport; it is the closest metaphor illustrating my stress and chaos. There are constantly planes taking off and landing, with thousands of people running between terminals, each following their own itinerary. Much like that age-old metaphor discussing stress in terms of rocks and sand in a jar (rocks are the "big things"- health, family, friends, faith, etc. Pebbles are the smaller stressors- work, house, cars. Then there's the sand- the rest of our experiences that fills in our life.) For me, the airport is a perfect metaphor. The gates all represent different areas of challenge for me. The new job, the new city, new house, new hospital, lack of anything familiar (Meijer, church, dentist, etc.), and distance from Jack. Jack is now 160 miles and 3 hours away from me. I can't address any of the gates together; each gate needs its own space for discovery and subsequent adapting. Luckily, my friends and family accompany me to the various gates as I visit them, supporting me as I muddle through yet another huge life change. Jack's just a saint.

I then consider the airplanes. Planes, arriving and departing, represent the big projects and "things" weighing on me...the tasks and worries that wake me up at night and instigate my brain into an Indy 500-ish tizzy. I think about my big construction projects, a lingering management agreement, overdue contracts, threshold capital for 2014, festering employee issues, lawsuits, difficult physicians, homework for school, my practicum for Franciscan Leadership, leadership of the corporate radiology group (yes, somehow, that is falling to me even though I have exactly six business days' experience), painting of the old house, selling the old house, unpacking the new house, getting back into some sort of exercise routine, taxes...oh, the list keeps going. The airspace above my head is full with worries. Some planes are little Cessna's while others are jumbo jets. I need to land some of the planes to keep a sense of sanity.

But that's what transition is about. All of the people traveling through the airport have a purpose. I liken these to the small actions, behaviors, and choices that occur during the day. They all play some part in it- in advancing the overall wellbeing of the airport. They'll all eventually get to their destinations and at the end of the day, the airport will settle into a routine quiet, when all of the flights have departed.

I'm grateful for the terrific support and understanding of my family and friends. So much of my life has become survival; I'm so tired at night that I have yet to watch the fancy new television that Jack installed simply for my relaxation purposes. I turned it on one evening just to pass out cold before the commercial even ended.

Which brings me to my next airport metaphor: fuel. There is only so much gas to fuel the airplanes; once that supply is gone, the fleet is grounded. So I am trying to be cognizant that I only have so much time and energy. When I get out of bed each day to help advance a mission and serve our patients, the fuel supply lasts longer.

Last, I feel safe and secure in the knowledge that I do have a flight control deck at my airport, with God at the helm. He's going to keep all of my planes in the air, on schedule, and properly maintained. I don't like the expression "God is my co-pilot," so I'll say that "God is my air traffic controller."

Normalcy

Hello 2011, goodbye 2010!

I tried several times to write a "summary of 2010" post, but I kept clearing the screen and starting over. I'm not sure what I want to remember from 2010. Usually, I'm the nostalgic type, who, when watching the ball drop in Times Square on New Year's Eve, surrounded by my family and/or friends, quickly reminisces over the past year and try to obtain full closure. I don't live with regret, rarely bask in my own successes, and really don't think worrying about the past is a good use of time. So I try to quickly say my goodbyes to the positives and negatives of the previous year and start over after the stroke of midnight. Each of us gets a new start today, to accomplish whatever is on the horizon.

At least that's how I usually look at New Year's Eve...an exciting culmination of a year and I wake up New Year's morning with optimism and thoughts on how I am going to position myself toward greater challenges and success.

This year was a bit different. While I've had a few tough years in my life, with family issues and deaths when I was younger, to my physical health issues a few years ago, I was actually very happy to see 2010 conclude. The year continued my loneliness and job-focused existence in Chicago and ushered in nine solid months of confusion, disarray, and chaos. Because of my hard work, I was offered a phenomenal job opportunity out here...but the price was high. We had to relocate, sell our first home, live in a teeny place, endure Jack's job uncertainty and unemployment, and adjust to his new job. Of course, the year concluded with the blessing of our beautiful house, but I decided that I'm ready for some normalcy.

Now, as soon as I go and call my life "normal," something odd will happen! But seriously, I need a year or two of just doing the daily grind. I need to commute every day, work hard, exercise regularly, keep up with school, plan vacations, etc.

Normalcy. Even if responsibilities continue to be added to my job...it will still be better than relocating, moving, selling, buying, etc. I guess I am ready for some routine.

I never thought I'd be saying I was ready for normalcy and routine, but I am.

So as I watched the ball drop in NYC last night, those were my thoughts. Goodbye to the stressful, chaotic year of 2010 and welcome to the routine, "normal" year of 2011.

Jack and I hosted a dinner party for a few of our new friends and after noshing all evening on gourmet cheeses, crusty French bread, stuffed olives, Italian salami, shrimp cocktail, and then eating a wonderful dinner of salmon. Great food, great wine, and great friends.

Here's to a great year of normalcy!

Digging Out

Hey faithful blog readers!

How are you today? Are you all prepared for Christmas? In one word, I am NOT. But that's a story for another day.

The big news is that we moved into our house. We're official. However, I keep walking around it, feeling tremendously blessed. I'm not sure how we ended up with a house like this and on moving day, I kept thinking someone was going to run up and tell us there'd been a huge mistake and we needed to pack up and ship out! Alas, no such thing has happened yet. But we are blessed to have this house.

Moving day brought us freezing rain and temps hovering around 32 degrees. The day after moving day, where we had to go finish up at the rental house, brought us an epic blizzard, into which my mom and I ventured to go buy Christmas lights. Priorities, people!

We're nearly unpacked and my poor hands are dry, cracked, and terrible. You can only wash your hands 29 times a day for so long and use harsh cleaning products before your hands just fall apart. We did a highly illegal dumpster run on Monday night, just to have a security truck chase us through the subdivision. Jack lost him, though, so we weren't arrested. What a stupid offense! Next time, we'll just wait for trash pick-up day (or drive a faster car on roads that aren't ice-covered!)

The other big news, work wise, is that I have my first grievance and EEOC charges. In my role, I have increasingly become the "ball buster" (pardon my french) and I am being asked to shake up departments that haven't had any discipline in 20 years. It takes about a year to fire someone, when you go through the proper steps of progressive corrective action. And I had my first two bad firings last week…one for a glaring violation and one for 3,920 little infractions that added up to a massive impact on a department. The EEOC charge will most likely be dropped. The grievance, well, I've already spent something like six hours documenting everything and I'm not done yet. But that's what happens when employees are left to their own devices for 20+ years and then you suddenly come in with rules and hold them to the rules…they file charges against you because they cannot handle accountability.

But me? I cannot handle complacency or low performing staff. If you're going to come to work with a crappy attitude and "forget" to do core facets of your work, well, you will be on your way out.

In short, this administrator gig is NOT easy. In fact, I'm exhausted and my stomach is producing way more acid than what is considered healthy. Or normal. Even for a goat that eats tin cans. Holiday preparations, employee recognition dinners, and other Christmas parties are happening all around me and I'm too busy to take much notice...it stinks. My wonderful co-workers threw me not one, but two parties (one at each campus) for my birthday. I had two of everything and they TP'd my office door. That corny stuff makes me feel loved and appreciated for my insane hours.

The other interesting thing that happened to me last night, as Nurse Jackie and I were dashing across the street from the physician office building to the hospital, a medical helicopter landed on the hospital with what we suspect was a highway trauma patient. I had my EEOC paperwork clutched tightly in my portfolio; good thing, because the landing helicopter threw us back on the pavement with the force in which it landed. Plus, it scattered trillions of microscopic snowflakes and burned our eyes while blowing my hair irreparably out of place. It was a moment from M*A*S*H* and I felt proud that I withstood the airy blast from a helicopter without actually falling out or scattering my confidential paperwork all over southern Chicago.

Whew!

So that's what's been going on here…still working crazy hours, firing people, and unpacking. I think I still love my life, but I will let you know for certain when I catch up on my sleep and can tell left from right!

Mouse Capades

Well, I didn't cuddle up in my nest of feathers and watch movies all day on Saturday like I was planning (although, we did watch a few episodes of Boardwalk Empire). Instead, we packed up the rest of our stuff in preparation for the big move. I swear, I am never moving again. For all practical purposes, I have moved three times in the past year and a half. Once from SB to Chicagoland (when I initially moved), then we moved a bunch of stuff when the house went on the market in spring, then we moved everything else from SB to Chicagoland this summer. And now, we have an apartment and a storage unit to move into the house. Sigh. If anyone asks, just bury me in the back yard of the new house, 'cuz I ain't movin' again!

I'm a bit nervous to get our stuff out of storage. While it has only been in there for six months, you hear horror stories of mouse or roach infestations. In planning the move, my mom and I inherited the task of sorting through fresh-from-the-storage-unit boxes. Oh, and would I mind opening them all to make sure Mickey and Minnie weren't stowing a ride to a nice, new abode? Forget the Ice Capades, we're talking Mouse Capades!

Hmm. How did the ladies end up with this task? Don't even ask me what I'm going to do if I find a mouse in a box of theology books from school! I think I'd rather be solely responsible for the physical transportation of a 1,000 pound, solid wood hutch!!!

This feels like the final step in our movement toward peace and organization. I took a couple days off from work after the move, so I can take time organizing everything just so. I am going to map out the kitchen and based on daily utilization rates of our china, flatware, stemware, and coffee paraphernalia, stock the cabinets accordingly. The cupboards go nearly to the ceiling (requiring a step ladder) and this accessibility proves challenging to my Lean set-up of the kitchen. Yes, I know, there is no shame in therapy!

The trick this week will be maintaining a shred of sanity while my house is in complete disarray and my schedule is as full as ever. At least the week should go quickly!

Nomadic Ways

All is well on the home front. And the home front, it seems.

Jack and I started packing this weekend (actually, we more than "started," we're about halfway done and our house is a mess of boxes). We found out that we were formally and officially approved for our mortgage, the inspection was fine, the appraisal was acceptable (well, we think...on those sorts of things, no news is good news) and everything is moving forward according to plan.

In truth, it seems way too easy. I felt reluctant to start packing because, what if something went awry? After selling our house in SB and having so many problems doing so, I can't believe this one is so easy. It's like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Nonetheless, we're entering into another crazy time of transition. I left one coffee mug unpacked for each of us, a few pots and pans are out, and the rest of the kitchen is in boxes. We're making it our goal to eat up as much of our food as possible. It's a pet peeve of mine to move food!

Our contract on the house states that we will close no later than December 10; that we can close as soon as the lender has their side in order. Well, the lender has their side in order, so we're preparing to start moving whenever we get those keys! Official moving day is December 11 (for furniture), but if we can get our clothes and fragile stuff in there beforehand, that will be fabulous. Here's to hopin'!

Condo Updates

I'm happy to report that we were pre-approved for our mortgage. We applied for the mortgage on Monday and then did not hear anything from the bank for four days. Jack called and they said they hadn't gotten to it yet. I finally called the bank on Thursday afternoon and told them, if they couldn't make a decision, I had other banks who would quickly get my business. The loan officer pulled our file and called me back in 5 minutes with a resounding "yes."

Then I went home and discovered a huge packet from the same bank with our pre-approval notice and more paperwork to fill out. Whoops. They could have called! It would have saved me a quasi-embarrassing, stern phone call to the poor loan officer who happened to pick up my call.

Anyway, we're happily on the market for a condo. The walls in our current apartment feel like they're closing in on us...each time we visit a nice, new condo and return home to our hovel, it feels smaller and smaller! So we're definitely excited about this prospect.

Plus, we know exactly what sort of condo we want (basically, two of everything...two bedrooms, two baths, two-car garage). While the Beer Garden condo is still in the running, we are looking a several others tomorrow. We have our list of pro's and con's and our non-negotiables.

So, hopefully, we will have a home by New Years! Hurray!

Beer Gardens

So the news of the day is that Jack and I appear to be house-hunting. Er, I mean, condo-hunting. We already decided that we do NOT want a house; the maintenance and yardwork-free lifestyle is completely worth the association fees! That's how we chose to spend Halloween 2010.

We have been trying to live the humble lifestyle (read: packed like sardines in an 800 square foot apartment...coming from a house nearly twice the size of that). My bachelorette pad was fine when it was just me and Jack would come to visit every third weekend. But now, with some of our furniture, the crystal and small appliances that we received for our wedding, and my beloved shoe collection, we just don't fit. Plus, we're literally tripping over each other during our morning routines. Jack leaves when I do and has to get all gussied up now for work. While it's great that we can guzzle our (Caribou!) coffee together in the mornings, this tiny apartment just isn't working out.

When you can get something cluttered up in the span of 10 minutes, it's not good. I abhor clutter and I mess up the living room just by setting down my crapola from the day.

So we're in the market for a condo. We briefly tossed around the idea of moving downtown, but it makes more sense to stay in our Chicagoland suburb. We know and love the area, it's a decent commute to work, and we're only 20 miles from the Loop. We haven't called the bank for a pre-approval yet (that's this week), but we toured a couple condos yesterday.

One was in what can only be described as a retirement community, but it was GORGEOUS. Rose-colored brick with huge windows, it was nearly brand-new and offered stunning blond wood floors, cathedral ceilings, two bedrooms, wainscoting in the office, and two huge bathrooms (hurray!). The kitchen was okay, but the open concept was great and allowed a lot of light inside.

Then we visited a two-story townhouse (also with huge windows) that had two bedrooms, two glorious bathrooms, an awesome kitchen with an island, and a loft (for a cool office! Hurray!), a two-car garage, and a beer garden.

Seriously, a beer garden. There's about a 15-foot space between the French doors and the garage...just enough space to set up a couple of chaise loungers, a grill, and string up some lights for summertime parties. As we walked out, Jack leaned over and said, "Can we just buy this one? I want a beer garden!"

We're looking into this and while we have a general idea of our price range, I think we're going to move forward and see what the bank has to say. Despite our rotten experience selling our house in SB, now we'll get to be the buyers in the buyers' marketplace and make all sorts of crazy demands on the sellers!

Just kidding.

But if, for some crazy reason, we end up buying that townhouse with the beer garden, Jack said we have to clear a tiny patch of the yard, put down some dirt, and "plant" a couple empty beer bottles in the ground. Y'know, for a beer garden. Hey, admit it's a funny idea.

So more to come, I'm sure. I do have to admit that it's WAY more fun to be a buyer than a seller in this market!

Third Time's a Charm

The house closed! Jack and I are no longer bound to SB!

It took three sales contracts, two home inspections, two appraisals...

...and a partridge in a cherry tree.

(We don't have a pear tree...only a weeping cherry!)

Thank you to everyone for your kind concern while we fought this huge and emotionally-exhausting battle. I just didn't want to pay another month's mortgage on an empty house!

Oh, and a special kudos to St. Joseph, who will need to be retrieved from the back yard by my mother!

Closure

This weekend has been emotionally exhausting.

After work on Friday, I was so stinkin' tired. I came home from work at 6:45 and as soon as I set my belongings down and kicked off my high heels, it started pouring down rain. Glad the rain canceled the parish festival we were planning on visiting, I glanced at the bed and saw that Jack washed the sheets and had the bed made impeccably. I couldn't not take a short nap.

Three hours later, I got up and ate dinner!

Anyway, I worked for a while on Saturday and after vacillating between visiting SkyBlue and Lou, we eventually bit the bullet and drove back to SB in the afternoon so we could log some pool time.

It was HOT. Sizzling, blazingly hot. We jumped into a 87 degree pool. My folks ran to the store for BBQ fixin's and we literally spent the whole evening and night outside. We swam every hour or so after dinner, unless the lightning from the south scared us enough to actually drive us out of the pool. I think we went in around 1 a.m.

After brunch this morning, we logged a few more pool hours then decided we needed to hit the road. It's strange...I realized that I change if I stay in SB too long. Any more than 24 hours, and I start slipping into my old self. I can see myself living there, buying the for-sale house behind my folks' house (the one we talked about buying for years, before our plans changed), and being happy with the same ol' job, year after year. When 3 pm hit this afternoon, I realized I had to get out of there. Had Jack and I had babies and I was a stay-at-home mom, that would have been the perfect arrangement. As it is, we're living the opposite life.

So we left. I felt very bittersweet (more bitter!). Before we could drive back to the Chi, we had to stop at the old house and double-check everything before the next round of inspections start. Yes, we're under contract again, but I'm not doing anything to jinx it (including even mentioning that we have a closing date!). We had to reinstall a few smoke detectors (to placate FHA) and pick up huge sticks knocked down by the storms. Jack clicked the garage door opener and I dashed inside.

Walking into the empty kitchen, a wall of sadness hit me. I set my purse down and took in the empty expanse of dining room, living room, bedrooms, etc. I hadn't been in there since moving day, 5 weeks ago. The place smelled like drywall and plaster, but held up well without my TLC to keep it standing.

Jack was outside with the neighbors and I took my time wandering through the empty hallway, sunlight filtering through the western-facing windows. I then leaned against the wall in the living room, where the couch always sat. I envisioned the Easter dinners, birthdays, Memorial Day cookouts, and Christmases with family; the five house-bound weeks I spent in February '06, healing from that awful surgery; the dramatic lake-effect snowfalls where Jack and I would take turns shoveling; and all the nights I'd sit at the cafe table in the kitchen and watch Jack cook. I remembered the living room all decked-out in Christmas decorations; sitting in front of the fireplace on cold, dark winter nights; joking and laughing in the three-season "Caribbean" room on weekend nights; doing dishes while looking out the kitchen window, watching neighbor kids play; and doing 95% of my grad school homework at the dining room table.

It was our home. The place we returned to each evening, to share our fears, our dreams, our successes, and our laughter. Walking through the empty house felt like a dreamscape; while I lived there for seven years, it hit me in the gut that it's no longer capital-H Home. Neither is SB.

I never had those intense feelings of sadness and loss on moving day. I was too worried about orchestrating the move and our helping hands. But in going back today, just to install smoke detectors, I found myself grieving not only the house, but the move from SB, and the distance from our parents.

It seemed so easy to rip that proverbial band-aid off when I accepted the job in the Chi. I kept telling everyone to just be happy for me! But now that it's actually dawned on me that I no longer have ties to SB, I feel a bit homeless. I keep thinking of that empty house, merely a ghostly shell that intensifies my memories. WE made that house a Home and now we have to create a new Home.

I take extreme comfort and joy in one fact...Jack's here with me now in Chicagoland and neither one of us had to drive away tonight.

...

...Well, despite everything, I'm still alive.

...And working on those 14 job descriptions, via laptop, on my deck.

...And that's about all...

Denial

You know that song, "Respect?" R-E-S-P-E-C-T? Yes, I've been chanting a similar sentiment: "D-E-N-I-A-L!"

(I also have a deja vu feeling that I've blogged that before. Denial? Me? Naaaaah!)

So we moved out of SB yesterday. It took about five hours, two boxes of donuts, several Powerades, and six strapping men (and a mom). With a 16 foot truck loaded to the gills with our belongings (seriously, there wasn't even air left to take a deep breath in that truck) and three cars similarly stuffed, we drove way from our home of seven years and hit the highway.

I didn't feel much of anything. It was either because I had already grieved this particular moment (in the preceding 62 times...yes, I made that drive 62 times). Maybe it was because I finally ripped the bandaid off and found some sort of subconscious closure to the move. Maybe it was because I'm ready for this move and the inherent transition.

Or maybe I'm just in denial.

What will happen when we come back in town on Friday to sign the papers and hand over the keys? What will happen when we return to visit our parents and accidentally turn down our old street? Will that happen? Will we forget that we don't live there? Yeah, I'm putting my money on denial!

Several folks came to see us off yesterday. Several helped us move and without being asked, picked up boxes, brooms, vacuums, and helped it all come together. My mom made a huge cooler of sandwiches and fed the soldiers amidst the truck-stuffing. All in all, apart from the raging residual headache I sported from the previous day's bow echo storms, the SB portion went well.

We all left SB and later arrived at my Chicagoland pad. I mean, our Chicagoland pad. We chose to live at my, ahem, our pad until we know what is going on with Jack's job. Plus, even if he scores a phat job, we'd like to stay here and pay off all our debt. Selling the house got us back into the black, but we'd really like to be debt-free. So we're going to swallow our desires for a new condo and hole up in our pad for a while. It's clean, safe, and in a great neighborhood. I just wish it had two bathrooms! I'm not used to living with a boy!

Anyway, before collapsing in a heap, we had to make one final stop: the storage unit. We packed half a house in a 10x10 unit. Stuff is stacked up to the ceiling and so help me if we need something from the bottom boxes (they're stacked 8 boxes high). Regardless, it feels like we're paying rent on a basement that we don't have to clean and is located 4 miles away.

So after another quick stop at the pad to freshen up, we took everyone to BW3's, to thank them for pitching in. We feasted (in the Biblical sense of the word...no fishes or loaves, though) on half the BW3 menu and with full bellies and tired arms/legs, the crew departed my house (darnit! our house!) for SB.

And that was that. We were home. Our first act in OUR home was to set up the lounge chairs on the deck and toast the next chapter of our lives.

Our second act was to get showers and collapse in a heap!

It's the Eve

I have this random habit of wishing people a "Happy Friday Eve" on Thursday's.

Jack and I move tomorrow, so today is "Moving Eve!"

Hurray! We made it! Well, I will feel a lot better about this when it's Sunday afternoon and I'm laying in bed, watching movies all day!!

Well, That's Ironic

THREE of you actually emailed me to make sure I was okay and well, hadn't dropped off into the deep end. Thank you for your concern. That concern means the world to me. In all honesty, things aren't going all too well in SB as we prepare to leave the house. My family seems irked that we're leaving SB and have withdrawn their fiduciary responsibility to assist progressive generations advance toward excellence.

That means they're not helping us pack.

It's been *TIRING* and we spend all weekend rushing around, boxing things for St. Vincent de Paul, boxing things for Chicago, boxing things for storage, boxing things for the garage sale, boxing things for SkyBlue, etc. I need an air traffic controller over there.

Sigh. Just keep breathing. Last Monday and Tuesday, I was so sore from having packed a whole bunch and hoped to not repeat that same mistake this weekend. Needless to say, I'm already sore, so I surpassed that point already. I might as well go on an Advil drip!

It's been tough. On one hand, all of this, ahem, solo packing is making it much easier to leave SB. There's no fanfare, no celebratory cook-out's, nothing like that. No one stopping by with sub sandwiches or leftover chicken. We're flying under the radar.

I guess I'm okay with that. It just gets lonely.

Only six more days until we're no longer SB residents. Not that I'm counting!

Uprooting the Roots

Uprooting your roots is tough. Have you ever weeded a garden and come across a weed whose roots are so deep that you have to brace yourself and give the weed a second muscle-filled pull to free the tangle of roots?

I’ve never tried to uproot a huge oak tree or anything 31 years old…but essentially, that’s what I’m doing right now. With the exception of one year in Ireland and one year in Chicagoland, I’ve lived in SB my entire life. Those roots run deep. So while uprooting, I find myself occasionally numb. Sometimes I’m fine. Sometimes I’m excited. Sometimes I have slight panic attacks when I realize what I'm doing and that, in two weeks, I'll no longer own that piece of real estate.

It’s just bizarre.

Jack and I spent the entire weekend packing in preparation for the big move. While packing, we found some weird things from our seven years in this house (or even weirder items from the nine years of our marriage. One, Jack was packing up the cedar chest. I’ll admit that I have a robust cedar chest, saving a lot of things that have even a remote semblance of sentimentality. Yet while wading through the greeting cards, graduation tassels, and pictures we made for our mommies, he found two sticks. Like, from trees out back. We could not (for the life of us) remember what the sticks were supposed to represent. The tornado that whipped through my parents’ back yard in 2003, devastating seven full-grown trees, and somehow sparing the brand-new pool? Were they from our first campfire at our house? Were they relegated to the cedar chest after the fireplace rejected them? Whatever the case, we couldn’t remember the story and relegated them to our current fire pit!

The other weird thing we kept finding was thermometers. We have no less than seven thermometers. Why would two adults (without children) have that many thermometers? And why were these things multiplying like bunnies? I distinctly remember having Jack buy a thermometer when I had my first illness of our married lives (a wicked, wicked flu thing in 2001) and cannot remember buying a thermometer ever since?

Packing has been a purging, yet nostalgic experience. Boxing up the photographs and photo albums took a couple hours because I had to flip through all the photos (what was with my hair in the late 90’s? Hadn’t I received the memo that poofy bangs were NOT in?). The most nostalgic part of the day was the wedding dress experience. Shoved in the furthest-most recesses of the coat closet was my wedding dress. I hadn’t pulled it out since, well, the day after my wedding. I had studiously put it back in its plastic bag, packaged up my veil and wrap, and stowed it until it went to the cleaners to be professionally preserved. That was nine years ago.

Anxious to see if my obscene stress has taken its toll on my body, I slipped into the dress. To my great relief, it fit the same as on my wedding day. Jack stood there like the kid he was when we got married and I posed for a few obligatory pictures in my dress (with dirty hair, I might add!). After ten minutes, I happily stepped back out of the dress….I had forgotten that the heap of satin weighs nearly 40 pounds! What a fun experience, though, to slip into that dress for the first time in nine years. And after that ten minutes as the blushing (but a little more experienced!) bride, I zipped the dress and veil back up into its bag. Jack promised me he will have the dress professionally preserved…I wonder if that will take another nine years?!?

As I drove back to Chicagoland this evening, with a car full of boxes, I realized that I'm living the song lyrics from the newest Lifehouse song...I'm "halfway gone."

Sold!

Jack and I sold our house today! Well, it took about a week, four viewings by the prospective buyers, and a counter-offer, but we received the signed contract today!

This is a HUGE monkey off my back. Having two homes (and two mortgages) is tough while the move itself will prove fun (isn't moving always fun?), I'm relieved that this two-time-zone existence is just about over. Plus, just HAVING the house on the market is stressful. Well, at least it was for Jack because he's the one who always had to show it.

EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

We didn't get the exact profit we were hoping for, but we didn't lose money either. This is good.

So pending all successful inspections, we'll officially be leaving SB and becoming Chicagoan residents on June 19.

RoadRunner Wisdom

This post might touch on the deeply personal struggle that I'm currently battling. While my blog is certainly not a journal or diary, it is a place to document the experiences of my year in Chicago. This battle of discernment is part of the experience and I'm chalking it up as such.

Basically, I've been given three opportunities; one in Indy and two in Chicago. I much prefer the situation in Chicago, but cannot make a definitive decision until this week. I'll let you know when that decision is made!

What's really troubling me (and us) is this long period of transition we're entering. I thought the last 11 months were the hard part...of living apart from Jack all week, learning to live on our own without the love of our life beside us, and having to leave each other each Sunday evening after a scant 48 hours together. We were motivated by the knowledge that this living arrangement would end after Month Twelve and we even started counting down the weeks until we can live together again.

Well, now that opportunities are opening up for me, the real transition will soon begin. Getting my job settled is just Part A of the equation. We also have to worry about Part B, selling the house; Part C, moving some of our belongings into storage and moving to rest to wherever I live; Part D, Jack landing a fulfilling job in his chosen field; and Part E, relocating to the "mid-point" between our two jobs. So many pieces of the puzzle have to fall into place...while the year of the fellowship is quickly drawing to an end next month, the real transition hasn't even started. In fact, the changes coming down the pike make the last eleven months look easy.

It's scary and I'm trying to not let if affect my work life too much. After all, they don't particularly care about my living arrangement and relocation efforts. They want a dedicated, hardworking employee. And the job offers I've received are all wonderful, suggesting that my hard work really is paying off.

*Sigh*

This exercise, I think, is meant to test our commitment, faith, and dedication. I don't know of too many other folks have gone through a lengthy transition like this. If I thought the fellowship took me out on a limb, this next chapter is taking me out over the edge of a cliff. You remember Wiley Coyote, who would chase the Roadrunner off a cliff and remain suspended in mid-air until he realized he wasn't standing on anything?

Maybe the trick is to not look down? Or to not fully realize you're suspended in mid-air so you don't plummet to the ground? That sounds an awful lot like denial.

There's no denying that things are getting tough. I'm looking down! I realize I'm suspended in mid-air, with no solid footing around me!

And I'm still holding onto my faith that everything will work out well and how God intends.

Now, I wonder if I can find the Roadrunner on Cartoon Network?

The Purple Pill

It's been so busy I haven't had a chance to gather my thoughts electronically. Working so many hours that, with my laptop and blackberry, I honestly feel like I'm working 24/7.

It was one of those days where I ran (okay, walked fast) between meetings as I was booked solid for 9 hours. I started out my day by pitching a stroke partnership to our group of Housebased docs and then led the two process improvement project meetings. To kick off the first meeting about process observation and perception, I showed them this video on perception. Try it yourself and don't read the text below the video. It will ruin it the fun! It was a *heck* of a conversation starter as we talked about process observation and mapping in the DMAIC model of process improvement.

Perception is a pretty central facet to human understanding. It's important to not focus so intently on one process that you miss the glaring 800 lb gorilla in the room.

After all that, I attended the executive President's council meeting we have weekly. Since I do not know when my tenure on the President's council will end, I have stopped tiptoeing around problems or issues. Might as well be myself and practice my candor! So I brought up a very touchy subject with one of the senior execs. I opened a huge can of worms and then asked some tough questions that increased the discomfort. Nurse Jackie, EVOO, and Sister Lourdes backed me on my questions and added their own. Agendas were challenged, perceptions changed, and the discussion escalated to uncomfortably high levels. I felt my production of stomach acid ramp up and thought I might have pushed it too far.

Turns out, I didn't.

Conversely, I was offered two jobs later in the day.

St. Fozzie's is giving me my pick of two jobs. Honestly, it's a little anti-climactic. I knew this would happen but yet I didn't, as they were scratching through the bureaucracy of job creation at a very tightly-staffed hospital. While I knew they wanted me, I wasn't sure if it could happen from a public relations standpoint. Why can Administration add a person when we're asking the nursing units to flex down to historic staffing lows? Alas, EVOO casually tossed the jobs my way this evening. Here I sit with three opportunities.

Oh, did I not mention the position at St. Gonzo's? I know I talked about it last week, in that I was going to visit, but I never told you how it went.

Yes, I'm sneaky like that. Actually, just too busy for my own darn good.

The interview at St. Gonzo's went very well. I think I interview well, as I am aware of body language and facial expressions and all the non-verbal cues like that. The job sounds interesting but the culture is so different; I cannot believe they're both Muppetville hospitals.

I'm going to let all three offers percolate in my head. Then I'll do extensive flow-charting, pro/con lists, and see if the logic backs up my gut instinct. I should be sure to take my Nexium before giving my gut any jurisdiction over my future!

Boyscouts

[As a quick disclaimer, I have no idea who this kid is!]

Jack's been s-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ck the last few days. I haven't seen him this sick in a long time. I felt *so* bad that I was stuck in Chicago and couldn't come home to shower him with Advil, make him Mrs. Grass' soup (from scratch!), or fawn over his feverish body with cold washcloths. After all, he drove for 3 hours to bring me a toaster, a few seasons of Friends, and a piece of his heart when I was sick with piggy flu last fall.

That "in sickness and in health" part of marriage is thumped me over the head and I went home to SB for a scant 24 hours this weekend to visit Jack. He's been painting up a storm these last few weeks and did a marvelous job (with help from Zibby!). The third bedroom (former Girl Cave, where I would go to lounge on the couch, watch True Hollywood Story, and journal about my dreams of owning a B&B in the Bahamas) was transformed into a simple bedroom. Sure, it resembled a room in the convent, but I had my own bed, new, clean bedding, and space to just...breathe.

...Without worrying that I'd inhale Jack's flu bug! It was great to stay at Hotel Jack. I could hang out with Jack and escape to my sanitary lair for a restful sleep in a new bed.

Minnie, our beloved friend and realtor, came over on Saturday to visit, tour our house, and basically let us know if we're going to lose our shirts if we have to sell this spring. Long story short, we're not going to lose our shirts. We stand to recoup about 30% of the $20,000 or so we've invested in the house (50% if we hit paydirt). Coupled with the fact that we've been living there for six years, have dumped a chunk of money into the house, and might come out five dollars ahead...well, it just goes to show that the housing market is still in the dumps.

Perhaps the purchase of real estate isn't practical unless you know you'll live there for 30 years? It begs the question of whether we should have bought this home...then again, no one saw this real estate collapse coming.

At least we've jazzed up the house enough to make it sellable in this cruddy economic market. Just in case we have to sell. The point of having Minnie over was to find out just how bad/good the situation is, financially. We know what we have to do, should we have to sell quickly. We're like boyscouts...always prepared.

Weirdly, though, I am extremely at peace about this whole situation. I'm not at all nervous about my future. Jack's, too. We're going to be just fine. Whatever happens is what is meant to happen.

Valentine's Day BandAid

I spent the entire weekend painting. I painted closets, trim, walls, and even heating vents. My manicure is chipped, but Jack and I crossed about ten things off our list.

Our list of stuff to accomplish before we list our house. It's three pages long.

I guess it's no surprise that we've been preparing to sell. With the job offers I've received in Chicago, it only makes sense that we start preparing our house for the market. There are some projects we've needed to complete, rooms that needed a refreshing coat of paint, and hardware that's been needing updating since we've lived there. Even if, for some reason, we don't have to move, these projects needed completion anyway.

Did I mention that it's been six years as of yesterday? We closed on our house on February 14, 2004. We pulled out of the title company with our keys and drove to our new house. We immediately started cleaning, planning, and gutting. Jack handed me my key and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, honey." It was the most expensive V-Day gift I'll ever receive!

It was weird to spend Valentine's Weekend 2010 up to our eyeballs in paint. We truly came full-circle. On Saturday night, we hauled our exhausted and paint-splattered bodies into showers and Jack whipped up a Panko-encrusted salmon, broccoli, and wedge salads. Jack handed me my plate and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, honey." In our pj's, we enjoyed our feast, barely able to keep our eyes open long enough to finish dinner and watch the two Korean short-track speed skaters crash, giving Ono the silver medal.

Sunday was more of the same. We finished the third bedroom, the trim, the closet, and painted the whole bathroom (it's pretty). Oh, and we recaulked everything in the house that ever needs caulk. I left SB with a sore, shaky-exhausted body and hole somewhere in my heart.

Everyone in my life seems to be moving on. Some of my family members have retired, sought new jobs, and they're adjusting to these changes. A few of my friends found new jobs, are having babies, or found new love. Others are moving on. I'm moving on, too.

Except that some people don't see my progression as, well, progression. They see it more as a threat to the family structure and cannot understand why I would ever leave SB for a job. To them, family is of the utmost importance and everything else is secondary. Family is crucial to me; anyone who knows me well knows that. But I've been given such a gift in this job. I've been encouraged to spread my wings, own my boardroom experience, and make something great of myself. You don't get many chances like this; I'm not naive to this opportunity.

I have a mentor who, after my presentation on Wednesday, jumped up and shook his fist in the air, celebrating my success along with me. It reminded me of the Olympics coaches who exhibit such excitement when their athletes win the gold. They jump up, shake their fist in the air, celebrating with the athletes' hard work and dedication that always pay off in the end.

That's what I need right now. Even if a select few do not agree with my bi-timezone existence, professional dreams, and possible departure from SB, please fake it. Pretend you're happy for me (and Jack). I need positive support right now because as tough as this is for you, it's even tougher for me. I'm straddling two lives and this year has been akin to pulling a bandaid off a wound, very s-l-o-w-l-y.

I went downtown to meet some of my newbie administrator friends for dinner tonight. We went to Sidebar and did our usual "what's your hospital life like?" discussions. While everyone's moving on and slowly transitioning into specific areas in their respective hospitals, no one has to deal with prepping a house and selling in this cruddy economic market. That's a unique worry of mine. Jack's shouldering a huge portion of this burden and I'm very grateful he's strong and persevering in these household endeavors!

Thank you for listening to me vent. Everyone in this forum seems to deeply support me. I am grateful for you and cherish the positive feedback and pep talks you've sent my way.

Crayola Company

As Dorrie reminds me in the Batwoman post, there are so many things in the air: Questions that are unanswered; new options presenting themselves at every exit on this journey. I am not sure where this highway is taking me but Dorrie the trailblazer keeps me wondering. She just keeps swimming and I am following her to the end of the ocean.

P. Sherman

42 Wallaby Way, Sydney

If we end up in Sydney I will change my name to Nemo!

To be sure, I wish I had the crystal ball. I have worked (given my heart and soul) for Crayola Company for almost nine years. I recently returned to school for my MIS degree and have successfully passed two classes and I am enrolled in two more this semester. Working full-time and going to school part-time have kept my loneliness at bay and I have been ok living on my own and keeping house. Dorrie is always impressed when she comes back to the roost! Yes, it actually is clean!

Crayola Company has suited me well in these years. My possible parting ways has really put a scribble in Mr. Red's contigency planning for the whole company. As of last year, I was a lifer at the Crayola Company. Wax runs through my veins. I am very good at keeping in the lines. I understand all aspects of the crayon business from the wax, to the wrapper, all the way to the sharpener at the back of the box: I get it. So the bigger question exists: What the heck am I gonna do when I follow Dorrie?