Travel Bug

I do not have good luck when it comes to traveling and boyfriends.  Sure, it seems like a good idea to plan a romantic get-a-way, but when it comes down to it I panic.  The only reason why I bring this up is because I just bought over a thousand dollars worth of plane tickets to go to Honolulu in June with my boyfriend.

The bad traveling vibe began when I was 18 and dating a guy from Arizona.  We went to Disneyland with a group of fraternity people.  The crux was meeting his mother and sisters who were competing in a cheerleading contest.  I would say the highlight of the trip was watching my friend trip out on acid to the sidewalk by Space Mountain.  The worst part was having his mother not like me and then having to spend an additional three days with her in Phoenix. 

I abstained from traveling with lovers until I went to Tulane with another guy when I was 21.  Tulane was his dream school.  I got in + he didn't = we broke up.  Ok, moving on.

I did travel quite a bit when I was dating guys from back east, although usually those trips involved meeting parents and it wasn't a joint venture so it doesn't count.  This entry is to solely focus in on traveling WITH the person not going to see him.

Ok, well there was this one time when I was dating interracially and it was my turn to join his family for Thanksgiving.  He had just gone through surgery so LorTab was his best friend.  We drove to his grandparents in North Carolina and it was a cultural exchange to say the least.  We were in very small quarters, I was definitely the only Caucasian around, and they were equally fascinated with my hair dryer as I was with the fact that they shot Sammy the Squirrel, stewed him up, and served him for breakfast.  We broke up that following January.

In 2003 my current boyfriend asked me to join him for a wedding out in Pennsylvania.  It was an old friend from high school marrying a girl with my same name.  I apparently went to school with the guy, but I didn't recognize him at all.  Here is where the trouble began.  What he neglected to tell me was that his ex-girl friend was going to be there as well.  I don't know if he just thought the ostrich maneuver (stick your head in the sand) was a good one or what.  We had the most outrageous fight complete with the ex wishing me "good luck" (they had dated for 8 years), me smashing a scotch glass, and both of us standing out in the rain reconciling. 

We decided to try traveling again!  Another wedding!  Chicago that August for a medical school friend.  What he again neglected to tell me was that it was an interracial marriage.  Ok, so that pushed some buttons for me.  Her Irish family was not so accepting of the gospel singing way-to-do of the wedding, but as I hear it, they are still quite happy. 

Sure, third time is the charm... In January 2004, we again decided to go to Tulane for an interview for his residency. (Its like deja-vu all over again.)  An awful fight precluded me getting on the plane (although I can't for the life of me remember what I was upset about now).  Neither of us went.

I have bad luck with New Orleans and men.  Even my girlfriends from there tell me to quit creating awful memories with such a great city. 

Then there was a time when I almost went to Jamaica with an ex.  It was canceled because I was back together with my current boyfriend.

And then we went to one last wedding last August.  It was in Minneapolis and we went all out.  Great food, incredible hotel, and a very unique union of sorts.  Another interracial, intercultural, etc, extravaganza.  Imagine a born-again Ethiopian marrying a Russian Orthodox.  As I hear it, they too are very happy.  Come to think of it, the only hard part of that whole trip was I wasn't feeling very well and he was exhausted from being post-call.

 So, this brings me to now.  In June he has 2 weeks off.  My aunt has offered us a place to stay in Honolulu near Diamond Head.  Hello?  We would be crazy not to take it.  The search was on for airfare and today I found it.  I paged him and we talked for a brief moment before I hit "confirm." 

At this point in time all I can do is hope for the best, save for spending money, get going on my work-outs, and hope that good intentions produce incredible results.

Weed and Feed: The Saga of a New Gardener

Yesterday I spent most of the day running errands with my Mom.  We did the typical things like go to lunch, the bank, the grocery, and shop around.  It was a pretty typical Saturday.  The one thing that differed was we also went to our local plant and garden shops.  Ever since I bought this house I've been pretty focused on my yard and garden.  In the middle of January I couldn't wait to buy hanging baskets in anticipation for May.  However, life is not all a bunch of roses especially if you have weeds.

I have spent countless hours feeling pretty stupid searching internet sites trying to identify my own species o' weeds (prolific little suckers).  I finally broke down and pulled one of the thousands out of my flower beds and took it to the "Master Gardener" yesterday.  There were about 4 other women with samples of grass, roots, bulbs, and weeds in various ziploc containers waiting to see Dave as well.  He is in his 60's and clearly Gregor Mendel is one of his heros.  He put my flowering weed under the magnifying lamp and began to consult his countless books. 

"It has purple blossoms."  I said trying to be helpful.

Dave looked up at me and peered through his bifocals, "I know that."

Ooh kay.  Sooorrry!

I began to think of other weeds I've battled last summer, "I also have something that looks like a lily pad."

"Yes, you don't want that either."

No kidding.

He went through the genus and species of each picture until he triumpantly opened the book and said, "Meet the weed."  There it was.  It looked harmless in the book, but he hadn't seen my yard.  Poor daffodils were competing for the sun with this weed. 

He then began to ask me how close the weeds were to my precious spring bulbs.  I didn't know.  I just explained that the weed was everywhere.  He then used my Mom as a prop.

"You Mother is the bulb.  Where is the weed in relation to your Mother?"  He began to move the now flacid weed in various proximities to my 5' Portugese decent maternal figure.

"Uh, its just everywhere."

Dave sighed and then began to tell me what I need to do.  "Go get a 20 oz coke bottle.  Enjoy." He paused for the dramatic effect. "Then cut the bottom of it off, put the bottle over the weed and use this."  He pulled some random poison off the shelf.  "However,you will not be able to do this today.  You need 5 days of sun to do this.  We are expecting precipitation tonight." 

In Utah in March that could mean anything from rain to inches of snow.

He then told me I needed to get a marker and put skull and crossbones on the bottle.  No kidding. 

Mom and I left feeling quite patronized.  We did go to another local favorite garden shop to replace a plant she recently killed by accident.  The poor thing was just hanging out of the garbage can when I got to her house that morning.  It was not a very dignified death.  Part of me wanted to go rescue it and nurse it back to health.  It was at that realization that I knew my maternal instinct was in overdrive.

Mom could kill things, I can't keep their growth under control.  Ah, the irony.

We wandered around the plants until we were overcome with a sweet fragrance.  It stopped us dead in our tracks.  A lemon tree.  It was a good height, it smelled good, it was unlike anything we've had before, and it didn't need cross-pollenization.  How cool would it be to be making chicken piccata and say, "Gee, I need a lemon.  I'll just go to the entry hall." 

We carefully loaded it into the Jetta and drove it home with the promise that if it looks like it isn't doing so well, Mom will find a new home with someone who can't kill it.  AKA me. 

Pineapples

I've been on family overdose.  Not my family.  My boyfriend's. 

I'm happy to say that he is in town for a rare week break.  It goes without saying that when he comes home, he attempts to maximize time spent with everyone.  As a result, a setting for dinner is just automatically assumed for me every night.  I love these individuals.  They are stellar people.  I'm just needing a breather.

There are subtle signs that I'm needing a break.  I begin to develop a taste for chard as opposed to pinot noir.  I've begun to pick up mannerisms of the matriarch and sayings of the patriarch.  I know the organization of the kitchen so when it is my turn to cook I don't struggle wondering where the collander is.  These are all tell tale signs that I need to retreat.

In the days of plantations in the South a sign of hospitality was the pineapple.  I'm not certain why I know this or how in the hell it still sticks in my head, but it does.  When guests would arrive, a pineapple would be placed on the table or their bed.  However, when a guest had out-worn their welcome, another pineapple would silently appear back on the bed.  Perhaps this is why you see pineapples carved into bedposts now at Ethan Allen and pineapple motifs on kitchen towels.  The only reason why I mention this is because the family has a planter in the shape of a pineapple on their front porch (now with blue pansies in it).  I doubt they really know the symbolism, but it made me giggle when I passed it.

Last year I was snowed in at their house for literally 10 days.  I will not spend the night again.  That was a time of desperation and unbelievable hospitality.  However, although it met my boyfriend's needs of having everyone in the same place at the same time, it will never happen again.  He just doesn't get it (he attempts to coax me every night into staying.)  I am almost 30 with my own home.  Why he doesn't spend more nights with me when he's in town is beyond me...especially on the weekends. 

Its not like we have some strange moral code.  Hell, where do you think I sleep when I'm visiting him?  There is no denial going on here. 

I can go on and on about what psychologcial analysis I have about this, but I'm certain it goes without saying.

At any rate, I have about oh, 72 hours (but who's counting) o'family time left.  When he leaves, I'll be depressed...as I sit alone in my own home on my own couch with my feet up on my own table...well, you get the picture.

Morphing into Management

These days I spend most of my time prepping for "difficult conversations."  I actually rehearse, write down bullet points, and try to anticipate the worst.  My life was not filled with such measures before I hit management. 

I could breeze through telling parents their child died and some difficult decsions were needing to be made.  I could reality test families of what their grasp was of a new terrible diagnosis.  For some reason, these conversations were almost second nature. 

Now I deal with conversations surrounding accountability, realtiy testing their perceptions, and ultimately attempting to inspire people to do their best.  These were topics I did not learn in graduate school.  In fact, there really isn't any sort of formal training on these issues.  I have spoken with those who have their MBA's and even they struggle.

My boyfriend and I discussed our daily agendas last night.  He commented that all I do is have "difficult conversations."  True.  Its funny that I never used to call them "difficult" until I started picking up the jargon from my boss/mentors in leadership.  I think one of my biggest road blocks is that I have way too much empathy.  Not only can I walk in that person's shoes, I can tell you the make, size, and style of the footwear.  Yes sir, I really put my heart into it.  By doing this, I tend to soften the message and impact.  This just ultimately gives me cause to beat myself up after for not being as firm as I needed to be. 

I've learned in my tenure that leadership is not defined by people liking you.  Its about influence.  And with influence there comes trust and respect.  I find its a lot easier to foster people liking you more than the two concepts of trust and respect.  Think about it, have you ever seen a grade-school age kiddo trying to use "trust" and "respect" on the playground?  Hell, no.  We are taught how to make friends, aka getting people to like you. 

These can be foreign concepts to install in people.  However, it is my duty as a leader, to figure it out and unfortunately have a lot of difficult conversations.

Home is Where the Heart Is

It goes without saying that I am a "touchy-feely" kind of person.  I function mostly on gut reactions and use logic only as back up.  I never took a deductive or inductive reasoning class in college as I knew I would fail the sucker.  My decisions make sense to me (well, of course they do, I make them).  However, I can see how this can make other people in my life crazy. 

Recently I went to San Francisco with my boss for a Family Centered Care Conference.  Truly, it is a "well, duh" concept that most people don't get.  I spent four days listening to how people set up parent advisory committees (although never have them on quality review boards), try to coach staff to actually ask the parents what they want to have happen (eventhough they do not share this info with the docs who are making the care plan), and try to create a patient flow workspace (that is until the budget gets in the way.)  It was a frustrating 4 days.  I did have good food, see the ocean, and climbed a lot of hills which I suppose is what I picture San Francisco to embody anyway. 

About 6 years ago I thought I wanted to live in San Francisco.  I was actually applying for jobs in a city I had never visited.  It sounded like a great place to go.  It was diverse, social issue focused, liberal, and had a lot of things to do.  Somehow I got stuck back home, but this is a different story.  It is funny, but when I actually got to the city for my first time in 2001, I wasn't so impressed.  It was a great city, but it just didn't feel like my city.  It was too big.  There was too much traffic.  It was too cloudy and grey.  I felt isolated in a crowd.

I felt the same way about Washington, D.C..  I actually have dated two guys from that area and each time it got serious, I was approached about moving there.  I panicked.  I spent some time there in 1995 where I again faced the same grey, rude, big city, isolation.  No way, no how.  I could rationally go there and think, "Gee, if I loved the guy enough, our relationship would help me survive and thrive in the city."  Uh, wrong, try again!  My gut just couldn't agree.  There are other cities I know I wouldn't be happy in and they are as follows:  L.A., Las Vegas, New York, Houston, anywhere in Wyoming, anywhere in Idaho, Phoenix, Colorado Springs, Sacramento, Reno, Detroit.  I apologize to those who live there and are happy in advance of my judgement.

There are other cities I love.  I've spent little time there, but I know that I would be happy.  Austin, Texas.  I spent about 24 hours there and was ready to move.  I also know I would be extremely happy in Minneapolis, Minnesota.  The people are friendly, there are neighborhoods with their own character, a lot of culture, diversity, and its socially pro-active.  I didn't really mind the winter either. 

When I was ready to set up some roots I ended up in Salt Lake.  My decision to buy a home literally was a done deal in about two weeks.  What can I say?  My heart spoke to me. 

Other cities I would consider moving:  New Orleans, Atlanta, Dallas, San Diego, Boulder, Portland, Indianapolis (only due to loved ones there), Chicago, ... and others I cannot remember at this time. 

I wish there was a scientific way of examining cities.  There isn't.  I just go on what feels right.  I would consider moving to Wisconsin over Ohio anyday.  I couldn't tell you why, it just feels right. 

They say that home is where the heart is.  They also say that some of your closest family members are not blood related.  I believe in both statements; I'm just waiting until everything just "feels right." 

Be Mine

I hate Valentine's Day.  Really, I have yet to find someone who LOVES it.  When I was younger, it was without fail that the night before I would complete my shoebox valentines depot for class and then wake up with the stomach flu.  My brother would then lug this Buster Brown's box now covered in red construction paper and pink hearts to carpool then off to my class.  This lonely box would gather store bought valentines with either Superman or Garfield on them and if I were lucky, a few candy hearts in the bottom of the envelope.  I remember looking for THE valentine.  You know, the one from the crush in school.  The guy who wouldn't talk to you.  I would read into his candy hearts.  Did he really think I was "neat?"  Did he really think I was a "Q-T?"  Fact of the matter is, he was probably more interested in Kim or Merilee.  Ok, truly, let's be honest.  He probably loved the Broncos more than some stupid girl.

As I've gotten older I equate New Years with Valentines Day.  Its the same stupid relationship pressure only a few weeks later.  The same questions exist.  Who do you kiss?  Who will choose you?  And the most important question:  will you want who chooses you? 

The only thing I can count on is my Dad on Feb 14th.  My family is not very big on holidays.  However, every Valentines Day I can always count on a small heart shaped box of chocolates from the grocery store from my Dad.  I find it really sweet.

One year I actually braced myself for a blind date.  It was with a resident at the hospital.  We went to a play and then to sushi.  He was very nice but the pressure of that stupid holiday ruined things.  I have to give it to him.  He was even quite suave with chocolates from a Utah institution, Cummings Chocolates, and flowers from Bloomingsales.  Nice touch!

There was another year in my sorority days when four of us rented a room for the sole purpose of having a place to hang out and drink.  We went to dinner and then back for some cocktails and swimming.  I think that night, if memory serves, the guy told me he loved me for the first time (I was thrilled with this news at the time).  He was also the stupid guy who thinks that all a woman wants is a Victoria's Secret box.

Good point to stop and give advice.  Men:  Do NOT give your lady a gift from V.S. on a holiday to celebrate her.  Really, it is a gift to YOU.  That's like us giving you a gift of us having a manicure/pedicure.  Please, do you think we are that stupid?

My very best Valentines day was two years ago.  I was stranded in Baltimore with the storm of the century.  It began with breakfast in bed at the hotel I was staying at for a conference.  I then got a package from my boyfriend.  Very romantic card, tea, a cd and candy.  I wasn't expecting anything as we had only been dating a short time so I was giddy beyond belief.  I couldn't believe he tracked me down!  The best part of the holiday was dinner.  Imagine four professional ladies at dinner on the waterfront surrounded by couples.  We were all sans beaus as we were at a conference.  We chatted over our heart-shaped ravioli and listed our top 3 times in our lives.  We each got a rose at the end of the night.  It was the best unplanned Valentines I've ever had.

I'm not certain what this year will hold, but it won't be anything spectacular.  My boyfriend is more than likely on call that night...2,000 miles away, might I add.  Nope, I'm not having anything more planned than me, a good book, and a grocery bought box of chocolates.

The Grief of Grief

My boyfriend thinks I'm a bit emotionally blocked.  Numb, if you will.  You see, I haven't had a really good cry since my grandmother died.  At work, people are walking around on eggshells with the empathic scrunched up face and a, "How ya doing?"  I make light of the situation and their faces get even more contorted with concern.  The thing of it is, I'm really not sure where my emotions are right now. 

As a trained therapist I know the 7 stages of grief a la Kubler-Ross; you just never think they apply to you.  Yesterday I was just utterly confused.  I got muddled on simple tasks, was highly unproductive with my day, and couldn't figure out what to do with myself.  Today I've lacked body perception.  For instance, I'm running into things.  (Re-reading this I know now I'm in shock.)

I can't even identify what stage my family is emotionally.  Yesterday everyone went about their business as usual.  Dogs were walked, taxes were done, jobs were performed, meals were cooked, and even medical appointments were made.  Not a single tissue was used.  No one immediately clustered together for joint solace and family support.  Today this trend continued until the anger stage struck.

It is displaced anger, but anger none-the-less.  Most of it was directed towards me.  Typically anger is before the depression and somewhere after denial.  I can't remember where barganing fits in, but that certainly hasn't hit. 

Things I also remember from my professional life:  crisis is not the time to reinvent the wheel.  You do what you know to make yourself feel better.  Some exercise, some withdraw, some write (guess who), some drink, some overeat, some smoke, well you get the point. 

My father has always been one to bond through fighting.  A good rousing argument is just what he needs to get engaged on an emotional level.  I can't say I was surprised when he called tonight ready to pick a fight over a topic he didn't fully understand.  He was just after the exchange.  The embarressing thing is that I took the bait.  I became defensive and ultimately hung up on him when I realized I didn't have the energy.  I instead wrote an email to my parents later (which again is my usual coping mechanism.) 

I'm braced for the full force to hit, but will it happen?  (If it doesn't I'm certain my anger phase will kick into high gear.)  The thing about grief is that it is a rapid cycle packed with punches you can't dodge...not even your parents rath.  Everyone experiences it differently and there really isn't one right way to do things.  The best thing you can do is to allow grace for everyone around you, not to take things personally, and own your own projections.  Its good advice to give, and good advice to take.