Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: stress


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Disconnected

Imported Photos 01015It’s December.  Christmas is around the corner.  Everyone seems to be excited but I’ve been feeling disconnected from it all.  With no children and no special plans for the holiday, no shopping or cooking to do I haven’t felt empathetic while listening to the young mothers at work talk about sales and gifts and recipes and travel plans.

Today contained a bad commute to work in a downpour, a bad morning at work filled with big problems, a lunch hour spent with truck safety stuff and studying rally signs, a long afternoon trying and failing to get caught up, then a quick drive to band rehearsal where we started out playing terribly and irritating the director.   A typical and exhausting day.

But we’re practicing Christmas music for our concert next week.  And Christmas music is hard to resist.  As the rehearsal wore on we started to sound better.  People settled in.  The director smiled a little bit.  The muscles in my  neck relaxed.  No one minded going past 9 p.m. as we worked out a particularly difficult passage.  People stuck around afterward getting organized for the concert.

On the drive home I sang along with the radio – “Do You Hear What I Hear?”  and “Rudolph the Red Nosed Raindeer.”  I enjoyed the Christmas lights in the neighborhoods I drove through.  Coming down my street I saw that my husband had turned on our holiday lights for me.

I smiled as walked in the door; Katie was excited to see me and husband seemed happy too.  All in all it was a good day.  It’s December, Christmas is right around the corner and the magic of music connected me to the season. Finally.

So get out there an enjoy the season everyone.  And my best advice is to turn on the radio while you’re out.  I bet you find yourself singing along.

Happy Holidays everyone.  Happy Holidays.


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It’s rally time

Katie here.  Mama says she’s too stressed to write tonight.  But I tried to make her feel better.  Really I did.  It’s not my fault she keeps signing us up for stuff and then gets all freaked out.  Not my fault at all.

I guess I should start at the beginning.  Mama, signed us up for our first leg of Advanced Rally.  Next Friday.  When she signed us up it seemed like a really far away date.  Lots of time to practice.  And stuff.  But now here it is.  And she just got the latest book with all the new signs and she’s freaking out!

But we went to the park today, my Mama and I.  She read the book and we heeled around and around.  I sat when she told me to sit.  I turned when she told me to turn.  I backed up when she told me back.  I did MY job. But it’s HER job to read the stupid signs.  And all those arrows and halt marks get her going good, that’s for sure.  She keeps telling me I need to learn to read real quick, so I can do it right even if she tells me wrong.  I think that’s a silly idea; how’s a dog supposed to read AND execute I ask you?

So we did a lot of signs out of the book.  I was off leash and everything.  I even ignored the chipmunk I heard off in the field.  I debated, but I ignored it.  I figured….Mama with CHEESE  or chipmunk…Mama with CHEESE or chipmunk.  Mama won.  She said I was a good girl and I got two pieces!

But after about 10 gazillion pages of signs I had enough and wanted to play!  After all we were at my park!  So Mama put the leash back on me and we went for a walk for awhile.  I got to sniff lots of stuff.

But pretty soon Mama wanted to finish the rest of the pages of signs.  I thought that was a good idea too, but I let her think it was her idea.  She’s so SLOW though, reading the signs, thinking about it.  I just want to go Go GO!

By the time she finally got to the last sign I was huffing at her.  Enough of all this sitting and downing and sitting and standing and heeling and turning and coming and stopping.  GEEZE Mama!  Can’t you see that I’m PERFECT?

She says we have to practice all the signs every night (except Tuesday when she’s practicing at band) the rest of the week so that we are all set for Friday.

It’s gonna be a long week.


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Flying is not glamorous.

Other planes are flying. Why can’t I?

How many of you remember when flying was sort of glamorous?  When you used to get dressed up to fly, wear heals and nice suites?  No?  Well most of you are too young to remember, but I’m glad those days are over and that I was wearing comfortable clothes and flats on Wednesday when I flew to Washington DC.  Booked on a very early United flight out of Flint, connecting in Cleveland and ending up at Reagan National, I expected to arrive in DC mid morning, enjoy a leisurely metro ride to the mall and a bit of time at the Martin Luther King memorial before my first meeting scheduled at 2:30 in the Hart Senate Building.

I did my part, got up at 3, got to the airport by 4:45, was at the gate at 5:00 a.m.  The flight was supposed to board at 5:30.  By 5:45 they told us there would be a small delay because a screen in the aircraft would not light up.  After a bit they said it would take an hour to fix and I knew I’d miss my connection, but I had lots of time before my first meeting in DC.  I was irritated but not worried.

After the hour was up they told us the flight was cancelled.  Immediately I was up the escalator and first in line at the ticket counter to get rescheduled.  I eventually scored a Delta flight out of Detroit direct to DC that would get me in around noon.  But I was in Flint.

They booked a taxi van and 10 of us crammed in there for an crazy ride in rush hour traffic down to the big city.  Along the way we encountered a traffic jam created by a fender bender accident and our driver veered off the freeway on an exit, careened through a Mobile gas station, and headed back north on the freeway we’d just come down.  We were mostly confused and stressed as we hung on tight in the swaying vehicle.  None of the seat belts worked, and I was sitting on half a seat, sharing the last bench seat with two rather large ladies.

We finally got deposited at Detroit and I ran for my flight, making it to the gate just as it should have been boarding.  It was not boarding.  There were maintenance problems with the plane and there would be a delay.  Really.  Really?  We sat for another hour or more.  I’d been ‘traveling’ for over 7 hours and had only managed to get sixty miles from my house.

Reagan National

We finally flew out of Detroit a bit after noon, and I arrived at Regan National around 1:30.  No time for the metro trip, no time for wandering amid monuments.  No time to relax.  No time for lunch.  I grabbed a cab and headed for the Hill.  Tomorrow I’ll tell you about two conversations I had with cab drivers.  One in particular was pretty special.

But for now I’m going to go to bed.  Just thinking about that flight has exhausted me all over again.


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Janelle’s

Janelle’s…a little slice of heaven.

A few years ago on the old blog I told you about Janelle’s Family Restaurant in Byron Michigan, about an hour west of us.  It’s owned by a husband and wife whose only child, Janelle, was killed when a semi hit their car while they were stopped in traffic.  Janelle was 15 when she died.  Her parents, a cousin and the family dog survived the crash.

Once things settled down Janelle’s dad who is a chef opened the restaurant and named it after his daughter.  The tag line is “a little slice of heaven.”  Most locals know the restaurant’s story.

Byron is a tiny town, with not much more than a block of retail stores.  Janelle’s is the only restaurant downtown.  I guess I should say was.  Because this morning it burned, along with a couple of other stores.  The whole block is damaged and will likely be torn down.

You can see photos and video here.  It’s hard to watch.  Especially if you know the restaurant’s story.

I don’t know how much one family can take.  I’m sure this feels like they’ve lost Janelle all over again.  My heart breaks for them even as it is glad that no one was injured.  Still many people are out of work in a tiny rural community.  And they’ve all be traumatized.  The good news is that it is a tight community and they will pull together.

And we’ll all be pulling for them too.  When they rebuild, or start again somewhere else we’ll be there.  And if they need help cleaning up the mess or digging through the rubble we’ll be there.  If they need a hug or a handshake or a smile…well…we’ll be there.  All they’ve asked for so far is a  tiny prayer for strength.  That one is easy, we can all provide that support.

Regardless of what happens next they can be certain that none of us will forget Janelle, whether there’s a new restaurant or not.  She touched our lives even though most of us never got to meet her.

So tonight or tomorrow, when you’re looking around and feeling frustrated or sad or stressed remember Janelle and especially  her parents who have lived through more adversity than most people could imagine.  Say that quick prayer for them and a bit of thanks for our own, simpler, lives.

I will.  For sure.


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Behind

I rise from bed before the alarm after a restless night.  I’ve dreamed what could be the dramatic first scene in a book filled with the terror of survival.  The idea for a book if I were an author.  But I don’t like those kinds of books, call them scary and rush through the worst descriptions of fear.

No time for Katie this morning, I’m behind.  A little belly rub as I wake her from sleep.  She trots to the guest room where I have hung today’s work clothes.  She hops on the bed hoping for a little nap.  No time baby, no time.  I am behind.

I’m behind.  Behind, behind, behind pounds in my head, pounds under the conscious efforts getting ready for work.  Behind.  I remember the details of my dream as I’m in the shower.  No time to think about the dream.  No time.  I’m behind.

A quick shower, no time to linger in the warm steamy water.  I’m behind.  Katie curls up on the rug.  She has time.  Drying off I am glad my hair curls whether I mess with it or not.  No time.

Last night’s rehearsal went poorly.  I need to practice.  “You are all adults.” the conductor said.  “We don’t have time to work out the wrong notes here”   There are only four rehearsals  until our concert.  We don’t have time.  I am behind.

Work is overwhelming.  Hundreds of emails, problems.  Short staffed. Cranky people including me.  No time to stretch, relax the shoulders, take a deep breath.  I worked on Sunday and now I am behind.   I think of the problems I left on my desk as I rushed to band last night.  If I just move faster maybe I’ll be less behind.

I strap time on my wrist this morning and think that no one wears a watch anymore.   I can’t stop time.  It is streaking past me, falling into the abyss of the future.   I don’t know if I am the White Rabbit or Alice.

But I know that I’m behind.


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Randomness

It’s been a crazy busy few weeks at work with no end in sight.  There’s been even more stress lately as we’re short staffed.  People are are sick, on vacation and loaned to another department.  Yet the volume continues.  I need to find a way to get through the day without being overwhelmed.  Without getting angry.  Without getting kink in  my neck.

Message to the young lady in the blue Ford tailgating me on my commute to band practice tonight:  There are four lanes of traffic.  We’re all going the same speed.  There’s a car in front of me, one on either side of me.  Where did you want me to go?  When I could I moved one lane to the right, just to get out from in front of you.  You zoomed up behind the next car.  We were all going 75.  Why do you need to go faster?  I had a really bad day at work but just because you’ve got some sort of death wish doesn’t mean I want to go with you.

Rehearsal tonight was grueling.  We’re still sight reading pieces while we figure out what we’ll play for the Halloween concert.  Some pretty strange stuff.  Some really difficult stuff.  Some strange and difficult stuff.  Two hours nonstop.  At 8:50 p.m. the conductor stopped and started talking about the season concert dates.  We figured we were done and began to relax.  Then with only a few minutes left she asked us to read one more piece.  And as we were sighing and pulling the piece out of our folders she said “You may  have noticed that this arrangement is written a half step lower than the original composition.”  My stand mate and I both said sarcastically and at the exact same time – “Yea, we noticed that.” and then we both looked at each other and burst out laughing.  We laughed so hard that we were crying.  We laughed so hard that we missed the first 16 bars of the piece of music.  We giggled through the whole thing.  It wasn’t even that funny.  Guess you had to be there.

After a long day and a bad commute, a exhausting rehearsal, it was good to end the day with laughter.

Yes it was.


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Overwhelming stress…or the story of the jello failure

Have you ever had an hour or a day or a week when you need to do too many things?  When you should work with multiple lists to remind you of tasks to be done?  But because you’re too stressed to make the lists you muddle along doing the best you can?  Sometimes things don’t turn out so well.

You know what jello is, right?  That wiggly insanely colored not food thing.  I was supposed to make it last night before I went to bed.  I promised to make it last night before I went to bed.  But I went to bed without thinking about jello.  The neon food never entered my mind.

Even this morning as I was getting ready for work I didn’t think about my promise.  Until I pulled the cereal box out of the pantry.  And there it was.  The little box staring accusingly up at me.  The box of jello dust.  Waiting for the boiling water.  Waiting for me to fulfill the promise.

I put breakfast on hold and set the kettle on the stove.  Water takes a long time to boil when you’re in a hurry but I didn’t use that time to read the directions.  That would have entailed finding my glasses, and after all this was jello.  Who needs directions?

So I boiled the water, poured out one cup of the steaming liquid and stirred it into the jello fixings until it was clear.  I knew that the little box made four servings, so I poured it into four little custard cups, each cup not even half full.  Hmmmm, I thought.  That’s odd.  I remember the servings being bigger than this when I was a kid.  But when was the last time I actually made jello and poured it into little cups?  So I put them in the refrigerator and set about making my breakfast.

But something kept nudging my brain.  How is it that a small box of jello is supposed to make four 1/2 cup servings and what I had looked like so much less?  How come.  How come.

WAIT!  Where was that box?  Where were my glasses?

The directions say one cup of boiling water….and one cup of COLD water!  AHHHHHH  I could double my output if I followed the directions!  Isn’t that just like life.

I grabbed the four pathetic custard cups of jello out of the fridge, poured them back into the bowl, added the cold water, stirred.   And I laughed quietly, assuring myself that I’d never tell anyone about my failed jello project.  But I’m telling you.

Keep it under your hat, OK?

Don’t let the stress make you crazy!