The HR Rulebook

Dealing with human nature is a tricky business and it takes a trickster to survive! Over the past several years, since I've had my own business anyway, I've sort of hidden the fact that I'm going on vacation right up until the last minute. This isn't because I want to just sneak away or shirk work. It's because I have a deeper, darker rational and a healthy appreciation for the way people work.

The truth is, all of my vendors are really quite wonderful but also human, which means that they're inextricably tied to the Human Nature Rulebook. That rulebook clearly states that anything and everything that can be interpreted as a reason to delay, cease or deter a particular project, will be used as a ruse to actually delay, cease or deter that project. In the world of the solopreneur, this translates into bad cashflow, also know as a poverty lifestyle. And so speed, efficiency, and obfuscation are the strategies I use to keep myself out of the poorhouse.

Unfortunately, being human myself, I couldn't help but daydream and ruminate - a little to much, I admit - on my upcoming vacation to Hawaii. (See section 5, part A, paragraph 11119-289765 of the Human Nature Rulebook to learn more about Ruminating and Daydreaming.) Of course, part of this is not my fault, and in fact can be blamed on the weather in Seattle, which has been particularly wet and miserable.

The end result is that I somehow forgot to be tricky and actually blurted out that I was planning to leave town. Not hours before boarding the flight as I usually do, but an entire 10 days in advance. This sort of faux pas, which actually borders on bragging, (see the rulebook) has resulted in a complete disppearance of all of my vendors. They have, in essence "gone dark" taking my projects along with them. I assume, (Making Assumptions, section 254, part X) to the very bottom of their slush piles with no hope of ever being completed until I return alive and demand completion of the work. At which point I will finally be paid. And boy will I need it after foolishly thinking I could afford a vacation in the first place. (See Irrational Spending section.....)

Slogging not Blogging

Day five here and this newly minted blogger is asking herself why they don't call this "slogging" instead of "blogging". It's no picnic sitting down to the computer at the end of a full day of sitting at the computer. I suppose I should be grateful, especially after watching the news about the earthquake in Haiti. Compared to that, typing can't possibly be considered tortureous. Although, being a word person, the fact that waterboarding and keyboarding both have the same ending is a little unsettling.

Actually, the trouble is not the typing, it's the story. It's not like I'm Hillary Clinton, here. I didn't have to call off my world tour to oversee the delivery of humanitarian aid to the masses. No. I have to hurry home after a visit to the post office so that the bean soup doesn't burn. Average, average, average. Life can be so run of the mill!

But when I recall all those celebrities, congressmen and other famous types Twittering things like, "I just had a refreshing run!" or "I'm in the car on my way to pick up my (celebrity) kids," I'm thinking that daily life, no matter who you are, is quite plain. Mostly filled with common responsibilities that once they hit the keyboard, sound lame, regardless of who says them.

I guess it's not so much about the "who" or the "what", but the "why" that's interesting. Yes, that's it. And it releases me from the responsibiltiy to have any purpose in this blog other than to explore the endless possiblities of whatever! That could be pretty juicy stuff... or not.

The "Ask"

I think I've done a pretty good job of being a Nana so far. Rowan, age five and his two year old brother, Oliver still regularly submit to a shower of kisses each time I see them. But the real proof that I've done my job and retained my rightful place in the scheme of spoiling of small children - these two in particular - is the question that they ask me everytime we meet.

Rowan is always first to broach the subject. After the dust has settled - the love received, coats removed, shoes off, and then socks - he'll quietly approach, position himself directly in front of me, look up into my face and ask with the sweetest voice he can muster "Nana, do you have a present for me? At which point Oliver magically appears beside him and softly whispers, trance-like almost, and with a slight lisp, "A pwesent for me?" I typically stop time here just to savor the moment. To take in their chubby little presence in all it's glory - with eyes bright, lips red, cheeks cherub and all of those small fingers twiddling in anticipation.

Mostly, I tell them, yes. Sometimes it's an inexpensive toy, or a coloring book, or a quarter. Sometime it's a piece of candy or a shoebox, a strip of bubblewrap, a skein of yarn or an empty jar or yogurt container. It can be anything - anything at all - and they're happy. They're excited. And they graciously accept it.

I've gotten so good at this that Rowan sometimes specifically asks if I have more empty boxes he can have. Why this? Because it usually means BIG fun. He'll be using his full powers - with Nana's participation, and we'll invent somethimg wonderful. Is it a robot costume or a hide out for Donkey, his favorite stuffed animal? Will it hold bugs or money? Can we cut the top off and use it as a corral for our plastic farm animals or turn it into a backpack that Oliver can wear when be becomes ...er....Sprocket Man! - the choices are endless.

Recently, I've noticed that when Rowan begins the "ask", Mom or Dad steps in and tries to put the kybosh on the question with something like, "Now Rowan, you shouldn't ask for presents...." To give them credit, I suppose they're trying to teach manners but in all honestly, who doesn't want a present? It's the most refreshing, straighforward, and real question I get all day!

And also.....can I speak frankly here? What relationship with anyone do you have where there isn't an expectation that something good should come of your meeting- mostly something good for you?

These kids are geniuses! Oh,the world should be so grateful. And by the way, if you ever have any extra junk that you think is worthless, send it my way. We can make a present out of almost anything here.

Hinty Pint

My daughter emailed yesterday with the news that she and her family have adopted a dog. A beige Frenchy, 4-years old and apparently the very model of the breed (think television or magazine), with a history that involved the show circuit and some undefined, gauzy relationship with the Iam's Pet Food Corporation. His name is Bow - as in bow tie. Of course we dropped everything, got in the car and headed over to meet the little guy who was doing surprising well for a creature who had only recently been whisked away from an adults only household to one with two small, very squirrelly boys, ages 2 and 5.

Which brings me to the point of tonight's blog. Naming your dog. Some people name their dogs after a secret aspiration of their own personalities. For example, naming a dog "King" might be the projection of a repressed desire to rule over others. Others, I've found, analyze their dogs in an effort to uncover unique doggy traits and name them accordingly. For instance, "Bullet" might be the name of a very fast moving dog. Yet another group of people rely on physical attributes, such as "Spot". But no matter how studied or careful most owners are about the initial naming of their pet, it goes downhill immediately after. Sure, they'll use the formal name in the park or on a walk down the street, but when they get back home, behind closed doors it all goes to hell in a handbasket.

Case in point, Bow is already being called Bow Bow - in a soft sing-song voice that is completely uncharacteristic for my daughter. And she's only had the pup a day.

My own two dogs - whose street names are Jupiter and Zoe have a host of secret family names. Called "pet names" and for good reason. For Jupiter they include: Stupider, Jupe Poopie, Jupe, and Wiggle Tail. For Zoe, it's Curly Girl, Zoe Zoe, Fairy Princess, and Brownie. All of which are used with a variety of voices - some cartoon-like, others high-pitched or with practiced, poor enunciation and all of which elicit the same, happy response from the dogs - and, more importantly, a happy feeling in me when I use them.

My sister has perhaps topped out on the number of names a person can invent and use with a dog. Her dog's actual name is Minnow, but she also goes by Minnard, Leonard, Minny, Whinny, Haw Haw, Hinty Pint, Whoo and multiple combinations and extensions of them (not unlike the conjugation of verbs in a foreign language). Minnow, as you can imagine, relishes all of the physical and vocal gyrations my sister goes through in conversation with her. Of course, Minnow then does her part by tearing madly through the house, jumping up on furniture, and spilling pillows off the couch to her chorus.

So what will Bow's other names be? With his barrel-shaped, untapered body he looks a little like a golden loaf of fresh baked bread (when he lays down and tucks his legs under him that is). It won't be long and he'll have more, and fonder names, I hope. Maybe, "Wonderbread" or "Loafy".

Of course, only time will tell - and only if he truely becomes a part of the family.

Reality Sinks In

Ok. We're at day number two and the idea of blogging day in and day out is beginning to sink in. This is going to take work -a commitment even. It's sort of like a marriage. We're going to have to dive in and go the distance....

So let's start with last night's "Platter Incident". A second wedding anniversary gift from a second husband and one of those rare gifts that had real meaning, presence and purpose. Awed, I kept the platter on an alter in my kitchen. I'm talking prime countertop real estate. Propped up on a stand in the corner so you couldn't miss it, directly under a spotlight so that all of it's gleaming beauty hit you the moment you stepped into the room -and it slayed me everytime.

Of course I used it. In fact, last night even. I gingerly removed it from the alter, passed it off to the husband who loaded it with perfectly cooked steaks and then landed it, with the expertise of a glider pilot(think Captain Sully), to the center of a table surrounded by six wonderful friends and dinner guests.

We ate, we drank, we desserted. The candles burned low, we laughed and the music got louder. And eventually, the soiled platter, along with everything else on the table - including the crystal - were safely navigated back to the countertop where they awaited a washing.

Way past this Cinderella's curfew the guests left, chortling down the street, while we waved goodbye from the doorway with huge grins on our faces.

Oh, if we only knew what would come next. Would we have changed anything?

Yes! The part where, once the door was closed, I padded back to the kitchen, picked up the platter and set it on the floor so the dog could enjoy the steak juice. He did his part, and then left the scene. And I, with the grace of a......(which bird analogy should I use here? Gooney bird? Chicken?) anyway, it was a jerky action, and I dropped something (I'm not going to incriminate myself by mentioning anything more on this point) let's just say that regardless of what was dropped..... it landed directly on the platter, shattering it to pieces.

So there you have it. Reality sinking in. My kitchen looks sad today. It's empty without the platter. But I have to say, we have some incredibly fun friends....

Impulsivity's upside

Impulsivity, for all the bad rap it gets, has an upside. For instance, it's what spurred me to get up at 2:14 a.m. on a full moon to begin this blog. For what reason? I have no idea. But that's irrelevant. What's important is that I am finally, like so many others, sending my nonsense out into the great abyss. But not without trepidation. In a way it makes me feel like I'm bleeding. Leaving tiny snippets of my DNA in cyberspace that can only be discovered under a black light - or is that dark night?

Not to worry. This is, afterall, shoot first, ask later. Whatever survives a title like that deserves a chance.