The problem with getting to work on time

... is that it makes the day too long!

That's what it says on a refrigerator magnet given to me by someone who knows me WAY too well.

Last week I discovered another problem with getting to work on time. Well, in this case, early. I arrived at 7:40, almost an hour and a half before our office officially opens. I turned on my computer and then walked out to the cafe to get water and tea. As I was about to walk back to my desk, I realized I didn't have my little grey fob-thingy to get me back in. I was locked out, trapped in the lobby, and no one else was in sight.

I didn't know what else to do, so I watched CNN for a while, all about Bush's farewell address and the plane crash into the Hudson River. I tried using the lobby phone to call and see if any of my coworkers who usually arrive early had snuck in through the other entrance. Finally, at 8:10, the director of our project came into the cafe. I, of course, pretended like I'd only been in the cafe for a few moments and nonchalantly let him hold the door open for me because my hands were full.

His reaction to seeing me at 8:10 am: "What are YOU doing here so early?"

Can you hear me now?

So, last Monday, I come home early, change into my comfies and settle into my bed for a conference call. About an hour in, I hear a knock on my door. That confident, familiar knock, you know, the “RAT-tat-tat-TAT-TAT” you would answer with a "TAT-TAT." Oh, I think, it must be one of our friends, so I get up to answer it, thinking I'll just apologetically motion to my phone, shrug, mouth the word “sorry” and send them on their way.

I put my phone on mute and open the door and there's a perky, overweight girl smiling up at me. She launches into a schpiel about how she's from the inner city and has a two-year-old daughter and is selling magazines so she can to go back to school and get a degree in social work.

Now, it normally takes all my courage and concentration to say “no” to anyone about anything, and this is even harder because I'm distracted by the conference call and taken off guard. I find myself smiling and nodding and being nice, even though in my head I'm thinking, no, stop, you'll only encourage her! So I start to explain the whole conference call thing and motion the phone, which just makes her increase the speed of her schpiel, and before I know it I've purchased two magazine subscriptions to be sent to soldiers in Iraq to read during their free time. I’m still not sure how it all happened. Argh.

Anyway, the magazines are not the point. The point is that I close the door and go back to the conference call, commenting here and there along with the other four people on the call. I start making a pretty important point when Rob suddenly interrupts me and starts wrapping up the call. I stop and try again, talking louder this time, but now Dan is talking over me, and I'm thinking, hey, why isn't anyone paying attention to me?!

That's when I look down at my phone and realize it is still on mute. Twenty minutes I've been talking and no one's been hearing me! I take my phone off mute just in time to sign off, and then sit there holding the phone and replaying the last 20 minutes of conversation, wondering how I didn't realize sooner it wasn't a conversation at all. It was like the restaurant scene in The Sixth Sense, where you think Bruce Willis and his wife are talking to each other, but then after you find out he was dead and she could never see or hear him, you realize that the scene still works without anything he said. So basically ... I was the dead person!

Um, just so I know I'm not writing this blog post to no one ... can you hear me now?

How do you beach?

During my first job out of college, I kept a little window open in the corner of my computer screen with a live beachcam of Waikiki Beach. I just checked, and it still plays Waikiki Baby and Rhythm of the Ocean ("Hear it calling your name ..." ) over and over and over, which is funny to me now. Anyway, when work was just too irritating, I'd click on the window and look at all the little people on vacation and daydream about my upcoming trip. (I believe this type of behavior is also known as "going to your happy place.") When I finally made it to Waikiki a few months later, I stood in front of that camera and waved encouragement (or gloated? not sure which) to whatever beleaguered office peon might be watching at that moment.

These days, my happy place is still the beach. After two sublime beach vacations in two weeks, I'm back in the office wishing for a live beachcam of the Outer Banks. But this time, I'm reading beach poetry, too ...

This first one is dedicated to Rachel and to walking until we can't walk anymore. In beaching and in life, I think I'm a walker.

The second is dedicated to John and his drip sand castles. And it is simply the essence of my very happy place.

Beach Glass
by Raymond A. Foss

How do you beach?
Sorry, don't want to get
Too personal
Just asking, to get a perspective
To put us on the same page.

Do you lay in place
drink in the rays, melt the stress?
Or maybe play – ball, Frisbee, or V-ball?

Not me. I walk, the length of the beach
Too restless to sit
Lost in my own thing
Looking for shells, people,
and beach glass.

Taking in the scene;
Hoping I remember where I left her
on my return.


Beach Sand
by Raymond A. Foss

Maybe it is the memories
the change of pace that brings us there
the sense of vacation
maybe the smell of the place
the sights of the gulls, the dunes, the grasses
but oh it is the feel of it,
the crunch and slide of it
the feeling of beach sand
so different from dirt, soil, loam
no, not earthy, moist, rich,
but oh so granular and gritty
even when wet,
moveable paper spreading under toes
sliding beneath the soles
smoothing my skin
clearing my mind
unburdening me of the rest
drawing me to the tactile, the feel
of beach sand

The Big Easy

New Orleans top ten highlights (I attended the AAPOR annual conference last weekend, and also found plenty of time to play tourist. I became unexpectedly fond of this city):

10. Being in New Orleans during a flash flood warning

9. Not tripping over my feet or my words in my first professional conference presentation

8. Bourbon street. Yikes! (Anyone who has been there knows exactly what I mean.)

7. Room service :)

6. Getting trapped momentarily in an elevator just below the 27th floor of the hotel (hey, it could have been worse)

5. Balconies! Everyone in the French Quarter seems to have them. I want one. With plants.

4. Lafayette Cemetery No. 1. Have I ever told you that I love cemeteries? New Orleans cemeteries are known as Cities of the Dead because they look like streets with rows of buildings. This one is in the beautiful garden district.

3. Sitting in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant watching a man at the next table use his shoe to smash a giant cockroach on the wall, then hearing the bartender scream out a moment later, "What did you do to Frankie?!" (Seriously, though, the food all weekend was excellent. Jambalaya, gumbo, seafood and po'boys, mmmm!)

2. A driving tour, offered through the conference, of areas affected by Hurricane Katrina, most of which are still in various states of disrepair. Conducted by a non-profit group called Women of the Storm. Sobering and inspiring all at once -- these ladies saw something that needed to happen in their community and just started doing it. I want to do that. (I also heard heartbreaking stories from my taxi driver and others I met along the way who lost friends and family, who tried to rescue who they could, who pulled together with others through the storm. It all put my life into perspective. I thought my basement flooding a few days before this trip was something, but compared to this, I am not complaining.)

1. Live jazz. I can't describe this in words. Click on these links to have a listen yourself:

• New Orleans Jazz 1 (Panorama Jazz Band playing at the Spotted Cat)
  

• New Orleans Jazz 2 (Preservation Hall Jazz Band playing at Preservation Hall)

And I didn't even get to take the plantation tour or the swamp tour or help rebuild a school or house! All in all, I highly recommend N'Awlins as a destination. Interesting history and culture, great live music, and they need the money coming into their economy. Let me know when you go and I might even come with you!