April 26, 2024 · 3:36 pm

Leaving the office

When I arrived for my interview that day, the contractors were working on the door I went through.

Actually, they were sealing it up, and by the time I’d left they had removed the temporary wall and revealed the new second half of the office suite, complete with new entrance.  I always use that story as the perfect example of how, from the very beginning of my time there, my career grew just like the office did.

For 12 years that building was “the office” to me. It’s true that from almost the start we were an in-office-as-needed team, but once the in office team became so much of  “THE TEAM” – the people I actually love working with and wanted to see – we found ourselves in the office together more often than not.  We worked away, talking back and forth over our cube walls and listening to the antics of the other teams around us.   We angled for good positions in the pot luck lines, did various silly group theme costumes for Halloweens, left the parking lot in a line of cars headed to the local brewery for Happy Hour together.

There were promotions, and family milestones, and personal goals achieved….. cubes turned to offices and we moved back and forth between each other’s, closing doors to vent, or brag, or take calls together over iced coffees or breakfast burritos from our favorite local spot.

There were Joiners, and there were Leavers – some leaving harder to accept than others – and there were the Stayers, (I stand by the word choice,) sharing extra layers or portable fans depending on what the moody HVAC decided to do that day, and trying to convince each other to either ditch our fridge lunches or eat them, also depending on the day. There were inappropriately named cubicles.

We apologized and ran from calls out the door and across the street where we waited for hours as instructed by Hazmat during the “white powder” incident.  We horded the bacon dip during the office wide “dip off” competition (ok this “we” was just me.)  We horded the off-brand Excedrin from the first aid kits. We horded the good plates.  We put disco balls and mandala tapestries in our offices.  We (no wait, this was also me) got carted out by EMTs, sure it was a heart attack (I was sure, not the EMTs,) past our BIG BOSS sitting in a glass walled conference room watching us roll by, Favorite CoWorker holding my hand and on the phone with The Mr. explaining that he wasn’t calling to set up happy hour plans later. (It was a panic attack.  Turning 40 will mess with you. If you have been here a while, you know the story.)

The office grew again in physical size – new fancy kitchen and HUGE conference rooms to accommodate the bulging population. 

We built stuff. We solved problems (and created some too.) Sometimes Leavers were Rejoiners. Sometimes they were leavers again.

And then one day – March 13, 2020 – we left.  And we just…. didn’t come back. Until we did, to find offices frozen in time.   Calendars set on March 2020.  Snack drawers full of LONG expired food.  And emptiness where our whole loud, lively, full existence had once been on full display.

Don’t get me wrong – I love our online team – now fully and completely spread out all over. We were doing online quite well LONG before anyone told us we had to.   The team remains THE TEAM.

But being back at the office in their physical absence has been disorienting.  My once-weekly time there is so deafeningly quiet.

And so it was today as I packed up my personal items, and labeled the boxes and files that need to move to the new office where I won’t have an official space of my own.    The new space is beautiful and I am excited to visit and work in shared spaces often.

But as I walked the full floorplan one last time today – seeing and hearing the ghosts and the echoes of every moment of the 12 years we spent finding out who “we” were as individuals and as a team in these aging spaces?

I carry every moment forward in every action I take in my career – and probably in my “not work” too.

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December 10, 2021 · 2:00 pm

The Very Goodest Boy

(CW loss of pet)

This is Potter.

Throughout his 17 years, he had many nicknames, like all well-loved pets do.

He was named after Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby (yes, the Counting Crows song,)  NOT Harry Potter, which is what people would always assume.  Only his grandpa (my dad) was allowed to call him “Hairy Potter,” and he always greeted him with a head scratch and a “HEY Hairy, how are ya,” whenever they were around each other.

We said goodbye to Potter today. Or to his physical self – I think he will be near us always.

The Mr. and I adopted Potter right after we returned from our honeymoon, after I fell instantly in love with his overgrown messy-furred self, sitting quietly in his enclosure at the Denver animal shelter.  I think The Mr. was looking for somefuzzy a little more perky and less messy, but I asked to see this one, and we went into the visitation area, where the black matted lump curled up in my lap and went to sleep.  And I said “are you Potter?  I think you’re Potter.”

And I knew the answer was yes.

So home he came, to my former single-girl condo turned newlywed home, and settled in.  There was crate training, and puppy nipping, and pooping on the floor of Aunt Shannon’s holiday party.    After a few shenanigans, (including a terrifying runaway incident on a very busy corner with The Mr. that makes me panic just to hear about,) Potter settled into life as the perfect city dog. 

When we moved to The Treehouse, he was in heaven, sticking his snoot thru the slats on our ginormous 6th floor balcony to sniff the wind and survey his neighborhood from up above. It was that time in our life where your friends are your family – and all of ours were in walking distance of our little corner of the world.  Potter was surrounded with love – Aunt Terresa called him “Baby Bear,” and Aunt Becca swore his fur was a soft as chenille. (Please universe, let me always remember how impossibly soft his fur was.)

  He loved walkies in that neighborhood – up 7th avenue and around the block to the Governor’s Mansion.  Him and I relished in long weekend naps on the bed, and his toys and bones were usually scattered everywhere.

He was the first one to know when I found out I was pregnant.  He was the first one to know when my water broke.  When Jr came home, Potter seemed a bit confused as to why we needed this new puppy, but he slowly earned his big brother badge, even if a bit begrudgingly in the early days.

Moving to the suburbs bewildered him as much as it did me, I think.  He loved running around in his back yard, but wouldn’t do his business unless he was walked – and it became normal to see him and The Mr., maybe with other family members, maybe not, walking the paths surrounding our little neighborhood pond.

So the years slipped happily by in Potter-land – there were trips to the mountains to hike and run, visits with Grandparents, birthday parties with doggie ice-cream, frolicking and bounding like a bunny in deep fresh snow.

Potter was my constant sous chef, always right next to me in the kitchen ready to catch any crumbs that dropped accidently (ok, not always accidentally.) Popcorn was his favorite human snack, but ANYTHING you put peanut butter on was the instant best thing ever.

In the past few years neighbors would notice that The Mr. and Potter weren’t walking as often or as far, and his senior-dog self grew content puttering around in his back yard.    Then the world changed, very suddenly, and Potter found his people all at home, all the time. As it got harder, and then impossible, for him to navigate even the couple stairs down into the back yard, we were there to lift him.    When he couldn’t find his food and water bowls, we were there to hold them up to him.

When even the mobile groomer didn’t feel like he could be safely bathed and trimmed in her trailer, I grabbed the clippers I had bought to cut Jr’ hair and became Potter’s doggie hairdresser. 

He was comfortable, and he was safe, and he was content. And another year passed with him getting all the love and affection and devotion we had to give.

Him and I had long talks, and I promised him I would always do what was best for him, even when that was hard.  And it has been hard.  But it has been my honor to be his person and to take this entire journey with him, even the hardest parts. 

He made me a mom.  I will always be Potter’s Mom.

In a world full of Very Good Boys, ours was The Very Goodest.

Run like crazy, my baby dog – with clear eyes that see forever, and strong legs that bend and jump.

But don’t go too far, and let me and brother and the big guy know you are here sometimes, ok?

Mama loves you so, Binky.

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August 27, 2021 · 9:50 am

The Day Before

Jr in our happy place

 

 

I used to write.

Constantly and continuously.

Like breathing in and breathing out.  I wrote.  In journals and blogs and letters and cards – long essays and stories; short perfectly crafted emails; for pleasure, for introspection, for work.  My life was filled with the beginnings of ideas jotted on scraps of paper or margins of more formal notes for work.

My entire understanding of the world came through how I wrote it down.

But I have realized – completely – I don’t write anymore.

 

In March I sent in the deposit for a membership to the local private swim and racquet club that I had been saying for years we should join.  I told no one – not The Mr, not Jr., not Dr Sissy or my parents.   I just filled out the membership, got the confirmation, and held it in my head as a signal that I believed better days were coming.

And the school year ended – summer opened up for us like a blooming carpet of possibilities, leading us to find a new level of freedom in the outdoor spaces Colorado does so very well.

With few exceptions, Jr and I found ourselves at the club every day – weekends were marathons with fully packed coolers and gallons of SPF used.  Weekdays he would amuse himself around the house until I wrapped up my workday and we found our way to our favorite table in the late afternoon shade. 

It was our happy place.  Our safe place. There in the uncrowded expanse of the pool deck, with space to spread out and ample access to snack bar soft pretzels,  we could frolic fully without sacrificing our care of the work and the warnings from Dr Sissy and BIL and all of their medical professional counterparts who were (and still are) pleading for caution as we navigated our newest version of “normal.”

There were other activities too – lunches on the patio of our favorite local haunt, backyard happy hours with our favorite winery friend, and long weekends for Jr and The Mr spent with my parents at their condo in the mountains while Binky the aging wonderdog and I enjoyed the silence of a temporarily empty house. 

It was supposed to be our in-betweener summer.    “Outside good, Inside bad” was the motto, and we felt like we were so far away from the previous summer spent circling our little neighborhood and floating our tubes in the extra large backyard paddling pool.  We were on our way to Jr returning to school safely, and in the meantime we were just lounging in our little oasis – me refilling my mimosa while Jr practiced his front flip off the diving board endlessly.

Life was good.

But it staying that way wasn’t in the cards, was it? I started to see the worry and hurt overtake my sister and brother-in-law on our frequent Duo calls again.  Nervously glanced at the calendar as the first day of school crept closer. Did my best to temper Jr’s concerns about upcoming changes in his world.

I have been blessed with such a kind-hearted kid. Actually, I would bet we all have – kids are amazing, aren’t they?

He wants to know everything (sometimes he thinks he already does,) and he wants to try everything and he wants to show people how to care about others.  Which is awesome, but is also a lot.   Goodness knows as a grown up, I certainly haven’t found a way – so instead we took advantage of every last minute of summer we had together.

The day before the school year started, we found ourselves out in the center of the pool, Jr on his watermelon floatie, me whirling him around and around playing “washing machine” as he likes to call it.

I spun him away, laughing and waving as he floated just out of reach – and he momentarily stopped smiling and paddled back quickly.

“Mom – don’t let go.  Spin me and spin me – but hang on.”

And so I did – and there we were –  just him and me hanging on to each other – laughing and spinning in the sun and willing time not to move and stretching the moment out into forever.

I knew I wanted to write about that moment – to capture it and keep it and hold a piece of it.

But I don’t write anymore – because writing it down won’t keep tomorrow from coming, won’t let me protect him or anyone else I love. Won’t make the world kinder or the truth less terrible than it really is. 

And because like all who are not entirely consumed by selfishness, and like our world itself, I am forever changed.

Still, somewhere in my mind and my heart – him and I are spinning alone together in the clear blue water, sun on our faces, not letting go.

 

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December 31, 2020 · 1:47 pm

Hindsight

 

Hopscotch always was a fan of social distancing

Well.

That was a year, wasn’t it?

It doesn’t feel great to look back at posts and pictures from this time last year – it’s devastating, actually. Smiling faces filled with hope and excitement – minds filled with the concept that they were somehow ready to take on whatever 2020 had in store.  We knew nothing. We were fools.  How could we have been anything more, though, I suppose.

I suppose also, that there is hope here too, as we move toward 2021 – less certain, more desperate, and completely void of the previous NYE’s bravado – but hope, still.

Last year I looked forward to stepping up into my coming promotion – and I have been fortunate to maintain that role.  Fired up and ready to continue climbing the corporate ladder, my thoughts were on maximizing bonus potential and growing my path.   As 2021 begins,  I am overwhelmed with the privilege of maintaining my employment, and consumed with thoughts as to how best to continue to lead my amazing team through this continuing unprecedented time.

I had such lofty goals for our family – expanding our activities and including my parents in more of our adventures near and far.  Nurturing Jr’s love of team sports, perhaps steering him away from his scooter obsession. It turns out that mastering new scooter tricks is a fabulous solo sporting activity, and my most fervent wish for my family is to get my medically high-risk father vaccinated as soon as possible, adding him to the list of people I love that are on the path into the light after so long in the dark and cold of this overwhelming fear, along with Dr Sissy and BIL who thankfully have received their first doses.  And then turning my attention to my mom – who is the sun and the moon to Jr, and hopefully someday myself and The Mr, and please oh please smarty-pants scientist people – my son and all of the other kiddos who seem so often to be counted last on the list of those we worry about in all of this.

I started 2020 in a battle to continue taking the medication I have relied on for over 20 years to keep Multiple Sclerosis from using my immune system to eat away at my nerves  – a battle I won, ironically, in late February.   Just in time to find out that the medication that tamps down that messed up immune response also made me a sitting duck for a novel virus we were just starting to learn about.

I hold no expectations for 2021.  I wonder, really, if the idea of understanding what the future should look like in any way is forever lost on a large number of us, at this point.  I hope that my inability to conceptualize that does not dampen my son’s ability to dream big.   We will need those dreams and the promise within them.

Before I spiral off into the abyss of sadness and anger and horror that has been a constant looming presence for these many months – those same months have brought clarity on all there is to be so thankful for. 

Big things like the amazing power of science and the determination of those who use that power to solve problems and those who combine it with their immense humanity to treat and care for those who are ill. 

The strength of the will of people to fight  the darkest depths of hate and shame and selfishness, and band together to elevate goodness and drive change.   The collective magnitude of thousands and thousands of teachers and educational professionals moving mountains to try and meet their students’ needs – far beyond just academic – wherever those students are (and getting up the next day and trying again, even when it feels like they are only one grain of sand getting constantly blown by a giant unending wind.)

And little things too-  for many it has been a new pet added to the family, for me it has been the opportunity to care for my aging doggie, and spending my days and nights concentrating on his needs and appreciating every moment and every snuggle with him.

The fun that the holidays bring, particularly for Jr – his willingness to believe in all the magic of the season may be growing short-lived, but this year when we needed it most, he was open and excited to see what Hopscotch the elf was up to each morning, or hold court in his usual competitive rounds of dreidel with his stuffed Grinch (and this year, the family’s newest member, his beloved plush rooster, who if you ask me, may be a bit of cheat.) A particularly perfect virtual visit with Santa after a day of cookie-decorating filled this mother’s heart with more thankfulness than I can find words for.

Time draws short, and in a few hours, 2020 will well and truly be hindsight.   Our understanding of all that has transpired will grow in the days (and months, and years) still to come.  

Even if I can’t envision it – I hold hope that the light has found us by this time next year.

 

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October 9, 2020 · 5:13 pm

Seven

View of me in the laundry room

View from a meeting

This week my coworkers watched me do laundry.

I’d love to say that the display of domestic prowess was intentional, but alas – no one has been begging me to demo my epic dryer lint trap removal skilzzz.

Seven Months.

That’s how long it took me to have a visible snafu.

Seven Months of working from home while pretending to be a 9 year old during playtime, and a principle, Para pro, lunch lady and IT rep during school time.

Seven Months of plotting meal after meal after meal that people will eat and won’t get bored of.

Of fighting back the clutter that comes with ALWAYS being here. Of date nights that consist of sitting on the front porch with The Mr. like it’s the balcony of a resort, watching the neighborhood.

Of doing a bajillon different jobs all day, and getting up 3 times a night with the geriatric dog I am honored to be hanging with as he ambles through the darkening twilight of his life.

Of falling asleep with a glass of wine at like 7:15 and forgetting that the dryer is full of clothes that still need to be hung up and put away.

For 4 nights in a damn row.

And of constantly trying to squeeze one more little thing that COULD be getting done into a few minutes when you might be able to step away from your computer and listen to a call. And accidently hitting the camera button on Teams. And giving everyone a lovely view of you fighting to get the bin where you store the extra detergent down off the high shelf, while your coworker tries to IM you, but you don’t notice because it’s 2020 and the universe is not here for your dignity, silly insignificant little human woman.

(I didn’t notice until now – but I shifted away from first person writing that. Evidently I still need that distance from it.)

Also since 2020 – I totally lost it when I realized that I was the dumbass who was wronged by technology on a large call, and did what you should never do, and had a breakdown on the phone with my boss.

It wasn’t even about the multi-tasking really. Not when I thought about it more (and you KNOW I f*cking thought about it more. And more. And then also some more.)

It’s the vulnerability, I think. That they all saw me, trying desperately to just keep up with my own life, and kind of failing. I am a leader – they come to me with their problems (no really, it’s true!) When they ask how things are going with Jr’s remote learning, or my sister and BIL doctoring away on the front lines, or my M.S., I am supposed to project confidence and calm.

Aren’t I?

But I can’t.

Because it has been Seven Months.

It has reshaped the entire world. (If you feel the effects less or whatever you choose to call it, good for you – this probably isn’t for you.)

Here I am – every day – blessed to have a few people left around me who will let me cry over a really stupid video conference move one day, but make sure I can laugh about it the next day over Zoom happy hour.

Seven Months ago I would have probably written about this as a hilarious guide to Zoom Etiquette or something. Oh well. That Keri is down in there somewhere, hibernating I guess.

I will say this though – we are Seven Months in to this, people.

Let’s make a pact – if your coworker is making damn fool out of themselves on a call – how about a little throat clear or something to snap their ass out of it?

Seven months is a long time – we need some back up, yo.

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