Pick a holiday, any holiday. Or maybe a Sunday. Dinner is done, dishes are cleared and washed and most houses are settling down for the evening. But not ours. We're gathering around the table to play Oklahoma Rummy. Genny and Manny would be there, maybe Pat and Morris, those of us kids who wanted to play, my dad and any other guests/visitors who so chose. Outbursts of "Buy" and "that was a playable card" rumble around the table, usually 8 or 10 or more of us playing. It took three decks of cards. Its a good game for kids - you learn your numbers and jacks, queens, kings and aces, jokers (six of them in three decks) and, when you got really good at it, counting cards, observing players and what they've played, even trying to read faces. Maybe even developing a poker face of your own (mine was wide-eyed gullible, they never knew if I had a good hand or bad hand because I always looked like a deer caught in the headlights). You eventually learn things like to not throw away playable cards and that when someone does, its either a mistake on their part or they're really close to "going out" and winning the hand. Oh yeah, don't forget to "knock." And yes, we kept score, you had to count the points in your hand (2-7 was 5 points, 8-King was 10 points, Ace was 15 points and Joker was 50 points, I think). Of course, the lowest number of points at the end of the series of hands wins.
The other really cool thing about Oklahoma Rummy is that it keeps you thinking. Its not like Gin Rummy where you always try to go for whatever you can in the way of sets and runs but Oklahoma Rummy is scripted by hand, I think this is how it goes and if not, it gives you the idea:
1. Two sets
2. Two runs
3. One set, one run
4. Three sets
5. Two sets, one run
6. Two runs, one set
7. Three runs
I won't go in to all the rules here. Actually, its been a lot of years since I've played. Maybe I'll bring three decks of cards to Christmas this year. I recall you discard and the next person may pick up the discard or a new card. If they don't want the discard and someone else needs it, they can "buy" and take it plus 2 or 3 cards from the top of the deck.
And, like anything else, we developed our nicknames for the hands, sets were something called setbacks and runs may be ruins. It was all in good fun and it was a good learning experience!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Growing Up Phillips: Sharing Bedrooms
How many kids today share a bedroom? Probably not as many that did when I was a kid. We shared bedrooms as kids, even if some of us managed to get our own, the youngest two of my brothers were adults and still sharing a bedroom. There's only so many bedrooms in a house and when you have more people than bedrooms, you share. That's just the way it was.
My oldest sister returned home for a few months with her daughter, my niece, when I was seven. They got my bedroom and I moved in with "the two little boys." Mind you, the boys were older than I was but they got called "the two little boys" into adulthood and then some. Anyway, I was 7, Mark was 9 and John was 10. The room was fairly good sized, 10 x 12 feet I think. The boys had bunk beds on one side and I had a twin/solo bed on the other. We changed our clothes in the bathroom or under the covers. Even though we knew the difference between girls and boys, we didn't need to flaunt it.
I think the biggest casualty of those six months was the ceiling. I was pretty gullible as a kid. My brothers would never tell me a lie or do anything to hurt someone or something...right? Well John convinced me that root beer tastes better when the bottle was shaken, so I shook it before removing the cap. Okay, so now the ceiling was stained and dripping root beer on my bed. So I asked him if that accoustical ceiling could be washed. John said sure. Did I mention I was gullible at age 7? So, here I am, standing on a chair, washing the ceiling with a hot, soapy washrag. Oh, well, I couldn't reach the ceiling standing on a chair that was on the floor, so the chair was sitting on my bed (get it? bed with chair on top, me on chair). I knew I was in trouble when with each swipe, the textured ceiling now had a new texture, the one I made with the washrag. I did the only thing I could do and yelled, "Pa!!!" Time to fess up. Time to get into BIG trouble. I still wonder which I was in trouble for more:
My oldest sister returned home for a few months with her daughter, my niece, when I was seven. They got my bedroom and I moved in with "the two little boys." Mind you, the boys were older than I was but they got called "the two little boys" into adulthood and then some. Anyway, I was 7, Mark was 9 and John was 10. The room was fairly good sized, 10 x 12 feet I think. The boys had bunk beds on one side and I had a twin/solo bed on the other. We changed our clothes in the bathroom or under the covers. Even though we knew the difference between girls and boys, we didn't need to flaunt it.
I think the biggest casualty of those six months was the ceiling. I was pretty gullible as a kid. My brothers would never tell me a lie or do anything to hurt someone or something...right? Well John convinced me that root beer tastes better when the bottle was shaken, so I shook it before removing the cap. Okay, so now the ceiling was stained and dripping root beer on my bed. So I asked him if that accoustical ceiling could be washed. John said sure. Did I mention I was gullible at age 7? So, here I am, standing on a chair, washing the ceiling with a hot, soapy washrag. Oh, well, I couldn't reach the ceiling standing on a chair that was on the floor, so the chair was sitting on my bed (get it? bed with chair on top, me on chair). I knew I was in trouble when with each swipe, the textured ceiling now had a new texture, the one I made with the washrag. I did the only thing I could do and yelled, "Pa!!!" Time to fess up. Time to get into BIG trouble. I still wonder which I was in trouble for more:
- Gullibility and believing John
- Trying to cover up the mess
- Ruining the ceiling
- Standing on a chair set on top of the bed
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Buddies
They say friends help you move, real friends help you move bodies. Well, I haven't had the need to call on my friends to help me move bodies, fortunately, but I count myself lucky to have some really good friends. While my female friends are wonderful, it's my male friends I want to mention here.
Every gal needs male friends, buddies. I'm not talking about my significant other, he fills a place in my life like no other can. I'm talking about those other male friends. I hope you have all experienced having at least one. I have been blessed with four of them: Greg, Tom, Kevin and Tim. And for inquiring minds, all of them have helped me move.
I grew up with Greg, he lived up the street. Our moms taught catechism together. We knew each other as little kids but it wasn't until high school that we became buddies. Even though we lost touch for a few years, Greg has always been there for me and he always will. And even though we live over 500 miles apart, there's phones and visits. Greg has also brought other wonderful additions to my life, in his wife Rhonda, who is as kindred a spirit as I will ever find, and their daughters Jessica and Allison, who I love to pieces. I'm sure if I knew Rhonda's sons better, they would be just as simpatico.
I met Tom in junior high school / 9th grade. He was a sophomore in high school and was the student assistant to our Science Club. I didn't know it at the time but he was also friends with my brothers Mark and John, being in English class with Mark and in the Rocket Club with John. Tom hadn't put the three of us together either until John invited him home one day after school. It went something like this:
Tom: Oh, you invited Mark over too?
John: No, he's my brother <grumble, grumble>.
Tom: Don't tell me, she's your sister?
John: <grumble, grumble>
I will always be grateful to Tom for taking me to my Junior Prom. It was our one attempt to see if there could be something more than friendship between us. We decided not to try for more, we valued our friendship too much. Tom moved away and I miss him. He recently contacted me on Facebook, hopefully we'll keep in touch better.
Kevin came in to my life at one of my darkest moments and provided a ray of sunshine. He was there for me as my marriage crumbled, providing me with moral support, believing in me and my worth as a person, letting me know that I matter, that I would get through it and just being there for a shoulder to cry on. And I'm sure he went home many times with a soggy shirt. Kevin flits in and out of my life. We can go for two or three years with little or no contact and then take up our friendship like it was yesterday. I am so glad he found such a wonderful woman in Eileen and I wish them many happy years together.
Tim is the newcomer to the list, if ten years can be considered new. He came as a package deal with his wife Tracy, who is just as marvelous. Along with Greg and Rhonda and another high school friend, Ruth, Tim and Tracy saw me through my diagnosis of ITP and my first round with Rituxan. Tim was Don's friend before me and they're still friends, we can share. Don met Tim's wife Tracy when I was in Sacramento and kept telling me that I should get together with Tracy, he thought we would be friends. I kept wondering what I would have in common with a former Army gal, a stay at home mom with three kids? But hey, I'm game. It was a great decision! Someday I'll write about my gal friends, including Tracy, but Tim joined the elite group of male buddies. Yes, we moved away from Sacramento and they stayed but distance doesn't mean much when you're friends. Tim also has the dubious honor of dealing with me through work also. He's at the other end of my Duty Officer assignments.
I could tell any of my male friends anything. And I mean ANYTHING! They wouldn't bat an eyelash. It could be the most female secret in the world or some functioning female body part thing. They'd listen, they'd input and they wouldn't judge. I think that's the best thing about having good friends. And when they're male good friends, it adds an interesting dimension to their input.
Every gal needs male friends, buddies. I'm not talking about my significant other, he fills a place in my life like no other can. I'm talking about those other male friends. I hope you have all experienced having at least one. I have been blessed with four of them: Greg, Tom, Kevin and Tim. And for inquiring minds, all of them have helped me move.
I grew up with Greg, he lived up the street. Our moms taught catechism together. We knew each other as little kids but it wasn't until high school that we became buddies. Even though we lost touch for a few years, Greg has always been there for me and he always will. And even though we live over 500 miles apart, there's phones and visits. Greg has also brought other wonderful additions to my life, in his wife Rhonda, who is as kindred a spirit as I will ever find, and their daughters Jessica and Allison, who I love to pieces. I'm sure if I knew Rhonda's sons better, they would be just as simpatico.
I met Tom in junior high school / 9th grade. He was a sophomore in high school and was the student assistant to our Science Club. I didn't know it at the time but he was also friends with my brothers Mark and John, being in English class with Mark and in the Rocket Club with John. Tom hadn't put the three of us together either until John invited him home one day after school. It went something like this:
Tom: Oh, you invited Mark over too?
John: No, he's my brother <grumble, grumble>.
Tom: Don't tell me, she's your sister?
John: <grumble, grumble>
I will always be grateful to Tom for taking me to my Junior Prom. It was our one attempt to see if there could be something more than friendship between us. We decided not to try for more, we valued our friendship too much. Tom moved away and I miss him. He recently contacted me on Facebook, hopefully we'll keep in touch better.
Kevin came in to my life at one of my darkest moments and provided a ray of sunshine. He was there for me as my marriage crumbled, providing me with moral support, believing in me and my worth as a person, letting me know that I matter, that I would get through it and just being there for a shoulder to cry on. And I'm sure he went home many times with a soggy shirt. Kevin flits in and out of my life. We can go for two or three years with little or no contact and then take up our friendship like it was yesterday. I am so glad he found such a wonderful woman in Eileen and I wish them many happy years together.
Tim is the newcomer to the list, if ten years can be considered new. He came as a package deal with his wife Tracy, who is just as marvelous. Along with Greg and Rhonda and another high school friend, Ruth, Tim and Tracy saw me through my diagnosis of ITP and my first round with Rituxan. Tim was Don's friend before me and they're still friends, we can share. Don met Tim's wife Tracy when I was in Sacramento and kept telling me that I should get together with Tracy, he thought we would be friends. I kept wondering what I would have in common with a former Army gal, a stay at home mom with three kids? But hey, I'm game. It was a great decision! Someday I'll write about my gal friends, including Tracy, but Tim joined the elite group of male buddies. Yes, we moved away from Sacramento and they stayed but distance doesn't mean much when you're friends. Tim also has the dubious honor of dealing with me through work also. He's at the other end of my Duty Officer assignments.
I could tell any of my male friends anything. And I mean ANYTHING! They wouldn't bat an eyelash. It could be the most female secret in the world or some functioning female body part thing. They'd listen, they'd input and they wouldn't judge. I think that's the best thing about having good friends. And when they're male good friends, it adds an interesting dimension to their input.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
My First Loves
Just about every girl gets a schoolgirl crush. Goodness knows I've had my share. But I've also had some really nice first loves.
I was a product of daycare. They didn't call it that back then, it was called pre-school. Well I went to pre-school at about age 3. At four I started kindergarten, being an October kid, and the pre-school provided after-school care to the morning kindergarten kids. Tommy also went to the same pre-school and kindergarten. His grandfather was a cobbler. I don't remember why Tommy lived with his grandfather or what happened to his parents. It's strange how the little details of life escape us (although I'm not so sure its a little detail to him!). Anyway, there was a group of about eight of us kindergarten kids who would get dropped off at pre-school each morning and walk together the mile down Minnesota Avenue to kindergarten. Rain or shine. After school, we would walk back. Tommy and I would hold hands. One day we stopped behind a tree and Tommy kissed me. I was five years old and in love for the first time. I went to a different school the next year (the parochial elementary school was 1st through 8th grades only at the time, it had no kindergarten) and eventually Tommy and his grandfather moved away.
Fast forward to 3rd grade... Mitch was in my class. He was funny, very funny. He was also fun to be around. And we liked each other. We liked to do much of the same things and we had a lot in common, both being from big families, going to the same church and more. He was Italian. I'd never been close to anyone Italian before. Going to his house was like stepping in to a whole new world. Food was always cooking. Kids were running around even wilder than my brothers and all the kids were happy. Manners were strictly observed and enforced, especially at the dinner table. For my birthday, Mitch gave me a little coin purse with pink fur on it with "google eyes" and a felt nose and mouth. I loved it and treasured it for many years, keeping it in my treasure box. Every young girl should have a treasure box, mine was an old cigar box (remember those?). Eventually we grew apart and found new friends. By high school I knew that the relationship would never have worked out as Mitch was not interested in females by then.
It was my 15th birthday party. It was one of the best birthdays I ever had. There is an advantage having a birthday a few days before Halloween - costume parties!!! My friend Theresa asked if she could bring her new boyfriend, Marc, and his friend. I said sure! After all, it was a party, the more the merrier. We probably had 30 kids there. It was fun, not a wild party. My parents were around, of course. We played silly games and bobbed for apples. Now if you can image 15-year-old girls with all their regular make-up and any extra for our costumes, well, coming up from bobbing for apples, we looked like drowned raccoons with wet hair and mascara running down our faces. But it was okay, it was a party and it was fun. Did I mention Marc's friend? Well he was my first very serious love. Dominic and I dated for a year and half. He was fun, a year older but in my class, and he had his driver's license. Until he bought his own, he could borrow his dad's or brother's car. Theresa, Marc, Dom and I were a foursome seen together a lot. I remember my first almost-kiss from him. We went to the Homecoming Dance a week after my birthday party. Dom's brother Vince drove the four of us - Vince was a senior with no date and the four of us were sophomores. On way back to the car, Dom pulled me into an alcove at the school, said how much he liked me and asked if he could kiss me. When I said yes, Dom came closer for the kiss just as Vince shined the car's headlights on us yelling, "Are you coming or not?" I did get my kiss that night, at my front door, which is not a bad place for a first kiss from a new boyfriend, even with a bratty older brother spying on you from the kitchen window (obviously he didn't have a date for the Homecoming Dance as he was a senior). Dominic was also Italian. My parents let me go to his house at Christmas, after our Christmas festivities were done. His mom cooked for days. This was a cultural experience for me. Christmas at our house was typically turkey and all the trimmings, sometimes with ham also and always, Pa's pies. Dom's mother made lasagna, ravioli, sausage, spaghetti with meat balls, green salad, gnocci and dessert was cannoli and a fruit tart - all of it homemade from scratch. (I got to help with the ravioli the day before in the morning.) At the time, we were sure Dom and I would spend the rest of our lives together. No, he wasn't my intellectual equal but he was nice, fun, had a big heart and we loved each other to pieces. Unfortunately I was a high school girl and you know high school girls, it IS all about us, or so I thought. I was selfish and learned to regret that, unfortunately by then it was too late. It was a learning experience but that break-up hurt. It hurt a lot. Dom and I broke up a week before our Junior Prom. (One of my male buddies asked me to the Prom and I gladly accepted - he and I decided we were too good of friends to try to ruin it with a romantic relationship and we remain friends to this day.)
They say time heals all wounds and three months later I found a new attraction the summer I was 16. This relationship would have obstacles from the "get go" including distance, 800 miles worth of distance and that was just a start. I met Kelly in Canada. We were at the Young Life camp called Malibu. It was a one-week camp and afterward we corresponded. I lived in San Jose, CA, and he lived in Alder, WA, a little town outside of Eatonville (which as coincidence would have it, is where my former Junior Prom date now lives, Eatonville was established by his relatives). After graduation I went to college in my hometown and Kelly went into the Air Force. I'm not sure if this was really love or if it was more of the idea of romance, he was kind of a bad boy and this was my first experience with a bad boy. Kelly had military leave the Christmas I was 18 and I was invited to his home for the week after Christmas. I went, we discovered we did have feelings for each other. My parents gave me permission to get engaged, if that happened. Well, Kelly and I almost ran off and eloped. What stopped us was that Kelly wasn't sure of the logistics of showing up back at the air base in Biloxi, Mississippi with a new wife in tow. So we decided to wait and write. It was a good decision. Eventually the letters became fewer and far between.
I will always remember my first loves with fondness. I have no clue whatever happened to Tommy or Kelly. Dom's life took some interesting twists and turns. Unfortunately Mitch's life ended much too soon.
And in case anyone is wondering, I'm very happy with the love I have now. He's a keeper.
I was a product of daycare. They didn't call it that back then, it was called pre-school. Well I went to pre-school at about age 3. At four I started kindergarten, being an October kid, and the pre-school provided after-school care to the morning kindergarten kids. Tommy also went to the same pre-school and kindergarten. His grandfather was a cobbler. I don't remember why Tommy lived with his grandfather or what happened to his parents. It's strange how the little details of life escape us (although I'm not so sure its a little detail to him!). Anyway, there was a group of about eight of us kindergarten kids who would get dropped off at pre-school each morning and walk together the mile down Minnesota Avenue to kindergarten. Rain or shine. After school, we would walk back. Tommy and I would hold hands. One day we stopped behind a tree and Tommy kissed me. I was five years old and in love for the first time. I went to a different school the next year (the parochial elementary school was 1st through 8th grades only at the time, it had no kindergarten) and eventually Tommy and his grandfather moved away.
Fast forward to 3rd grade... Mitch was in my class. He was funny, very funny. He was also fun to be around. And we liked each other. We liked to do much of the same things and we had a lot in common, both being from big families, going to the same church and more. He was Italian. I'd never been close to anyone Italian before. Going to his house was like stepping in to a whole new world. Food was always cooking. Kids were running around even wilder than my brothers and all the kids were happy. Manners were strictly observed and enforced, especially at the dinner table. For my birthday, Mitch gave me a little coin purse with pink fur on it with "google eyes" and a felt nose and mouth. I loved it and treasured it for many years, keeping it in my treasure box. Every young girl should have a treasure box, mine was an old cigar box (remember those?). Eventually we grew apart and found new friends. By high school I knew that the relationship would never have worked out as Mitch was not interested in females by then.
It was my 15th birthday party. It was one of the best birthdays I ever had. There is an advantage having a birthday a few days before Halloween - costume parties!!! My friend Theresa asked if she could bring her new boyfriend, Marc, and his friend. I said sure! After all, it was a party, the more the merrier. We probably had 30 kids there. It was fun, not a wild party. My parents were around, of course. We played silly games and bobbed for apples. Now if you can image 15-year-old girls with all their regular make-up and any extra for our costumes, well, coming up from bobbing for apples, we looked like drowned raccoons with wet hair and mascara running down our faces. But it was okay, it was a party and it was fun. Did I mention Marc's friend? Well he was my first very serious love. Dominic and I dated for a year and half. He was fun, a year older but in my class, and he had his driver's license. Until he bought his own, he could borrow his dad's or brother's car. Theresa, Marc, Dom and I were a foursome seen together a lot. I remember my first almost-kiss from him. We went to the Homecoming Dance a week after my birthday party. Dom's brother Vince drove the four of us - Vince was a senior with no date and the four of us were sophomores. On way back to the car, Dom pulled me into an alcove at the school, said how much he liked me and asked if he could kiss me. When I said yes, Dom came closer for the kiss just as Vince shined the car's headlights on us yelling, "Are you coming or not?" I did get my kiss that night, at my front door, which is not a bad place for a first kiss from a new boyfriend, even with a bratty older brother spying on you from the kitchen window (obviously he didn't have a date for the Homecoming Dance as he was a senior). Dominic was also Italian. My parents let me go to his house at Christmas, after our Christmas festivities were done. His mom cooked for days. This was a cultural experience for me. Christmas at our house was typically turkey and all the trimmings, sometimes with ham also and always, Pa's pies. Dom's mother made lasagna, ravioli, sausage, spaghetti with meat balls, green salad, gnocci and dessert was cannoli and a fruit tart - all of it homemade from scratch. (I got to help with the ravioli the day before in the morning.) At the time, we were sure Dom and I would spend the rest of our lives together. No, he wasn't my intellectual equal but he was nice, fun, had a big heart and we loved each other to pieces. Unfortunately I was a high school girl and you know high school girls, it IS all about us, or so I thought. I was selfish and learned to regret that, unfortunately by then it was too late. It was a learning experience but that break-up hurt. It hurt a lot. Dom and I broke up a week before our Junior Prom. (One of my male buddies asked me to the Prom and I gladly accepted - he and I decided we were too good of friends to try to ruin it with a romantic relationship and we remain friends to this day.)
They say time heals all wounds and three months later I found a new attraction the summer I was 16. This relationship would have obstacles from the "get go" including distance, 800 miles worth of distance and that was just a start. I met Kelly in Canada. We were at the Young Life camp called Malibu. It was a one-week camp and afterward we corresponded. I lived in San Jose, CA, and he lived in Alder, WA, a little town outside of Eatonville (which as coincidence would have it, is where my former Junior Prom date now lives, Eatonville was established by his relatives). After graduation I went to college in my hometown and Kelly went into the Air Force. I'm not sure if this was really love or if it was more of the idea of romance, he was kind of a bad boy and this was my first experience with a bad boy. Kelly had military leave the Christmas I was 18 and I was invited to his home for the week after Christmas. I went, we discovered we did have feelings for each other. My parents gave me permission to get engaged, if that happened. Well, Kelly and I almost ran off and eloped. What stopped us was that Kelly wasn't sure of the logistics of showing up back at the air base in Biloxi, Mississippi with a new wife in tow. So we decided to wait and write. It was a good decision. Eventually the letters became fewer and far between.
I will always remember my first loves with fondness. I have no clue whatever happened to Tommy or Kelly. Dom's life took some interesting twists and turns. Unfortunately Mitch's life ended much too soon.
And in case anyone is wondering, I'm very happy with the love I have now. He's a keeper.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Frustration
Well today I hit the culmination of frustration at work.
The minor frustration is that management feels they have to roll out something entirely new, breaking me out of an important meeting to do so. I had to step out for the 30 minute conference call (and the only reason it was 30 minutes was because I had another conference call then, a quick one for the Duty Officer change).
The big frustration was the changes brought forth during the call. Now I'm the first one to admit that there are times that change is necessary and this is one of those times. I just don't like the change they're making. When I promoted to my current work position, I was given a Position Duty Statement. I liked it. It's a great document of what I should be doing. However only parts of the document was used but those parts were fine. I wished the whole document was used but you don't always get what you wish for. And now that document has no relation to what my job is.
One of the things I love best about my job is working with my counties. It can be hard work, especially when things are hot and heavy, but its fun work and very rewarding. I feel like I'm making a difference and that I am wanted. Another thing I love about my job is mentoring people, watching them develop into great workers with a lot of knowledge. I did this even before my promotion. New people like information and, unfortunately, our internal training is lacking.
So we had someone retire in my job class and we don't know if we will be able to replace her, and if we can, it's going to take months. This means that the two of us left in the job class have to split the work two ways instead of three. Somewhere, something has to give. What management has decided to do is to have us be leads only and no longer work with a county(ies) - not that the other current lead ever had a county, it was just me and the now-retired lead with counties. They are reassigning the counties I have. And the lead work they want us to do is project management - the projects and programs that are currently the responsibility of those under us are now our responsibility. The others will still work them but we have the responsibility of making sure they do. I think of leads as mentors, providing guidance, checking up on the work, giving input both up and down the ladder but the actual responsibility for the work of others I believe is a supervisory function. Of the five people I have, four are 100 miles away and one is over 400 miles away. It's tough to get to most of their meetings, monitor them during the meetings, make sure they're doing their job correctly - to me, that's supervisory. And my job class isn't supervisory. Maybe I'm wrong, management certainly doesn't think that the work assignments given us are supervisory. At any rate, my Position Duty Statement that I signed and agreed to what my job is no longer has any relation to what my job is now.
They are rolling out the new assignments to the rest of the staff Monday afternoon. Now I have a decision to make. Do I want to demote and hope things go back to where they were before my promotion? I'm thinking that I do. And I'm thinking that it would best to make that known to management prior to Monday afternoon so that duties aren't assigned to staff (especially our new staff that started four months ago) and then reassessed or taken away.
Yes, I know I could try to fight this through the union (or rather, association). I might win. But what would that accomplish and how long would that take? And what would be the repercussions? (And believe me, this management team is really good at repercussions, in an oh-so subtle way.)
I don't like being lied to. I've caught my manager in four lies in a week. Most of them have been items that wouldn't be discussed if I demoted. Maybe demoting would give her less to lie about. My blood pressure is up, my blood sugars are up and I'm getting a lot of headaches (and those of you who know me well know that I would rarely get a headache before this, no matter what the stress, and I've always had a high stress job).
Bottom line(s): would I happy with the job as they have changed it to? No. Do I really need the $139 a month pay difference? I can work on that, I did it before the promotion.
Demotion is looking better and better...
The minor frustration is that management feels they have to roll out something entirely new, breaking me out of an important meeting to do so. I had to step out for the 30 minute conference call (and the only reason it was 30 minutes was because I had another conference call then, a quick one for the Duty Officer change).
The big frustration was the changes brought forth during the call. Now I'm the first one to admit that there are times that change is necessary and this is one of those times. I just don't like the change they're making. When I promoted to my current work position, I was given a Position Duty Statement. I liked it. It's a great document of what I should be doing. However only parts of the document was used but those parts were fine. I wished the whole document was used but you don't always get what you wish for. And now that document has no relation to what my job is.
One of the things I love best about my job is working with my counties. It can be hard work, especially when things are hot and heavy, but its fun work and very rewarding. I feel like I'm making a difference and that I am wanted. Another thing I love about my job is mentoring people, watching them develop into great workers with a lot of knowledge. I did this even before my promotion. New people like information and, unfortunately, our internal training is lacking.
So we had someone retire in my job class and we don't know if we will be able to replace her, and if we can, it's going to take months. This means that the two of us left in the job class have to split the work two ways instead of three. Somewhere, something has to give. What management has decided to do is to have us be leads only and no longer work with a county(ies) - not that the other current lead ever had a county, it was just me and the now-retired lead with counties. They are reassigning the counties I have. And the lead work they want us to do is project management - the projects and programs that are currently the responsibility of those under us are now our responsibility. The others will still work them but we have the responsibility of making sure they do. I think of leads as mentors, providing guidance, checking up on the work, giving input both up and down the ladder but the actual responsibility for the work of others I believe is a supervisory function. Of the five people I have, four are 100 miles away and one is over 400 miles away. It's tough to get to most of their meetings, monitor them during the meetings, make sure they're doing their job correctly - to me, that's supervisory. And my job class isn't supervisory. Maybe I'm wrong, management certainly doesn't think that the work assignments given us are supervisory. At any rate, my Position Duty Statement that I signed and agreed to what my job is no longer has any relation to what my job is now.
They are rolling out the new assignments to the rest of the staff Monday afternoon. Now I have a decision to make. Do I want to demote and hope things go back to where they were before my promotion? I'm thinking that I do. And I'm thinking that it would best to make that known to management prior to Monday afternoon so that duties aren't assigned to staff (especially our new staff that started four months ago) and then reassessed or taken away.
Yes, I know I could try to fight this through the union (or rather, association). I might win. But what would that accomplish and how long would that take? And what would be the repercussions? (And believe me, this management team is really good at repercussions, in an oh-so subtle way.)
I don't like being lied to. I've caught my manager in four lies in a week. Most of them have been items that wouldn't be discussed if I demoted. Maybe demoting would give her less to lie about. My blood pressure is up, my blood sugars are up and I'm getting a lot of headaches (and those of you who know me well know that I would rarely get a headache before this, no matter what the stress, and I've always had a high stress job).
Bottom line(s): would I happy with the job as they have changed it to? No. Do I really need the $139 a month pay difference? I can work on that, I did it before the promotion.
Demotion is looking better and better...
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Keeping Up With The Phillips Kids
As some of you know, I'm the youngest of seven children. My oldest sister always said I had it the easiest, that she had to fight for all the liberties that were handed to me. Maybe so. But I had to keep up with my siblings. And on the flip side, my parents learned from the older children so the younger ones had some restrictions they didn't have. Of course I knew that there wasn't anything I could do that someone else hadn't already done.
If I had to describe my siblings when they were growing up with just a word or few, here's what pops in my head:
Pat - the trail blazer: the one who went first, fought the parental wars and sometimes pushed the limits
Genny - the good girl: did what she was told, had a lot of work but was always cheerful and kind
Andy - the steam engine: like the trail blazer times ten, highly intelligent, challenging but not challenged
Berni - the accomplished: everything Berni did was done well, especially school and music
John - the challenged: the biggest heart as a kid, but he wasn't as well equipped, was it mental or social?
Mark - the balanced: a good combination of kindness, intelligence and messing up now and then
And then there was me. I guess if I had to describe myself, I'd say I was the chaser. I was the one who was always trying to catch up to the others. Never mind that they were older, bigger and had more experience than me. I tried to be like all of them. And in some ways I've succeeded. I think I have a little bit of all of those traits in me. Fortunately they don't all come out at the some time. And then throw in some dingbattiness from my mom (not that I'll ever admit it) and some good, old, down home, country sensibility from my dad.
Of course it didn't help in my chase that I would hear from my parents the sentence, "Why can't you be (fill in the blank about something someone did better that I lacked in) like (insert name of sibling here)?" Maybe that's a natural thing for parents, I didn't like it. I learned to be my own worst critic, no one's standards for me are as high as my own standards for me. (This has gotten me in trouble at times in my life with people thinking I hold them up to the same standards I hold myself up to - I don't, they're my standards for me and no one else.)
So I want to share a story. Berni was very good in school. When I brought home straight A report cards (for half of my high school semesters), some of the grades were A-, some were As and there was one A+. I remember my father asking me why I had A-s and didn't get all As and A+s like Berni. My mom was there nodding in agreement. I was soooo disappointed. Here I thought I had a great report card, one I worked very hard for, and it wasn't good enough for them. I'll admit it, I know Berni is smarter than I. That's okay. We all have things that we're really good at. I just hadn't found mine yet but I was fairly well-rounded. (Okay so I'm still well-rounded but in more ways, including physically, but that's another story.) So, fast forward a lot of years. I'm 30 years old and I'm applying for a job and I need a copy of my high school transcripts. My mom is with me, she's retired and we were running errands. She asks to see the transcripts so I let her. She is shocked. She said that she always thought I was a bad student like my brothers and my sister Pat (bad student being defined as getting Bs and Cs). She didn't realize I had been such a good student. And I did this and played sports afterschool too. It's amazing what a few years and perspective have on things.
Well, in case anyone is wondering, I'm no longer a chaser. I'll never catch Berni and Andy in intelligence and that's okay. I'll never be the social butterfly that Pat is. I'll never do anything as well as Genny can do it. John still struggles but he has found his niche in his mechanical ability. Mark is still an all-around good guy. I don't feel like I have to compete or catch up with any of them. All of that is okay. We are all unique and marvelous in our own ways (well, mostly, kind-of). And I have found an ability I have that I doubt many of my siblings can do better. I can handle "things" that come up. You can throw "things" at me and they don't phase me. I don't freak out, point fingers or ask a lot of dumb questions; I just go to work on the issue at hand. I can think outside that box so far that I leave the boxes for the cats to play in. Sixteen years in 9-1-1 centers and ten years of emergency management have helped me hone this skill. I think this is a good thing.
If I had to describe my siblings when they were growing up with just a word or few, here's what pops in my head:
Pat - the trail blazer: the one who went first, fought the parental wars and sometimes pushed the limits
Genny - the good girl: did what she was told, had a lot of work but was always cheerful and kind
Andy - the steam engine: like the trail blazer times ten, highly intelligent, challenging but not challenged
Berni - the accomplished: everything Berni did was done well, especially school and music
John - the challenged: the biggest heart as a kid, but he wasn't as well equipped, was it mental or social?
Mark - the balanced: a good combination of kindness, intelligence and messing up now and then
And then there was me. I guess if I had to describe myself, I'd say I was the chaser. I was the one who was always trying to catch up to the others. Never mind that they were older, bigger and had more experience than me. I tried to be like all of them. And in some ways I've succeeded. I think I have a little bit of all of those traits in me. Fortunately they don't all come out at the some time. And then throw in some dingbattiness from my mom (not that I'll ever admit it) and some good, old, down home, country sensibility from my dad.
Of course it didn't help in my chase that I would hear from my parents the sentence, "Why can't you be (fill in the blank about something someone did better that I lacked in) like (insert name of sibling here)?" Maybe that's a natural thing for parents, I didn't like it. I learned to be my own worst critic, no one's standards for me are as high as my own standards for me. (This has gotten me in trouble at times in my life with people thinking I hold them up to the same standards I hold myself up to - I don't, they're my standards for me and no one else.)
So I want to share a story. Berni was very good in school. When I brought home straight A report cards (for half of my high school semesters), some of the grades were A-, some were As and there was one A+. I remember my father asking me why I had A-s and didn't get all As and A+s like Berni. My mom was there nodding in agreement. I was soooo disappointed. Here I thought I had a great report card, one I worked very hard for, and it wasn't good enough for them. I'll admit it, I know Berni is smarter than I. That's okay. We all have things that we're really good at. I just hadn't found mine yet but I was fairly well-rounded. (Okay so I'm still well-rounded but in more ways, including physically, but that's another story.) So, fast forward a lot of years. I'm 30 years old and I'm applying for a job and I need a copy of my high school transcripts. My mom is with me, she's retired and we were running errands. She asks to see the transcripts so I let her. She is shocked. She said that she always thought I was a bad student like my brothers and my sister Pat (bad student being defined as getting Bs and Cs). She didn't realize I had been such a good student. And I did this and played sports afterschool too. It's amazing what a few years and perspective have on things.
Well, in case anyone is wondering, I'm no longer a chaser. I'll never catch Berni and Andy in intelligence and that's okay. I'll never be the social butterfly that Pat is. I'll never do anything as well as Genny can do it. John still struggles but he has found his niche in his mechanical ability. Mark is still an all-around good guy. I don't feel like I have to compete or catch up with any of them. All of that is okay. We are all unique and marvelous in our own ways (well, mostly, kind-of). And I have found an ability I have that I doubt many of my siblings can do better. I can handle "things" that come up. You can throw "things" at me and they don't phase me. I don't freak out, point fingers or ask a lot of dumb questions; I just go to work on the issue at hand. I can think outside that box so far that I leave the boxes for the cats to play in. Sixteen years in 9-1-1 centers and ten years of emergency management have helped me hone this skill. I think this is a good thing.
Trouble in River City
Do you remember "The Music Man" and that there was "Trouble in River City?" Okay, so I can't really call San Diego "River City" although it's ironic that Sacramento, where I used to live, has that same nickname.
So it's 2:30 in the morning and I can't sleep. I'm stewing over a situation where I have caught someone in a series of lies. Now before anyone jumps to any conclusions, it isn't Don, we're fine, and it isn't family, which is mostly fine. My question is, why can't I deal with this like a normal person, during the awake hours? Why do I have to sit and stew on it at 2:30 AM? Is this normal?
Okay so I can't lay all of my sleeplessness at the feet of this situation. I'm on call this week and someone accidentally paged me at 11:23 PM, waking me up, when they should have held the page for morning. Mistakes happen. In this case it woke me up. Usually I'd fall right back to sleep but not this time. Now that I'm awake, I'm still stewing on this lying situation.
Confronting the person on her lies won't work. This person doesn't have the best communication skills. She hears what she wants to hear, whether that was said or not. This is actually one of her lies, that I said something I didn't. That lie is the smallest of them and if I tried to pick that battle, it would be a "she said, she said" situation that would be tough to win. I need to pick my battles and that isn't one of them. Yes, it's part of list of the lies but its number four of four of the recent lies. She also has to take control of the conversation and you're lucky to get a word in edgewise. She interrupts constantly. And when I'm talking and she interrupts me mid-sentence, then she berates me saying I interrupted her!
Bullying and controlling is this person's modus operandi. Maybe I should read some of the kids books that are out about how to deal with the school bully. This situation is one I have to live with, it's not like I can walk away from it. The liar is in a position of authority to me. This person has a long history of this behavior and has had to go to "charm school" for it, several different ones in fact.
I contacted one person who is basically in a support position to me. I asked him to call me so we could discuss it, basically outlining the issue in my email. I needed information. Well before calling me, he referred the situation up the ladder, and that's only going to cause more angst. I just wanted to find out where I stand before I went up my ladder, so to speak, over the liar's head to talk to the hierarchy. Now my hierarchy is going to hear about through the support's ladder and not from me. That isn't good. I will try to head that off at the pass tomorrow but, in some ways, that damage is done.
So I guess I have two questions for you. How do you stop a bully? And why am I obsessing about this in the wee hours? Is this normal? Okay, that's three questions but two and three are related. While I was good at math as a kid, I was always in the shadow of my smarter siblings, haha. (Having siblings who were smarter than me and siblings who struggled was actually a good experience, it kept me humbled yet centered. Maybe that's a story for another blog.)
Any input is appreciated. Thanks folks in advance!
So it's 2:30 in the morning and I can't sleep. I'm stewing over a situation where I have caught someone in a series of lies. Now before anyone jumps to any conclusions, it isn't Don, we're fine, and it isn't family, which is mostly fine. My question is, why can't I deal with this like a normal person, during the awake hours? Why do I have to sit and stew on it at 2:30 AM? Is this normal?
Okay so I can't lay all of my sleeplessness at the feet of this situation. I'm on call this week and someone accidentally paged me at 11:23 PM, waking me up, when they should have held the page for morning. Mistakes happen. In this case it woke me up. Usually I'd fall right back to sleep but not this time. Now that I'm awake, I'm still stewing on this lying situation.
Confronting the person on her lies won't work. This person doesn't have the best communication skills. She hears what she wants to hear, whether that was said or not. This is actually one of her lies, that I said something I didn't. That lie is the smallest of them and if I tried to pick that battle, it would be a "she said, she said" situation that would be tough to win. I need to pick my battles and that isn't one of them. Yes, it's part of list of the lies but its number four of four of the recent lies. She also has to take control of the conversation and you're lucky to get a word in edgewise. She interrupts constantly. And when I'm talking and she interrupts me mid-sentence, then she berates me saying I interrupted her!
Bullying and controlling is this person's modus operandi. Maybe I should read some of the kids books that are out about how to deal with the school bully. This situation is one I have to live with, it's not like I can walk away from it. The liar is in a position of authority to me. This person has a long history of this behavior and has had to go to "charm school" for it, several different ones in fact.
I contacted one person who is basically in a support position to me. I asked him to call me so we could discuss it, basically outlining the issue in my email. I needed information. Well before calling me, he referred the situation up the ladder, and that's only going to cause more angst. I just wanted to find out where I stand before I went up my ladder, so to speak, over the liar's head to talk to the hierarchy. Now my hierarchy is going to hear about through the support's ladder and not from me. That isn't good. I will try to head that off at the pass tomorrow but, in some ways, that damage is done.
So I guess I have two questions for you. How do you stop a bully? And why am I obsessing about this in the wee hours? Is this normal? Okay, that's three questions but two and three are related. While I was good at math as a kid, I was always in the shadow of my smarter siblings, haha. (Having siblings who were smarter than me and siblings who struggled was actually a good experience, it kept me humbled yet centered. Maybe that's a story for another blog.)
Any input is appreciated. Thanks folks in advance!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Starting to Blog
This is all Berni's and Kim's fault. Berni mentioned last year that I should blog after reading some of my insomniac ramblings I called vacation emails. And Kim for inspiring me with her blog, which is marvelous (check it out at www.longwayhomeblog.com). And yes, it took me over a year to decide to do it. The credit for the name of the blog goes to Don, my ever-loving partner in life. Okay, so maybe its not their fault, I will say that the credit goes to them for my venturing forth into the blogging world.
I am one of those people who sometimes finds interest in the most mundane things. Take a pair of scissors, for example. One could discuss the meaning of life as a pair of scissors. It's called a pair of scissors for a reason - it takes two pieces to function. Not only that, but they have to be aligned properly and used correctly. I have a pair of kitchen shears that comes apart in two pieces for cleaning. If you put it together wrong, it doesn't work. If you try to use the pieces separately, it is sorely lacking in functionality. But when assembled and used as intended, it is wonderful. I'm a firm believer that life needs to lived in the correct time and place. It's only when we find that symbiosis that life is good. And if anyone is wondering, life is good.
So, why am I waterwench you ask? At the risk of sounding too "woo-woo," I love water. I swim and snorkel. I love to watch the ocean waves. When I didn't live in a city with an ocean, I was often at the river. As a kid, I loved watching the fish swim in the creek but I had no desire to take them home and capture them in a fish tank. The little tree frogs were another story, they often came home with me, stuffed in my pockets. When I set them free in our backyard, some would stick around awhile for me to play with another day. Once I came home very muddy and I got as far as the laundry room when my mom made me take off my shirt and shorts and put them in the washer. I never got further than a couple of "but moms" in our discussion. Imagine her surprise when she went to transfer the clothes to the dryer and dozens of tree frogs came jumping out at her!
We are all a product of our experiences. Its those experiences I hope to share with you in this blog. Hopefully you won't be too bored.
I am one of those people who sometimes finds interest in the most mundane things. Take a pair of scissors, for example. One could discuss the meaning of life as a pair of scissors. It's called a pair of scissors for a reason - it takes two pieces to function. Not only that, but they have to be aligned properly and used correctly. I have a pair of kitchen shears that comes apart in two pieces for cleaning. If you put it together wrong, it doesn't work. If you try to use the pieces separately, it is sorely lacking in functionality. But when assembled and used as intended, it is wonderful. I'm a firm believer that life needs to lived in the correct time and place. It's only when we find that symbiosis that life is good. And if anyone is wondering, life is good.
So, why am I waterwench you ask? At the risk of sounding too "woo-woo," I love water. I swim and snorkel. I love to watch the ocean waves. When I didn't live in a city with an ocean, I was often at the river. As a kid, I loved watching the fish swim in the creek but I had no desire to take them home and capture them in a fish tank. The little tree frogs were another story, they often came home with me, stuffed in my pockets. When I set them free in our backyard, some would stick around awhile for me to play with another day. Once I came home very muddy and I got as far as the laundry room when my mom made me take off my shirt and shorts and put them in the washer. I never got further than a couple of "but moms" in our discussion. Imagine her surprise when she went to transfer the clothes to the dryer and dozens of tree frogs came jumping out at her!
We are all a product of our experiences. Its those experiences I hope to share with you in this blog. Hopefully you won't be too bored.
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