Well, What Fun! Steve Yahn.

Success.  NY coordinates with Idiotho…er…I mean IdAho (don’t I?) and we get to speak easy.  What a fun guy!  You gotta read his column, too:  Sage Advice (link will go to archive in a week or two, so click now or pay to read.)

So, we talk the same talk — laughter.  This is good.  Sure beats grumpy wannabe clients who I keep saying “No” to, but they keep hearing “Yes.”  How does that work?

“But, Dawn…”

But Dawn nothing.   Dawn doesn’t DO bait-and-switch websites…which is what they want, though they’re trying to convince me that that isn’t what they’re up to.  (Don’t lie to me.  I can tell.  How?  Noses grow.) 🙂

So, welcome Steve, who has his own Category (called Steve Speaks) on this blog now, see it under Family & Friends.  Welcome, Steve.

Saying Something

One of my students called just now…while I’m waiting for a phone call to come in from long and far away, so I made the call very short.  Seems her mom-in-law is throwing a baby shower for wife of brother-in-law who is growing a new human inside her womb.  So student is “cordially invited” to appear, expensive gift in hand, of course.  The slight is, don’t bring kids.  You can leave them at “Unknown DayCare Down the Road.”  (Really?  Kids are all excited about having a new cousin and even made presents.)  Oh, and, by the way, your own mom is not invited, which, of course, own mom already figured out when she didn’t get an invitation, but got to hear about the event.  Hurt Mom. 🙁

What to do?

Send the present via USPS or UPS.  Write a note, explaining things to sis-in-law — that mom-in-law/control freak/bitch (a woman who thinks nothing of walking into a house and appropriating whatever she desires without even so much a by your leave) has made it much too difficult to attend since both kids and Grandma have been hurt deeply by being spurned invitation.

Student didn’t want to go anyway, and was doing it for husband.  Ah, no.  Wrong reason.

Secret: Do what’s right for you, not what’s “seemly,” which, of course, only perpetuates more demands and expectations of doing “seemly.” And don’t just be silent here.  Say something, honestly (and as politely as you can without sacrificing truth).  Never mind PC.  Never mind THEIR feelings.  How about everybody else’s feelings?  How about yours?  Be honest…politely, of course, which means “Tell them the pertinent truth they need to hear.”  Nothing worse than laying falseness over ugliness.  Just call it ugly in a way that gets your point across without reaming them a new rectal orifice, then be on your way.

Brain chatter

This morning, I sat out front on a patch of lawn talking to one of our (Hubs & my) students.  He has a child starting Kindergarten next fall and today was Parent-Teacher Greet & Meet Day.  He’s a good father and a good husband.  He sat looking at books with his 3-year-old son while Mom, also one of our students, stood up and proceeded to start asking questions of teacher.  Seems that these questions became a stage, “Mom” taking over the entire session with questions, then redirects which were all glowing comments about their daughter and her abilities.  I guess it became quite noticeable that other parents in the room were beginning to get a mite bit testy about this, and, of course, “Dad” did the “Dad” thing, which was slink smaller and smaller into the corner rather than tugging on pant leg or saying some cryptic cue to wife that maybe she should put a sock in it, park her butt back down in her chair, and let somebody else ask their questions.

Wife’s comment upon leaving session (paraphrased): “I just can’t believe that nobody else had any questions.  Nobody said anything!”   

Oka-aaay.   Well, problem MIGHT be that nobody else could get a word in edgewise, not that they wouldn’t have liked to.  And she didn’t do her daughter, who was in the room, any favors, either.

Brain chatter, a very bad problem which translates into mouth chatter when, seeking self-substantiation and lacking self-confidence, noise is incessant, used to drown fear. -_-

Accessing from Everywhere, Anytime

Toshiba laptops — I swear by them.  I can access from everywhere…almost…anytime day or night.  Good thing when you have to keep an eye on the herds and hoards of websites I’m responsible for.  Home or office, traveling or vegging out, my laptop is always handy, and my “server down” pager is always on.  That’s why I suppose this website will probably be a success.  Right now, I’m waiting for several call-backs, emails, and a program to finish rendering out a graphic, so, multi-tasker twitching with a list of to-dos that are just begging to be checked off as soon as everyone gets back to me, I’m typing here.   Here is nice, too.  I practically live on the computer, so, for me, so long as I can say whatever I want, blogging is cake. 

Does this blog seem negative?  Not meaning for it to be.  Blogging is one of those things that I’m doing now to vent my moments, which use to be typed in an on-computer journal.  Might seem all negative, but the secret for me to stay in top form, energized, and happy (and I am happy — bouncy even…which drives hubs nuts [he’s a grump]) is to always vent off my momentary grumbles.  I save the good stuff for me.  You guys can read the snarls, snickers, and snides.  😀

Barefeet, Office & Home

I tend to run around barefoot.  Whether I’m working in the garden, picking up around the house or office, or working — especially working — my feet are FREE!  Now, outside, this addiction to bare toes sometimes winds up netting me a thorn or two, but I do it anyway except when shoveling in the garden or working on the barn.  At the office, I sit cross-legged in the chair, and shoes and sitting like a toad on a mushroom just doesn’t work.  Of course, invariably, someone walks in and insists on a face-to-face.  So here I am, dressed in “comfort” clothes — nice comfort clothes so I can do lunch with a client at the high end of the dining spectrum — and in walks Mr. and Mrs. Suit, usually suburban, totally and completely at ease in antiseptic environments, and they want to meet ME.

Quick toes reach desperately to dig out my slouch-arounds tumbled way back under the desk.  Slide them on as they walk through the door, barely getting them locked on my feet as I rise to meet and greet.  Even then, though, I see the look cross their faces — she’s in casuals.  Uh, yeah.  I’m all for efficient, and comfort makes efficient better.  Really.

Glorious Morning

I sit on the steps outside watching morning.  Big thunder heads — their tails — make sunrise into glory light, while birds sing, a coon walks by, and Spitty Kitty races for the house, hoping she’ll convince me to feed her an early breakfast.

I get up early.  Usually around 3:30, 4:00 AM.  I love morning.  Mom said I was always a “morning child,” tough on a mom who still likes to stay up all night, then sleep till noon.  I used to drive her nuts, creeping down the stairs at daybreak’s faintest glimmer.  Hubs is like that too.  He groans when, waking, I bounce up, throwing the covers, treading nimbly off the bed to dash for coffee and fresh air — even fresher than that coming in through wide open windows all around the house.  Gawd, I love the morning!

It’s About Time…For Me.

All my life — yes, all my life — I’ve done things for others, deferring me, mine, and I.  That’s changing.  Now.  Now I am living the rest of my life, not for me, but as me, caring for myself and my expressions as thoroughly and meticulously, with as much dedication and as much effort, as I have expended on everyone else’s projects, desires, dreams.  Now my dreams count…for me.  And it’s about time, too.  I’m running out of life, out of time. (No, I’m not planning on kicking the bucket, but, often, one doesn’t get to plan these things, you know.  I could be killed by lightning or swept off by a tornado (Yes, we have them in Sandpoint.).  I could be hit by a truck (Why are they going 55 in a 25 zone?).  I could be assaulted by a grizzly bear while hiking.  (I’m an alpha, and grizzlies know it…and don’t like it.)

So, now I do me.  And you and yours come second, unless it’s life-threatening.

 Sound like the “Me First” syndrome?  Hardly.  I’ve spent my ENTIRE life up till now putting all of you first.  I deserve some time for me now.