Unlike Audrey, who designates people she knows as "positive acquaintances" until they earn another title (for better or for worse), I have many people I consider friends. I tend to befriend people right off the bat. (Whether or not the same people would consider me a friend is a different question altogether.) There are varying levels of friendship, of course, but the generic term "friend" is a title fairly easily acquired from me.
But few and far between are THOSE friends, the ones at the very top of the friendship ladder. They have climbed there slowly but surely, and worked to earn the spot. I would do anything for those friends, because I know they would do the same for me. But it's not a matter of simple give-and-take economics; I don't do a favor for them because I expect one in return, I do it because I care. And they do it because they care. The symbolism of the symbiotic relationship is what keeps it going - it's what "I would do anything for you" MEANS, not what it actually is that's important. No one keeps score, or runs up a tab, or sends a bill. I give, and they give. And it all works out.
There are many reasons that the St. Clairs are those kind of friends, and I find it difficult to put them into words. Just as it seems impossible to explain why I love my mother, or my father, or my husband - the relationships are too complex, and intricate, and defy any kind of description that would make sense to anyone else - my mind screams "trite" when I say I'm going to describe why the St. Clairs are so important to me (and my husband). But they are moving in less than a week, so I'm going to try.
I wish I could say that when I first met the St. Clairs I just knew we would become fast friends. But that wasn't the case. Our first contact was on a Saturday, while Scott and I (and others) helped them unload the truck they had just driven from Utah. Needless to say, there wasn't much conversation that day besides where to put the boxes and furniture. A lot of people move into and out of our church congregation (especially from Utah), and I didn't take particular notice of another young couple from out west.
But Jeff soon became my husband's assistant in the youth group, and as we started to get to know the St. Clairs we began to like them. Our interests align nicely; Scott and Jeff can talk about math and science and statistics and football, and Jenete and I love the arts. Jenete does opera and plays the cello and I do theatre and play the guitar, but there is a lot of overlap. Other, little, reasons we should become friends began to become apparent; for instance, Scott's parents now teach at, and his uncle is the president of, the university Jeff had just graduated from. Jeff is a Star Wars fanatic and Scott's and my favourite game just happens to be Epic Duels. We own a lot of the same movies. Being members of the same church means that we obviously share belief systems. AND we find each other funny.
There is rarely a conversation that Scott and I have with the St. Clairs that doesn't involve a whole lot of laughing. We love to joke around, and we joke around about the same things and in the same way. (And okay, so perhaps there is some amount of light teasing and laughing AT one another going on. But it's all in good fun.) We've certainly had serious conversations with the St. Clairs as well; not all of our shared experiences have been light-hearted or happy. But barring any crisis or time of tragedy, we can always make each other laugh and hanging out with the St. Clairs turns an okay day into a great day (unless Jenete and I lose at Pinochle and get upset (we always play girls vs. boys), which happens on occasion and is a whole different story altogether!).
About a year ago, the St. Clairs moved into our apartment building, a couple floors above us. I did have some fears that being so close would cause us to get tired of each other, but I needn't have worried. This was put to the test immediately after they moved in; as Scott and Jeff were returning the moving truck, it began to snow...and Snowmageddon hit. With nothing to do but stay inside and hope we didn't lose power, we spent an awful lot of time with the St. Clairs over the following few days. We shared food, heat, and played the Wii. The same thing happened a couple months later when Snowpocalypse arrived, and school was canceled for a week. By that time, we had added Pinochle to our repertoire of activities, and played every evening while we waited to hear whether we would be returning to school the next day or not. It felt perfectly natural to spend every day with them, and there are few people in this world I would rather have been snowed in with.
Over the summer we BBQed with them every few days, and though it's too cold (and gets dark too early) to grill outside, we still see the St. Clairs multiple times a week - church, youth activities, grocery shopping and other errands (just me and Jenete, not all 4 of us), Pinochle, etc. They know that they are welcome to drop by any time of the day or night (if necessary) or any time of the day for no reason at all. Once they move the frequency of visits will dramatically decrease, but the enjoyment of our time spent together will not.
I know this post has began to turn into a novel, and I could write pages and pages more, but then this might never be posted so I'll wrap it up here. But I want the St. Clairs to know that Scott and I cherish their friendship and will miss them a lot! Thanks for everything.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Mark Twain: the sequel
See "A Lesson From Mark Twain".
Here I go again, stuck in an awkward position of saying no to work because of the questionable content. But this time I've already said yes - it's a collection of 8 10-minute plays, and when I agreed to stage manage the scripts hadn't been chosen. When they were, I was glad to see that none of them were too rough for me to handle. But this week a 9th play was added to the list, one whose sexual content is beyond my level of okay-ness. So I had to make the hard phone call.
I'm not just saying "No, thank you" to an offer. I'm quitting a job I already agreed to do. I'm backing out. I'm saying, "I know we load-in in a few weeks, but you have to choose - it's either me or the new play. Which do you want more?"
Talk about awkward.
Now I'm waiting for the verdict, to find out which one they pick. Am I nervous? Yeah, a little. I feel good knowing that they're at least considering cutting the play instead of me - that I didn't hear "Well, fine, we didn't like you anyway, you narrow-minded jerk" as a response to my concerns. But even if I end up leaving the project, there won't be any hard feelings on my part and I'm confident that I could still work with the group in the future.
I will say that every time I have to do this it gets a little bit easier.
But "easier" is very, very, relative.
Here I go again, stuck in an awkward position of saying no to work because of the questionable content. But this time I've already said yes - it's a collection of 8 10-minute plays, and when I agreed to stage manage the scripts hadn't been chosen. When they were, I was glad to see that none of them were too rough for me to handle. But this week a 9th play was added to the list, one whose sexual content is beyond my level of okay-ness. So I had to make the hard phone call.
I'm not just saying "No, thank you" to an offer. I'm quitting a job I already agreed to do. I'm backing out. I'm saying, "I know we load-in in a few weeks, but you have to choose - it's either me or the new play. Which do you want more?"
Talk about awkward.
Now I'm waiting for the verdict, to find out which one they pick. Am I nervous? Yeah, a little. I feel good knowing that they're at least considering cutting the play instead of me - that I didn't hear "Well, fine, we didn't like you anyway, you narrow-minded jerk" as a response to my concerns. But even if I end up leaving the project, there won't be any hard feelings on my part and I'm confident that I could still work with the group in the future.
I will say that every time I have to do this it gets a little bit easier.
But "easier" is very, very, relative.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
How to Build a Fire
In the White Mountains of New Hampshire, my husband's family and I have spent hours hiking to waterfalls and exploring the woods. Back at the house, we eat grilled chicken and discuss making s'mores before the kids go to bed. I LOVE making fires. I quickly volunteer, and my 10-year-old niece Rachel begs to help. Rachel gathers the wood, and I find the lighter. Always looking for a teaching opportunity, I ask if she knows what we need to build a fire, and she correctly answers: air, fuel, and something to ignite it. We pile up little sticks with pine needles in the middle, and surround them with larger pieces of firewood. The pine needles don't burn quite as well as I had hoped - they just create lots of smoke - and after I have sent Rachel inside to find some paper, hoping it would make a better fire starter, I am slightly discouraged.
"I sure hope that we'll have this fire going before everyone comes outside to roast their marshmallows," I sigh, as Rachel returns with 3 large sheets of paper. She carefully places some crumpled pieces of paper in the pile of sticks and replies confidently: "Don't worry, we will." Rachel then furrows her brow and begins to wax philosophical. "Fires are like humans you know," she starts. "They start off slow, and then they begin to roar." As she adds more sticks to the now growing flame (the paper worked wonders!), she adds thoughtfully, "And if you don't feed them, they'll die."
"I sure hope that we'll have this fire going before everyone comes outside to roast their marshmallows," I sigh, as Rachel returns with 3 large sheets of paper. She carefully places some crumpled pieces of paper in the pile of sticks and replies confidently: "Don't worry, we will." Rachel then furrows her brow and begins to wax philosophical. "Fires are like humans you know," she starts. "They start off slow, and then they begin to roar." As she adds more sticks to the now growing flame (the paper worked wonders!), she adds thoughtfully, "And if you don't feed them, they'll die."
Sunday, June 13, 2010
A Lesson from Mark Twain
When I realized that I was going to say no, I began to cry.
Why would I turn down such an opportunity? Why would I walk away from such an offer? My friend Patti says I have a "Nokay Problem" - that is, that I can't say no. I start to, but I can't hold my ground, and it quickly becomes a yes, and sounds something like this:
Nooooookay.
But this is different. In this case, I wouldn't be saying yes because I feel obligated to, or because I feel bad for someone, or because I lack a pair. I really WANT to say yes. It would be an amazing opportunity that would benefit me directly, and for reasons that are different than the normal ones, I can't believe I'm saying no. But I have to.
A few months ago, I got an email from the DC Theatre Technicians list that I'm on, from a theatre company looking for an Assistant Stage Manager (ASM), some backstage crew, and two followspot ops. I applied for the ASM position. The production manager (we'll call him Bob) gave me a call a few days later and said that he had already filled the ASM position, but he was still in need of backstage crew if I was interested. I happily accepted (when working with people you've never worked with before, sometimes you've got to start at the bottom). A few days in to tech rehearsals, Bob pulled me aside and told me that he realized he should have hired me as the ASM instead. When the show closed, he asked me what I was doing the following month - he was looking for a full stage manager for the group's next production. Unfortunately, I was already committed to working on the opera Shadowboxer, so I couldn't. Bob promised to keep me in mind for future projects.
Then, 3 or 4 weeks ago, I got an email from someone else. He (whom I'm naming Jason) told me that I had been recommended to him as a stage manager by Bob, that same production manager from a couple months before. I was flattered. I had scheduling conflicts with the first couple of small projects he offered me, but there was a 4-month-long major production that he wanted to meet with me about, slotted for the beginning of 2011. I was both nervous and excited about the possibility of stage managing such a show. Jason and I met over coffee (I had hazelnut hot chocolate), and we hit it off right away - he said he had been impressed with me before we even met, because I was the first person he'd ever interviewed who had thought to tell him what colour shirt he should look for her in. The more he and I talked about the show, the more excited I became! Jason and his team had come from New York to start a theatre company in DC, after they got tired of the NYC attitude, and began to grow faster than they had ever anticipated. In the last year and a half, they have had to add 4 board members because their budget has doubled. The show will first be performed in North Carolina, and then come back to DC - to a theatre space that I'm intimately familiar with, having stage managed there before. The fact that the show will be performed in 2 different states would look amazing on my resume. I asked if I would be able to have an ASM, and Jason was completely open to the idea. He said that he doesn't deal with the contracts, so he couldn't offer me anything official, but he was very excited for me to meet the other two founders of the company at preliminary auditions for the show next Saturday. Everything seemed perfect, and I felt so fortunate to have the job practically fall into my lap.
But then I read the script.
Jason had told me that it was a risky play to produce, because it was a heavy drama and audiences don't always like that. They tend to prefer comedies, classics, or plays that make a controversial social point. Jason said that he had talked with other potential stage managers, and it had been evident from the start which ones wouldn't like the play. "But I feel like you're an open-minded person, and we seem to be on the same page," he told me. He still wanted me to read the script before I committed to anything, and promised to email it to me.
Knowing only the basic plot of the play I opened the pdf with trepidation, fearing that after reading it I would have to join the other SMs who had said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I wanted so badly for this show to work out! The first time I came across the f-word, I wasn't surprised. The play, after all, is about a man whose wife is raped and murdered on their anniversary, and the story is his journey of healing. The stakes are pretty high. Who wouldn't swear after something like that? But then the swearing became too common. Three times the f-word was scripted. Ten. Twelve. Seventeen? Twenty-three? After about thirty, I lost count. After that, the number didn't matter anymore.
"So there's some bad language," I told myself. "Well, it's only natural when you're dealing with such intense content. The play is so powerful! I can forgive some cursing here and there." I rationalized for the playwright, I rationalized for the theatre company, and I rationalized for myself. I reminded myself of the money, the experience, the connections, the resume-building. I told myself that it would be rude to turn the opportunity down, especially after I had been recommended to Jason personally. What if Jason went to Bob and said, "Boy, she sure didn't work out." Bob might never suggest me to anyone again. DC Theatre is an incredibly small world - people talk. I told myself how silly and juvenile it would sound to say, "Sorry I can't do your play. I don't like bad words." I thought of how fun it would be to work with Jason and the others - they seemed like a great group.
I rationalized and rationalized, all the way up to the point of writing Jason back and saying how much I loved the script (though there was a little bit too much swearing for my taste, but it was okay). I wrote the email, and offered some times for a follow-up meeting. But I didn't send it. I couldn't pinpoint why, exactly, or what it was that stopped me. But I decided to save the draft and send it later. Later came and went, as did the next morning, and still I didn't send the email. What was my problem? I became frustrated with myself because I couldn't figure out what was holding me back. I decided I must be feeling guilty for compromising my standards. "But you've thought through this," I told myself. "It'll be fine. It's a great play otherwise, the swearing isn't really THAT bad - just look at August: Osage County! That play is way worse. Besides, the opportunity is so perfect. It would be stupid to turn it down, and you'll regret it if you do."
But still I left the email in my drafts folder, unsent. I'm not sure what the turning point was for me today, but I found myself actually considering turning the job down. I couldn't believe I was doing that. "You wouldn't," the voice in my head said. "This is DC. Theatre people TALK - if you say no because of something as trivial as a few curse words, no one will want to hire you." But I began to change my mind, a little bit at a time. I came across a quote from Mark Twain this morning, while doing some preparation for the youth camp I'm co-running in a week. The theme for this year is "Courage in Action", and Mark Twain says:
"It is curious...curious that physical courage should be so common in the world, and moral courage so rare."
It was like a slap in the face. How could I teach these teenage girls to exhibit moral courage if I couldn't do just that? I tell you, few people can sniff out hypocrisy faster than teenagers. If I was going to talk the talk, I needed to hike the hike (sometimes a mere walk doesn't cut it). I also realized that if I stage managed this show, I wouldn't allow my husband, my parents, or my friends to come and see it. It's a bad sign if I'm too ashamed to include those closest to me in my work. I had thought about praying to help me make my decision, but kept deciding against it. I was afraid that I already knew what the answer would be, and I didn't want to hear it. Red flag number two.
I went to church today not thinking about the show, and with no intention of asking God what I should do. But He told me anyway. I didn't have a seizure in the middle of the chapel, angels didn't come down from heaven and call my name, and the bishop didn't point to me from the pulpit, saying, "Sister Albrecht, you know what you need to do." None of that happened, but I got my answer all the same. Yes, the one I wasn't looking for. Completely unprompted by any other cognition, I suddenly thought, "I'm going to say no." I was rather taken aback, because the thought came out of nowhere. I didn't just realize what I needed to do, I knew what I was going to do. That's the part where I began to cry.
If only knowing that a decision was the right one made that decision easy - easy to make, and easy to follow through with. If only making the right decision guaranteed one puppies, butterflies, and a life of pure joy. But it doesn't. If having moral courage wasn't so difficult, Mark Twain would have seen a lot more of it. So although I knew that I was doing the right thing, I still cried. I mourned the loss of a lucrative opportunity, and feared the repercussions by those who don't respect my moral boundaries, or respect me for having any.
I don't know how Jason will react to the email I sent him today - perhaps he will applaud my decision to hold my ground and not give up my morals, no matter what worldly advancement I may lose by doing so. But perhaps not. Perhaps he will ridicule me, or even worse, be offended that I would turn him down over such a trivial matter (since he's directing the play, the language obviously doesn't bother him). He may never want to work with me again. I console myself by saying that if that's the case, I suppose he's not the type of person I would want to work with either.
But saying no is still. Hard.
Why would I turn down such an opportunity? Why would I walk away from such an offer? My friend Patti says I have a "Nokay Problem" - that is, that I can't say no. I start to, but I can't hold my ground, and it quickly becomes a yes, and sounds something like this:
Nooooookay.
But this is different. In this case, I wouldn't be saying yes because I feel obligated to, or because I feel bad for someone, or because I lack a pair. I really WANT to say yes. It would be an amazing opportunity that would benefit me directly, and for reasons that are different than the normal ones, I can't believe I'm saying no. But I have to.
A few months ago, I got an email from the DC Theatre Technicians list that I'm on, from a theatre company looking for an Assistant Stage Manager (ASM), some backstage crew, and two followspot ops. I applied for the ASM position. The production manager (we'll call him Bob) gave me a call a few days later and said that he had already filled the ASM position, but he was still in need of backstage crew if I was interested. I happily accepted (when working with people you've never worked with before, sometimes you've got to start at the bottom). A few days in to tech rehearsals, Bob pulled me aside and told me that he realized he should have hired me as the ASM instead. When the show closed, he asked me what I was doing the following month - he was looking for a full stage manager for the group's next production. Unfortunately, I was already committed to working on the opera Shadowboxer, so I couldn't. Bob promised to keep me in mind for future projects.
Then, 3 or 4 weeks ago, I got an email from someone else. He (whom I'm naming Jason) told me that I had been recommended to him as a stage manager by Bob, that same production manager from a couple months before. I was flattered. I had scheduling conflicts with the first couple of small projects he offered me, but there was a 4-month-long major production that he wanted to meet with me about, slotted for the beginning of 2011. I was both nervous and excited about the possibility of stage managing such a show. Jason and I met over coffee (I had hazelnut hot chocolate), and we hit it off right away - he said he had been impressed with me before we even met, because I was the first person he'd ever interviewed who had thought to tell him what colour shirt he should look for her in. The more he and I talked about the show, the more excited I became! Jason and his team had come from New York to start a theatre company in DC, after they got tired of the NYC attitude, and began to grow faster than they had ever anticipated. In the last year and a half, they have had to add 4 board members because their budget has doubled. The show will first be performed in North Carolina, and then come back to DC - to a theatre space that I'm intimately familiar with, having stage managed there before. The fact that the show will be performed in 2 different states would look amazing on my resume. I asked if I would be able to have an ASM, and Jason was completely open to the idea. He said that he doesn't deal with the contracts, so he couldn't offer me anything official, but he was very excited for me to meet the other two founders of the company at preliminary auditions for the show next Saturday. Everything seemed perfect, and I felt so fortunate to have the job practically fall into my lap.
But then I read the script.
Jason had told me that it was a risky play to produce, because it was a heavy drama and audiences don't always like that. They tend to prefer comedies, classics, or plays that make a controversial social point. Jason said that he had talked with other potential stage managers, and it had been evident from the start which ones wouldn't like the play. "But I feel like you're an open-minded person, and we seem to be on the same page," he told me. He still wanted me to read the script before I committed to anything, and promised to email it to me.
Knowing only the basic plot of the play I opened the pdf with trepidation, fearing that after reading it I would have to join the other SMs who had said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I wanted so badly for this show to work out! The first time I came across the f-word, I wasn't surprised. The play, after all, is about a man whose wife is raped and murdered on their anniversary, and the story is his journey of healing. The stakes are pretty high. Who wouldn't swear after something like that? But then the swearing became too common. Three times the f-word was scripted. Ten. Twelve. Seventeen? Twenty-three? After about thirty, I lost count. After that, the number didn't matter anymore.
"So there's some bad language," I told myself. "Well, it's only natural when you're dealing with such intense content. The play is so powerful! I can forgive some cursing here and there." I rationalized for the playwright, I rationalized for the theatre company, and I rationalized for myself. I reminded myself of the money, the experience, the connections, the resume-building. I told myself that it would be rude to turn the opportunity down, especially after I had been recommended to Jason personally. What if Jason went to Bob and said, "Boy, she sure didn't work out." Bob might never suggest me to anyone again. DC Theatre is an incredibly small world - people talk. I told myself how silly and juvenile it would sound to say, "Sorry I can't do your play. I don't like bad words." I thought of how fun it would be to work with Jason and the others - they seemed like a great group.
I rationalized and rationalized, all the way up to the point of writing Jason back and saying how much I loved the script (though there was a little bit too much swearing for my taste, but it was okay). I wrote the email, and offered some times for a follow-up meeting. But I didn't send it. I couldn't pinpoint why, exactly, or what it was that stopped me. But I decided to save the draft and send it later. Later came and went, as did the next morning, and still I didn't send the email. What was my problem? I became frustrated with myself because I couldn't figure out what was holding me back. I decided I must be feeling guilty for compromising my standards. "But you've thought through this," I told myself. "It'll be fine. It's a great play otherwise, the swearing isn't really THAT bad - just look at August: Osage County! That play is way worse. Besides, the opportunity is so perfect. It would be stupid to turn it down, and you'll regret it if you do."
But still I left the email in my drafts folder, unsent. I'm not sure what the turning point was for me today, but I found myself actually considering turning the job down. I couldn't believe I was doing that. "You wouldn't," the voice in my head said. "This is DC. Theatre people TALK - if you say no because of something as trivial as a few curse words, no one will want to hire you." But I began to change my mind, a little bit at a time. I came across a quote from Mark Twain this morning, while doing some preparation for the youth camp I'm co-running in a week. The theme for this year is "Courage in Action", and Mark Twain says:
"It is curious...curious that physical courage should be so common in the world, and moral courage so rare."
It was like a slap in the face. How could I teach these teenage girls to exhibit moral courage if I couldn't do just that? I tell you, few people can sniff out hypocrisy faster than teenagers. If I was going to talk the talk, I needed to hike the hike (sometimes a mere walk doesn't cut it). I also realized that if I stage managed this show, I wouldn't allow my husband, my parents, or my friends to come and see it. It's a bad sign if I'm too ashamed to include those closest to me in my work. I had thought about praying to help me make my decision, but kept deciding against it. I was afraid that I already knew what the answer would be, and I didn't want to hear it. Red flag number two.
I went to church today not thinking about the show, and with no intention of asking God what I should do. But He told me anyway. I didn't have a seizure in the middle of the chapel, angels didn't come down from heaven and call my name, and the bishop didn't point to me from the pulpit, saying, "Sister Albrecht, you know what you need to do." None of that happened, but I got my answer all the same. Yes, the one I wasn't looking for. Completely unprompted by any other cognition, I suddenly thought, "I'm going to say no." I was rather taken aback, because the thought came out of nowhere. I didn't just realize what I needed to do, I knew what I was going to do. That's the part where I began to cry.
If only knowing that a decision was the right one made that decision easy - easy to make, and easy to follow through with. If only making the right decision guaranteed one puppies, butterflies, and a life of pure joy. But it doesn't. If having moral courage wasn't so difficult, Mark Twain would have seen a lot more of it. So although I knew that I was doing the right thing, I still cried. I mourned the loss of a lucrative opportunity, and feared the repercussions by those who don't respect my moral boundaries, or respect me for having any.
I don't know how Jason will react to the email I sent him today - perhaps he will applaud my decision to hold my ground and not give up my morals, no matter what worldly advancement I may lose by doing so. But perhaps not. Perhaps he will ridicule me, or even worse, be offended that I would turn him down over such a trivial matter (since he's directing the play, the language obviously doesn't bother him). He may never want to work with me again. I console myself by saying that if that's the case, I suppose he's not the type of person I would want to work with either.
But saying no is still. Hard.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Really? Like, really?
Alright, so I'm a few days late. But here's the story anyway.
I went to the copy center at the student union to get Carla's blog printed and bound a couple of weeks ago. There was too much to bind into just one book, so I got it split into 3 - divided by years. I had 2 of them bound, but thought I was missing some pages on the 3rd and took it home printed but unbound.
So I went back last week to finish the job, after realizing that I wasn't missing pages at all; the year 2008 just doesn't have any blog entries until July. All I needed was the last group of pages bound, so it should have been a quick, simple visit. But it wasn't.
When I walked in, the only woman in the copy center was sitting at the very far end of the room, her feet up on the back counter, talking on the phone. She asked whomever she was talking to to hold on a moment. Grabbing a crutch, she hobbled over to me, and I told her that I just needed these pages bound and that was all. "Sure, no problem!" she replied happily. 2 minutes later, I was on my way out the door with the book in hand and $1.25 less in my pocket.
If only.
Her real response: "Do you think you could wait, oh, like an hour for my student to get here, and then he'll do that for you? I hurt my foot real bad and I can't stand on it."
Keep in mind 2 things: 1) It takes less than 2 minutes to tape bind a book (I watched her student do it for me the week before, and all he had to do was put the pages in the machine and it did all the work), during which standing is absolutely not required. 2) She was standing in front of me to tell me this.
I don't know how long I stood there with a blank stare on my face before I managed the words "Really? You ca...really? You really can't?" I had a hard time forming complete sentences, because I was dumbfounded. I just couldn't believe the words I had just heard come out of her mouth. She was really going to stand there in front of me and ask me to wait for an hour because she couldn't stand on her foot.
I mentioned that she had somehow managed to walk over to me, to which she replied something to the effect of, "Yeah, but that's about all I can manage. I really need to sit down right now." The aggrandizement reminded me of the time that my sister walked to just outside of the door to the room my mother was in, laid down on the floor, slowly dragged herself to where she was visible by my mother, collapsed, and pathetically whispered, "Mom...I threw up. *Cough, cough.* " Oh, please.
So I responded with an attitude similar to the one with which I responded to my sister, and said, "Hmmm. Well, dramatic, yes, but unconvincing. Don't ever become an actress." And then I walked out.
It was the meanest thing I could think of.
I went to the copy center at the student union to get Carla's blog printed and bound a couple of weeks ago. There was too much to bind into just one book, so I got it split into 3 - divided by years. I had 2 of them bound, but thought I was missing some pages on the 3rd and took it home printed but unbound.
So I went back last week to finish the job, after realizing that I wasn't missing pages at all; the year 2008 just doesn't have any blog entries until July. All I needed was the last group of pages bound, so it should have been a quick, simple visit. But it wasn't.
When I walked in, the only woman in the copy center was sitting at the very far end of the room, her feet up on the back counter, talking on the phone. She asked whomever she was talking to to hold on a moment. Grabbing a crutch, she hobbled over to me, and I told her that I just needed these pages bound and that was all. "Sure, no problem!" she replied happily. 2 minutes later, I was on my way out the door with the book in hand and $1.25 less in my pocket.
If only.
Her real response: "Do you think you could wait, oh, like an hour for my student to get here, and then he'll do that for you? I hurt my foot real bad and I can't stand on it."
Keep in mind 2 things: 1) It takes less than 2 minutes to tape bind a book (I watched her student do it for me the week before, and all he had to do was put the pages in the machine and it did all the work), during which standing is absolutely not required. 2) She was standing in front of me to tell me this.
I don't know how long I stood there with a blank stare on my face before I managed the words "Really? You ca...really? You really can't?" I had a hard time forming complete sentences, because I was dumbfounded. I just couldn't believe the words I had just heard come out of her mouth. She was really going to stand there in front of me and ask me to wait for an hour because she couldn't stand on her foot.
I mentioned that she had somehow managed to walk over to me, to which she replied something to the effect of, "Yeah, but that's about all I can manage. I really need to sit down right now." The aggrandizement reminded me of the time that my sister walked to just outside of the door to the room my mother was in, laid down on the floor, slowly dragged herself to where she was visible by my mother, collapsed, and pathetically whispered, "Mom...I threw up. *Cough, cough.* " Oh, please.
So I responded with an attitude similar to the one with which I responded to my sister, and said, "Hmmm. Well, dramatic, yes, but unconvincing. Don't ever become an actress." And then I walked out.
It was the meanest thing I could think of.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Carla's blog
I have a professor whose good friend is dying of ALS. I suppose that's a little redundant to say, since it's a fatal disease - everyone who has ALS dies from it, unless another tragedy occurs on top of it all. But I digress. This woman, Carla, has a blog (www.carlamuses.blogspot.com) that she's kept since 2006, about a year before her diagnosis - and it's attracted quite a following. I don't agree with all of her postings or her opinions, but overall the blog is inspirational - and many parts of it are very moving. She now has only a few months to live.
My sweet teacher knows very little about computers, and was concerned that at Carla's passing the blog would disappear into the void of cyberspace, or that after not being used for a while it would be taken down and never be seen again. She seemed so upset about it that I had to do something, even though I knew that blogs don't vanish the moment their owners die. Besides, what if the unlikely event happened that blogspot.com went down? Then Carla's words would be lost forever. Mine too, come to think about it. But mine aren't nearly as poignant or thought-provoking. Unlike Carla, I don't have what could be called a cult following.
So I decided to put Carla's blog into print form, and give it to my professor as a gift. I knew that having her friend's words forever accessible would mean a lot to her, and for days after coming up with the idea I had dreams about the look on my teacher's face when I handed her the book entitled "Carla Muses", and about the tears of joy that I hoped would well up in her eyes. I've only seen her cry once. I set to work copying and pasting each of Carla's blog entries into Microsoft Word, and adding the comments (most posts had more than 10, and many had 20 or more comments. I told you she had a following.). I hadn't anticipated quite the volume of work it was going to be! In the end, I had over 350 pages of text. But I really enjoyed doing it.
I haven't given the gift to my professor yet; our schedules haven't meshed lately and so we haven't been able to meet since the holidays. But I'll post her reaction when I do. This post was actually meant to be a different story; Carla's blog is background information that leads into the intended tale. Now that I've taken the "introduction" and turned it into a full-length post, the rest of the story will have to wait until tomorrow. It involves a phone, a crutch, and an overdramatic woman who should never try her hand at professional acting.
Oh the suspense.
My sweet teacher knows very little about computers, and was concerned that at Carla's passing the blog would disappear into the void of cyberspace, or that after not being used for a while it would be taken down and never be seen again. She seemed so upset about it that I had to do something, even though I knew that blogs don't vanish the moment their owners die. Besides, what if the unlikely event happened that blogspot.com went down? Then Carla's words would be lost forever. Mine too, come to think about it. But mine aren't nearly as poignant or thought-provoking. Unlike Carla, I don't have what could be called a cult following.
So I decided to put Carla's blog into print form, and give it to my professor as a gift. I knew that having her friend's words forever accessible would mean a lot to her, and for days after coming up with the idea I had dreams about the look on my teacher's face when I handed her the book entitled "Carla Muses", and about the tears of joy that I hoped would well up in her eyes. I've only seen her cry once. I set to work copying and pasting each of Carla's blog entries into Microsoft Word, and adding the comments (most posts had more than 10, and many had 20 or more comments. I told you she had a following.). I hadn't anticipated quite the volume of work it was going to be! In the end, I had over 350 pages of text. But I really enjoyed doing it.
I haven't given the gift to my professor yet; our schedules haven't meshed lately and so we haven't been able to meet since the holidays. But I'll post her reaction when I do. This post was actually meant to be a different story; Carla's blog is background information that leads into the intended tale. Now that I've taken the "introduction" and turned it into a full-length post, the rest of the story will have to wait until tomorrow. It involves a phone, a crutch, and an overdramatic woman who should never try her hand at professional acting.
Oh the suspense.
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