The Competition is Killing Me

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I love the Olympics!  From the opening ceremonies to my favorite gymnastics to the snuffing out of the Olympic flame at the end, I’m hooked for two weeks.  This is reality TV at its finest, with REAL athletes competing in REAL situations with REAL drama unfolding right before our eyes.

The only problem is that the Olympics are killing me.  Not literally, of course, but if you count sleep as something we need to stay alive, then I’m like an out of control downhill skier about to wipe-out on the course.  Thanks to technology, Hubby and I record the broadcast and spend our nights watching it when we get home from work.   If we both were to get home at a decent hour, this would not pose a problem.  But we’re usually sitting down to watch the competition about 9:30 pm. Even fast-forwarding through commercials, we are still up late before winding down for the night. 

When we were in our twenties, midnight was nothing – the night was just getting started.  Now that we are past the age of 35, staying up till midnight after a full day at work is an issue.  Especially when we have to get up early the next morning.  One night of this is fine, but two weeks? 

Apparently Hubby and I should have started training for the Olympics months ago.  Whether we hired a coach or trained on our own, we could have gotten our bodies into top shape to withstand the stress of Olympic competition.   I’m sure there’s an app for this; why didn’t we download it?  Training to watch the Olympics probably includes sleep deprivation marathons, followed by some sort of all-natural-looks-like-grass-in- a-blender protein drink.  There’s probably training on the fastest way to use the DVR controls, the most efficient ways to watch the events and instruction on how to power nap while waiting for the judges’ scores.

Unfortunately Hubby and I did not get the memo telling us to prepare for the games. Our training consisted of sporadic trips to the gym, attempts at becoming a human pretzel in yoga, racing home from work to throw something of questionable nutritional value in the oven and, since we seem to live on the surface of the sun, sweating profusely from walking the dog in 100+ degree heat so she can have a potty break.  This was all followed by a cool-down period of sitting on the couch with an ice cream treat. 

We may have missed the mark with our training program but we are really enjoying the Olympics. Even if it kills us.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Zombie Spinning

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It sounded like a good idea at the time.  Hubby had been doing it for months and suggested I join him at an early morning spin class at the gym.  With class starting before the sun came up, I thought I could get my exercise for the day with plenty of time to get ready for work.  Sounded like a plan to me.

Before I go further, let me state that I have never been a morning person.  I love the morning; it’s just that my body clock seems best suited for staying up late and consequently, sleeping late.  In the evening, when most people are slowing down, I’m getting my second wind.  If I’m not careful, I find myself gaining energy and forgetting about the late hour.   

The challenge, though, is making time for the gym in the evening.  Sometimes it’s hard to put things down, get home, eat dinner, walk the dog and get to the gym before it closes.  Yeah, I know – we should probably join a 24-hour gym.  But ours is convenient and you know that’s a big factor when it comes to working out.

So Hubby’s invitation to get up early was intriguing.  He’s also a late-night person, and I figured if he could get up early for the gym then so could I.  My alarm was set, I’d picked out my clothes for the morning, I was in bed at a decent hour – this should work, I thought. 

As soon as my head hit the pillow the alarm went off.  At least that’s the way it felt to me.  Peeking one eye out from the covers, I noticed it was still night time.  Dang phone alarm – must be broken.  I hit the obnoxious thing and it stopped buzzing.   Yet ten minutes later it went off again.  Looking more closely, I realized that it was time to get up for the gym.  Ugh – why did I agree to this? 

I fumbled around and got ready, splashing cold water on my face, rubbing my eyes, touching my toes – anything to try and wake up.  “Hubby, are you ready?” I asked.  Zzzzzzzzz – was all I heard in the dark bedroom.   “I’m not going this morning,” he said. “I stayed up too late last night.”  Are you kidding me?  Here I am, up, dressed and barely conscious, so we can have a bonding experience at the gym and you’ve decided to sleep-in?  

I decided to go anyway.  It seemed wrong to be at the gym to watch the sun rise, but there were a few cars in the lot.   Most of the spin bikes were already occupied with people peddling away as though being chased by a rabid dog – and the class hadn’t started yet.  In a daze, I found an open bike and sat down, pretending to be awake.  I wondered if they served coffee – now that would be a plus.

“Okay everyone – let’s spin!” the instructor shouted.  “Turn your dials up!  Now jump!  Let’s sprint!”  Sprint?  To where?  While spinning is a great work out, it’s also an exercise in frustration. You pedal for an hour and never get anywhere.   I was pedaling for all I was worth yet still in the gym. 

Sweating profusely yet happy that I was getting my workout done, I was convinced the class was half over. Glancing at my watch I realized we’d only been spinning for 10 minutes.   I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the music; I think I actually fell asleep while pedaling.  My legs were numb and my eyes were only half open. 

Who are these people at the gym in the wee hours of the morning?  And the instructor was way too happy for such an early hour.   She’s the same ultra-bendy person who tries to teach me yoga, and who I had just seen at the gym less than twelve hours earlier.  I’m convinced that she’s a very attractive zombie – zombies don’t ever sleep, do they?

This is why I don’t accept a job that requires me to be at work at an early hour.  I’m not productive early in the morning, even in an exercise class with music blaring.  It’s important to know one’s strengths and weaknesses, and I am fully aware that my body clock doesn’t wake up early.  No amount of caffeine will do; it’s best if I work at a company that allows me to arrive at a decent hour.

No zombie jobs for me; I’m looking for something with a 9:00 start time.  And no spinning involved.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

I Love Rock ‘n Roll

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We all have an inner “someone”, a persona that others rarely see but that’s just beneath the surface waiting to get out.  Mine is a rock star.  From the outside I may look all business, but on the inside I’m all rock ‘n roll. I love music and going to concerts. Especially classic rock and ‘80’s hair bands like Bon Jovi.

When Hubby and I began dating I asked him to join me at a concert; my treat. Isn’t that what liberated women do anymore, ask their guy out?  It was a stadium concert, none other than the Rolling Stones, and to me it was the opportunity of a lifetime. These guys have been rocking and partying hard for decades and you never know when they might decide to call it quits.  After all, I imagine you can only have so many women throw themselves at you before it gets old.

 My expectation for the show was to dress in my finest all-black rock star attire and cut loose, expecting Hubby to do the same.  Bad assumption on my part.   Here I am, looking every bit the rock goddess. Here comes Hubby, wearing a golf shirt, khakis and white leather gym shoes that were so bright new you needed sunglasses to avoid the glare.  I didn’t say a word.  At the stadium, Hubby went to purchase beverages while I ran into the ladies room.  Stepping out of the restroom, I cringed as I saw Hubby’s new look: he had two sets of binoculars strapped across his chest, one on the left and one on the right, holding drinks and hot dogs, looking more like a tourist at Disney than a concertgoer.  Words jumped out before I could stop them as I hissed, “Take off those binoculars and be COOL!  This is the Rolling Stones!” Ouch. I still wince at the words.

Apparently I underestimated Hubby’s inner persona.  On our next date (yes, he did ask me out again despite my outburst) I opened the door to find Hubby leaning against the wall wearing a skin-tight t-shirt, jeans, a leather jacket and sunglasses, with an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  “Am I cool enough for you now?” he asked.  Point: Hubby. And I knew I had met my match.

Most of the time I try to repress my inner rock star, but sometimes she just has to come out – like at concerts.  This is fine, since my inner rock star is only a small part of who I am.  My day-to-day personality is much more important and needs to be front and center.  My inner rock star is fine with this arrangement.

Suppressing my inner rock star is easy.  Suppressing my personality – who I am – is not.  Especially at work.  I’m confident, creative, intelligent, passionate, logical, funny, straightforward and assertive. I’m a thinker who’s not afraid to make decisions, although I enjoy working as a team for the good of the group and the project.  I value those who work for me and will support them as they learn and grow.  Ninety-nine percent of the time, my personality is an asset in the workplace.

Every once in a while, I find that others want me to suppress my personality and be something I’m not.  They want me to be a shrinking Violet, or a passive Patty, or simply accept decisions that are detrimental to the team or company without at least pointing out alternate solutions.  I’ve been criticized for wanting to – in a nice way, of course – ask a question of a colleague.  I’m not exactly sure why asking a question that may help me better understand a situation to develop a solution could be detrimental, but some think it is.

I’ve suppressed my personality before and can do it easily for short periods.  But over the long-haul this is not a good situation. I become frustrated, which doesn’t help anyone, especially me.  It’s important that I work in an environment that allows me to be “me”.  My inner rock star may retreat during business hours as long as my personality is allowed to shine. It’s essential to who I am.

As I look at new opportunities, I’m going to allow my personality to take center stage.   If the company doesn’t like the “real” me, then maybe it’s not the right gig.  And if she’s lucky, I may let my inner rock star make a brief appearance during the interview too.  As long as she promises not to outshine me. Rock on!

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Naked Thoughts

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Unless I’m in a medically induced coma, turning off my mind so I can relax is next to impossible. My mind is constantly on the go, the ultimate multi-tasker, running rampant as it hops from one thought to the next.   I’m envious of Hubby who seems to have no problem putting his mind to rest. Simply turn on the TV and viola! Instant relaxation. Must be a guy-thing.

As a result, getting away from our daily grind of home, consulting and thinking about new opportunities is very important to me.  Visiting our favorite resort provides me with some relaxation as we spend the majority of our time in a poolside cabana.  This year Hubby suggested that we indulge in a couples massage.  “Come on,” he pleaded. “It will be so relaxing.”   I looked at him like he had sprouted a second head, asking “Uh, have you met me? You know I can’t keep my mind still for five minutes much less an hour”.  Persistence paid off for Hubby as I reluctantly agreed to the extravagance.

I’ve got to give the resort spa credit – I felt a bit like royalty as I indulged in a pre-massage sauna and shower, slipped into a luxurious bathrobe and slippers, then sipped herbal tea in the pre-treatment “relaxation room” while waiting for my massage “therapist”. 

My therapist was very calm, with the softest voice as she escorted me to the massage parlor – I mean “room”.  Thank goodness Hubby was already there; it would have been humiliating if they had mistakenly paired me with someone else.   “What kind of oil would you enjoy?” asked my therapist. “This one promotes balance, this one energy, this one peace…” and the list went on.  I chose “balance” simply because I gagged at the other scents. 

“Relax,” whispered the therapist.  Oh yeah, I thought. Like it’s totally normal to have a stranger rub smelly oil that’s supposed to promote “balance” all over my naked body.  Yes, technically I’m not naked all at one time, but the whole idea of being in a dimly lit room, naked, with candles and incense and other smells, naked, with a stranger rubbing oil on me is just not normal.  Did I mention the part about being naked?  Sure, there’s a sheet, but honestly that little piece of see-through muslin isn’t fooling anyone.

Trying to find my mental “happy place”, I took a deep breath, telling my mind to quiet down and enjoy the moment.  Yet my mind resisted.  How could I quiet my mind with a stranger kneading my butt, which by then was classified as an oil slick by OPEC?  There was so much oil I was afraid I’d have to pay an environmental fine.

Side one finished and my mind was still in high-action mode as I awkwardly tried to flip to my other side without falling off the narrow table.  Attempting to calm my mind and be peaceful, I tried again to go to my “happy place”.  I actually heard Hubby snoring as his therapist kneaded his butt.  Honestly, how can you sleep through this, I thought? I told my mind to listen to the peaceful, soothing music.  It was slow and soft, mainly a flute and some other instruments I couldn’t identify.  Instead of relaxing to the peaceful unidentifiable music, my mind’s thinking, “Who writes this stuff?”  I can’t imagine listening to it on the car radio; highway traffic would come to a standstill since we’d all fall asleep or go insane with the constant chiming and chanting.

Still attempting to find peace during this experience, I tried breathing slowly and deeply, counting sheep, counting backwards from 100, saying “ohm” – anything to calm my busy mind.  This is why I don’t meditate.  My mind is unable to be still for even a nanosecond. 

Finally, peace came.  I was so relaxed, the smell of the oil had become a pleasant aroma rather than an offensive odor, my muscles were enjoying being rubbed and massaged and I was ready to enjoy the rest of my time in the treatment room. 

“Thank you for coming,” the therapist said.  “We’ve left you some water and a treat, and will be waiting for you outside the door.”  What??? Wait, my mind is finally quieted and you’re leaving me? Come back, rub some more oil on me – I promise I won’t wince at the smell! 

Sigh. And just like that my mind woke up again.  I would like to think that my busy mind is brilliant, but I know better. It’s just busy.  At least it’s not naked.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Vacation Brain

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Ahhh…vacation!  The time to get away from it all. To refresh and re-energize.  Yep, I’m one of “those” people, the kind who believes in taking a true vacation to get away from everything for a week or so.  No checking email, no calling the office. I tell the people I work with, “If the building burns, save yourself and tell me about it when I get back”.  No sense telling me when I’m not there to do anything about it.

Never have understood the concept of a “working vacation” either – isn’t that an oxymoron?  If I’m going to spend the money for a vacation I want to enjoy it – sans work.

Funny thing is that my family didn’t really take vacations.  A couple times we accompanied dad on a business trip to Florida; along the way we’d wait for him in the car or at a restaurant while he called on clients, eventually ending up at the beach for a couple days.  Every few years Sis and I would go to Grandma’s in Minnesota, but that was it.  No weekends at the lake, no ski vacations, no trips just for fun.  I learned about the beauty of a vacation after business school, when I had friends living in other cities.  Those friends would say, “Come visit sometime” – and whether they meant it or not, I took them up on the offer.  (Note to all of you: if you say “come visit”, know that at some point I will do just that)

It wasn’t always easy for me to take a vacation.  I was (and sometimes still am) plagued by worries: what if something “big” happens while I’m gone? What if someone needs me? What if, what if, what if?   Early on I had a great boss who heard me lamenting the “what ifs” and wisely told me, “there is NOTHING that will happen in your absence that we can’t fix when you get back”.   Logic told me she was right and I’ve tried to remember that ever since.

Last week was it – vacation time!  An entire week of fun at our favorite resort with no work in sight, and it was beyond great.  Vacation Brain kicked in for both Hubby and I as soon as we left for the airport, a definite signal that it was time to relax. We read, talked, swam, lounged and were generally lazy.  Work Brain was nowhere to be seen, as it should be during vacation.  

As with all good things, our trip came to an end far too soon and my Vacation Brain reluctantly started powering down while my Work Brain tried to wake from a nice nap.  At the airport, Work Brain said it would be a good idea to download my emails so I could at least scan them on the plane.  Sounded logical, so I tried to log-on.  Note I said “tried” – for the life of me I couldn’t remember my log-in info.  Vacation Brain clearly was still in command.  After some time, I finally remembered and logged in – a small victory for Work Brain. 

Hubby was having difficulty too.  Wanting to initiate a call with a co-worker, he started to send an email with his cell number – but Vacation Brain forbade him from remembering his own number. Work Brain, unfortunately, reminded him that I had his phone number in my phone. 

Once I was online, Work Brain commanded that I look at my in-box. Yikes – how could one person have that many emails in just a week?  My mind raced as Vacation Brain was desperate to keep me in resort mode.  Looking at the subject lines, I tried to recall what I was working on when I left town.  My mind was sputtering, with a vague memory of some projects but not enough for the emails to make complete sense.  And who ARE all these people, wanting answers from me?  Do I work with them?  I could feel the tension in my head as Work Brain fought to recover information from a week ago, while Vacation Brain attempted to keep all that information hidden.  Back and forth, the battle for control raged in my head as I read the emails, trying to make sense of it all.  Once the plane landed, Work Brain started a victory dance, knowing that as soon as we exited the jet way Vacation Brain was history. 

Sigh. Why is it always like this? Within seconds of returning from vacation, it’s as though we never left at all.  I enjoy my work but I really do cherish the little bit of vacation I take and I would love for the feeling to last longer than a nanosecond. 

Good news is the office didn’t burn.  At least I don’t think it did.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Disconnected

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Ping! Buzz! Ding-Ding! My electronic devices are constantly talking to me.  Sort of like kids who are always peppering mom with a million demands – I need this! I’m hungry! When can we go out to play?  At least that’s how I imagine kids to be.  Kind of hard for me to be accurate here since my daughter has four legs, a fur coat and a ferocious bark.  Her needs are simple: food, water and some outside time – not very demanding at all.

But my electronic devices are always demanding something of me.  Read this, can you answer this question, here’s some news.  Answer me, answer me, answer me!  Just like most of us, I’m always connected, all of the time and technically always available. 

In some ways all this connectivity has made our lives easier.  Who remembers not wanting to leave the house just in case that special guy called for a date?  I do – what a waste of time that was!  At least with mobile phones and computers there’s no need to wait.  That special guy can call always find me if he wants to.  Yes Hubby, I mean you.  Hubby is breathing a sigh of relief.

There are a million good reasons for all this connectivity.  And I’ve bought into the program. I’ve got the latest gadgets so I can be connected personally and professionally.  All the time; 24/7/365.  I’m actually annoyed on occasion if I can’t get in touch with someone.  Geez – answer the call/email/text; don’t you hear the pinging?

As good as it is to be connected and as fun as all those social networks are, I’ve come to the realization that I need a break.  I seriously need a break.  With all this connectivity, I can’t seem to turn off the pinging, dinging and buzzing and relax for a while.  Hard to believe that I can’t just chill by the pool or watch a movie or read a magazine.  It’s gotten so bad that Hubby and I can hardly sit through a meal without checking our electronic devices.  Here I am, sitting next to the man of my dreams, and I’m worried about missing something “important” when my electronic device goes off.

So this week I’ve disconnected.  Thanks to technology, I was able to schedule this post days in advance.  As you read this, Hubby and I will be sitting in a cabana by a beautiful pool at a resort.  Hopefully I’ll be reading a book or a magazine – the old fashioned way, not on an electronic device. That would be too tempting.  Maybe we’ll be watching a movie or a sunset or simply talking to each other, uninterrupted. 

What’s that?  You want to know if I’m really disconnected or if I’ve slipped up and peeked at my electronic devices? I’ve done it before so I’m convinced I can do it again.  Since this post was written in advance, you’ll have to trust that I’ve stuck to my guns and disconnected.   

Trust me; just don’t ping me.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Do I Hear Flushing?

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It’s easier to get a job if you have job.  At least that’s what I’ve always been told. 
To be honest, it has never really seemed that easy to get a job if I’m currently employed.  Mainly because I’m too busy working to put much time and energy into looking for another gig.  Not to mention the difficulty trying to have confidential job interview calls with recruiters or potential employers, especially while working in cubicle-land.  
With conference rooms booked and stairwells that echo, that leaves the bathroom or possibly the car.  Flushing is not a sound anyone wants to hear over the phone, much less a potential employer. And sitting in a stuffy car is hardly conducive to intelligent phone conversation. Yep, interviewing for a new job while I’m working has always added even more stress to my life.
The simple solution would be to prepare financially, then to leave the current job in order to focus my energy on finding a new one. 
On paper, this looks great. Yet somehow I’ve never been able to do that. I’ve come to realize that I have a hard time letting go of things.  No, I’m not a hoarder; I can purge my closet of clothes and I don’t purchase toilet paper by the truckload.  It’s just that I have an innate sense of wanting to finish whatever I start.  And the word “quit” is not in my vocabulary.  Nope; mom and dad did not raise a quitter. 
Most of the time, this is actually a good trait.  I had a boss once who told me I was like a bulldog.  It was a compliment, although it took some explanation. He said he knew that he could give me any project and, just like a bulldog holding onto his favorite squeaky toy for dear life, I would never let the project defeat me.  He could count on me to be successful.
Unfortunately, my bulldog instinct can sometimes get in the way.  Like when I realize that a job is no longer right for me.  It’s quite a predicament.
Sometimes it’s not easy for me to recognize that I’ve outgrown my job.  The feelings of uneasiness may be confused with the occasional frustration we all experience from time to time at our jobs.  It takes time to truly identify the signs. 
For me, it’s the lingering day-in, day-out frustration that is so frequent it feels like a huge boulder is on my chest and I’m about to buckle from the sheer weight.  It’s not about being incapable of doing my job; it’s about no longer getting satisfaction from it. It’s the time when the bad feelings begin to outweigh the good. A no-win situation.
I remember being in this position some years ago.  It felt like I was trapped, unable to escape.  Hubby will tell you I’m a commitment-phobe on many levels, which is partially true. I have a hard time committing to a pair of new shoes, much less a new job. And don’t get me started on my commitment fears when it came time to get married; Hubby still wonders if I’m in this for the long-haul.
In the case of this particular job, I felt trapped, like a wild animal who just wanted to run as fast as I could away from whatever was trying to hold me down.  But the bulldog in me would not let go, especially without another job to go to.
Which leads to my question: Is it ever OK to walk away from a job without another one waiting in the wings? 
Seems like it should be, yet for me this is almost impossible and unthinkable.  I get worried about things that are rational and even some things that are not: Will we have enough money? How will I explain this during an interview? What if the new job is a mistake? Will I ever work again? 
But my biggest concern is my reputation – even though logic tells me that 99% of my friends will not care. I simply don’t want to be known as a quitter.   
All this to say that my bulldog tendencies + my aversion to commitment + illogical thinking under stress = more stress when looking for a new job.  It sure makes for tough interviewing.
As I continue to be open to new opportunities, I’m hoping the commitment-phobe in me stays locked away.  I don’t want to miss anything good simply because I’m afraid to make a mistake. 
In the meantime, if you hear a muffled conversation in the bathroom, it’s just me trying to interview. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t flush.
 

Hitting the Wall

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I’ve done it. I’ve hit the wall.  Didn’t see this coming. And I thought things were going so well. Guess it had to happen at some point.  After all, it’s been a while since the lay-off and lots of things have happened.   

My enthusiasm has left the building.  I’m tired of networking, bored with looking, frustrated with consulting despite that it was my dream opportunity.  How did this happen?  What’s going on?  Maybe it’s really the flu.  Nope, no fever, so that can’t be it.

Hubby wanders in to find me staring off into space, TV blaring to some inane daytime show.  He tries to coax me out of the funk, but it’s too late.  Mr. Funk and I are BFF’s now, and we vow to hold on to this feeling as long as possible.  We’re holding a full-blown pity party.  Too bad I didn’t send out invitations for others to join us. Oh well; that would mean getting interested in something and using energy.

What’s happening to me?  This is not who I am.  I’m the problem solver, the one who figures out the next greatest move and acts on it.  And if I can’t act on it, I at least share it with someone who can.

Too many coffee meetings. Too much time to read about unemployment rates, the poor economy and the sad state of the Kardashians.   Poor beautiful rich girls.  Life just isn’t fair, is it?

If we believed what the media told us in January, the unemployment rate decreased slightly and we should have been jumping for joy.  The skeptic in me, as well as an informal focus group of my friends, said that things were not that rosy in the job market.  I’m not sure where the media gets these stats.  And now, a quick scan of the paper indicates more lay-offs both locally and abroad. 

Despite such news, I keep trying to stay positive. I head outside to sit by the pool for a bit, convinced that some vitamin D from the sun will help chase Mr. Funk away.  Unfortunately, I misjudged the sun and got more than I needed so now I’m doing my lobster imitation. 

Maybe I just need a break from everything; a change of scenery.  We’ve got a vacation planned and hopefully that will do the trick.  Just getting away from it all; sitting under a cabana at a different pool, with people waiting on me all day while I catch up on all my fashion magazines. 

I’m going with a positive attitude, that I will come back refreshed with a different outlook.  And if I happen to run into the Kardashians while I’m there, I may just ask if they have any job openings.  After all, it would be fun to hang with the rich and famous.   

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Plenty of Room

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All I could hear was Hubby’s side of the conversation, an occasional question, followed by “uh-huh” and a splattering of other information.  Hard to tell exactly what he was talking about or who he was talking to for that matter.  Of course my fever and congestion had me so foggy that he could have been singing Lady Gaga and I wouldn’t have recognized it.

“Of course you can stay here; there’s plenty of room”, followed by a click of the receiver. That’s when I perked up, propping myself up from the couch enough to ask him who he had been speaking with.  Not that it really mattered at that point because apparently we were about to have company stay with us.  If I’d had any strength at all or if my senses hadn’t been dimmed by the heavy antibiotics, I’m sure I would have shrieked at him about the fact that this was probably not a great time for company.

After all, I hadn’t seen the outside world in a week, much less had a shower.  Our house, which was usually clean enough for a surprise visit, had the stale smell of take-out containers and was decorated with used tissues, cough lozenge wrappers and assorted blankets and pillows strewn about.  The dog hair was piling up all over the place, making our carpet a mélange of texture and color.  All I could do was lay back on the couch and hope that the dishes in the sink would miraculously put themselves into the dishwasher. 

“Seriously, sweetie, is it really a good idea for others to be in the same house with me?”  I could see he felt bad for even offering.  Hubby had been sick too, although he managed to recover quickly.  My illness was stuck to me, like gum to the bottom of a shoe. 

Nothing to do at that point but accept the fact that we would have guests.  Lovely guests too, it’s just that I was in no shape to host, seeing as I was barely able to make it from the bedroom to the couch.  So I made it my goal to feel better by the time they arrived.

That time is now, and unfortunately I’m not much better.  I did introduce myself to the shower, which was great, but my head is still foggy and I can’t seem to go anywhere without some sort of liquid to soothe my throat.  Hubby has helped rid the kitchen of the piles of take-out containers and showed the dishes how to get into the dishwasher.  Yet the dog hair remains, left for me to handle while Hubby is out. 

I realize the company will be here soon and the dog hair has to go.  But where does it have to go, I ask myself?   Still shrouded by the head fog, I wander the house trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with the dog hair.  Ah-ha! The vacuum cleaner.  I see the vacuum; even have both hands on the vacuum.  Yet somehow it’s become freakishly heavy and I’m unable to move it out of the closet.

Wow, why is vacuuming so hard? I must be weak from the flu.  I try to push the vacuum back and forth, but the hair just seems to stay put.  Oh, it would help if it was plugged in.  Trying again, I start to make head-way.  After just a few back and forths and sweating profusely from the fever, I take a break.  Next thing I know the dog is waking me with her kisses, urging me to get up before the company arrives. All I want to do is lay on the carpet. When did our carpet become so comfortable?

Ding dong!  Oh no; are they here already?  Where’s Hubby?  The dog’s bark tells me it’s not our guests, just our neighbor asking something about the yard, or the trees, or the fence, or something.  I lay back down to rest on the carpet.

Sigh.  I hate being sick.  Just hope I’m better before the doorbell rings again.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Victory Lane

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Memorial Day is one of my favorite holiday weekends.  First, it’s three days.  Who doesn’t love that? And of course the symbolic remembrance of our armed forces makes it special.  The official start of summer is a plus too, although I’m not looking forward to the possibility of another record-breaking heat wave. 

My favorite part of this particular weekend is the Indy 500. I became fascinated with racing after attending my first Indy 500 years ago.  It is a spectacle like no other event I’ve been to – including the Kentucky Derby, the Tournament of Roses and the NCAA national championship football game.  With attendance of around 400,000 the track becomes its own city.  The tradition, pomp and circumstance are worthy of royalty.  The military tributes bring tears.  So does the singing of certain songs by Jim Nabors and Florence Henderson, although I’m usually not crying because they’re good.

Hubby and I watched from home this year.  Still fun, but not the same as being there in person. For years the Indy 500 was part of my job, and we spent Memorial Day weekends at the race.  This year as I watched the race, the memories came flooding back: strategy and planning would start the year before the race, followed by campaign development, tactics, on-site and finally execution.  I had great co-workers and we all had so much fun that I would pinch myself to make sure that this was really my job and not a dream.  We used to laugh so much it was hard to get work done. And the stories I could tell!  Names would definitely have to be changed.  Yep, what happens at Indy stays at Indy.

The biggest lesson I learned from the Indy 500 is to never give up.  These dedicated athletes – the drivers, the crews and team owners – fight every week to make it to the winners circle.  With big bucks on the line, jobs can be lost when things don’t go the right way.  The drivers are strapped into their cars for several hours or more, depending on the number of incidents.  They are always thinking about how to improve their position on the course, and are in constant communication with their crew as to how the car is handling.  Even when they are in the final laps, the drivers and teams never quit trying to win.  After all, anything can happen in a race. Leads change in hundredths of a second. 

I was watching two specific drivers this year, both of whom were fighting for the win. Having worked with both of them in the past made it even more special to watch.  One is a long-time veteran and knows that he has to win at Indy soon if he’s going to at all.  The other is equally deserving, fighting for his family name.  No pressure there, huh? 

As with many races, it came down to the wire.  Both of my favorite drivers pushing and working and strategizing until the last second.  Unfortunately neither won.  But after the race, they were already talking about next time.  And both showed great poise in defeat.

I need to remember this when looking for new opportunities.  Never say never; never give up.  Don’t quit trying even when it seems impossible, even when the job is a long-shot at best.  You never know. At some point, the job will be right for me and I’ll walk into victory lane.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved