Professional networking

Dragon Mood? -- feeling positive about my professional connections

One of the things that I learned from my recent eighteen month stint being regularly and securely employed is that it is highly important to network with people. (Pause while Caroline, Josh and Aaron all yell, "I TOLD YOU SO!")

Now that I have LEARNED MY LESSON, I am attempting to not only talk the talk, but walk the walk. Curiously enough, a guy I met at a metro Detroit career center (we were in a four-hour 'mature worker' seminar together) later sent me an email inviting me to join LinkedIn, a professional networking website. I joined with a bit of trepidation, but now I'm glad that I did. I have about 15 connections and hope to grow my network of resources.

To that end, I have placed a link on the left-hand side of this blog that looks like this:




I'll keep you posted.

realization

Dragon Mood? -- relaxing

Driving home from work, listening to NPR, I realized there's several things going on in our world this week that are once in a lifetime events. Consider this:

• Fidel Castro resigning after 50 years in power in Cuba.
  
  
• Barack Obama securing wins in Wisconsin and Hawaii, reinforcing the perception that he is the peoples' choice and unstoppable in his pursuit of the presidency.
  
  
• A lunar eclipse tonight, predicted to be blood red and possibly visible here in Motown? Be hopeful that we have a clear night, cloudless night.
  

Trying to catch up late on a Sunday night

Dragon Mood? -- struggling to find the words

Idon't know why, but I'm having trouble making time to post. I wish when I thought things, I could simply think "POST" and POOF -- a la Harry Potter -- here they would appear!

Unfortunately, it's not quite that easy. And while things haven't been exactly difficult, they have been BUSY!

Since flying to Madison for the weekend (was that really three weeks ago?), I've felt behind. And the faster I try to go, the behinder I feel (...however that old saw goes)? Work is going okay, thank goodness! I've made sure to get enough sleep that I can be alert and function well at work. But after work, I tend to crash; sometimes, just for a half an hour, sometimes longer. I want to blame the humidity that we've been experiencing; but that may simply be an excuse.

Last weekend, I stayed here at the pied-a-terre, while S headed up north with the younger twin, Tim, to load and haul some furniture from her sister's house. I treated myself to a languorous Saturday afternoon trip to IKEA, a jaunt through a Heartland's-version Target and a self-indulgent "I'll-take-some-of-that" and "oh-some-of-that-too" evening meal at a luxe gourmet shop that I rarely visit. I spent way too much money and you know what? I didn't care and I didn't worry about it. I simply gave myself permission to have fun. Which I did.

This past week, however, has been preoccupied with thinking about and starting to get the pied-a-terre ready for our new about-to-be housemate, Erin. Erin is a young woman, beginning grad school at Wayne State, who will live in the pied-a-terre's upstairs while going to school. We found out after the fact that she's a lesbian (where was my gay-dar?). I've painted the linen closet, shuffled shelves and drawers and closets around, attempting to make room for her in the bathroom. S and I moved the treadmill out of the TV room and brought the computer downstairs and into the TV room. I'm sitting here in this new location and I can feel that I'm gonna like the computer in here.

Whew!

You know what? It's gotten late and I need to go to bed!

Maybe more posting tomorrow?

Things I want to write about ....

Dragon Mood? -- decluttering my dragony mind

Istill want to write about S and my weekend in Madison, helping our beautiful daughter, Carolina, move into her new home. Oh yeah!

I want to write about what I did on my summer vacation (ha-ha) this past weekend.

I want to write about our new about-to-be housemate, Erin, who will be moving in in just over a week, dislocated finger and all.

And, I want to say that TODAY is the beginning of my EIGHTH week on the still shiny-brand-new JOB! YAAAAAAAyy!

A jim-dandy of a word!

From Word of the Day:

triskaidekaphobia \tris-ky-dek-uh-FOH-bee-uh\, noun:
A morbid fear of the number 13 or the date Friday the 13th.

Triskaidekaphobia is from Greek treiskaideka, triskaideka, thirteen (treis, three + kai, and + deka, ten) + phobos, fear.

In Christian countries the number 13 was considered unlucky because there were 13 persons at the Last Supper of Christ. Fridays are also unlucky, because the Crucifixion was on a Friday. Hence a Friday falling on the thirteenth day is regarded as especially unlucky.

Some famous triskaidekaphobes include:

Napoleon
Herbert Hoover
Mark Twain
Richard Wagner
Franklin Roosevelt

 

Have a GREAT day!   And I mean it!

Quote for Friday

Dragon Mood? -- mindfulness along with my mind is absent

Okay ... I'm gonna post just this one more thing ... AND THEN I'm going to bed! Here's a quote I found and liked:

The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers. ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

Mourning a friend who is gone

Dragon Mood? -- mournful, sad

Finding out that someone you loved and cared about is dead is painful enough. To find out that this person died over 11 months ago and I had no clue only adds to my sense of loss and vulnerability. I had no clue.

I found out this morning. The person that died was our therapist, S and mine, for over four years. Maybe it was even five years; I've forgotten now. His name was Pat Brice and he was an exceptional therapist. He was also a person who made me feel happy about being alive and hopeful about the future.

S and I started seeing Pat in August of 1998. It was a dark and bitter time in our relationship. Without going into gory details, suffice to say that Pat had plenty to address with us, regarding our relationship, as well as our parenting skills and individual mental health.

We saw Pat week after week after week, usually on a weekday evening. Sometimes we were his last clients for the evening. That allowed him to be a bit more relaxed about the length of our session. Many times, we would start the session talking about something other than "therapy." From those "warm-up minutes," I learned about Pat's love of nature, dogs, woodworking, bees, gardening, his wife and his daughters, his extended family in Wisconsin.

During sessions, I heard him speak about his own traumas growing up at the hands of nuns, a failed first marriage, working in mental health clinics, deciding to pursue a Ph.D, politics, working with kids who have ADHD and learning to deal with his own limitations.

Pat was kind of a gentle bear of a man. For most of the time that S and I saw him, he had either a mustache or a mustache and a beard. He was rather rotund; he could have played a perfect Santa Claus, including the twinkle in his eye. I remember us talking about our respective struggles with weight.

He was incredibly kind and gentle. He demonstrated manly, better yet, fatherly tenderness that spoke volumes to the little girl within me. He cried with S and me a couple of times, particularly when talking about children experiencing violence. He told us lots of insightful or instructive stories and theories and even shared a hypothesis or two on the "secrets" of the universe.

Pat drove a Ford Ranger that he loved. When it came time, S bought a Ford Ranger too. He shared a dozen or so pine seedlings with us that he had gotten from a friend. S planted them out in our diminishing pine "forest" while her grandma observed. He brought us a jar filled with honey from his bees. (Delicious!) We brought him cookies at Christmastime because he made no secret of his love for eating. He gave us a beautiful wooden "vase," complete with a snug-fitting top that he cut and turned on his lathe. It sits on our sidetable in the dining room where we can see it with every meal. S bought a beautiful gnarled piece of wood and gave it to him because she knew how much he loved wood.

Because he knew, as designers we love to design things, one night after a session, we spent quite a while strategizing how he could build a gate into his garden. He had a bunch of design constraints (all of which I can't remember) that only added to the fun and challenge of figuring out a workable and buildable solution. He told us about the ponds on his property and the fence to keep their dogs safe and spending time there with his wife.

All three of us enjoyed the outdoors so much, we joked and speculated on what people would think about having our therapy session outside on the clinic lawn. We held back our impulses and stayed inside.

S and I continued to see Pat for over six months after we bought the pied-a-terre here in Motown. That would have been October or November of 2003. I guess we did see him for over five years. Amazing.

We never had an official "last" session. Our lives felt more stable, less chaotic, our relationship more loving, less prone to poor boundaries and "magical" thinking. That fall of 2003, when a series of appointments was completed, I never scheduled more. I never really said "Good-bye" to Pat because there's always a next time, right? Before today, rarely has a week gone by that I don't think of him. And the same can be said regarding S and my relationship. We frequently reference "What would Pat say?" after a particularly difficult exchange or while struggling with a thorny issue. Usually, we can work it out, thanks to his good work with us.

It's nearly impossible to express just how sad I feel, now knowing that Pat is gone. He was such a source of love and care for me in this world. He sure didn't save it for a rainy day. He put it out there, hour after hour, week after week. He gave freely and willingly and lovingly. I suspect that there are many, many other people, clients of his who feel the same. The world ... my world ... feels poorer and drearier and a little less warm for Pat's not being with us here anymore. As a caring therapist, I have made him a part of me. I will always remember him and keep him close in my heart.

Gorgeous weekend plans

Dragon Mood? -- dragon scales aquiver!

If YOU were a Fire sign and the forecast for this spring weekend is gorgeous, gorgeous, GORGEOUS ... wouldn't a campfire on the deck tonight be your first thought?

EXACTLY! ... and that's what I'm thinkin' about! Wood, wine and my honey ... and maybe our 80-year-old neighbor/lawn boy, Bill ... and maybe Kevin and Jack ... and don't forget Jeanne-less Joanne and Buster and Allie! However and whoever's there, we'll have FUN. You have a great one too!

Tough week

Dragon Mood? -- heavy sigh

This morning, upon hearing Robin Roberts of Good Morning America say this has been a tough week, I thought, "Yeah, it has been a very tough week." The horrible killings at Virginia Tech have been uppermost in peoples' minds. And ... if you weren't thinking about it, the media would be sure to remind you with graphic images, endless repetition and obsessive analysis. (To which I respond: pick up the remote and *click* off.)

There was another tragic, senseless death in our midst. Here in Motown, in the community "village" we live in, a little girl, five years old, died Monday afternoon while playing outside at the grade school within walking distance of our home. She was playing in an inner courtyard of the school when a flagpole snapped under heavy winds, fell and killed her. S and I listened to the school principal, trembling with emotion, on the local evening news describe staying with the little girl in her last moments of life, awaiting the ambulance. Ironically, just an hour earlier, I told my sister on the phone that I had skipped my usual walk with the dog that afternoon because the winds seemed downright "scary." Sadly, that was more true than I realized at the time.

On a far less momentous note, I returned to a prospective employer's site earlier this week to take a "tube test." Basically, I was asked to perform tasks on the computer with a 3D CAD modeling software and prove that I can do what I say I can do. The hiring manager gave me two tasks for that one hour. The first one I created as requested; the other, I couldn't complete in the time given. I got "stuck" and failed to think "nimbly" and consider a work-around in the given time. As the minutes ticked away, I got more and more frustrated with myself and the task at hand. Unfortunately, I kind of "froze up."

As the manager walked me out to the reception desk, he acknowledged that none of the other candidates had been able to complete both tasks in the time given. In retrospect, I know he was trying to make me feel better. But, I am unaccustomed to failure and don't let myself off the hook very easily. I've continued to replay that hour and the conversation afterward over and over in my mind. I won't allow myself to internally call myself names (like "stupid" or anything similar), but I can definitely feel the hardness and rigidity of my upbringing, especially in the face of anything less than perfection. ArrrghhH! It's tough to run into one's vulnerabilities, especially when looking for a job.

I am still feeling very badly about my performance on that tube test and suspect I undermined my chances for the job. I have been preparing myself mentally all week for the phone call telling me that I didn't get the job. Others might label that as "negative" thinking, but I feel like I'm protecting myself. More disappointing news about employment and jobs is not something I need right now.

After the requisite dose of daily self-pity, I knock myself upside of the head and remind myself to look around. Look around at what's happened to others this week. Parents of a little girl. Families and friends of 32 innocent people. They have something to feel badly about. Their lives are forever changed. I just experienced a temporary setback this week. It's a mere bump in this road we call life.

Where did you say you're from?

Dragon Mood? -- recalling an unexpected encounter

While you always hear about the advantage of meeting interesting people when traveling, I didn't think it would happen so readily and fully to me.

After riding the Metra train from north Chicago to Union Station, I had time to kill. The waiting area was more crowded than I had expected, so I had to hunt and search for an open, available seat. I found one near a gate, where the rigid, plastic seats were rather mashed together. There were two women seated to my right. I thought they were traveling companions, because they were talking.

Shortly after I sat down, the first woman asked if she could borrow a pen. I lent her one which she then passed to the second woman who I'll call Beret Woman. Upon receiving my pen back, Beret Woman got up and slowly, arthritically hobbled away. The first woman turned to me and said, "She's making a mistake." She shook her head for emphasis. "She's gonna ride the train for two nights in coach. Two nights! That's too long. She's gonna ride all the way to L.A. in coach."

I asked her where she was headed and she replied, "Alburquerque."

"Which is home," I asked, "Chicago or Alburquerque?"

She smiled and said, "I live in Hawaii." I chuckled at her unexpected answer.

This woman, I never did find out her name, told me she has traveled to Alburqueque, oh, at least 30 times. Wow! I never got a clear answer as to why she visited there so many times. She did refer a couple of times to traveling only in the winter. She has a job from April until September or October. Hmmm.

She showed me her Hawaiian driver's license so I could see the fingerprint that only the state of Hawaii requires. Stupidly (now, in hindsight), I never thought to look at her name. Duh! We talked about train travel, sushi, living in Hawaii, why do people rush around, her distaste for television and computers, among other things.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. "I'm sorry if I appear nosey, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. What kind of job do you have that you work six months out of the year?" I asked.

She smiled again and said simply, "I work for the Chicago Cubs."

The light of day must have dawned on my face. "What do you do?"

"I'm an usher. I stand around and make sure people get to their seats."

April to October. Of course! Asking more questions (I must have come across as incredibly nosey), I found out that her husband had died about ten years ago, after the two of them had lived in Hawaii, very simply, among the Hawaiian locals, since the 1970s. She referred to the tourists as "hollies." I kept googling until I found this:

... that most “haoles” (a pejorative term used by native Hawaiians to describe Caucasion tourists) ...

Here's another, more formalized one.

According to Intrepid Hawaiian Traveler, you never want to hang out with haoles when in Hawaii. Seek out the locals and you'll experience a completely different Hawaii.

Back to her story. After her husband died, one of her children, a daughter who lives in Chicago, happened to see an ad seeking ushers for the Chicago Cubs. Intrepid Hawaiian Traveler came to Chicago, applied and got the job. That was nine years ago. Every year, she lives with her daughter in Chicago, spends time with her grandchildren and works for the Cubs for every home game. She smiled the entire time she spoke about it, so I can only conclude that she's happy with the arrangement.

Intrepid lives on Maui ... only in the winter, of course. And only when she's not traveling. Her parting words to me were, "If you're ever in Maui, look me up."

What did I take away from this encounter? (chuckling) A whole lot! The universe sat me down next to a woman who travels alone, sees things for what they are (haoles vs. tourists), has created a life that's full and enjoyable (and works for the Cubs, on top of it!). What an inspiration! Yup, I definitely feel like the universe sent me a gift, a vision of what-could-be in Intrepid Hawaiian Traveler. Thank you, God.

FORTRAN and me

Dragon Mood? -- remembering

Perusing MSNBC's website this morning, I noticed a death notice for John Backus, creator of FORTRAN. Wow, FORTRAN! I haven't thought about that in a while.

For those of you who may not have majored in computer science in college, FORTRAN stands for FORmula TRANslation. It is (was at that time) a high-level computer programming software.

When I was in school at Michigan State, we coded FORTRAN on data cards that were submitted to staffers at the Computer Science Center for batch runs at night. Data cards were lined up in cardboard boxes, hundred of data cards, each card corresponding to a line of code, from the first line of a program to the last. Imagine that! I wrote a whole damn compiler in FORTRAN on data cards.

The computer we used at that time was a Control Data CDC 6500, a large CPU that occupied an entire room, an environmentally controlled room, on the second floor of the Computer Science building, in the middle of campus. I could see the rows of CPU boxes, on a raised floor, with blinking lights and all that computing power contained within. (chuckling) Wow, have times ever changed!

(This is a bit off topic, but I also remember a long-haired woman who worked there in the computer lab. She always wore jeans that looked poured on her and a figure to handle that "poured" look. She had beautifully full breasts and the flattest belly I could ever imagine coveting. She wore a long-sleeve knit top with a flannel shirt over it, all tucked into those tight jeans and still her figure looked sleek and trim. Oh, do I remember her!)

Back to my original reason for this posting: here's an excerpt from MSNBC's article on John Backus's passing.

John Backus, whose development of the Fortran programming language in the 1950s changed how people interacted with computers and paved the way for modern software, has died. He was 82.

... Prior to Fortran, computers had to be meticulously "hand-coded" — programmed in the raw strings of digits that triggered actions inside the machine. Fortran was a "high-level" programming language because it abstracted that work — it let programmers enter commands in a more intuitive system, which the computer would translate into machine code on its own.

The breakthrough earned Backus the 1977 Turing Award from the Association for Computing Machinery, one of the industry's highest accolades. The citation praised Backus' "profound, influential, and lasting contributions."

Backus also won a National Medal of Science in 1975 and got the 1993 Charles Stark Draper Prize, the top honor from the National Academy of Engineering.

... Backus' early work at IBM included computing lunar positions on the balky, bulky computers that were state of the art in the 1950s. But he tired of hand-coding the hardware, and in 1954 he got his bosses to let him assemble a team that could design an easier system.

The result, Fortran, short for Formula Translation, reduced the number of programming statements necessary to operate a machine by a factor of 20.

Remembering John Backus, FORTRAN and my days of coding with it.