End of the run

Emotionally, I'm still on a high. Physically, my body is killing me.

Saturday night was the final performance of Annie and the last nine weeks have been absolutely fantastic. The cast and crew of the show worked so well together. While I've never questioned my decision to move back to Albert Lea, being a part of this production just kept reinforcing it.

I was so flattered by the number of family and friends who came to see me. And the rumor that my apartment currently resembles a florist shop is mostly true. One of the kids asked me why I got so many bouquets of flowers. I wanted to say, "When it's your first time back on stage after a 24-year absence, you'll get flowers, too." But I realized an 11-year-old wouldn't understand that. So, I just kept it simple, "I have great people in my life."

Naturally when you do Annie, half of the cast is made up of kids. Being a non-procreator, it was an adjustment for me. I love kids, but I also find that herds of young'uns tend to be unruly. And, at times, I felt like I was channeling my character more than I normally would when trying to keep order. (As if that was possible) But it was also a chance for me to get to know a great group of kids who have a passion for music and theater. I'm looking forward to watching them grow up. It took me a four weeks to figure out their real names, but I will remember them for a very long time.

During the three dress rehearsals leading up to final dress, I think I called "line," at least one time each. (Calling 'line' at rehearsal means that someone will prompt you with your line) It stressed me out thinking that I might be on stage during a performance and forget a line.

But I didn't. And let me be clear, I didn't forget a line. I did, however, forget a prop. During performance #2, in the very first scene, my character is supposed to pull a flask out and take a swig, at which point, Molly (one of the orphans) looks inquisitively at me. As I reached into my pocket, I realized that I had left the flask off stage. I kept calm while looking into this child's face, who was waiting for me to do my thing. A thousand thoughts crossed my mind and I just decided I would skip it and move on to the next line. The other girls had looks on their faces like, "what the heck??"

Fast forward one week to the same scene. I never forgot the flask again - I gave the girls permission to check me every night - but I got distracted on stage. The front row of seats is very, very close to the stage. And most nights, I would know someone in the front row, but it's never bothered me. Until that night. As I stood on the edge of the stage taking the (pretend) swig from the flask, I was suddenly looking eye-to-eye was my friend Jill and her family. It completely threw me and I started to move to the next line before finishing the first one. I back-tracked and finished it, but not exactly the way that it was supposed to be.

I love theater and musicals in particular, but doing community theater gives its participants an amazing opportunity to create lifelong friendships and to contribute to the community's quality of life.

I think I can dance

There's nothing to make you feel old than to have your dance partner/choreographer mention that he wasn't even born the last time you did a show. (My last ACT show The King & I was 1990 and Dylan, the choreographer, is 20.)

Don't get me wrong, I love doing it and I WILL do it. But I'm sure it is this reason that I have to ice my right knee each night after rehearsal.

Most people, after seeing my uber-smooth dance moves, are shocked to learn that the full extent of my dance training consists of one year of ballet class in high school and the tap dance lessons I received when I did Anything Goes in 1988. Oh, and having a best friend who was a dancer and taught me the five basic ballet positions.

My understanding of choreography comes from ice skating - carriage, extension, timing, footwork, etc. So each time Dylan uses a dance term, I ask him to demonstrate it and my skating brain converts it to something I understand. Not everything converts, so I have to make up names for moves that provide me with a visual cue, such as the 'crab crawl.' And I'm sure my knee would be happier if I was gliding on ice instead of hopping up and down on 2" heels.

The dance number is 'Easy Street' and there are three of us - Dylan who is playing Rooster, Cheyenne (Lily) and me (Miss Hannigan) - who are singing and dancing. 'Easy Street' is also the only song/dance that Dylan does in the show, so it's Dylan's single opportunity to show his stuff. (Can't blame him) However, I keep watching the other songs in the show to see if he's giving the other actors choreography beyond moving from one side of the stage to the other. (The orphans 'Hard Knock Life' doesn't count - their average age is like 9.)

So, now you have to come to the show. Why? Because now you're curious to see my 'crab crawl.'

On Broadway

Way back in Spring 2013, when I was trying to make my decision about moving back to my hometown, I had a conversation with one of my best friends, Jessie. (Going Home)

In weighing all the pros and cons, the tipping point came when we talked about being involved with the community theater again. That's when it became a no-brainer.  The two of us, having been friends since 1988 when we met during the Albert Lea Community Theater production of Anything Goes, toasted the obvious decision.

I didn't, however, go knock on the stage door right away. In fact, my first audition was last month (ten months after moving back) and I had told very few people that I was going to try out. The role I wanted was Miss Hannigan in the musical, Annie.

The toughest part of the audition is always walking through the door and, this one was made tough by the fact it had been over 25 years since my last audition. I must have done okay since on Memorial Day I got the call that I had the part.

The next evening was the first read through and a good portion of time was spent going through introductions. When I introduced myself, I told them how my first role in an ACT production was an orphan in Oliver in 1972 and that my last play was the King & I in 1990. I explained that I had moved back to Albert Lea after a 20-year temporary absence, but that 'this place was one of the reasons I moved back.' I had missed it.

We're about three weeks into rehearsals and we open in less than a month (July 17). It had been so long since I had to memorize lines, I googled it. (heck, the last time I had to memorize lines there was no Google to google.)

You know what's been great? It's been 20+ years, but I'm not a stranger. Figuring out the costumes has made me smile more than a couple of time. Mostly because of the three people I've been able to work with - Barb Lang, Rosalie Truax and Glen Parsons. Three people who have known me for years and years - Barb since I was a toddler and Glen was my fifth grade teacher.

This is going to be a blast!!!

Marlys

Fact: Of the 313 million people in the United States, only one thousand and three of those American citizens are U.S. Figure Skating Judges. That's just 0.0003% of the entire population.

Because we're a small group, there is a sense of family among figure skating officials due to the hours and hours we spend together, our shared experiences in the officials' room (what happens in the officials' room, stays in the officials' room), and our love of the sport. I've been a judge since 1996 and in those 17 years, I have made many, many friends from all over the country. 

I was only a few years into my judging career when, as I looked around an officials' room and saw the span of generations, I began to wonder what it was going to be like when the senior generation started to pass away. You don't want to think about that stuff, but I am Irish and thoughts like that are part of my genetic make-up.  

If I consider all U.S. officials family, I think of the Minnesota officials as my immediate family. We have watched as some of our officials have battled cancer and others fade away because of Alzheimer's disease and old age. We had time to say goodbye and many of them had the opportunity to say goodbye to us. 

But my Minnesota family recently suffered a loss that we weren't prepared for when Marlys Larson passed away.  I had just been at a competition in Madison, Wis., with Marlys three weeks earlier and she was healthy. There is nothing that stands out from that day that would have made me think her days were numbered.  Since I knew that her mom had lived past the age of 100, I was pretty sure Marlys would outlive me. 

But one week later, Marlys suffered aortic dissection while in Iowa for a dog show (more on that topic later). She had surgery and seemed to have come out of the surgery fine. I was thinking, 'well, she'll rally back from this.' Then five days after the surgery, she started having strokes and I went from thinking that 'she'll rally back from this' to 'it might take her a bit longer to rally back from this.' The next day, I learned that they had found bleeding in her brain and all they could do was to make her comfortable until the end. I, as well as many others in our family, were not ready to accept that she wouldn't survive this. She passed away early morning on October 5th. 

Since I hadn't grown up in the Twin Cities, I didn't know of Marlys before I started judging except that she was the mother of one of the coaches at my club. In getting to know Marlys, I discovered she was a dog lover and showed dogs. My immediate assumption was prejudiced by painting Marlys as an 'Edina housewife' and I figured she showed poodles or some fancy breed. I was floored when I learned that Marlys' dog of choice was the slobbery Saint Bernard. It was her passion outside of figure skating and I always enjoyed hearing stories of Axel and Linus. 

As we said goodbye to her this past Saturday at the Lakewood Memorial Chapel in Minneapolis. we were surrounded by beautiful mosaics of four strong women (Love, Hope, Memory (in the photo) and Faith) and it seemed very appropriate for a celebration of Marlys' life. If there was one word that describes Marlys, it is strength. 

Now, just like in blood families, Marlys and I argued about a lot of topics and there were many times that we drove each other crazy. We shared the "blunt talking gene." But we also had many times when worked very well together. During her first term as President of Twin City Figure Skating Association, I served as the secretary. During those four years, I spent more time with Marlys than I did with my own mother. 

And as much as we argued, I never lost respect for her as a judge. She knew the rulebook inside and out and she was the one person you wanted to be around when the judges' exam was out. (it was open book, so we weren't cheating) Marlys was also a monitor for new judges and she was always generous with her time. Equally so, Marlys provided skaters and coaches with great feedback and many sought out her opinion. These judges and skaters will be part of her legacy to the skating community. She is going to be missed.  

Who's responsible for these kids?

www.nataliedee.com

I think if I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.

I’ve been going to a lot of high school sporting events in the last few years – even more since I moved to Albert Lea.  But of all the sporting events at different Big Nine schools, I haven’t seen anything near to the type of poor sportsmanship I saw last night at the Faribault (MN) High School during the Albert Lea vs. Faribault volleyball game. And the only other time I’d seen anything like it, was at a basketball game in Faribault last season.

And it wasn’t the parents or the coaches or the players. It was the high school fans at the game. It was a prime example of mob mentality with hint of Lord of the Flies. I suppose I could blame their parents or the school administrators, but mostly, it’s the kids. Some might blame culture or society, but if that was the case, we would see this at more high school events, but I haven't.

The poor behavior started right away. The high school kids in the stands, sitting tightly in one section, were standing up with their backs turned away from the court as the Albert Lea players were being introduced. That was rude and disrespectful.

Then it got weird. For some reason, Faribault takes an athletic event and makes it into a theatrical performance. When it was time to introduce the Faribault players, the lights in the gym turn off and spotlights and laser lights turn on – I kid you not! Maybe the Athletic Director (AD) used to work for the World Wrestling Federation (or wants to). The only things missing were Jock Jams and “Let’s get ready to rumble!”

The Faribault High School band was there and did a respectable job, but could have gone with about ½ the number of drums. We’re in an enclosed gym, not out on the football field. Think indoor voice.

At first, I thought it was great for the Faribault team to have lots of fans in the stands, but later the mob behavior started kicking in. By the third game, I later learned, they weren’t just cheering and making noise (which is perfectly fine), they had taken to shouting insults and derogatory statements at the individual Albert Lea players. The AL coach had enough and asked the referees to do something about it.

The gym, because of the way it is built, is a very loud space, but the DJ, I mean announcer, must have been a former disco DJ and partially deaf – because he cranks up the tunes to around 90 decibels (Yes, I have a decibel meter on my phone) and I don’t think I heard any song recorded after 1983. During the time that the coaches, referees and the AD were huddling to discuss what to do about the students’ behavior, the DJ, I mean announcer, played music – he played The Pink Panther – no seriously, he played The Pink Panther. The conversation went on for a while, so the DJ, I mean announcer, had to play a second piece of music (still at 90+ dBs) – his choice – The Charlie Brown Theme music.

Finally the huddle broke up and the Faribault AD walked over to the students to talk to them about their behavior and poor sportsmanship. I don’t know how they heard him over the lilting strains of the Charlie Brown Theme. They acted contrite in front of the AD, but resumed the noise soon after. Couldn't tell if they resumed the harassment as it was difficult to hear over the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. 

The kids' behavior reminded me of a drunk in the cheap seats at Yankee Stadium, yelling at the opposing team’s outfielder hoping to distract him or psych him out. The drunk usually isn’t successful because (a) the outfielder is yards away, (b) is a grown man being paid millions and (c) could care less about what some drunk is yelling. All the guy (or gal) in the stand does is embarrass him/herself and annoy the people around him/her. Only in Faribault last night, the behavior was coming from high school kids and being directed at high school athletes. And perhaps worse, it was mostly young men doing this to young women.

I was proud of the AL girls because they didn’t let the noise or the distractions get to them and played great. The Faribault volleyball players also played very well and, even though they lost 3 games to 1, their behavior was respectful and appropriate.

I have a couple of friends with young children who live in Faribault. I hope for their kids’ sake that by the time they’re in high school, the school district will have stopped tolerating the type of behavior I saw last night.

Inquiring minds want to know

http://www.nataliedee.com 

Since I started teleworking in March, and especially after my move to Albert Lea three rent checks ago, I’ve been asked a lot of questions about telework. Primarily, if I like it and "isn’t it lonely?".

My answer to the former is I love it – I have three days a week when I don’t have to worry about what I’m going to wear, I don’t have to put on make-up or fix my hair (unless there’s a video call). I can work wearing sweats and t-shirt and all of my meetings take place at my desk, so I’m never late.

I do tend to laugh when they ask if it’s lonely. “Well, you live alone. Don’t you feel isolated?” 

Sorry, no, I actually kinda like it. I know people think because I’m outgoing and social and all that that I crave being physically around others. Honestly, not so much. Oh, sure, people are mostly okay, but a few of them can get annoying (and they know who they are).

When I was a little kid, my mom would put me in my playpen alone and I kept myself entertained for hours. The playpen was next to a big picture window and when it was dark outside, the legend goes, I would start to play with the cutest little girl in the window (early onset of narcissism) 

Then there’s my track record as a roommate. While no one has told me directly, I know I suck at it. And you can't ask any of my former roommates because none have kept in touch.

Except my sisters - they have to keep in touch with me. My sister Sue, who was my roommate for the first 12 years of my life, would tell you that I was a bit of a slob and that she refused to make my side of the bed. ('I’m getting back in there later, why make the bed?') My sister Chris was my roomie for a few months in late 2004 and she would just tell you that I was never home.

Isolated? Maybe when I lived in Rochester because I didn’t know as many people to socialize with after spending the day teleworking, but Albert Lea is the exact opposite. (Thank you Circle of Friends!)

Sadly, this week has not been a good telework week. Mostly because I haven’t been able to telework! I’ve had to go into the office FOUR DAYS IN ROW. I’ve been working on a video project and it’s tough to shoot video when you’re not physically there. 

You can’t imagine how exhausting this has been. I’ve had to figure out what to wear each day and I think I’m almost out of outfits. And don't forget having to do my hair and make-up. My cohort who has been on camera has the advantage of getting to wear the same outfit three days in a row for continuity. Lucky duck.

How I spent my summer vacation (2013 edition)

With Labor Day right around the corner and the start of school the next day, I figured it was time to look back on my summer. Although, with the current heat wave, it sure doesn't feel like summer is almost over. I'm not a big fan of hot weather, so I'm currently channeling my "future-old-woman-who-complains-about-everything-without-caring-who-is-listening" personality.

Last we chatted, I was finishing up cleaning and packing for my move to Albert Lea. Since I'm quickly approaching the third rent check, I guess I should fill you in on how it's been going.

First of all, I have a love-hate relationship with the apartment. It's a great apartment, but the kitchen is smaller than any place I've lived in, so I'm struggling to figure out how to best organize it. And I might be lucky that IKEA isn't right in town or I would be there with each new idea, and thus, busting my budget. 

And I have interesting neighbors. Nuff said. 

There's no way I can say that the apartment was move-in ready when I was ready to move-in. I spent quite a few days cleaning up the place to my low standards. I insisted the management company give me a cleaning credit for the number of hours I spent cleaning - and they did.

My apartment faces the ambulance bay for Mayo Clinic Health System (MCHS) in Albert Lea. (For native Albert Leans, translation: Naeve Hospital) The Gold Cross ambulances have a policy to not start the sirens until they are off Park Avenue and on to Fountain Street. That's a nice thing for them to do because the rare times that they have turned the sirens on early, I nearly jumped out my skin.

Even though the apartment was built in 1906 (or there about), the place has garages attached. But they're not very wide and I go into minor stress mode whenever I have to park in the garage. Thus I'm mostly parking on the street.

One weekend in July, I was walking out to my car (parked in front of the apartment) and I noticed it had a parking ticket, but it wasn't from the city. It was a MCHS parking ticket. Because I have a Mayo tag on my car, they thought I was an employee illegally parked. I stopped by the hospital's security office, explained the situation (hey, I live there) and the guy apologized and tore up the ticket. Only it happened again the following weekend. The time on the second ticket was 4 a.m., so I'm surmised that it was a very bored security guy looking for anything to do. This time I called the Director of Security at the hospital and informed him of the facts. I guess I'm now in their 'database.' (should I be worried?)

Hopefully they registered my license plate (SK8 4ME) and not the description (a sorry-looking, beat-up 2001 PT Cruiser), because I finally broke down and purchased a new car. I don't think of it as much as having a new car, rather I think of it as having a car payment.

I held off buying a new car for as long as possible, but when I reached the point where driving over 60 mph caused me to pray the rosary out loud, I knew I could wait no longer. 

It was that and 

• the fact that the brake light would come on if I accelerated too quickly,
• that my left rear blinker would only work if I slammed the trunk just right,
• that the driver's side rear door handle had rusted off,
• and perhaps because the check-engine-light had been on for the last 20K miles.

My new car payment is a 2009 Pontiac Vibe.

Earlier I mentioned that my garage is narrow, so as I was car shopping, I carried a tape measure with me. Many vehicle were ruled out because they were too big. Yes, the sales guy thought it was bit strange, but I'll be glad that I did it once the snow arrives. Which can't be soon enough for me.

The question that I'm most frequently asked is if I'm happy being back home. The answer is yes, but it's more than that. There is a level of comfort that I feel being back here. It's still feeling like I'm just here for a visit, but that becomes less and less each day. 

To be continued...

Meanwhile...

It's been a crazy couple of months since I made the decision to move back to Albert Lea. The toughest and most important decision was where was I going to live. Smaller communities don't have many strong options for renting. And I'm kinda picky.

In the middle of it, I was presented with the possibility of owning a home. It was something I hadn't even considered, but the possibility was a bit intoxicating. So, it was a bit of downer when the option was taken off the table.

Soon after true reality sunk in, I spent an evening in Albert Lea looking for a place. First I went to the apartment complex that I had always thought I would like, to meet up with the rental agent. I waited and I waited and I called and didn't get a call back. While waiting, I started to cross the apartment off my list, thinking I had built it up in my head as something that it wasn't. After waiting 25 minutes, it was off to see three more places to rent. 

The first one was a house in a great neighborhood and when I pulled up, I couldn't believe how big it was for what I would be paying. Wrong! I wouldn't be renting the house, I would be renting a tiny two-bedroom mother-in-law's suite on top of the garage. No thanks.

The next was a townhouse that was on the opposite side of town, but it was roomy, had a detached garage and a washer & dryer.  The third one was even more out of the way, but had a nice layout, a washer & dryer hook-up (not the actual appliances) and an attached garage. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but I didn't think I had many more options. I told the rental agent that I would take the application home and send it to him that weekend. 

As I was driving out of town to head back to Rochester, my phone rang and it was the rental agent from the apartments I had given up on. He had spaced the meeting and would be happy to show me the place right now if I was still around. I agreed and headed back to meet him.

The DON

Even though I had sort of written it off, I still remained hopeful. It was the best decision of the evening.

Robert, the agent, apologized for forgetting the appointment. He had been helping to move one of the current tenant out of the apartment he was about to show me. The DON apartments were built in 1927 and have that quality of 1920s style. DON stood for the Dormitory of Nursing as it was built about a block away from Naeve Hospital. It's now Mayo Clinic Health System Albert Lea and it's no longer one block away - it's across the street. 

Floor plan

There were so many reasons why I shouldn't have liked it. No air conditioning, but if I buy A/C units, Robert and the caretaker will install them. (!) No dishwasher or microwave in the kitchen. No washer/dryer in the unit, not even the hook-ups, but the coin operated washers/dryers were just below my unit. It's got an attached garage. 

I fell in love with it and wrote out the deposit check before I left. 

Why? In a word - location, location, location. 

It's right by the lake and I'm excited that I'll be able to get up each morning and take a walk around the lake (about five miles). It's within walking distance of downtown Albert Lea with a great little coffee shop, a fun/casual locally-owned bar, the community theater and the weekly Farmer's Market. It's also across the street from Mayo. So, if I ever have wi-fi or VPN connection problems, I can just cross the street and solve my problem. They might not have an office space I can use, but I'll just hang out in the cafeteria that overlooks the lake.

So, next Monday, the moving van is packing me up and moving me home. 

Next blog post - The joys of packing with ADD. Or I could just repost this one from my last move "The 800-pound Squirrel In the Room"- the situations are pretty much the same.  

Going home

I'm ready to challenge Thomas Wolfe and prove him wrong. "You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood." Just watch me.

Back in March, I wrote a post about the six week telework pilot that allowed me to work from home half time. It's been a great experience and while I haven't yet met with my boss to confirm that we're going to continue this arrangement, she also hasn't given me any sign that this experiment didn't work.

At the end of that blog post, I mentioned that the ability to telework half time would allow me to live anywhere I want. As the month of April started, I received a letter from the landlord that told me that the rent was going up and I had to let them know by May 1st if I was renewing my lease for another year.

Time to make a decision.

Time to stop telling friends that I'm thinking about it and take the step forward. I haven't been thinking about this in a vacuum; I've heard opinions from lots of different people.

I know there are some, possibly related to me, that may think it's slightly nuts of me to do this.  (and they wouldn't use the term 'slightly' to describe how nuts they think I am) I listened to my brother-in-law Paul and his thoughts about making the move. The practicality of winter driving and the fact that my car is nearing the end of the forcibly extended life and that I was going to need something dependable sooner rather than later.

There was  an article in the March 2013 issue of Real Simple magazine entitled "back where I belong" by Rod Dreher, that brought home the decision I had ahead of me.

The author shares the story of how he ended up moving from big town Philadelphia back to his hometown after being away for years. The sad twist to the story is that he only realized the value of small town life when his sister, who had always lived in their hometown, passed away from cancer. He saw, during the months leading up to her death, how the community showered love and compassion on her.

But, it was the conversation with my friend Jessie that helped me get right with myself for this decision and realize it's a no-brainer. Jessie and I don't get to see each other a lot, but when we do, we often act as sounding boards to each other.  We met Sunday night at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis for dinner and a play.

Her one simple question, "what is your circle of friends like in Rochester," showed the reality of my life. Socially, besides my family here, it's very limited. I have friends here, but not 'hanging-out-friends.'

"And," she continued, "it's not like your family is going to stop inviting you to hang out if you move to Albert Lea." I hope not, Sunday dinners at the Knutson's is one of my favorite parts of the week. Being closer to family here in Rochester than I have in the past 20 years has been outstanding. It's the best part of living here.

Then Jessie followed up with, "what is your circle of friends like in Albert Lea?" I smiled, then smirked. When thinking of my Albert Lea friends, the phrase 'circle of friends' is usually capitalized to "Circle of Friends." In the 22+ years since I've been gone, those friendships have remained strong and have even grown.

Way back in 1988, Jessie and I met and became friends in Albert Lea during a community theater production of "Anything Goes."  When I mentioned to her how I knew it wouldn't be long before I was back at the theater and singing at church, she smiled and said, "you're going back to Albert Lea. It's a no-brainer."

"I'm going back to Albert Lea," I said calmly. Then it became, "Oh my God, I'm moving back to Albert Lea."

But I'm not thinking of it as moving to Albert Lea as much I think of it as I'm going home.

Shortest Commute I've Ever Had

Couple of weeks back I wrote about my "experiment" of dumping cable TV and only having Apple TV. After six weeks, it's going okay. Not sure I'm cut out for doing this permanently, but worth giving it a try. 

My next experiment starts tomorrow when I start a six week pilot of part-time telework. I guess Mayo Clinic has decided not to add any more office space in downtown Rochester. Some department are making it optional, while other areas are downsizing their work space footprint and having only drop-down space for when staff has to be on campus. 

Public Affairs is just starting to get into telework with a handful of people opting in. When it became an option, a very large and very bright light bulb went on in my head. If I were to telework, I could live anywhere I wanted. And where I've been wanting to live, for let's say the last 20 years, is Albert Lea. 

When I moved to the Twin Cities in 1991, it was supposed to have been temporary, at least it was in my mind. I'm pretty sure that I went home every weekend I could. By the time I purchased my condo in '97, I had come to the realization that I might never be moving back to home, so I should find a more permanent home. I just couldn't imagine an scenario where I could live in Albert Lea and still work in my chosen career (nonprofit management) and be able to pay my bills. 

Back to the whole telework pilot...

My ideal set-up is what we're going to be piloting - I'll work Monday, Tuesday and every other Wednesday "in office" and then Thursday, Friday and the other Wednesdays from home. So much of what I do can be done at home, in the comfort of my sweats. When I've worked from home before, those days turn out to be highly productive because I'm not racing off to a meeting or getting distracted by other conversations, etc. I know that I'll never be a 100 percent work-from-home person as I need the human interaction, but I think I'll like doing this on a regular schedule. 

After the six weeks are up, my manager and I will evaluate the pilot and make the decision if telework becomes a permanent plan or not. If it does, then I'll have to make the decision of where I will live come this July 1 - Rochester or Albert Lea or ???

A Physical Manifestation of Friendship

If you've read my blog before, you might have heard me talk about my life-long best friend, Mary. (Click here to read our story) We've been best friends since third grade and until college, it was rare that you saw one without the other. 

Best friends often do activities or sports together. Mary and I joined the figure skating club about the same time, but other things interested her more. 

She went into gymnastics - the girl was super flexible. (I have memories of her putting her foot behind her head <from the front of the body> and me telling her to stop that!) So while Mary was in gymnastics, I was at the ice arena. 

Mary studied ballet. I took ballet, too (to help with my skating), but while I was learning the five positions, Mary was on pointe. 

Mary was in band. I was in choir. 

I've always wondered what it would have been like if we would have had interest in the same sport and trained together. 

Recently, I saw what that looked like. I saw the physical manifestation of friendship. 

Two young women, friends since they were toddlers, Syd and Bryn have played basketball together for about as long as they've been able to dribble a ball. When they are on the court together, there's a certain amount of synchronicity to their play that isn't as dominant with the other players. 

Maybe I see it this way because I don't know as much about basketball as others (didn't play it - hard to dribble a ball on ice skates), but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I would guess that their coaches, and maybe their parents (who are sometimes both), would say it's from years of practice and playing together. 

Nope, not buying it. It's not just about practicing. There are plenty of people who practice, practice, practice and never master this. 

• In their playing, I see trust. Trust that the other person will be there when they need them.
• I see knowledge. Knowledge of what the other person is capable of and how to help them succeed. 
• I see confidence. Confidence that their friend pushes them to be the best they can be. 

I see the physical manifestation of friendship. And it's pretty cool. And I could sit and watch it for hours. 

The consequences of failing to act

Last week, I learned about the premature passing of a high school friend. He died of a massive heart attack at age 53. And he may not have to died, if someone had taken action.

He was walking into his place of employment at the beginning of a work day with his cohorts. He passed out, but quickly came to, asking, "What happened?" And then he was gone. No pulse.

Those around him, surely in shock, called 911 and went to find someone who knew CPR. The people around him didn't know CPR.

They estimated it was four to six minutes before CPR was started. Four to six minutes of no blood or oxygen going to his brain.

In full disclosure, I've never been trained in CPR. But I have watched lots and lots of TV shows where it is being performed. If someone collapsed in front of me and had no pulse, I would have faked it and started compressions. At least until someone qualified came along.

We don't know if he would have survived if someone had tried CPR immediately. But I would guess, the odds would have been considerably better.

I wonder if his co-workers realize the consequences of their failure to act. I hope his employer is planning to have all their employees trained on CPR. For his sister and his brother and his mom, I really hope they do.

Perfect (Outlook) Storm

It takes a certain amount of talent and plain old good luck to create the perfect storm of a work day. And I'm pleased as punch to shed my false demeanor of modesty and come right out and tell you that I've done it. Yep, me! It wasn't easy and, if I'm completely honest, it really took a village.

My calendar for Thursday is so solidly booked wall-to-wall that my annual August 1st nervous breakdown may have to be moved up to an earlier date.

I know, I know, you want to know how I did it.

First you have to talk one of your co-workers into going on a business trip on your behalf. Make sure that said co-worker is gone on a day that has a deadline for a publication that only a handful of people can assist with.

Add in another member of your team taking a well deserved vacation, so you don't have her as your back-up and overall cheerleader.

Mix in helping out another co-worker with a project that keeps you away from your desk all morning and then have your always reliable freelancer wanting to spend time with his new baby (rightly so!).

But wait! There's more!

Add in managing an email from leadership, shooting a rescheduled video interview, and sending the aforementioned publication out on specific computer (that is so old that it might be steam-powered) because it is the only computer that hasn't been upgraded to the new Windows which is not compatible with our email needs.

Throw on top of the fire saying yes to working on a new project that you're really excited about working on, but has caused an influx of emails so overwhelming, your soul is crushed.

And then there's the fact that if I live through Thursday, I still have to pack for an early Friday morning flight for a weekend training festival where I'll be presenting four times in two days (three slightly different presentations) and finding out yesterday that I need to pack something slightly formal to wear for the Friday night party.

Yep, creating a perfect storm like this takes talent and ingenuity that few people possess.

I'll try to post at least one more time before they increase my medications.

Just like starting over

It's time to start over. And it's not New Year's or the first day of school or even the first day of the month. That's the beauty of starting over, you can really start from anywhere, at any time.

I really appreciated the support and the messages that I received from several people regarding last week's post. I always worry when I use my blog as therapy, but it is so much cheaper than paying a professional. (Not that there's anything wrong with that)

Last week was my week to begin again, again. I joined Weight Watchers last Tuesday and discovered that their new Points Plus program is very do-able. I love the fact that most fruits and vegetables are zero points. It's a great way to encourage people to eat more of the food that is good for them.

I also had my first meeting with my Wellness Coach at the Dan Abraham Healthy Living Center (DAHLC). It is a 12-week program that focuses on behavior modification and setting goals. I have a great coach in Jason and I think we'll have a successful partnership.

The Wellness Coaching program is free to DAHLC members who are willing to make the 12-week commitment and are ready to focus on taking care of themselves. The first session was 90 minutes and the remaining 11 are about an hour each. But there is homework (as there needs to be).

We talked about what I saw as my barriers to better health, and I think most people would be surprised to hear about one of them. My first barrier, as I see it, is my cluttered house. I'm sure my family members and close friends could give testimonials to my less than ideal housekeeping skills. Certain family members might even suggest that I'm pushing it to suggest that I have ANY housekeeping skills.

Nevertheless, goal #1 is to set up a weekly schedule of chores (Yep, I said chores - like for a 10-year-old). Three days a week, I will spend 45-60 minutes cleaning and picking up in a specific area (Living Room/Kitchen, Bedroom/Bathroom, Office/SewingRoom/Closet). I determined that the best time for me to do this work is in the morning before work instead of just watching the news. I spent 45 minutes this morning cleaning the living room and kitchen. It's not perfect, but it's a start.

Goal #2 is getting to the DAHLC twice a week to work-out between 30-45 minutes. Yesterday (Sunday), I made it to the DAHLC and spent 20 minutes on the ARC (a type of elliptical) and 15 minutes on an Expresso Bike. The Expresso Bike is a fun interactive stationary bike because you're biking your way through a video game, per se. The video screen in front of you shows "your path" (like biking in the mountains) and the bike adjusts for elevation and speed. I also liked it because you have to steer the bike or you might go off a cliff. I may try the recumbent one in the future because I do not have the tush for biking. My tailbone is very sensitive, just like the rest of me.

So, guess what? You're going to be hearing a lot about my journey over the next 12 weeks and possibly beyond.  Besides the Wellness Coaching, I've also signed up for a four-week class (that starts August 9) called, "Discover the DAHLC." Each week, we'll learn about the different fitness classes being offered at DAHLC. One negative, it starts at 5:45 AM.  Oh well, it's just one day a week for four weeks. I can do that. I'll complain about it and work it for all the sympathy I can get, but I'll do it.

Source: us.mc310.mail.yahoo.com via SewFabulousQuiltShop on Pinterest

Hope I haven't worn out the shocks

Ever overhear a conversation between two friends talking about weight and feeling fat and wondering what to do? When it happens, is it tough not to want to go over to them and shake them to their senses? Tell them that they are intelligent women who know all the answers to losing weight and being healthy? Tell them that they just have to get off the couch and go work out? Doesn't it just drive you crazy to hear those conversations??

Doesn't make it worse when you realize that the voice of the person complaining is your own?

I've fallen into a self-loathing, body-hating phase as I've gained so much weight that I've started beating myself up emotionally. I'm not sure why I think that kicking myself in the butt is, in any way, motivating, but I'm still doing it. I need Cher to slap me across the face and tell me to "Snap out of it!" (but then all my gay friends would be jealous that I met Cher and they might slap me...)

The worst times for me are the mornings when I'm trying to figure out what to wear to work. How many different ways can I wear an outfit since my choices are limited by what size I am wearing that day?

So, I'm doing what I've done in the past, I'm jumping on the fitness bandwagon - a bandwagon that I have jumped on and off so much, I'm sure the shocks are worn out. And I haven't crossed Weight Watchers off my list of potential answers. They have all those fab eTools that fulfill my geeky side.

I participated in a 5K yesterday called The Color Run. It's a fun time and "run" is a misnomer. It was more of a brisk walk where you start off wearing white and end up with color all over you and sometimes in places you didn't think it could get. I did it with family - three of my nieces along with my sister and my cousin. Sadly, my training for the 5K consisted on a couple of times on the treadmill - certainly nothing close to the prep I did for my real 5K two years ago.

With my new found commitment, this Thursday I start a 12-week commitment to work with a wellness coach at the Dan Abraham Healthy Living Center (DAHLC). A wellness coach isn't a personal trainer who works out your body, but might be considered a personal trainer for your brain. We will focus on one area of wellness for that 12 weeks - stress or time management, weight management, nutrition, exercise, etc.

Perhaps the wellness coach can help me answer these questions: Since I know what it takes to lose weight, why do I always forget how to do it? Where is that sensible person when I'm driving to the Dairy Queen?

Beware the dementors!

Dementor (noun) a dark ghost-like creature, considered one of the foulest to inhabit the world. Dementors will feed off human happiness, and cause depression and despair to anyone near them. If a Dementor gets too close to a human, they will suck out one's soul. (definition courtesy of the book, " Stuff I Just Make Up When I'm Too Lazy to Google It.")

Yesterday, while in Myrtle Beach, I had an encounter with three Dementors. 

Although Dementors are fictional characters from Harry Potter books, I believe they exist in real life and have taken a corporal form and are roaming the earth as horribly negative people who can't find anything good in life or in other people. 

I've known of these three Dementors for awhile and I have felt lucky that they have chosen to disregard me as someone not worthy of their time or consideration. I'm lucky that I don't live in the same section of the country as them as thus don't have to run into them very often. 

They were chatting with a friend of mine yesterday (she is more worthy than I) and I stopped by to say hi to her. In just the brief two or three minutes that I was standing there, I felt all the happiness just drain from my body and was worried that I would never be happy again. Luckily, I got away in time to avoid their soul-sucking. 

To regain my happiness, I spent a few hours with friends at the bar. It's amazing how a simple glass of wine can bring you back from the brink. 

So, to all my friends who I have left behind, who have to be around these Dementors, take my advice and avoid them. and spend lots of time in the bar. 

I don't think I needed to give them that last piece of advice.

No flowers, please.

I think sending flowers for a funeral is a dumb idea. If you didn't send flowers when they were alive, why are you doing it now?  I can hear the skeptics saying, "But the flowers are for the living."

Really? You are sending something that will wither and die in a few days to someone who has just lost someone. Is that supposed to cheer them up?

I believe in our shallow parts, we think the number of bouquets of flowers that show up at the funeral home represents how important or beloved or connected our loved one was. Maybe we need that physical reminder because our grieving minds cannot hear the word of sympathy and love that are being spoken.

I'm not saying don't send something, but think about sending a plant instead. When my dad passed away 18 years ago (yesterday), several friends sent plants instead of flowers. Each of us kids took one or two home. When you walk through the front door of my sister Sue's house, you'll see a very healthy, 18-year-old spider plant hanging in the entry way. My plant was a peace plant that lasted about five years. (People with ADD are generally not good with plants or candles - tend to forget about them)

It's also important to remember that a $100 funeral bouquet in the big city (Minneapolis/St. Paul) turns into a very large funeral bouquet when ordered from a small town florist (Albert Lea). When my dad passed away in 1994, I was working for Fairview Health System in the Cities and my brother Dennis was working for SciMed (Now Boston Scientific). Both of our employers sent flowers for Dad's funeral in Albert Lea. You couldn't miss them at Bonnerup's (the funeral home), they were huge.

Now that I've convinced you that shouldn't send flowers when I die (I won't send flowers to your funeral if you won't send them to mine...), I just want to leave you with one more instruction. (at least for now, I'm not planning on dying anytime soon, so the list might expand) Please, please, please do not use my 1979 high school graduation picture for the obit. I don't want people to think I died with Farrah hair.

Free time, finally

I've noticed a trend in my blog posts when there has been HUGE gap in time since my last post. I'll apologize or make up excuses or blame my ADD.  It seems my ego has this idea that there are people out there just waiting for my next blog post. I really have to get over myself.

I love writing this blog, regardless of evidence that seems to contradict that statement. I love writing. I love telling stories. I love thinking that I live a fascinating life when the reality screams the contrary.

I hate having limited time to write. And that's what the last two months have been - limited. I over-committed myself to judging skating competitions without any thought to the calendar.  When I finally took the time to consult the calendar, I had already said yes to eight competitions in 9 weeks.

Starting with the first full weekend in January, I had competitions in Mankato (Minn.), Detroit, Chicago, Hershey, Penn., Rochester (Minn.), Detroit (again!), Cleveland and finally Worcester (Mass.) Unfortunately, for my friends and family, I was really whiney about it. And I got even whiner when I was traveling on crutches!

Although my plans started out with all these competitions, I ended up having to drop out of two of them for work commitments. I had to make the difficult decision of either making a second trip to Detroit in February or spend 8 days in Jacksonville, Florida. It was SUCH a tough decision, but being the trooper I am, I took one for the team.

The trip to Jacksonville had two assignments. The first was to cover the "26.2 with Donna: the marathon to finish breast cancer" for Mayo Clinic. The race started and ended at the Mayo campus. Unfortunately, Jacksonville had a cold snap about that time and the temperature at 4:30 am (when we had to be there for work) was a less-than-balmy 29 degrees with a wind chill factor of 19. I froze my patootie off. I hadn't packed for cold weather - no hat, no mittens and my "winter" coat was not a winter coat- it was a fall-type jacket that did not keep the cold out. 

Nevertheless, the race was fun, the runners enthusiastic and it raised money for a great cause.

The second assignment was to shoot video for the 2011 Mayo Clinic Annual Report.  It was awe-inspiring being able to interview Mayo Clinic patients and hear their stories. One was 40-something woman from Orlando who had a double lung transplant last spring. Her spirit was absolutely contagious as she referred to her new lungs as "her girls." (Her donor was a healthy young woman who had died from a gunshot to the head).

I talked to a young woman who had both of her hips replaced before she was 30. She talked about being in such pain prior to surgery that she would rather drag herself up stairs than walk them. The joy in her voice as she talked about the doctor who provided her with the answers she needed was obvious. She felt so much appreciation that she came to work for Mayo Clinic.

It made me appreciate my job, too.

I've been busy these last couple of months, but I've missed you all (my ego has returned - didn't leave for very long, did it?). I'm looking forward to getting back to telling stories and, hopefully, keeping you amused. 

Slip Sliding

Last Tuesday morning, I finally took my Christmas tree to the Olmsted County disposal/recycling area. There was this huge hill of Christmas trees waiting to be mulched. I took a photo of it and my plan was to write a post about it.

About 30 minutes after dropping off the tree, the entire plan went out the windows when I slipped and fell with my ankle taking the impact. I was in one of the Mayo subways, heading to my office. No one saw me fall, but two other Mayo staff members came upon me less than 10 seconds after I went down.

I knew that I had done something to my ankle, but figured I had only twisted it. The two saintly co-workers who happened upon me, asked if I could stand. I figured I should check out my ankle before trying to stand and what I saw just flabbergasted me. In less than a minute, this softball size "thing" had taken over my ankle. "No, I don't think I should stand on it."

If Mayo has one item in abundance, it is wheelchairs. Everywhere you go, everywhere. There are wheelchairs. One of the two grabbed a wheelchair and they got me to my office. <There must be something about pushing someone in a wheelchair that generates endorphins because everyone wanted to push me in the wheelchair that day.>

I couldn't get in for an X-ray until 2:30 and while that rather patubed me, I would guess that they got a better image after having me ice it for five hours.  (That's my ankle after five hours of icing) It was just a sprain, but the recommendation was to stay off my foot for about three to four weeks and that I should expect at least eight to ten week until full recovery.

"Here's your crutches and an aircast and a boatload of paperwork for the workman's comp claim. Good luck and have a nice day."

It didn't take me long to figure out I would not do well on crutches and that trying to hobble around the Mayo campus is just not practical. So I talked my way into a knee caddy, a glorified scooter with a wire basket. I know I look a bit funny, but at least I'm getting around campus. (and my scooter is nothing like my mom's walker, Cousin Allyson!)

To add to the fun, I'm traveling almost every weekend for skating. This past weekend was to snowy Chicago. The key to success was getting the wheelchair assistance right away.  I was flying Southwest Airlines that has open seating, but I qualified for pre-boarding seating. Front row to Chicago and back!

Absolutely nothing went off as planned for the trip down to Chicago. The flight was postponed, then they combined two flights to Midway together, but didn't bother to combine the luggage. I got into Midway at 11, waited one hour to learn that my luggage was still in MSP and wouldn't arrive until the next day, waited another 45 minutes to get a cab to take me to my hotel in deep, dark suburbia, and another 45 minutes to get me there.

I travel to Pennsylvania later this week and have to make a connection in Cincinnati, so I'm praying that everything goes better than this. At least the destination will make the trip worthwhile - Hershey, PA! Chocolate heals everything!