Sharing

At college I learned how to use a binder. How dividers can be placed, how to pick out what goes where, when a topic has graduated to its own binder, when to shrink down to just one. How to title page, to colour coordinate, to spine label and to index.

I grew to like putting them together. I'd even say I loved doing it. Often, in english* to "love" something gets overused, but I'd say I loved it. Definitely a deep like.

I'd fall asleep with them spread out around my room, think about them first thing in the morning and bring them everywhere I went. I would be a wreck if I happened not to bring them with me, and the ones I didn't need to have with me I'd think about all day anyway.

So when someone at my office the other day talked about one of my binders, one that I created and packaged and beautified, as if it was the new guy's binder I just about died.


<i>There weren't even binders here when I arrived four months ago. He's been here three days and all of the sudden it's his?</i>

I clenched my fists for a moment to ease my jealous burst.

<i><b>It's just a binder. Everything will be alright. He leaves before you, and when he does you can put it back on you shelf. </b></i>

My hands relaxed and colour flowed back into the room.

For a moment I went back to what I was doing.

Then I heard my 3-hole punch crunch on a stack of paper which shouldn't have happened because it was MY 3-hole punch and it was sitting on MY des-


<b>Grrrrrr...</b>




*and I have no reference point from another language to work from; other than chatting to italian families and people who speak more languages than i
written
with the help
of
a thousand monkeys

A Spectacle

www.salutmaman.ca

Needy, so needy

quietly, in the background
"...oh, it must be that guy..."

I smirk. It's me she's talking about, and obviously doesn't realise that I wasn't put on hold, only set down on the counter.

In her defense, this is the third time I've called today and the fifth time this week. Had I not've lost my glasses (in a golf cart related incident) I wouldn't be in such need, or be so needy. I feel a bit like a boy who's waiting for his first crush to call him after making that first move toward her locker.

Who am I kidding, I still feel that way. It's becoming more and more apparent to me how much I value constant connection. It should have been known to me sooner, and I should have dealt with it sooner too. I have been blogging for a while now, and the medium requires tough skin. I don't know if anyone reads this, there's a stats page that I can check but I have no idea who reads it, or how often, or for how long they stay, where they're coming from, why they're here, why they stay, why they come back - if they come back...

... man. I am needy.

The lady at the glasses store recovered quickly, quicker than I did. I awkwardly laughed every few seconds trying to show who not-unimpressed I was she basically called me annoying in front of everyone she works with.

I was hoping I'd draw out of her that she was sorry to have said it, but she never did. She just kept a steady voice for as long as I was on the phone, rolling her eyes as soon as the handset was in its cradle then carrying on with her next customer, one that was in front of her and not calling from some starbucks, somewhere.

I would tip her if I thought a person tipped glasses salespeople, and if she wasn't making commission off this sale. The easiest sale ever, might I add.

(However the easiest sale ever is making for a boring entry. If you've stayed with me this far into the post you'll be prepared for the image of me with my new specks that'll come shortly after me putting them on)

Don't Panic

The security guard at the airport drop off saw us coming, well before we saw him. Regardless, we were well on our way to where we needed to be, and we weren't going to stop to talk to him. We hadn't a moment to spare and he would have had too many questions, all of them rhetorical.

"How are we doing for time, Bird" the Boss said to me, fifteen minutes later than he should have. I raised my brow in such a way so as to demonstrate a sense of urgency.

I assumed the urgency part, he was the one who did the math. I couldn't remember it.

"We gotta go", I stated simply. There was no other way to say it. We were trying to impress a client, and panic doesn't sell anything.

We shook hands, grabbed papers and made for our Sewing Machine of a rental whom we would, quite shortly, be testing every ounce of its strength.

Mrs Boss called at 6:42 "Is Boss there?"

"Busy dropping the car off" I replied. Mr. Boss smirked at me, knowing full well he was not and wouldn't be for at least another ten.

"Sorry" I said. "Don't tell her I did that"

"I won't till tomorrow"

The Security Guard at the airport drop off moved like a second baseman who knew the shortstop had under shot the fly ball. He started slowly from his perch, and by the time I saw him he rounded a column and we rounded the rental lot's median. I didn't see what did after that, none of us do. We knew very well we were driving the wrong way, but we had to get the rental back, and I'll be damned if we were going to circle the airport again.

Phone rang again "is he there now?"

"Bathroom."

(I was more articulate than that, but that's the important bit. I wanted to demonstrate the urgency of the situation, without losing the cucumber cool I had on the phone)

"Who was that?" "Farked if I know, park this flaming thing" I snapped in my head, but didn't actually say. Instead I just smiled.

A Greyhound staffer at the airport drop off watched the whole scene unfold. She cocked her head to one side as we second guessed the parking lot entrance, and exhaled with a smirk as we rounded back again two wheels.

Boss went into Rental Co to toss the keys, I grabbed the bags and ran for our gates.
Twelve minutes left.

I was flustered when I got to the desk, which was quick given there was no line and I had ran full tilt from the Rental Co office, but before I could get too far into the scenarios running thru my head-

.... leaving Boss there ... "Indian jones"ing onto the plane .. Bribing them at the gate .

-Boss was standing next to me.

"Hey" "Hey"

Stamp. Sticker. Stack.

"Where do we-"

"Toward the escalator please, si-" and I was to the top before she hit the last syllable.

Long story short, we jumped over the customs line. I was doing well till Security made small talk about my hard hat and I couldn't remember what it was I used it for.

"You had to think about that?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and reaching into his pocket. Rubber gloved scenarios ran through my head as I moved faster than I thought I could.

"Did I make it" I asked the woman I was about to bribe.

Make it? You've loads of time. We START boarding at seven.

"Well", said Boss "we'd better go get a fast one, shouldn't we? That'll take this edge off"

I really wish I had a less cheesy way to end this. I don't. It's all about the journey anyways, right?

I'm laughing now because I'd forgotten Short Stack was even with us.

It's a good thing he was able to keep up.
www.salutmaman.ca

Qqch

There's something refreshing about reworking a resume. It's not that new content's been added, it's the fresh reordering of the same junk. Sort of like the way I clean a room, or a drawer... which isn't at all. I push and pull stuff to different places which tricks me into thinking that there's something new in front of me.

No, I take it back. There's nothing refreshing about reworking a resume. A resume shouldn't just be reworked, it should be overhauled. It should be tore down, re-framed, painted then traded in for something worth while.

A new template is a great place to start. At least, it makes me feel better. I'm sure it feels better for the same reason shoe companies rotate their designs out every 3 months. People come in, see the shoes they just bought don't exist anymore, they feel out of date and buy new shoes.

What we don't seem to notice is that in the end they're all still shoes; laces, soles, tongues, etc.

In the end, it's still a resume; name, work history, impressive adjectives, etc.

The overhauled resume works to make an old idea new again. New ideas come more readily from new people, which is why having someone other than me*
have a look at it works so much better than these eyes.

That's a ton more refreshing.

(cry ... every night...)

[You're welcome]

Meanwhile, elsewhere in my psyche this is going on:

There's something wonderful about thinking on a full stomach. Currently I am not, and thus have no reference point in recent memory; but I'm sure there is something wonderful about it.

I would hope there's something wonderful about it because there sertanly isn't anything wonderull about thinking on and am tease tomb ache.

...

...what was I writing about?

something...



*later I will edit this to be a link because currently I'm ecrising this dans a noir-berry. I don't think including html will work when I send this via email**.

**though, I do so very much hope it does.***

***it didn't

A Nanny, perhaps?

Dear Dinker,

On the weekend was around a few babies ... two of them were yours. Well done you.

Dad says congrats as well, although he also says that he still beat you. Just like you, he couldn't celebrate his first father's day ... he wasn't a father. By his second, just like you, he was father of two.

He says he wins because he didn't have twins.

I can't wait to see your daughters again. They're really cute and cuddly, and for the most part they just lay there. Lilly was flailing around, trying to look at as many things as she could, which isn't very much, as far as I know.

Though what I know about babies that age is limited.

Well, what I know about babies is limited.

I know how to hold them. I have to support their neck. I don't know how old they are when they can hold their own necks but I've figure it's safer to hold every baby as if it can't hold its neck up. At least until it proves itself.

When I was holding Lilly on Saturday we were having a grand old chat. I was going on about the headaches you'll have over the next eighteen years, how you'll take her to soccer games and show her how to do long division and she smiled back as if to say she knew exactly what I was talking about.

Her grandmother said "You're pretty good at holding her. You'll be invited back again next weekend."

She also said that I was keeping her up by talking to her, that she should be fast asleep by now since she was just fed.

I was just super thrilled to have such a small person so entertained by me. Maggie, who was also very cute, was sleeping the whole time she was waiting for Lilly to finish her meal.

If Lilly sleeps through the night I'll be praised forever. If she doesn't I may not get invited back again for a while.



It's Tuesday and I haven't heard from them about next weekend. I don't know what to think.

For H.E.

Dear sister H,

It's your birth and grad day today. Hope it goes well. Don't keep my roommates out too late tonight, they have to be able to do chores tomorrow.

--bbb

Grown men

"Grown men" is an oxymoron. At least, I like to think so.

Take the job site, for instance. It's basically a playground for grown men. At the start of the day we're given a game to play during recess. It's a game with a few rules, some powerful tools and a goal to reach. Best part is we get. a recess that lasts all day. We take a lunch, but all we talk about is how we've played the game so far and how we're going to play after.

Kids spend their time at school planning for recess. Desk time is just an annoying inconvenience, a necessary evil to be entertained so as to be allowed back out the door.

It was neat to see some of the same games being played as we played when we were in school. Ten or twenty years hasn't changed the fact that snow forts are built by a staff with a hierarchy, in kindergarten everything is a gun and the first kid to the playground gets first pick for his team.

Some kids would use their class time prepping for recess, to better use the time they had outside. Teams might be picked before hand, or at the very least captains. The more aware kids would have their desk work done first so that when the boss came around they would either not notice the extracurriculars, or not care.

Some kids will grow up to be in a hotel near Nashville with their wives, and after an early breakfast, will lean in to their middle aged buddy, fake a conversation and flip a back hand at his personals.

This is how I know there aren't any grown men.

At least I hope not.