Give 'Til It Hurts

Normally I donate blood at our local Long Island Blood Services office -- on a Saturday morning I make an 8:00 appointment and I'm outta there in 45 minutes, one pint low. But I do try to patronize the PTA drives in our school district, particularly when one of the kids is looking for signups. Last night I had a 5:30 appointment at one of the elementary schools, timed so I could leave work at 4:30 and arrive in plenty of time.

I arrived 15 minutes early and was heartened at what I saw. About eight people waiting for medical, with three people on duty there. Only a handful of people waiting to go behind the curtain. This looked vastly better than last year, when the entire experience took me two and a half hours, start to finish. If not for my commitment to the schools, I wouldn't have returned this time. So I was glad I gave it another try.

After a little less than half an hour, I was through medical. There were ten people waiting to be drawn at that point. Let's just say it was a good thing I had my crocheting bag. Over the next 45 minutes, only three donors were taken behind the curtain. During this time the elementary school "little doctors" had come around asking for signups for the March 29 drive at the high school. I was hesitant but I wrote my name down as a maybe.

By the time I was called to go in, it was 7:00. I got a very personable phlebotomist named JoAnna, who apologized for the delay and was willing to explain to me how the staffing for the drives is determined. She suggested that the administration inflate the prearranged donor count (appointments made in advance) by a certain percentage (based on past turnout) so that LIBS staffs the drive appropriately to cover walk-ins in addition to appointments. She also said that quite a few of the donors are nasty when they have to wait a long time. Now I admit that part of me had certainly been annoyed to have to wait a while, but I tried to keep my evil twin locked up. The conversation with JoAnna, had while she was prepping me for the venipuncture, helped to melt away my frustration. And it caused me to reflect upon the fact that the frustration, shared by many donors, can overshadow the whole point of having a blood drive -- giving something back to the community.

After making it through a short stay at the canteen -- and I can't recall the last time I'd had yummy Sun Chips before that -- I stopped at the check-in desk to speak with the PTA representatives on site. I mentioned that this had been my "second chance" with the school blood drive experience and last time I was promised a shorter wait this time...but it's hard to go home and have much of your evening left when you're there for two hours and ten minutes after your appointment, and you've got to eat dinner before you can do anything else. I tried to be constructive, passing on the recommendation from the chat with JoAnna, pitching it in the context that I'd seen several donors decide not to stay because they were unable or unwilling to wait it out.

Luckily the PTA reps were also aware of everything that had gone on, and had their eyes on the overarching goal -- to get the donations while keeping good will alive. They'd already been talking about how to create a better flow during the high school drive in March. As they are also volunteers who chose to staff the event that night instead of being home with their families -- as well as the time it took to plan and recruit -- I thanked them for their efforts. In turn, they thanked me for mine.

I left with a smile on my face, and a Pollyanna kind of hope that my appointment in March doesn't turn out to be another frustration. After downing two bottles of water, I treated myself to a rare decadence on the way home: a McDonald's cheeseburger, onions only, via the drive through. That was about all I could fit, after the Sun Chips, the water, and the taste test of pecans and cashews at canteen with a gal from a local chocolate company. Buuuuuurp.

Time to Change

OK fess up. How many of you 40 and 50 somethings thought of the Peter Brady solo in the song "Time to Change" just now? Funny, the things we remember...

My original motivation for that title was very different, of course. At my tender age in my late forties, I have had the pleasure and wonder of working for the same boss for 18 years. He retired at the end of December. He was a wide lens visionary. He has been succeeded by his former second in command, who is more detail oriented, sharply focused, and historically more demanding and less patient. Although he has pledged to carry forth the prior culture of the department as much as possible, significant changes are on tap.

What, me worry? Some say I'd be well advised to worry. Well, I might be a bit concerned, but what will I do about it? I'm taking the constructive, proactive approach. I'm trying to anticipate what it will mean for the group I lead to fit in with the groups who already reported to our new boss, and ramp up accordingly. It will be a faster pace but there will be more opportunity for learning and for increasing the effectiveness of my group. It will be more challenging but should be more exciting.

My office is a fantastic place to work, and I believe that my reaction to the curves in the road ahead will partially determine how much it stays a fantastic place for me -- not to mention the seven people who report to me. I owe it to them too, as well as to my family -- even if the economy and the job market weren't so tough right now.

Kicking, screaming, whining, backstabbing, resisting, sabotaging? So much effort to shovel it against the tide, and for what? To be known as a complainer or subversive or do-nothing or obstructionist? Uh uh, not me. I'm going for the good stuff.

Forget Regret or Life Is Yours to Miss

The title is a snip from the lyrics of the finale of one of my fave musicals, Rent.

I was reminded of it last night as I was doing puzzles before beddy bye time. Here's a Cryptoquote that made a lot of sense to me:

Forget the past -- the future will give you plenty to worry about. -- George Allen, Dr.

I'm not sure which Dr. George Allen it was, but he had good perspective.

Lost My Appetite

You probably know by now that Friday is my night not to cook. Our decision about what and where to eat was influenced last Friday by the fact that one son wanted to go to the rec program at the middle school at 7PM and another son and I wanted to go the benefit rock concert at the high school at 7PM. A local sandwich shop seemed best.

One guy was making sandwiches. A man and a woman, possibly the owners, were milling about doing whatever in the back of the store, but could be seen by customers. After we waited for the one guy to finish helping the people in front of us on line, he began serving the five of us. As we were waiting, the woman in back had come out front to fill up supplies in the sandwich making area and putter around doing other things. The sandwich making guy glanced over at her several times but said nothing. As he finally finished one sandwich and moved on to the second, I turned to my oldest son and remarked that his dad and brother might be done eating before we even got our food. But there was still only the one guy, and at this point it was not clear that the other guy or the woman were on duty to serve customers.

A woman got on line behind us. She asked me if there was only the one guy serving, and I said yes. Lo and behold, the woman behind the counter asked the woman behind us what kind of sandwiches she needed. At this point, I repeated my comment, directly to sandwich making guy: half my family would be done eating before I got my food. Couldn't the woman behind the counter help finish our order?

Sandwich making guy and sandwich making woman did not acknowledge me at all! The woman behind me on line was incredulous, but was also in a hurry so she made quick apologies to me and called out her order. Several minutes later, sandwich making guy was finished with all five of us and said "sorry for the delay." Too little, too late. I informed him that he really should speak to sandwich making woman because what she did was bad bad bad. This remark too went completely unacknowledged. I guess the woman really is the boss or the guy is primarily interested in collecting the hourly wage and not how well the business is actually doing.

My husband and middle son were indeed finished by the time I got to the table with my food. The kids got a lesson in customer service, should they ever have this kind of a job. This sandwich shop is definitely off the list. Decent food, decent location, oh well, not willing to put up with the service or lack thereof.

What a Run!

After missing most of the regular season of football, I have rekindled my passion these last two weekends during the playoff games. Didn't hurt that both local teams were still in the running when we began, wink wink. I think the kids are surprised that Mom, who almost never watches TV, has been glued to the screen during much of these games, albeit with a stack of photos to snip and place in albums or my latest crocheting project. Mom also knows a lot about NFL football, it would seem. Huh?

Wasn't always that way. Growing up, I was scared of football and thought it was for refrigerator sized guys who didn't mind taking the risk of getting killed or maimed out there. Then I went away to college and moved into a dorm complex where recreational coed two hand touch football was part of the culture. Each floor of each wing of each of the five buildings fielded a team. Each floor designed its own jerseys, which usually had a team name with a double entendre (football + sex, typical). Each player's jersey had on the back of it a number plus a name -- generally not the player's actual name but often another attempt at humor, subtle or otherwise. For instance, one year our team was called Second Coming. My "name" was Ready to Receive. My roommate's was Attraction. Get it?

Another interesting feature of coed dorm football in our residential college was that the team on the field at any given moment had to be at least half women, and a woman had to be the quarterback. Good grief! Well, since I couldn't run/catch/throw but was on the tall side with bony elbows, I was put in as a blocker. The first semester of my "career" our team had zero wins so we qualified to play in the Soup Bowl of our division -- the honor for the two worst teams. As luck would have it, all the other females with more athletic ability than I were unable to play that day, so I was elected to be quarterback. YIPERS! All I could reasonably do was either hand off the ball to someone who could run or hit someone with a short pass just off the line of scrimmage and hope that person could run. Well...it turns out we actually won the Soup Bowl 7-0. Some people felt we should've lost so we could be proud of a consistently losing season. Et donc, c'est la guerre.

After all that, I realized that there was a lot more to football than breaking bones and quickly became a lifelong fan. I'm looking forward to the real Super Bowl in a few weeks. Gotta get crackin' with cooking etc.!!!

Wait...Free Isn't Really Free?

Last night I polished off several Cryptoquotes (or Cryptoquips or whatever the various newspapers call them) before closing my eyes and finding sleep. I really liked this quote. What a wonderful world it would be without blame or abdication.

I think of a hero as someone who understands the degree of responsibility that comes with his freedom. -- Bob Dylan

Food Kills

I'm really torn up about the dichotomy between needing food for survival and hastening one's death by overindulging. Of all the people I know who have had weight reduction surgery, only one seems to have a fighting chance of continuing down the path of good health by reducing through subsequent diet and exercise. The others have regained and in some cases added extra to their former physiques.

As a former teenaged chub, I had my "end of rope" moment when friends in the college dorm were trading clothes before heading out to a party, and I was too fat to participate. This was the last straw piled on the heap of self-hatred and desperation. But it took three months of salad eating (when my love of veggies had not yet kicked in) and walking many miles each day to dump the fat. Over 25 years later, my intense fear of regression has kept me on the honor system and in my usual sized clothes. I guess everyone who's fought demons has some sort of defense mechanism to make sure the fight stays won, in order to retain ultimate control.

I have been trying to guide a young teen with weight struggles and see all the signs of the vicious struggle I recall. Eating to comfort emotional state of despair...when the despair came from being overweight and perceived as unattractive in the first place. Feeling of unfairness when others eat the high calorie foods or the large portions and don't have a weight problem. Attempt to deflect sympathy and attention by saying it doesn't matter, when it's really all encompassing. Planning the next meal, even if it's a so-called healthy one, really as a symptom of a focus on food 24/7. Snacking when alone, or when expected to be alone, and feeling pathetic when someone discovers the secret. Temporarily succeeding with a new health plan engenders feelings of euphoria and relaxation, and a desire to celebrate with the one thing that pleases us the most: a sugary or fatty treat. Depressing realization that we've failed...or we think we have, and we magnify the failure in our minds. All is lost now. etc. etc.

I fear this young teen will have to hit rock bottom before finding a personal reason to "make it stick." Trouble is, teens are having heart attacks and developing diabetes and high blood pressure and other conditions which can seriously curtail good health for the rest of their lives. I hope time will not run out for this fine young person. I wish the same for all others who are living this struggle, whether or not I know them personally.