Laura Lore

Mélange

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Fri, 18 May 2012 08:39:11 -0500

So, I've started at least a dozen posts, but I seem to lose my focus before I finish. When I try to wrap them up, I can't get into it again. I suppose this is a sort of manifestation of the unsettled thoughts I've been trying to reason through. I am just going to let them float up in my mental stratosphere for awhile until they're ready to come back down. Let's just see if I can get through a list of blurbs for the time being.

I am working on my Master's Certificate in Project Management. In a risk management class last week, the professor emphasized to look ahead and envision what success looks like so that a PM can route a safe path to the end goal. I'm sure this works well enough in business, but the single-most beneficial risk management tool in my personal life is looking back to learn from the past. Bring the risk on! I know how to handle it!—but if I don't, I will next time.

Yesterday was Syttende Mai. I find myself getting more in touch with my heritage as I grow older. I am 75% Scandinavian (50% Norwegian, 25% Danish). I do not have to go very far back in the history books before they share a common history…heck, Denmark even owned Norway for a bit there. Besides, they're best buds! I include both in my celebration of Syttende Mai, especially since they share somewhat ambivalent stereotypes of the Swedes (Syttende Mai celebrates Norway's independence from Sweden). It makes sense in my head…it doesn't need to be logical.

On the subject of Syttende Mai, Nick and Michelle are walking 17 miles with me on Saturday for Stoughton's annual celebration weekend. (Stoughton is a Norwegian stronghold here in Wisconsin.) I am so excited...I even bought myself a shirt with an abstract Norwegian flag to wear (I am making Nick wear a festive shirt as well).

Last Sunday was Mother's Day. You would think that they would get easier in time, but they don't…not when I allow myself to think about who isn't here. I had such a lovely mother. I am very blessed to have had her for the time that I did. There are just certain days every year when I find it really hard to feel blessed through the ache in my heart.

I attended a seminar on anti-inflammatory foods this week, and I am considering an elimination diet to see if I can figure out my food sensitivities. My C-Reactive Protein, though lower since my hysterectomy, is still elevated. Inflammation seems to be at the heart of every major disease…I really don't know enough about it (ignorance is bliss). The diet would be strict for a few weeks while I would try introducing new foods, and Nick is nervous that I might actually do it. Jury is still out…

I've had an attack of comment spam this week, so I have made all comments subject to moderation for the time being. Sorry about that…comment spam is the most annoying kind of spam if you ask me.

Sophie Sunday

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Sun, 06 May 2012 18:19:06 -0500

Sophie got a new collar this weekend. The breakaway catch on her existing collar and been broken away too many times. She was regularly stripping it off to traipse around naked…hussy. We (or at least "I") need her to wear a collar, or anything that will make noise, so that I know she's in the vicinity and to watch where I step. Otherwise she's a naked ghost that tries to make me fall flat on my face.

Since she seems to be against me braiding bells into her tail, a collar it is.

In retrospect, the amount of time I spent considering various collar patterns was really quite silly…but it was a big decision! The choice I made may last for years. We decided that the cat needed new jewelry to go with her new wardrobe, so we updated her tag as well…a cute gold fish to replace the pink heart.

I forgot how trying it is to get the fit right on a new collar. I could not use her old collar as a guide because it had lost all integrity in becoming Sophie's latest chew toy. I took a guess and snapped it in place. A few minutes later, I came across Sophie on the stairs with her head down and struggling against something. Alarmed, I picked her up to discover that the little idiot was trying to strip off the new clothes as she did her old, except the clasp was brand new and sturdy instead of sad and broken down. As it was, she had her lower jaw caught beneath the collar and could not free herself.

I reached for the clasp and freed her. I tightened the collar and snapped it back in place. A few minutes later, I heard her panting behind the chair in the living room. Same thing—pretty, not smart. I started berating her as I freed her once more, tightened the collar once more. "You're going to break your jaw if you don't knock it off!" She looked at me like I was the subject of an inside joke before flouncing away, her plume-like tail whispering through the air.

It wasn't until later that I considered the possibility that she was just trying to go fishing.

One final Sophie moment: I'll apologize for the photo quality, but this was too cute not to share.

Pass it On

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Thu, 03 May 2012 15:52:10 -0500

I spend a lot of time getting caught up on the people who cloud my days. How many times have I vented about this person who irritated me, or that person who has no respect for others? How many times have I fumed over that harshly worded email or the guy who decided not to compromise? Why is it only the hard parts of people that I hug close?

Such a sad subconscious summation, isn't it?—And I'm actually a positive person!

I was unaware of this pattern until one day last week when I was leaving work and noticed an ordinary but wonderful thing. To leave the building, employees have to go through a set of secure doors to enter the skywalk that leads to the parking garage, through another set of secure doors that lead to an enclosure, and finally one last set of doors to actually get to the place where we park the cars (there must have been a good deal on doors when they built the place). I was approaching the second set of doors when I noticed the sound of footsteps behind me. I looked back to judge the nearness of this other person.

It's a little game we all play. Is she far enough back that I can make my merry way without holding the door? If I walk really fast, can I get to the door far enough ahead of him so I don't have to wait while he shuffles along? The binds of polite society can be so bothersome.

The gentleman was far enough back that I could have sped along without holding the door, but only just. On a split-second decision, I decided to be a nice guy and hold the door. He looked up, surprised that I waited for him when I had enough clearance to leave without being outcast. He tilted his head and smiled. "Thanks," he said as he reached the door.

I smiled and nodded before continuing on…I felt good. From the corner of my eye, I saw him begin to follow my path but stopped with a jerk and caught the door behind him before it closed. Looking back, I noticed someone else in the skywalk. He was far enough back from the door, yet the man waited for him. The man in the skywalk smiled, surprised that someone so far ahead of him held the door.

I don't know why the simple observation reverberated so much…but I haven't been able to stop thinking about whatever it is that causes a person to make a split-second decision, or the driving force to take a tiny piece of kindness and share it with someone else.

I guess people aren't really so bad after all.

Sophie Sunday

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 09:35:02 -0500

The Ugly lives. I continue to be wholly repulsed by the well-loved "fird."

Even so, I dearly wish The Ugly had held her complete attention during her frisky mood last Friday afternoon. Instead, she made it her day's work to spur me into a homicidal-rage-like state. I was playing with some arrangements of photographs that I plan to hang at my new desk. The best place to do a project like this is, of course, the floor. I did not affix the prints together very quickly…this is part of the reason I am no longer employed in an artistic profession (nothing ever seems perfect enough to call "done").

I don't know how many times Sophie charged my loose mosaic, skidding across the prints and chirping with pure glee at the fun she created. Of course I didn't move my project elsewhere—I told myself, "It's my floor, dammit, not hers." Go ahead and laugh. I too see the holes in this logic…now…but at the time, I was prepared for a warring of our wills: just me and the imp.

Yeah, well, imps always win.

When Nick arrived home, he thought that (A) I was incredibly naive to have even entertained the idea of victory in my waged war and that (B) the situation was incredibly humorous. Instead of responding to my desperate cry, "Control YOUR cat!" he grabbed the camera.

Maybe you don't know her face as well as I do, but that's clearly mischief I see brewing in her eyes:

Nickism No. 5

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 19:08:39 -0500

The things that come out of Nick's mouth…you can't just make this stuff up.

We're out for a walk to enjoy the sunny evening as dusk falls. Rounding a corner, Nick sees a sign advertising for psychic readings.

Nick: Do you want to know your future?

Me: I'm better off not knowing.

Nick: You know what I think? I think that if I am going to schedule a psychic reading, a good psychic would call me first to help me make the appointment.

Move Around

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 17:21:20 -0500

My work life has been complicated over the past couple of years but especially the last 12 months.

My company has three main regional buildings across the country, and I worked in the Madison, Wisconsin building from the time I was hired in 2006. It just so happens that the company is also headquartered in Madison—meaning there is also a campus within the city.

My work over the last two years has necessitated the ownership of a desk in each location. It's been very frustrating, especially as more and more of my time was required at HQ. You see, you can only have one "home office." With that home office, you have 24/7 access and you are on the building-specific mailing list. I was told that you cannot claim multiple home offices. So, as the regional building continued to be home in name only, I was feeling increasingly unsettled with my impermanent desk, my impermanent phone, my impermanent everything at HQ.

I would run into people in the halls and they would ask, "Hey! Are you over here full time now?"

I always replied, "No, just five days a week!"

Due to a combination of a new manager, a desk shortage in the regional building, and pure logic, I now have a single, permanent desk at the national headquarters. Today was moving day—which was considerably complicated in my opinion. They had to move me first from my regional desk to my temporary desk at HQ, then from the temporary desk to my new resting place three rows over.

I was not surprised that they managed to lose all my equipment (docking station for my laptop, 2nd monitor, full keyboard, mouse…etc.). In spite of this, everyone was great and I have basically the same setup again because they were able to match all the models I had with new equipment. Still, moving is not fun.

It's not like the work schedule stops to give a person time to unpack boxes. I did not have breaks in my schedule until the afternoon, and I was suffering from acute ADD. Alphabetize folders! Answer email! Hang photos! Answer questions! GO CRAZY!

It was in one of those spurts that I thoroughly amused myself. Maintaining two desks is serious business, man. I think I have enough paper clips to build a chain linking from here to Montana…and I haven't started my treatment program yet for the excessive amounts of black, fine point pens that I have hungrily consumed at two locations.

As I unpacked my last box, I found a stapler. Yes, I packed my stapler…and I was thrilled to find it! It's hard to find a good stapler these days.

Hell.

I'm Milton.

Sophie Sunday

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 14:11:57 -0500

Okay, I swear that I am able to write posts other than Sophie Sundays…though Sophie wonders why I would care to. I've been dealing with some discomfort (same old story, different day), and I went back to the pain clinic because it was a different sort of pain than normal. Good news is that there is nothing extremely wrong with me. My tumor has not changed much and isn't causing problems…but arthritis has settled in my L4-L5 facet joints and my SI joints.

There isn't much that can be done for it that isn't already being done (since I am already being treated for back problems)…but it is a wake up call to stop being stubborn. Hey Laura: when it hurts, don't do it. It's certainly a hit to my ego that "can't" has entered my vocabulary—but Sophie is ecstatic. She's been getting much more lap time with me lately.

Sophie Sunday

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 08:52:51 -0500

I was out of bed way too early for a Saturday. Nick wanted to work a little overtime, going in early so the whole day would not be lost. I came downstairs to spend some time with him before he left, but I started drifting back towards sleep as soon as I curled up on the couch.

Sophie was having none of it. She crawled over me and began to purr…aggressively. There is a code in this house. Sophie leaves us alone while we sleep during the night, but it's "all Sophie, all the time" as soon as we stir. We put off moving and talking as long as possible when we wake each morning…because she'll be on us as soon as we do either.

Since I had most certainly stirred by the time she found me on the couch, I was in serious violation of the code.

Peaceful

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 23:28:50 -0500

I experienced a moment of absolute loveliness this morning. It was quiet and warm with the sun shining through the windows. I heard the trickle of a water fountain and the robin's cheerful song. Everything seemed right in that one moment, and the smile that spread across my face made me feel younger…fresher. It was as though my fairy tale just wrapped up in happily every after. It lasted the span of a single heartbeat, nothing more…but in that single heartbeat, life felt pretty wonderful.

Emasculating

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 16:24:00 -0500

One of my project managers walked by my desk at the end of a very long week. Seeing me bleary-eyed and hunched over my laptop, she pulled up a chair to offer an ear. The long and short of it was that I was tired of arguing.

I represent an area of my company and dispute decisions (when necessary), but I am not quarrelsome by nature. Yet I know that I have a responsibility to speak up: I force myself out of Switzerland when I would rather stay neutral…agreeable. Believe me, no one was more surprised than me to learn that I am actually pretty good at fighting—it helps that I know to choose my words carefully, of course.

The challenges have been more frequent in the last several weeks, and the weight of conflict was beginning to ache. I was happy to be leaving for the weekend shortly as the fatigue was overriding logic, and I felt like bickering purely for the sake of bickering. I no longer fear disagreements…occupational hazard I suppose.

I should have been smart and stayed in that night since I had a weak grip on patience. Instead, Nick and I organized a dinner out with family—family with whom I am trying to strengthen my relationship…or maybe I'm trying to build it for the first time…I just know that it could be better, whatever that means.

When we arrived, his tongue was already loosened with the help of a few amber bottles. The entire dinner was a verbal assault on us. I saw Nick staring at me from the corner of my vision because he couldn't stand to look anywhere else without saying something. I kept my eyes fixed on the wall across the room.

I was afraid. I was afraid that my instinct to retaliate, to stand up for myself, would damage the relationship irreparably. Instead, I said nothing and let him talk. He wasn't angry in the slightest, he thought he was just having normal conversation…this somehow gave his words even more bite. I could not get out of there fast enough because I hurt…and hurt people say things they don't mean (particularly if words come easily).

So here I am, stuck. I have discovered that I can win arguments, and smoothly…but I cannot use that weapon because I believe we are mismatched: I am not a bully. Part of me wants to start the conversation, telling him that hurtful words are not okay, but another part of me knows that he will think I am attacking him.

So again, I do nothing. I try my hardest to forget everything that was said to (at) us, but it will take time to get rid of the sting. My cousin came over later that night when my pain came through my text messages (and knowing that this isn't the first time I've been wounded). "Why!?" I cried to her. "Why do I put myself through this over and over again?"

She took another bite out of her ice cream (what else would the doctor order for emotional distress??) and let compassion blanket her eyes. "It's because you still have hope."

My skin has grown so thick with my work responsibilities…yet, with family, my vulnerability is staggering.

Sophie Sunday

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 23:52:00 -0500

I am posting this picture for two reasons:

First, Sophie's back paws always remind me of bunny feet—Thumper's, specifically. (I think it's just because they're so darn big and awkward.) Since the bunny season comes to a tumult today, I offer them to you.

Second, she does the cutest thing with her back paws that would melt the iciest heart. It's rare to see her do it on a surface other than our laps…but when she's content (which is often—we don't make life very difficult for her), she elongates her body in carefree bliss and crosses her back paws, curving her little cat toes in and out (continuously) as if she truly is happy from her head down to her toes. It sort of reminds of Bill Cosby expressing his love of pudding.

Happy Easter!

Post-it Notes

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 17:11:08 -0500

So, I'm an appointed SME for several different projects at work. Apart from being trapped in what seems like nonstop meetings, this means that I am a regularly consulted resource: my mind is pulled in several directions several times a day. This tends to make me a bit daffy by late afternoon.

I have little moments of pure brilliance throughout the day, but they're not easy to hold. If I am not careful, they jump right out of my hand when I am not looking. Those little bits of wisdom are lost to me forever as soon as someone diverts my attention with another question and the stupor settles over my mind again. Such a waste.

That's where the Post-it Notes come in. During those brief moments of clarity, I write myself a note and stick it to my desk: genius. I joke to my coworkers that I am single-handedly keeping 3M in business.

For this system to work, I do have to go through the notes every now and then to make sense of the randomness. It is during this time that I discover notes that were written during my mind's transition to the stupor…they don't make a whole lot of sense. Warning! Thought not complete! (Honestly, alarms should sound.) My favorites are the squares with only my name or a simple yes/no.

It was at the end of a trying day today when I walked back from my last meeting. I trudged back to my buried desk and stared at the overwhelming insanity. I groaned and began mumbling a sad little soliloquy. The desk needed attention, but I didn't want to stay to organize. I just wanted to go home and decompress! "I don't know…should I just go home?" I chewed my lip and whined in indecision.

Then, out of nowhere, I noticed a Post-it Note poking out beneath some papers. Clearly this was a note written during one of those transitions. I had written "Do it." With that bit of advice, I grabbed my coat and headed for the parking garage.

See what I mean? Pure brilliance.

Sophie Sunday

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Sun, 01 Apr 2012 12:38:00 -0500

Supposedly, most cats are solitary beings—they are not pack animals like dogs. Animal behaviorists have speculated if a cat has the capacity to bond with a human or if they only depend on humans to satisfy their physical needs. The debates lasts because no one can really answer that but a cat.

I've been around cats nearly all of my life, and before Sophie I would attest to the solitary behavior. They would come around to snuggle with me when they wanted something, otherwise they were content to disappear and ignore me completely. They held grudges, and sometimes they were downright catty. I still loved cats even though they could take me or leave me—and I even kind of understood the mood swings, particularly during those teenage years. I had a dog to love me unconditionally, so I didn't need that kind of devotion from a cat. I didn't need those heart-melting eyes staring at me like I am the best thing in the whole world.

Oh yes, I would have agreed that cats were frigid animals who lowered their standards to let us pet them now and then.

I was quite smitten with Bandit when my aunts adopted their long-haired tabby. Brenda started telling me about a breed of cat who look a lot like Bandit but a whole lot bigger (she was a wisp of a thing): the Maine coon. I started to research the breed…in no time, I was hooked.

They were said to be affectionate, gentle giants with kitten-like playfulness that lasts into adulthood. Sophie is a dog in cat's clothes, just what I was looking for. Nick likes to rub that bit in when I am frustrated up to my eyeballs with the fuzzy thing doing her best to trip me, winding through my legs as soon as I walk through the door. She stands on her back paws with her front paws on my leg to beg me to stop and love her, and i just cannot resist that vulnerable "You're my everything" look she has in her eyes.

So was the case when the picture above was taken. It was one of the first truly beautiful Saturdays of the year, so Nick and I took advantage of Mother Nature's gift with a hike. We came home, showered, redressed, and drove to a friend's house where we spent several hours. When I walked into the living room after, it was a full-on Sophie assault. If she had been a dog, she would have knocked me over in her excitement to have us home.

We found ourselves nodding all the way through the breed characteristics in the video below when we saw it on TV—though when they talk about size, they're only talking about males (females have smaller frames, but still bigger than other breeds). Sophie would probably need help rolling over if she weighed 25 pounds. We find ourselves very lucky to have a dog who poops in a box.

Still Getting Away

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Sun, 01 Apr 2012 02:55:00 -0500

And now: the rest of the story.
(Thank you for letting me borrow your line, Paul.)

Quick recap of the last bit of nonsense:
We get grumpy. We do fun things to not be grumpy. A concert is a fun thing that we did. I don't have fun when I don't sleep. We scheduled vacation for the day after the concert (to sleep for fun). But really, our wasted day off promised loads of un-fun. Nick: "Let's go to Chicago!" Not to get ahead of the story, but that was pretty fun.

It's amazing that I can actually be concise when I try, isn't it?

The first trip I ever took with Nick was to Chicago. There are three very prominent memories from that trip, and sadly they're probably not the ones Nick was hoping we would take away.

It was cold…as in record-breaking cold…as in the coldest cold snap of the entire winter. We walked from Starbucks to Starbucks on the way back to our hotel so our faces wouldn't harden and shatter in the bitter wind. I don't think we've ever attempted going anywhere during February since, come to think of it.

We were so ill. The bathroom was never unoccupied, we'll say it that way. I think it was a mixture of the extreme temperature changes we put our bodies through going in and out of the cold as we did and the massive amounts of rich Starbucks coffee drinks we used to bring heat back into our bodies. Totally the romantic weekend he planned.

Nick was dejected that he couldn't get tickets to see BB King who was performing at the House of Blues. He beat himself up for weeks leading up to the trip because he thought he should have researched the trip sooner. Actually, I remember that I thought he was so frustrated that he wouldn't be able to enjoy the trip at all.

Nick told me that Chicago was on me this time. You see, Nick does nearly all the vacation activity planning. He wishes I would take over more, but the thing is that we approach vacation differently. I see it as a time to do nothing. He sees it as a time to do everything that we can't do at home. Vacations exhaust me, and isn't that just the most counterproductive thing you've ever heard? Well anyway, I the weekend in the palm of my had, and I planned exactly two activities and two things only. I immediately slotted Saturday to the Planetarium because we've been wanting to go. And with a little help from Google…

…I discovered that BB King was in town again, and tickets were still available. (I figure that catching his performance was only six years in the making.) BB King is velvet to my ears. His voice sounds like it could have come from an old recording—still as clear and soulful as ever—but it was his personality that I fell in love with. His stage presence felt like a companionable conversation with an old friend, the kind of conversation that keeps the smile plastered on your face long after talking has ceased.

So, I started writing this post two days ago, but my social agenda got in the way—hey, it happens. Since this current bout of insomnia still hasn't let up (in day three), I decided to finish this up instead of staring at the dark ceiling any longer. In reviewing pictures to share here, it seems that most of the photos I took over the weekend are in portrait orientation instead of landscape; it's usually the other way around. I am always enthralled with the ball buildings in Chicago. I'm used to looking up and seeing sky instead of the latticework of masonry and steel…tall photos for tall buildings, I guess!

It seems so simple, but viewing the world as if I am framing a photo makes everything so much more special—just like blogging makes little moments of my life more memorable because I am sensitive to the stories as they unravel. The stress of life simply melts away as Nick and I walk together down the city streets. We watch the parents and children, the lovers and friends, and it's clear that life is pretty wonderful.

Getting Away

nospam@example.com (Laura Kazynski) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 21:09:00 -0500

Nick and I both have a tendency to bring work worries home. We don't take the stress out on each other per se, but I cannot deny the taciturn coexistence that settles over the evening every now and then. Since work is so heavy during the week, we try to have fun once the weight lifts for the weekend. We schedule a few weekend getaways every year to enjoy life with each other—we went to Chicago last weekend.

We typically visit Chicago every year but missed the trip last year for some reason. (I think the problem was that we stayed in Schaumburg and got all snagged up in IKEA…I don't think we had much of a budget left to hit The Magnificent Mile!) I love going to Chicago for a couple days, but I'm always ready to come home. I can't live with that level of frenzy around the clock!

This year's trip was inspired by Elton John tickets. I think you probably know by now that I am a huge Elton John fan. Levon gives me chills every time I hear "He was born a pauper to a pawn on a Christmas Day…" It holds a certain Cat's in the Cradle-esqueness for me…the reminder to pay attention to the important things before it's too late. Anyway, Nick brought it to my attention as soon as the tour stop in Madison was announced…despite the fact that he's rather indifferent to Sir Elton's music. That's love, folks.

He even took some video with his phone:

Since the concert was a Thursday night and I'm old (read: I need much more sleep to function), I scheduled vacation for the next day. I wanted the day off solely to sleep in, but the rest of the vacation day was going to be a bit of a waste…so why not go to Chicago for the weekend instead? Why not indeed.

Do you think I can link out to much more in this post? I think that's a sign of the ADD taking over, so I'll have to continue this story another day. For now, I can tell you that I absolutely loved seeing Elton John again…and I will go to his concerts as often as I can. I am so awed by his talent. If there was just one thing I would go back and change in my life, it would be that I give more of my young life to learning how to make music. Since I cannot go back, I deeply, deeply appreciate those who can.

Is it ever too late to learn?